Four Months
Hermione doesn't deal well with helplessness.
She's a Gryffindor. She's a doer – even when all she does is research, she's supposed to be in control and active. She's the brightest witch of her generation. She's the one with the answers, not the one left floundering and not even expected to – or helped to – learn. She's the survivor of a civil war she was a key player in. She's one of Harry Potter's best friends. The things she's done and seen – the things she can do – the things she knows – these people have no idea!
Yet here, she's at the mercy of a war-ridden world that inevitably looks down on civilians, of a strict society that has no place for an independent, smart, opinionated woman like her, and of an alien who's the only one who can take them home (without a library nor other wizards' help, she has no hope of figuring out a passage through time and dimensions herself) and who isn't there and might never be.
She's not suited to idle pursuits and she considers resignation just a word starting with r; but she's starting to feel chocked by the lack of appealing options in her current life.
She's beyond tired of dealing with idiots who can barely bring themselves to acknowledge her existence, let alone her brilliance. The only males she can stand, these days, are Harry and Ron and she has to be careful in what she says around them: she doesn't want to burden them with her unhappiness. They aren't in any way responsible for this situation.
(Oh, when she gets her hands on that alien...! She has a list of hexes ready, and it keeps growing.)
Her two friends can't spend all of their time with her, in any case – especially Harry, who's busy with Fortuna; but even Ron has found his leather-work to throw himself into, not to mention a whole circle of friends, and he's less and less around.
She's left with the servants and cleaning staff, who don't know what to make of her (she makes no sense to them, she knows), ground crews and surgeons too busy to pay attention to a civilian woman and those aviators who are grounded for whatever reason: a bunch of irritating fools, the lot of them.
If she says something intelligent, they think she's "trying to look smart" and either get annoyed or mock her for it; the more condescending bastards take it as a sign of interest on her part, which is even worse. If she makes a mistake or admits confusion over something, they dismiss her laughingly as a "dumb blonde". Never mind that she's brown-haired.
Nobody seems to expect her to do much of anything; some of the men are actually surprised she's not happy of receiving their attentions, for surely she must be in want of a husband?
Her attempts at finding a job have tapered off quickly, because she's realized she's just confusing everybody. She can see the uncertainty in many a servant's eyes – is she a gentlewoman or not?
She dresses like the lower classes, but she talks like a lady; she's well-educated – better versed in most fields than men who've gone to university, the local parson discovers with surprise – and she's quite obviously never worked a day in her life, her white hands prove as much, nor is she an aviator: yet she talks of earning her living and doesn't shy from any task, not like a gentlewoman would; she's used to the finer things in life, she can't help the quickly hidden disgust or disappointment at some of the living conditions considered normal here, yet she has no protector, be it guardian or husband – nor is she looking for one – and does clearly not expect any overt sign of respect from the servants.
So who is she?
She doesn't belong here – that's the only truth.
She makes an effort to adapt to the expectations of the times, but it's tough for her to be so stifled.
"We shouldn't be here! We do not belong!" she complains to Harry and Ron, unable to just keep silent as she'd promised herself she would. "If only we could at least go to London..."
"You're right," soothes Harry, and "I'm sorry." But there is an awkwardness in him that she can easily interpret – she knows him well: he fears that leaving this eclosed society would mean leaving Fortuna behind and he's not prepared to do so.
Hermione has accepted this already. She's working on the problem in the back of her mind, trying to find a solution; sooner or later she'll come up with something.
It's Ron that worries her.
Her boyfriend doesn't say anything, but he is working hard to be recognized as a Leather Master and she's happy for him, in a way, or she tries to be, but she can't help fearing that he's settling, in this world where they don't belong. Or at least, she doesn't.
She still wishes to leave and go back to the very world she kept finding fault with, but now misses too terribly to even put into words. Wizarding society is getting shaded in all sorts of golden hues in her memory, even the worst of it gaining from the distance until it's not so bad – kind of good, really – definitely the best place for her.
Oh, how she misses her England.
She misses magic, too, because no matter what Ron says, she doesn't think it smart to risk exposure by using it for everyday tasks. She keeps her wand close at all times, and sometimes strokes it through the fabric hiding it for reassurance, but actual casting is something she's decided to keep for emergencies only.
She definitely misses having a clear goal to work for – be it graduation, Voldemort's defeat, the defence of Muggleborns' rights or the bettering of House-elves' working conditions, she's always had things to fight for, literally or not; important things, meaningful things.
She misses that sense of purpose.
At least the fashion is not as restrictive as she'd feared at first.
The sensible wool dresses are as easy to move in as robes and no one is particularly scandalized or even surprised if she sometimes prefers trousers: many a woman in the Corps feels the same – most only wear gowns when a big social occasion forces them to.
She realizes quickly that it is only among aviators that she can have these little freedoms, however: the rest of the world would still find it unthinkable to see a woman in anything but skirts and the female aviators themselves are a somewhat embarrassing secret of the Corps.
It's a right shame; but she would feel more empathy for these women's predicament if they didn't look down on her so much, for no better reason than that she knows nothing of aerial manoeuvres and battle strategies and whatnot. Not that anyone takes the time to educate her.
Leading the fight for Women Lib a few centuries in advance is not on her agenda, in any case. Much as it irritates her, she can tell this society is not ready. She's also confident that it will happen here sooner than in her own world – the female aviators will see to it, she reckons. In the meanwhile, considering how far in the future gender equality is, Hermione will take what she gets gratefully.
There is a cause that needs championing, however.
She comes to it in a roundabout way, because the most time she can have with Harry (and Fortuna) these days is in the evenings; sometimes Ron joins them too and they spend an hour or so out with the dragons, sitting companionably together and chatting about anything and everything that comes to mind.
In her many efforts to find something to do, that will keep her mind from moulding, she's explored the region as far as she can without risking a night in the woods; she's compiled a list of all possible instances of magic in this world (but it seems, to her secret disappointment, that the wizarding world truly doesn't exist here); she's tried studying the period with a historian's eye (but it's not as satisfying as it would be if she didn't fear being trapped here forever). She's managed to read Harry's books on dragons, too, even if he rather hoards them (to her delighted amusement: imagine that, Harry voluntarily, even enthusiastically, studying! The last time it happened, it was for the Triwizard Tournament – and come to think of it, there was a dragon involved then, too.)
It's the dragons' interest in their nightly discussions and the intelligent comments they interject quite often that intrigue her the most, however.
She's been living in a world with dragons for months now, but it has taken her this long to get truly interested in them, because on the surface, dragons in this world are very similar to those she is familiar with... except for the rather huge difference in intelligence levels.
It's not just that they can all speak, although that, in itself, is rather fascinating.
Harry confesses he had for one moment thought it might be parseltongue, before remembering that he'd lost that ability during the Final Battle; but then he'd seen that everybody was interacting with the dragons, and that it didn't just sound like English: it was English. He is unashamedly relieved and intrigued by this. Ron doesn't quite laugh at him for it, but it looks like he'd want to. Eventually they all agree that it is incredible and leave it at that; Hermione turns it all over and over in her mind, however.
Fortuna speaks English fluently and with good grammar, but nevertheless seems stuck on the reasoning of a small child, at least at first – which isn't altogether unexpected of course: she is a hatchling, even if she's growing fast.
The other dragons are rather like people in that some can discuss mathematical theorems and compose poetry, while others seem barely able to string a few words together; but they are undeniably intelligent.
She knows this, right from the start, she spends countless evenings chatting with her favourite dragon friends, but it takes her long weeks – months, even – before she puts together the clues that are staring her in the face.
How Fortuna is always eager to take part in their discussions and so are most other dragons; how they also positively love it when she reads anything aloud to them... Hermione sometimes gets the impression that they're rather bored, especially in the evenings, and that they welcome the intellectual stimulation of such conversations.
She is surprised, and then she's ashamed at her surprise.
That is what starts her on the path of a quiet but thorough revolution.
Dragons are intelligent.
Dragons are uneducated. Underestimated. And unrepresented in the government.
That, Hermione decides, is unacceptable.