Sometimes the Name Makes All the Difference
Summary: History would label Hermione Granger as the Brightest Witch of her Age, one third of the Golden Trio, war heroine in the Second Wizarding War against Voldemort, who one day disappeared.
A minor historical figure easily overlooked by most and completely unknown to those outside of the World of Magic. Her real claim to fame would be an alias every child in both worlds would one day know. A legend who's past was a mystery, but who helped save us all.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Terminator belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This story is written in a different style than my other stories. I hope you enjoy.
Ch.1
She became a war veteran before she even graduated.
She had survived a fight that had been building since she was in her fourth year.
She had bared witness to the defeat of an evil that had plagued her world since before she was born.
It was supposed to be over.
The time for a Golden Age had dawned. They could start rebuilding, usher in some real change, make sure that another war over bigotry wouldn't come about again. So many ideas, a world of possibilities lay at her feet.
Then it had been ripped away.
It was supposed to be a simple fact finding mission to the states. An easy task for the newly employed Unspeakable. Another unfounded rumor of someone trying to re-engineer a Timeturner, the secret having been lost when the Time Room had been so carelessly trashed back in fifth year.
Nothing of consequence.
She had been blind-sided.
Voldemort's Plan B.
The crash of glass reverberated as the duel destroyed everything in its path.
Hexes flying in a brilliant dance of color. The smell of ozone and blood. Sand thrown anywhere and everywhere. Gasping for air through the pain and inhaling time itself.
Searing light and heat ripped through the room. A storm of electricity.
Silence.
She was alone.
She was naked.
She had no wand.
Taking in her surroundings she found nothing, but an empty warehouse. Frozen she struggled to stand, her mind spinning. Nothing.
One breath. Another breath.
The world snapped back into focus in a rush of sensation.
She could feel a pain burning her thigh, warm blood running down the leg, creeping over her bare feet. The cold seeped into her slender frame as the rush of battle faded sending needles of pain slicing through her feet. A draft of wind could be heard cutting through the empty warehouse making her ears ache.
Cautiously she approached the door.
An alley.
A forlorn newspaper sat gently fluttering with the passing air currents.
Staring numbly time passed. Lights turned on and cars roared by. Absently she noticed that it was raining. The smells of the street crept into her nose. Wet cement, rotting garbage with an undertone of urine making the mix complete.
The down pour didn't relent, but she paid it no heed. Not when her hair was plastered to her head with water. Not when her blood began to mix with the puddle at her feet. Violent tremors racked through her thin frame under the onslaught of the elements. Her feet went numb with the cold, then her calves, but she ignored it. She kept her gaze locked onto the print before her as the ink began to run and the paper turned to mush.
January 10, 1984
It was January. The tenth. 1984.
Not thinking. Reacting.
She couldn't think. This was no time for her to have a mental breakdown right now.
That was almost funny. Time-
No. She would not do this, could not do this.
Barefoot and clothed in two empty trash bags she explored further.
No one.
Was she alone? Could she be alone? Did no one else come through?
Limping to the street she kept to the shadows. A car alarm sounded in the distance, a dog barked.
Life.
Moving slowly she chose a random direction. Avoiding stares and leers she kept moving forward, keeping out of the street lights, out of sight.
It would be foolish to be seen. She couldn't be seen. No one could be seen.
You know the laws Miss Granger you cannot be seen…
She just had to keep moving it wasn't a good idea to stop. Don't stop.
Her legs already felt shaky and weak.
Shaking with pain and exhaustion she stumbled her way up to a small corner petrol station. Locking herself into the bathroom she sunk onto the toilet gripping her injured leg as her limbs gave out beneath her. Blurry eyed she wet some toilet paper and dabbed at the wound to clean it before wrapping it up best as she could with bits of her makeshift cover.
Another shudder racked her frame. Gripping the side of the sink she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Something needed to be done.
She couldn't stay here.
If she stayed she'd never get back up. The exposure and blood loss would be her end.
And if someone found her-
Fighting through the shock she let her mind race to find a plan. Plans were good; plans would keep her focused, keep her moving.
Leaning against the doorframe for support she reconciled herself to waiting for the opportune moment.
A car pulled up and the driver got out entering the establishment. With jerky moves she stumbled over sliding in and turned the abandoned key. A yell, she slammed the accelerator.
Lurching away she just kept driving weaving through the streets searching, evading. In a fog of confusion the lights sped by making no impression on her mind.
Finally she found a promising place. Parking she didn't even switch off the ignition. A dental office, a crowbar later, an alarm blaring and she had supplies. More driving.
The world was tilting, too much blood loss. She found another alley to pull into.
An injection of drugs, thank you mom and dad, gauze, and stolen scrubs. Darkness was coming. She had to walk away.
Neon lights. A vacancy. Cash up front.
Oblivion.
Dawn.
Her dreams were in wreckage, her hopes dashed. Days rushed by, one bleeding into the next. Theories were made before promptly being discarded. Realization set in, she was trapped
The dust began to settle and she slowly began to make sense of the chaos.
On a cold night in some forgotten alley in the city of Los Angeles. Hermione Granger died. Lost to an accident of magic and time.
On a cold night in that same forgotten alley a woman with no identity or past was born. An ordinary girl looking to survive in the big city, unremarkable in every way.
A simple waitress named Sarah Connor.