An explosion of sound greeted Hermione's ears. After having spent several days in Hong Kong, she was already getting used to the continuous hustle and bustle of the raving city, but this… this brought the phrase 'assault on the senses' to a new level. The sounds, smells, colors that surrounded and formed the street lines with vendors selling dubious trinkets and questionable snacks, stores selling anything Hermione could imagine, and a little more. The incessant laughter, shouting, screaming, chatting, and the medley of languages that sprang from human and forked tongues alike. The soft rumble of people's feet beating down upon the pavement. There were bright bursts of color, contrasting to the dull gray-brown of the buildings lining the street. Red, orange, fluorescent greens and electric blues screamed from the windows, advertising brooms, Chinese cuisine, pets, books, clothing and various animal body parts.

Hermione stood there for a second, her mouth hanging slightly slack, feeling like she had stepped into a new dimension, where the entire wizarding world had been compressed into that one street. The vividness and stark contrast was incredible. She stepped into the street, and was instantly pushed and pulled in thirty different directions at once, and she began to feel slightly claustrophobic. She tried to make her way to a nearby bookstore, gently saying 'excuse me… sorry… can I get by here… sorry sir…' before realizing her tactics weren't working.

When in Rome, do as the Romans.

Taking a determined breath, she pushed and shoved, elbowing people and barging her way through the crowd. She heard the odd "Ow!" and "Hey!" that followed her progress, and she felt that perhaps she took that little phrase a bit too far, but the heck with it.

She stepped out of the blaring sunlight, and into the cool and muffled quiet of the bookstore, trying to take in her surroundings; she took another deep breath, only to end it in a fit of coughing. There was more dust in the air than in the forgotten storerooms of Hogwarts. Her eyes began to water at the difficulty of breathing, and she looked outside, unwilling to compete with the rest of the crowd to get to a different store. Spotting someone obscured by the smog, she made her way over, hoping that the figure spoke English, and knew Hong Kong better than she did.

Getting closer, it turned out to be a young woman. Her brunette hair seemed a bit mousy, but perhaps it was the air. Her eyes were alert, and she looked too foreign to really be of much help, but Hermione gave it a chance anyway.

"Excuse me? Ma'am? Um. I was just wondering…"

"How I breathe in here? I use the bubblehead charm. Do you know how to cast one?"

Laughing nervously, Hermione said yes, but she wasn't sure of the legal age to use magic in Hong Kong.

"Oh, no worries. It's sixteen. You know, it's really quite ridiculous. In Mainland China? There is no limit. They're all barbarians out there."

Relieved, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast the bubblehead charm on herself, giving a clearer, but slightly warped view of the shop she was standing in. She said 'thank you' and heard the syllables reverberate in her personal atmosphere. Grateful for the cleaner air, Hermione began to wander around the store, looking at the books on the shelves. As she browsed the titles, she pulled down the occasional book that looked mildly interesting, only to put it back again. She became immersed in the search for new information, and wiled away the hours, peering through the grimy air into the dusty tomes and volumes that packed the shelves. Eventually, she had worked her way to the very back of the store, and was looking through the last few bookcases, having missed out an entire section, marked, she thought, slightly humored, with bright red 'magic' marker:

/TOUCH/OPEN AT OWN RISK.

It came as a slight shock that she had reached the back to the store, and looked abruptly to her watch.

"Shit." She muttered. It was already 8:30. She had been in the shop for a good four hours. Sighing to herself, she thought, the heck it was the last bookcase, and who's missing me anyway?

It turned out that this was one of the most interesting selections of books Hermione had ever seen. They ranged from The Fusion of Science and Magic to one of the most sought after editions of Arithmantica Principia, an ancient work on advanced Arithmancy. However, the thick tome that caught her attention was a black bound leather volume, covered in a layer of dust. She pulled it out, and was at once entranced. The cover of the book seemed to be boiling on the surface, swirling in the subtlest manner. The sliver lettering on both the spine and cover had been worn away, but when she opened to the first page, the black ink against creamy parchment stood stark and bold.

The Memoirs of Shi Wu Lian

Hermione gasped. Shi Wu Lian was a notorious wizard, who had ruled magical Asia hundreds of years ago. They had touched briefly upon him in History of Magic, discussing the ways in which he had developed the method and style of magic used in many parts of rural Asia. Hermione's mind was in shock for several seconds, before doubt streaked through her mind.

It's in English.

Shi Wu Lian was Chinese. He lived in a period of time before China had been touched by Europe. If this was hi Memoir, it would be written in ancient Mandarin. But this book was in English. How could it be? She flicked through the book, and indeed, the entire volume was written in English. Reaching the back cover, she found several smaller loose sheets of paper, which had been tucked into the spine of the book. These too were in English. She read through them.

This discovery is spectacular. The book consumes me. Wu Lian's methods and ideas are remarkable, and so unique. It's strange, however. I study the book, and translate. I hope to pass on this incredible new knowledge on. But as I translate, I become more and more absorbed in the text. I find myself wondering about what else the book holds, at the most inappropriate moments. The other day, when I was with my mistress, I suddenly wondered: How is it that he discovered

The text ended. So this was a translation. But it was Shi Wu Lian's work nonetheless. Who could have translated it? And how did they come across such a valuable treasure? She shuffled through the other loose sheets, obviously notes taken by the man that translated the ancient texts, reading small excerpts from each.

The days pass, and I find it harder to approach daylight, and the scent of fresh blood excites me, and it's magical properties call to me. My mistress is worried, but I have not felt better in my life.

The translated book is my greatest treasure.

Hermione could feel that her breath had sped up. This book held hundreds upon thousands of secrets, never before seen, of the ways of an ancient wizard. And it was for sale in this tiny store. She stuffed the loose pages back into the back of the book, and flipped it over looking for a price. She didn't notice a sheet drift free and land on the floor, covered in tiny script. There in the corner of the back-cover was a little golden number, obviously placed there by magic. It read $275 HKD*. Her eyes bright, she hefted the book under her arm, and moved back to the front of the store.

"Could I get this one?"

"Wow. I didn't realize you were still in the store! I was actually just preparing to close up. Here, you want a bag?"

As Hermione rummaged through her bag for the money, the lady placed the book in a brown paper bag.

Handing over the exact amount stated on the book, Hermione took the bag, thanked the shopkeeper, and left the store. Outside, the sky was dark, as night descended, and Hermione hurried to find a cab to take her back to the Sussman's home.

Back in the bookstore, Kate, the shopkeeper, was cleaning up, picking up various pieces of trash left by the few customers that day. At the back of the store, a small piece of paper was lying on the floor, and she crumpled it up without a glance, and tossed it into the trashcan. After picking up the rubbish, Kate went and dusted and swept the shelves, not that it mad much difference, before locking the cash register and locking the front door of the shop, so that she could go home.

The small piece of parchment covered in tiny script, lying crumpled in the trash, read:

Please. Whoever may read this. I am the manservant of Sir Charles Boncoeur. He is the man who converted this terrifying knowledge into the English language. I am writing this, as a warning, to whoever may be unfortunate enough to find his translation. This knowledge, upon being incorporated into a human's brain, will warp and change their behavior, as has happened to my dear master. After having read the texts, he became someone different. He was ruled by recklessness, taking chances, before descending into further madness, convinced that he must purge the earth of those that do it harm, and concocting plans of enormous violence, murder, and war. In short, he lost his mind. He was no longer who he used to be, the text changed him, and eventually caused him to murder his wife and mistress, ending in the conviction of murder on two counts, and earning him the death sentence. He was hanged. This parchment may never reach the book in which the translation lies. The original was destroyed, thank the Lord, but I have only been able to slip this into the notes my master wrote, hoping that he would place them with his precious, precious translation. Should you, dear reader, find this book, and read what I have written, I tell you, with greatest caution, whether you be peasant, king, slave or great ruler, burn the book and it's notes. For your mind's, and the world's sake.


Hermione was entranced. She had read the first chapter of the translated book, and it had explained to her how to connect slightly with the world around her, and the magic present in all the various objects and beings. She stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed. Thinking through the instructions, she cleared her mind, and tried to reach out.

I wonder what it'd feel like, when I connect with the magic.

Nothing.

Frustrated, Hermione opened her eyes again, and realized how warm it had gotten in her room. She went and propped open the window, before trying again.

This time, a few seconds after she closed her eyes, a gentle, moist breeze blew through the open window, playing on her face. At that moment, she felt a small tingle in her fingertips that started to move upwards along her arms. The light tingling moved onto her face, leaving her rest of her body, and settled on her eyelids. She felt cautious and wary, all of a sudden, and a little voice in the back of her head warned of danger. She quashed it, and opened her eyes.

The world exploded.

Hermione's senses were assaulted, the sudden acute awareness attacked her skin, she could feel the individual fibers in her shirt pressing against her skin. The dim light filtering through the night seemed bright as day. She could smell the perfume Cori was using in the next room, along with her own sweat. Sweetness lingered on the tip of her tongue, from the apple she had just eaten. The pounding of her heart sounded like a bass drum pressed against her ear, and it was counterpoint with the shrieking whisper of Cori on her mobile phone.

Suddenly, these extremes died, and everything returned to normal. Shocked, and more than a bit scared, Hermione shakily walked over to the mirror, recalling from the book, that the magic may change the user, upon contact. She looked normal, though, perhaps, were her dark brown eyes just a shade lighter around the pupil? Maybe.

She looked at the clock on her desk. It was just verging on eleven, and Cori was preparing to leave and go party for the night. An idea entered Hermione's head, through her minds backdoor, and pranced around her head, screaming "Look at me! Look at me!"

She looked at it.

"Let's go party!"

Hermione went to find Cori.

A frantic phone call and twenty minutes later, Hermione was standing outside the house, along with Cori and her friend, Dawn. Dressed in a tiny dress that came about a third of the way up her thigh and in killer stilettos, Hermione was feeling more out of place than ever. And she was cold, with a strong breeze threatening to lift what little material covered her dignity. Before leaving the house, Hermione had asked if she could bring a light jacket, or even a scarf, to keep warm, but Cori had severely admonished her for even thinking about it. "What are you going to do with it, once we start dancing? More likely than not, you'll forget it!" Hermione was starting to think that going out that night was a very, very bad idea, but for some reason, she just kept assuring herself that everything would be OK. The taxi arrived, and they got in, Dawn sitting in front. This arrangement made it easier for Cori to 'debrief', as she called it, Hermione on proper clubbing etiquette.

"You are not to leave us with someone you just met."

"Why would…"

"When we get home, you have to act at least pretty sober, and try not to say anything. Let me do the talking, if there is any to be done."

"But I'm not…"

"Quiet. You can put dibs on someone, but if he's interested in someone else, you can't hold it to them."

"I'm not going to…"

"Try not to get it on with someone more than six years your senior. Anything above thirty, especially if he looks it, is a no-go."

"What? Above thirty? But…"

"And last but not least, no giving numbers or personal details unless we all consent. Your last name is now… Kent. You can use a different first name, if you like. Your's is a bit hard for people to hear over music."

"Uhh… What? Why are you using an alias? What's the legal drinking age in Hong Kong? What should I say my name is?"

These questions, Dawn answered. "Drinking age is 18, you look like a… Rachel. But you could always just use Mia, I guess. We use alternative last names, because last time when we gave someone our real ones, he turned out to be a stalker."

Hermione looked at her, wide-eyed. Before turning suddenly to get out of the cab.

They had arrived.

The three girls climbed out of the taxi, emerging on the bottom of a steep, upward sloping road, lined on either side with bars, clubs, buildings that had different parties going on in each floor. People spilled out of the establishments, only to be swiftly replaced by the human tide, pressing in from all sides. To Hermione, it seemed that a good quarter of Hong Kong's population had shown up that night. Money and alcohol flowed freely, and the crowd reveled in its quick distribution.

"And this, my dear Hermione," Cori said with a flourish, "is the great and wonderful land, of Lan Kwai Fong."

*HKD: Hong Kong Dollars