Ten Years Later...
She didn't like change. It was something she had been solely against since the death of her first childhood friend, Crookshanks Alckott. However, change was inevitable, she knew that, and so when she was introduced to who she was told to be her birth father's closest friend three weeks before she was to turn eleven years old, she was determined to hide under her bed and bolt-lock the door. In reality, she had wedged a chair under the door handle like she had seen in the movies and hoped for the best.
Hermione knew she was the bastard child of her birth family; the result of the affair that her mother had partaken in for years before she was even conceived. She didn't want to know any more if it would result in a huge change in her views of her parents that she already held. If she were to exit her bedroom, she knew that her born curiosity would soon bubble over her façade of indifference and she would start to ask questions. She'd most likely burst than stay in her solitary silence. It was a little quirk that she was unable to grow out of, and it became an especial nuisance after Alckott's unexplained passing.
A single tap came from the door caused Hermione to tense up and she hid even further under the bed until her back pressed up against the cool surface of the wall and would not allow her any more movement. She was trapped, but safely hidden.
"Miss... Granger," a clipped, yet drawn voice filtered through the tiny cracks of her door and Hermione found herself struggling to push herself further into the merciless wall. There was a sigh and then, "Miss Granger, if you have a significant attachment to your door I suggest you open it. If not... I request you stand as far from it as possible."
A trembling shock wave filled the small bedroom and Hermione found that she was suddenly pushed harshly into the wall by a huge burst of spontaneous wind. Though she was protected and glad that she hadn't the courage to open the blasted thing (no pun intended), a small part of her, the one that was still hoping to hold on to her old life, knew that even if he hadn't blown up her door, even meeting him had changed the direction of her timeline. It wouldn't have mattered whether or not she opened it. Change was inevitable.
Heavy boots clapped against the wooden floorboards but were hidden, Hermione saw, by the shadow-like attire that draped right down to the ground and swished elegantly across the ground.
"Coming, Miss Granger?" The man asked, his voice drifting clearly down to where she hid, now that the door was no longer in between them. Again, he sighed at her silence, and again his robes swished across the room. She heard him sit down by her desk and the rustle of what could only be paper being moved.
There was nothing to be said. While Hermione was trying to get over the shock of the explosion, and the intruder was snooping through her desk, a tense silence hung over the duo as neither knew how to start a conversation that would please or inform either of them.
Where are my parents?
That was a good start.
"I sent them along with McGonagall; they're to be sent to Hogwarts to meet with Dumbledore to attend to some business that the Professor has with them," he replied but Hermione realised that his unusual words caused more questions to form in her head.
More shifting paper. "This one is interesting." His comment startled her out of her thoughts and she began to shuffle out of her uncomfortable position under the bed. "Do you always find yourself drawing blue and red lightning?"
Hermione was about to answer his question, but instead saw that her door was more or less untouched- even the chair was still pushed up against the handle! But she was sure that she had heard an explosion!
Her name was repeated twice before she turned back to him. He sat, she observed, gracefully on the small surface the stool provided, but was clearly ill at ease and hid it well with his stiff posture. Looking more so at his clothes, she found that what she previously believed was a dress, was in fact a long robe covering what she guessed was more layers of black clothes and, of course, his loud black boots.
"How did you get in? What- What exactly was that?"
"Magic," he enunciated slowly, pulling at the 'i' but clipping at the 'c'. Suddenly, Hermione watched as he flicked his wrist and out of the stick, a cool tickle of cild air licked at her ankles and suddenly she was being lifted off of the ground. She squealed in displeasure.
"Put me down! Put me down right now!" the little girl fumed. She was put down immediately. Huffing, she asked the man why he had done that.
He shrugged in response, tucking away his stick in his sleeve. "Seemed easier than trying to explain that magic is real- you were going to ask that weren't you?"He turned to her then, accepting her nod before moving on to introduce himself.
His name was Professor Severus Snape. He was a teacher at Hogwarts, and apparently a close friend to Hermione's late father- but he didn't dwell much on that. Instead, he began to tell Hermione everything she needed to know about preparing for Hogwarts, from shopping for her first wand, to purchasing her first pet. All in all, it seemed pretty interesting, but, Hermione mused, it was nothing that she couldn't read from a Hogwarts history textbook later, so she found herself drifting off very quickly into his verbal presentation.
He had a long, slightly crooked nose, she thought, with a slight bump between his dark, thin eyebrows. And, although moving, his mouth seemed to be shift between a grimace or a simple hard line whenever he would utter a word. his face was long and almost translucent in the light of her well-lit bedroom, and it was framed by long tresses of onyx hair that rippled whenever he moved. With dark eyes to match, he looked the perfect picture of a standard vampire. Hermione almost giggled at the thought.
She wondered why they had sent this man here when he clearly didn't look like he often made house calls. In fact, she was certain that blasting off a child's door- even to just get into a room- wasn't standard procedure when it came to dealing with slightly difficult children, and she was certain that making people fly- though pretty cool considering- without their permission or warning was also not a standard way for Hogwarts professors to introduce 'muggle-born' children to magic. As she sat there, contemplating, she was blissfully unaware that Professor Snape had finished and was now staring at her.
"So, Miss Granger," he asked, "any questions about cutting off your forefinger finger and feeding it to the three-horned Guineafowl on your first day of Care of Magical Creatures?" he proded, tapping his foot irritably.
"W-what?" she spluttered.
"Please pay attention to what I am saying next time Miss Granger. I do not take to... slackers," he said, crossing his arms. "I said Hagrid will be coming here in a few minutes to pick you up and take you to Diagon Alley for supplies. Don't worry too much about money, your parents have gone to the bank wiht Dumbledore to exchange muggle money for gold."