A/N: So, as promised, here's another outtake for you. You may recognise bits of this from Chapter 4. This is an alternate version. Originally, I was going to show lots of snippets of Hermione's life with her parents & focus on how the little differences were creating this great chasm. I did some of that, but not nearly as much as I wanted. The plot just took a different direction once I decided on a focus & worked in new canon. Even though there is some repeating in here, the little ideas intrigued me. I actually wish I would have fit the idea at the end of this into the story somewhere. It just never happened. :(

Okay... I know there's really nothing to review, but you could drop one... tell us what little things drive you insane? And/or you could suggest something to read. I'm always looking for good stories. Aren't we all?

Building Barriers

Outtake: Accidental Magic

Hermione finished and looked up at her mother expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Mom?"

"Hmmm? Oh, did you try -"

"Yes," groaned Hermione rather more testily than she would have liked. "Were you listening? I just told you that a minute ago."

"Oh, sorry, well…" Mrs. Granger paused. "I don't know then, unless…"

"Hermione rose quickly, "You know what, don't worry about it mom; I'll figure something out."

"All right, sorry I couldn't be of more help." Shrugging, Hermione turned and walked up the stairs to her room. Collapsing on to her white-eyelet comforter in frustration for what felt like the thousandth time that week, Hermione closed her eyes and wondered to herself how a person could hear so much and not listen to a word of it. Yet, she reasoned, it just wasn't fair to accuse her mother of so much. Ron often was guilty of the same, but she reasoned, in Ron, it was tolerable, almost endearing. But in her mother, it was aggravating and impossible to tolerate. Hermione didn't understand why.

Hermione, with all her book smarts, was beginning to understand something countless generations before had come to know: the generation gap.

Hearing footsteps on the stair, Hermione bolted upright and stared hard at her door. She didn't feel like being disturbed. And she didn't feel like climbing off her bed to lock the door. With a click, the lock secured itself.

Hermione's eye's widened in fear. Had she done that? How could she have? She didn't say a spell. She didn't use her wand—it was lying just inside her trunk. Gulping, Hermione attempted to force her pounding part back inside her ribcage. She was going to prison, she knew it. An owl would be arriving any minute. Stiffly Hermione turned her swimming head toward the window. The impending Ministry owl wasn't the only thing that bothered her. She had never lost control of her magic before—even from her beginning days at Hogwarts, she had always completed everything that was asked of her with success. Why now was she losing control?

She didn't know what to do. Obviously she had wanted the door locked. Maybe she was in control. Maybe... Hermione suddenly brightened—she would write to Harry. He had had an official warning last year, even if it wasn't his fault and he wasn't reprimanded because everyone thought that Sirius Black was out to kill him. But just as quickly as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. She could never bother Harry with something so trivial after what he had been through.

Now that her heart was slowed and she was thinking more rationally, she reasoned that a Ministry owl would have arrived by this time had she actually broken the law. After all, Alohomora is a Grade 1 spell. And she was allowed a certain amount of freedom to complete her homework… Sending the window one last glance, Hermione slid off her bed and walked over to the door to her bedroom. She turned the handle and unlocked the door just before locking it again herself with her own hand touching the cool metal.

She was left alone in peace to ponder how in the world she could have lost some measure of control. Sitting on the window seat, Hermione pulled out one of her school books and began to read.

The third morning, Hermione left the sanctuary of her bedroom to breakfast with her parents. She felt that she should make the effort after her outburst the night before. Descending the stairs still wearing her pajamas, Hermione half expected to arrive in the Gryffindor common room. It was habit.

Before rounding the corner, Hermione pushed a clump of bushy hair out of her face. She entered the kitchen just as her mother placed two cups of orange juice on the table. Sliding into her chair, Hermione put on her best morning smile.

"Good morning."

"Morning," answered her mother and father in succession.

Mrs. Granger slid into the chair next to her daughter before asking, "Would you like some juice? No sugar added."

"Of-course," Hermione answered.

"Well, you never know what they serve at that school of yours." Mr. Granger chimed in.

"Oh." Hermione traced figure eights on the table with her finger.

"The orange juice is in the refrigerator. I guess I'm used to setting for two now." That's it. They've gotten used to life without me. … And I've gotten used to it without them…