Summary: Hermione is hit with an unknown spell by a Death Eater, sending her into a coma. While friends try to bring her back, she is living another's life during the Triwizard Tournament of 1944. Slight HGTR.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling and I am making no profit from this story.
PrologueIt was a windy fall day, abnormally hot for late October—a comfortable 18 degrees with patches of sunlight warming the surface to 20 degrees at times. Hermione lay sprawled in the last patch of green grass in her parents' backyard. She could hear her neighbors' children yelling and giggling. Wind currents would arise every few minutes and the trees would shake, their leaves occasionally drifting down to Hermione, brushing across her face and bare arms. Greens and yellows collided in a wild brushstroke across the blue sky. To Hermione, this was like heaven.
But a small itch at the back of her mind, the same one that flared every so often since last June, disrupted her cheerful disposition.
"Hermione! 'Lo? Hermi-oh-kneeee? Could you, um, give me our Frisbee? Sorry about that. Roger here isn't much of a catcher," said Timmy, Hermione's twelve year-old neighbor for six years
"Hey--!" But Roger's protest was silenced with a buff on the shoulder by Timmy. She smiled and dismissed the last heavy thought on her mind. Timmy always amused Hermione and looked the part of an angel with light blonde hair and green eyes. She could never say no to any of the favors her asked of her. She had even come over to his house at two o'clock in the morning one night to remove a pesky little lizard that crawled into his room.
"Here," she said, throwing the blue disc back to the boys. Timmy smiled, proudly displaying his gapped front teeth. Hermione's parents always suggested different orthodontists around town that would be glad to fix the problem.
Hermione stood and brushed the remnants of dirt and dead leaves from her hair and clothes, and she ventured back into her house. Her previous dwellings returned full force from the periphery of her mind.
"Enough of this," she said in her typical, matter-of-fact tone. It was not so much anger, but weariness that her ruminations brought.
Hermione stepped into her lime-colored room, making for her grandmother's mirror, which overlooked most of the area. An errant leaf was still clinging to one of her equally errant curls. Grinning, she plucked it out and held it in the palm of her hand. She closed her fist and then opened it. The leaf looked healthy again, bright green with tender veins cross-crossing the surface. Hermione placed it in the middle of her dresser and picked up a small, earthenware bowl that she created the day before at the local pottery shop. Runes circled the rim.
"Are you a Wiccan?" a petite helper at the shop asked when she spotted Hermione slowly carving the delicate figures into the clay.
"Archaeology student," Hermione lied, not taking her eyes off of her work. Hermione could still she the young woman's platinum blonde hair with a few streaks of bubblegum pink.
Very much like Tonks, Hermione thought, blunt as hell and bad hair.
"That's cool. I wanted to be a Wiccan when I was younger. Too bad my mum is really uptight and super Catholic. I would've done it, but she was really pissed at me for dyeing my hair purple, and said that was the last strike or I'd be off the some crap boarding school in Belgium. How dreadful, you know? Boarding school sounds wicked boring," the girl rambled.
"It's not that bad, actually," Hermione replied, pausing in the middle of her Ansuz to give the lady a pointed look.
"Oh," she said, a blush creeping into her cheeks, "well, if you need any help, just ask me." She pointed at her black, plastic name badge. "SHERRI" was emblazoned across the front.
"Alright," Hermione replied, already back to work while Sherri made a hasty exit to help another customer.
Hermione now inspected the bowl, making sure all of the runes were placed correctly and stayed clear through the firing process. Seeing no error, she placed it back on the dresser. Taking a deep breath to steady herself and closing her eyes, she took her wand out of her pocked and placed it at her temple. She began to first recall the Battle of Ottery St. Catchpole, where Voldemort made his last stand. The events steadily unfolded in her mind, and a silver mist began to take shape at the tip of her wand.
A/N-
Just a drabble that popped into my head one day. I don't expect it to be very long, but I should be able to finish it over the winter holidays. Reviews gladly taken, especially since I'm not much of a fanfiction writer. (Sorry about my passive voice usage—Latin has corrupted my grammar and syntax.)