Be Careful on Moonlit Nights

Hermione Granger sighed, she was ruinously boring. She truly, fully was. Today was her twenty fifth birthday and now at the end of her day as a school teacher in Our Holy Mary of Sorrows middle school she was going to head home to her rescue cat Crooks and a pint of Hagan Daz coffee ice-cream.

It was her own damn fault she thought bitterly, she had had her head stuck in books since she was old enough to read. She watched as her student's filed out, all girls of-course. What could OHMS be other than a convent with a name like that.

Best they never find out her side hobby then, she giggled to herself. She won't just be kicked out of school, she'd be burned on a stake in front of the nuns. Not that magic existed... but she was allowed to believe whatever she wanted.

All she wanted to do right now was curl up with a good romance novel. Yes. She admitted it. She was a romance addict. It went with all her other weird, matron tropes. She loved cats, was vegetarian, got bullied when she was in sixth form and loved her crystals and sage. A good historical romance, with a nicely brewed cup of chamomile tea was her idea of an exciting night in.

After all being the music teacher cum librarian of a swanky private school in the heart of London had it perks but certainly wasn't what one would call a 'glamorous' job.

But Hermione Granger; bookworm, studious, violin prodigy who had to quit playing large crowds because of debilitating social anxiety and overall average human being was certainly not glamorous. She was if anything slightly shy.

But she was doing something adventurous over this weekend, she thought as the last of the children filed out of her classroom and she began to tug her pink knitted bobbled hat down over her wildly curly hair and put on her poofy white jacket.

She had decided to treat herself to a weekend getaway to Wiltsire, to see the Stonehenge. She refused to feel guilty about the tiny twinge of excitement she felt knowing she had booked her Air B&B for two nights, corresponding to the full-moon that month.

So, sue her, she wanted to enjoy what could only be described as a magical place during a magical night once in her very non-magical life. She wasn't expecting a Diane Gabaldon Outlander moment but certainly a fairy circle or two wouldn't be remiss.

She had shared her plans with her two best girlfriends, they had met online through a forum on incense of all places and then formed a sort of book club.

Ginny and Luna were super excited for her since it was often at their urging that's she tried something new.

Ginny a gorgeous red-headed journalist worked for the BBC and Luna the third of their strange little tripod was an artist, some would call her a free-spirit... a patchouli scented hug in hand knit sweaters is how Hermione would describe Luna.

All three had just clicked, like old friends and now they met weekly for 'bookclub' which was code for high-tea, snacks and girl time since no one other than Hermione actually read the books, if they ever remembered to assign any for the week.

Hermione had always been the responsible one, when her mum was sick, she had moved home from uni in Cambridge to look after her and her one semi-serious relationship in university had ended before it could even begin when she had caught Oliver with her roommate and at that time friend Lavender.

She hadn't raved or ranted or thrown him out of her life like she should've, in fact she still sent him Christmas cards! Something Ginny called a pussy move but she just called being courteous.

It had hurt, sure but Hermione had always felt a little bit like an odd duck. Like this wasn't where she belonged, teaching little girls how to play 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' in a convent school that would destroy her if they found out how much she liked the occasional pot brownie of Luna's or how she carried rose quartz and selenite in her pocket.

But feeling out of place wasn't new for her maybe that's why she was so drawn to witchcraft and romance novels.

She considered herself a green witch or her definition of green witch anyway... she worshipped Hestia and Persephone, cultivated herbs from the more common sage and rosemary to rarer passionflowers and valerians, she foraged for mushrooms and was known among her friend circle for her wonderful skin-care tinctures.

If there was one thing she had done after getting an adult job and her own place was make it as homely and comfortable as possible, slowly going full witch on both the decor and the ambience.

Her small but neat two-bedroom cottage was an hour-long train ride outside London but school let out earlier than most office jobs so she always got home in good time.

Covered in lush plants and flowers, her home was like an oasis of green, living things. Her cat, old as he was... bless him, played like a little ginger tiger within the foliage. She had created a haven for herself.

She always felt a great sense of peace whenever she returned home and often lost herself within the pages of a book almost as soon as she sat down and put her feet up, hidden from prying eyes in her very own hidden island.

But today was Friday and normally she'd be heading home but she was taking the train down to Wiltsire this weekend.

She began to rush towards the tube, knowing it would take her at least half an hour before she could get to Kings Cross. She had carried her little wheelie suitcase with her to school and could feel her excitement rising.

Maybe she was a nerd but she was buzzing to see the Stonehenge, a living piece of history was really nothing to be scoffed at. And she was fascinated by the history of druids England and wondered what it would have been like to be alive at that time in history; before the Dark Ages when knowledge became a thing the church used to gain superiority and reign with absolute terror instead of something to be celebrated like the ancient druids did.

Or maybe whispered that tiny voice inside her head... something magical is going to happen. She shook her head bemused, it was highly unlikely that if there were to be an Outlander moment that it would be happening to her. Slowly humming on her way, she barely noticed the storm that had blown over London had certainly left the air charged with all sorts of... possibilities.

...

Story inspired by- Julie Garwood, the song Flowers of Glasgow by Peakfiddler on YouTube, my love of romance novels, history and magic. Chapters that follow will be much longer, however I needed to have this out before the plot ate at the inside of my head and prevented me from sleeping. Yes I know that she's visiting the Stonehenge in Wiltsire but Draco is described as a Highlander... all shall be explained next chapter ;)