Disclaimer: meh yeah, I am neither Joss Whedon nor J.K. Rowling, I own nothin'. And the plot is borrowed, but I'll pay pseudo-royalties or something. As always, enjoy and review-on…
The night was overcast, but otherwise quiet and still. She crouched alone behind what appeared to be a large headstone, and upon inspecting her surroundings, was correct in this notion. She was in a cemetery. This struck her as oddly foreboding; the last time her friend was in a cemetery under such circumstances he was nearly killed by Lord Voldemort. She began to wonder what he could possibly want with her, why he brought her here, when she heard a gravely, muffled noise.
Her breath hushed, as she reached inside her robe for her wand, preparing to fight, pointing it in the direction of the noise. But…wait…this wasn't her wand! This wasn't a wand at all, but a fairly large, sharp, jagged piece of wood.
Slowly, and with stealth, the girl poked her head around the headstone, though she wasn't at all sure what she expected to see, or why she was taking such precautions. Not that it mattered much. She gasped loudly at what she saw, surely giving away her hiding place. In an instant she covered her mouth, and staggered backward. There was a hand reaching out of the grave.
Her mind reeled. "What was that? A ghost? No, it was far too substantial..." she debated with herself. She couldn't help drawing a connection between this pale, dead hand and those of the Dementors'. "But, why on earth would they be buried?" As she pondered this, she ran to the edge of the graveyard and hid behind a massive Yew tree, catching her breath. She peeked around the trunk, and saw to her horror, not a hand, but an entire man. A very dead man, who had begun to make his way toward her. There was no escape. This was the end. She clutched her bizarre wand, and then it dawned on her.
This was a vampire…and she was holding a stake. As if a phoenix was singing nearby, as if a switch had been turned on inside of her, she instantly had the sensation of confidence, strength, and power. It felt like a beam of warm light had entered her, and was now coursing through her veins. She knew, by some instinct, exactly what to do as she leapt from her hiding spot to meet this vampire head-on. With an agility and athleticism she never was aware of, she kicked and punched the vampire repeatedly, combining the skill of a black-belt martial artist with the grace of an ice dancer. In a matter of minutes, she was kneeling on the vampires chest, just about to drive the stake into its heart, when…
Hermione Granger woke up.
Sitting up, the teenaged girl turned on the light next to her bed. Head spinning, fingers tingling, she brushed sweat-drenched bangs out of her face. Although Hermione was certainly not one to place a lot of significance on dream analysis or any other method of fortune telling, she couldn't help feeling…different somehow. Unable to place her finger on it, she pushed the covers of her bed aside, in the process dislodging an ensconced Crookshanks. The large, fluffy, ginger cat looked at her with indignation, but repressed a hiss, and instead stalked into the hallway.
Hermione walked over to a small vanity in the corner of her room, decorated with pictures of her best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, an old fling and pen pal, named Viktor Krum, and other assorted moving photographs from her six years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, all waving back at her, grinning. "Well, I look no different" she said to herself in a near-whisper, upon seeing her reflection, and, indeed, she didn't. Her chestnut brown, bushy hair, though a bit tousled, was unchanged. Her coffee-colored eyes, stricken though they were with confusion and drowsiness, otherwise remained unaltered. As she touched her face, mirror-Hermione did the same. Yet there was still something.
Only eight days had passed since she and the others were sent home prematurely from school on the Hogwarts Express following the murder and funeral of their headmaster, Professor Dumbledore. Could this possibly be the cause of her nightmare? Was it even a nightmare? She felt so…empowered, and despite her unwillingness to admit it, the feeling lingered. That was it. That was how she felt different. She still felt like dream-Hermione, in regard to strength, skill, and intuition.
Naturally she had studied vampires in her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, and in her third year had written a lengthy essay for Professor Lupin about them. Words she herself had written four years prior flitted about her memory, coming in and out of focus. Words like "hematophagous", "heliophobic", and "slayer".
"Slayer? Why'd that be in my essay?" Hermione asked herself out loud. Now moved with curiosity, she knelt down and opened a large leather trunk at the foot of her bed that contained her old schoolwork. Rummaging about, she eventually extracted the aforementioned essay (which received top marks), and began scanning it eagerly for any mention of a "slayer". And there it was, nothing more than a sentence in a paragraph about methods to protect oneself against a vampire:
However, despite these fairly effective magical defenses, the most potent rival that a vampire has is known as the "vampire slayer", a preternaturally gifted young woman chosen to kill vampires, whose role is replaced upon death by another girl.
This only managed to increase her interest. Making her way to a tall, well-stocked bookshelf, she plucked off a few volumes that would be of use, including Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart and BOOK.
Hermione decided that she'd discuss the matter with Ron and Harry, anyway, and therefore placed these books in her nearly packed suitcase of robes, other clothing, quills, parchment, and spell-books. This was all in preparation for her journey to the Weasley's home, the Burrow, and then Harry's house. And where she went from there? If Hogwarts even reopened after Dumbledore's tragic death, it was unlikely that she would attend her final year. Rather, she would join Harry and Ron in a dangerous quest to find and destroy Lord Voldemort's remaining horcruxes, leading eventually to Voldemort himself. Of course, her parents' would be unaware of this, thinking her safe at school.
In fact, the only thing missing from Hermione's luggage was her wand, and there was a good explanation for this. Hermione, and most witches and wizards for that matter, had taken to keeping their wands with them at all times, due to the return of Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters.
She hadn't put Crookshanks in his travel basket, either, and did not plan on attempting to until absolutely necessary. The Weasleys were picking her up the following day…or rather, that day, as it was nearly 3 AM. Resigning herself to the hour, Hermione crawled into bed; mind still spinning about slayers. "Oh, this is ridiculous, I'll tell them about it later!" she whispered exasperatedly to herself. And with that, she switched off the light, checked for her wand, and submitted to a dreamless sleep.
AN: Alrighty, I hope you like! Chapter 2 should appear soon, methinks. Who knows…oh! Please comment, make suggestions, and the like, 'cause I love love love anything review-related!