Beep. Beep. Beep. The distorted sound of her alarm clock jolted her from her highly unmemorable dream. Her eyes felt swollen with sleep, her mind was pounding and her body felt lethargic as she glanced outside her window at the morning haze. She blinked three times and turned her attention to the source of the sound and mechanically turned it off. Why she set her alarm during the holidays- she had no idea- for a moment she was blissfully unaware of anything. She allowed her eyes to wander over her small room, with its light purple glaze, nondescript objects scattered over her shelves and yesterdays clothing strewn on the bed she was lying in.
Right on cue she felt the wave of sudden realisation and understanding wash over her as she remembered the turmoil of her life in this present day. Her overnight celebrity status, as more and more people realised that the magic world they had read of and incessantly dreamed about actually existed. The loud screams of those adoring fans as they recognised: Hermione Granger. In some cruel twist of fate, the general public failed to recognise any other members of the magical community; no Death Eaters on the news, no strange sightings, not even The Boy Who Lived could tempt their wild imaginations.
Hermione knew that this was how it must be; denying his existence, denying the existence of the evils in the world- this was her burden to carry, and on her shoulders alone it stood. The Ministry, too, had to work tirelessly to conceal the magical slip-ups more than ever now, but this was behind closed ( not to mention invisible) doors, and the frequency of these delicate mistakes were so infrequent that muggles would easily pass them off as coincidence or superstitious occurrences.
Flashback
A cold winters day, a cosy bookstore in London. Next to an old fireplace, its stone marked with cracks like precious battle scars, a young woman sits reading a book in a warm wooden chair, its paint peeling with antiquity. Her eyes widen in horror, no one seems to notice. A soft gasp escapes her barely opened lips and two young boys look on whispering.
' Hey Michael!' the boy who looked roughly seven years old began, ' Look at that girl reading Harry Potter, doesn't she look like Hermione?!'
The other boy rolled his eyes but nonetheless turned his head to greet the sight, ' What are you talking a-' His jaw hit the ground. Indeed, this girl looked remarkably like Hermione Granger, her hair was, as described in the book a large wreath of brown that seemed to crackle with electricity even where she stood. Her face, seemed ordinary, not ugly, just as Ms Granger had been written. It was her clothing that seemed most alarming as she dressed almost identically to everyone around her- thick denim jeans, a large coat and scarf that kept her neck well hidden and boots to trudge the bitter snow. The most uncanny resemblance came from her posture, slightly bent over, no doubt from the endless books she carried, and surely enough they spotted an open bag, its straps frayed from its heavy load.
The boys couldn't help but approach her. ' Excuse me Miss,' the first boy questioned ( for these may have been curious boys, but they were definitely well mannered in conversation). The young woman looked up, 'Yes?' she questioned them.
The second boy was quick to reply, ' Begging your pardon, you just look quite like H-' he was cut off mid sentence by his fellow comrade nudging him and gentle tilting his head to the book she was reading. He glanced from the book to her bag where he now saw the titles of the many books "Magical herbs and their Medicinal Qualities," " The Guide to Growing Mandrakes Without Going Deaf" , "The Wizard of Oz." That last one could have been written off as mere coincidence, but the truth was clear to both the boys.
' You don't look like Hermione Granger, you are Hermione Granger!' the first boy practically shouted at her. Everyone eyeball within a two metre radius swivelled in their direction. The young woman bit her lip surreptitiously, pulling out a foreign object which she waved all around her ' Forgetium Benerat-' but before she could finish her incantation the flash of a nearby camera blinded her, and it seemed all those surrounding happened upon the same idea and followed suit. She fled the shop, grasping her book bag as she left, silver lights threatening to stop her at every corner, until she was at last in the street, but not for long before she disappeared with the faintest 'Pop' of displaced air that melded comfortably together with the howling wind.
Those in the bookstore stood in a trance, looking from one person to another and back again. 'Who was that?' voices chanted like a gust of wind. The two boys were surrounded by many people older than them. Their mother approached ' Michael, Stephan, you boys should know better than speaking to strangers!' she bustled taking both of their hands as she strode out of the shop, but not before she knocked the book off the chair the young woman sat on before. All those surrounding looked on, the cover winked at them, flashing with the embossed print "Harry Potter," it read.