Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling is the queen.
Tapping the fork against her plate Hermione Granger once again reminds herself to stay calm. Whilst her mother stands off to the side sipping her coffee and asking every five minutes if she's done her eggs right. Hermione glances down at them and scowls. Two golden eyes stare into her own, while a bacon mouth mocks her frown. She knows what her mother really wants to ask though. Is she ready? That seems to be the question of the day, one she can't bring herself to answer. In fact, she isn't even sure if she can. Unable to tell if it's the nerves or the anxiousness all she wishes is that the feeling of foreboding to stop tormenting her. It's strange however as that very question was all she'd been able think of the last few hours.
She didn't know if getting the dumb thing installed was a brilliant or stupid idea and she hadn't been able to decide for the last 10 years. After being a royal pain the ass about it and practically selling her soul to the local Deli the summer before, her parents had agreed, completely against their will, to purchase the latest turn of the century muggle invention. There she sat, inside the closest muggle shopping center willingly letting tall, clean people attach a sleek and silver watch to her wrist. What was once the very definition of her happiness was now the source of all her burning hatred.
Hermione boiled it all down to the fact that in some insane, thoughtless moment of her teenage existence she needed acceptance among those that had kept it from her for so long. The smirk on their bloody faces as they waved their hands about, declaring her public enemy number one. She knew it was her intelligence that they felt they needed to push her from their groups. However she vowed to herself then and there sitting alone in her empty dormitory after yet another row with Ronald that no longer would they scoff or twitter stupidly about her intellect. Nor would Ron torment her with the look in his eyes, so bright and blue. It wasn't until afterwards, with that damn monstrosity gracing her wrist that she realize the truth of the matter. Fate is nothing and you don't get to choose anything in life. She had still been shunned, even after Voldemort began his little dictator campaign. Especially after that. It was then, sitting once more in her dormitory the evening of her last day as a sixth year, that she realized something else. The timer, as they call it, doesn't count down to let you choose your soul mate as she had thought; it counts down to choose for you. Stupid.
"Right. I'm off," she tells her mother waving a hand towards her own shadow only stopping to grab the car keys from the hook. Honestly, how could she have ever put faith in such nonsense? It was entirely laughable. She was renown for her astuteness and constant reminders to people that fate and soul mate gibberish wasn't real. There was no such thing as destiny being written in the stars. Hell, even she hadn't put much faith into that absurd prophecy. It was waste of time, simple as that. There were never any guarantees, no promises, and no confirmations. People wasted their lives and money only to end up with nothing but emptiness. Some, those that had looked for their last ray of light, had given up on everything. No, these contraptions were nothing but a big joke on those who believe, believed, in love.
Throwing open the front door and jingling the keys in her hand, Hermione stopped once more. Staring down at the hunks of metal in her hand she stood there contemplating whether or not she should take the car. It wouldn't matter if she chose to drive, walk, or disapparate really. Ultimately she knew something would or wouldn't happen. Suppose she did drive though and met him. Or her. That's another thing. No one found it helpful to let her know anything about how this was supposed to work. In fact, she was given absolutely nothing to go on. Surely, she thought, they'd tell you something useful about your supposed "soul mate." She remembered not hints on whether or not they'd be man or woman, how old they'd be (or how old she'd be at the time), if it'll be your greatest love or just a phenomenal friend that keeps you from sinking into the crap of the world. She couldn't recall the conversation about if she would be able to immediately identify the person or if they'd approach her knowing about what was taking place. No clues, nothing. Zip. Zilch and it pissed her off.
It took several minutes of silent swearing with the front door wide open before she realized she was supposed to be deciding something. Drive or not? "Suppose I do though," she told her palm, "and with only 20 minutes until my mystery person shows up I, in a fit of panic, do not see them crossing the street and hit them with my car? It'll be done then. I'll have met them and have struck them dead." With that shoved them back on the hook.
As she walks along the way Hermione risks a peep at the time. Bad idea. She's really does not feel ready for this. Her palms are now slick with tense sweat and she can practically feel her deodorant working overtime. Who thought this would be a good idea? Who thought letting teenagers do this would be a good idea? She still can't believe she thought this would be good for her. She couldn't give a fuck about anyone acceptance now and even less about snogging Ronald sodding Weasley. I can't believe my parents actually said yes.
"I don't want to meet the person I'm meant for simply because a cheap timer told me. I don't want to feel as if there's a string pulling me towards a future I can, and can't, see myself having. I should stop walking. Just stop my feet from carrying me any further and sit on the ground with my eyes covered." Letting out a sigh, she pinches the bridge of her nose as a headache builds somewhere above her right eye. Something beeps from near her left hip and she forces herself to look down. 10 minutes. For fuck sake why did time always win? Why did it always get to decide in the end?
In an attempt to distract her mind she wonders why it beeped, having never done that before. Maybe it's like ""Hey, your time is almost up! Get ready for everything to change."" Because she knows everything will change. They'll change like she knew they would all those years ago, watching the Beauxbatons carriage fade into the skies. Stopping at an intersection she watches a mother and her child scuttle across the cross walk, laughing loudly and the sounds cause her to smile despite her darkening mood. It might not end up being so bad, she thinks. Maybe I'll find someone, or something, that makes me happy. Merlin help me. I'm 25 and I'm praying to an inanimate object to send me happiness.
4 minutes and 15 seconds. Stop, please.
4 minutes, now. I've never tried to break this thing. Maybe I should try.
3 minutes and 38 seconds. No no no no no.
3 minutes and 20 seconds. It's gotten slower…does that means something?
2 minutes. OW! Note to self: never slam your wrist into the pavement. Doesn't break things, only causes pain.
80 seconds. It won't be that bad. It'll be just fine.
1 minute. I'm a horrible liar and I should never become a lawyer…or a mother.
Before the watch hits 50 seconds she disapparates, feeling even more sick than she had been before.
When she next opens her eyes she's staring at a blank wall sandwiching her inside an alley. Taking deep breaths she steadies her body against the cool bricks thankful for the few seconds alone. She reluctantly moves when the watch beeps, louder than the first time. Peeking out from the behind the corner of the building to make sure the coast is clear, she allows a smile to grace her mouth, masking her building emotions and shuffles her way inside the ministry.
As usual, the place is busy with Ministry officials, the vast number of working witches and wizards, and zooming purple memos and notices. To her right the constant whooshing of people stepping in and out of the fireplaces reminds her that she's glad she decided to walk. It gave her ample time to think things over without spinning in a tight circle. As she nears the large streaming fountain erected in the middle of the atrium, she can hear the click of cameras from behind it and dives into a rather large crowd of people in order to not be seen. The last thing she needed was to be questioned by some nosey journalists hoping for a quick word. So many voices and sounds in one place cause her headache to strengthen and the room feels like its spinning anyway. She attempts to break away from the sea of people but notices that some force is pushing her away from her intended destination. She doesn't know why, but she senses the need to force her legs to move in the opposite direction. It doesn't take long for you to realize why that is. The timer has decided for her. Again.
15 seconds, then 10, 9, 8, 7…she holds her breath as the time dwindles down. Before it hits 0, a long slow noise emanates from it almost as if it was dying and she finally stops, stumbling slightly. The room isn't spinning anymore but her headache doesn't lessen it's grip. She wipes her palms on the front of her blouse, swallowing air painfully and awkwardly. She notes that she should have dressed better positive that no one would find an old pair of black trousers and a worn blouse impressive, even if she could still fit in them rather nicely. Starting to feel foolish just standing there, she shuffles from one foot to the other. Maybe, she thinks, there really isn't anyone for me. Maybe this really was a joke, a great big laugh at my expense. Perhaps she really had put too much faith in such a silly idea. She wills the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes to cease and desist their betrayal. Sniffing to keep them back she holds on with quaking hands to her sanity but anger and annoyance boils up through her body anyway. She doesn't want to fall apart in front of all these people; all these stupidly happy people with their smiles and laughter and purposes to being alive. Picking at her fingernails she hopes for nothing more than the floor to swallow her whole. Even if they really don't, she feels as if everyone has their eyes on her, casting their judgments at her like invisible jinxes.
She takes a tentative step forward hoping something will propel her backwards in refusal. That a hand will caresses her shoulder, like it should have always been there. She takes another step and her shoulders, along with her heart, droop slightly. Fuck it all.
Taking another step she walks, broken, towards the lifts that'll take her to the Auror offices. There is no longer something pulling her back but she can feel it screaming at her to stay. To wait. I've waited long enough, she thinks heatedly. Rubbing angry tears from her eyes she pulls at the watch with aching fingers. Is she overreacting? Absolutely not. 10 years. 10 whole maddening years with this thing that she should have never gotten. If it was possible, she felt even stupider about it than ever before. She'd spent every year enchanting it to stay working in the Wizarding world, a task that was by no means easy. Do you know how tedious that is? Well she's very well acquainted with the practice. She begins to walk faster, desperate to have some quiet again but she stops when something knocks into her hard. Her left hand connects with what feels like another person and a few seconds later a breeze she knew hadn't been there before is blowing across her skin. Looking at the entirety of her arm with wide eyes, like she never realized she had one until now, she notes there are two small dots indicating where the watch sat. Watching them for what feels like centuries she see that where everything else is slightly tanned those two are light, pale, and slightly wrinkled from the constant wrenching she'd done over the years. A long pale line circles the top of her wrist from ulna to radius.
She chuckles out of surprise. It's not a cute or pretty chuckle either but sounds like she's choking on the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. The damn thing is gone. Looking past her outstretched arm she sees it lying broken on the smooth stone. The screen is blank and dark just like it was when she first got in stamped onto her skin. Suddenly a throated is cleared irritably from over her head and she lifts her gaze connecting her stunned stare to a harsh glower.
Gray eyes meet brown and her tears pool around her waterline again. Only this time it's because her heart is both happy and sad.
This...is her person and she loves him. Yet, she deeply hates him too.
"Granger, what the hell are you doing?"
So this has finally been updated and fleshed out a bit. Hopefully you guys still like it and if you do then i'll just say enjoy and review and fav if you want to!