125 kilometres north-east of London was the small town of Wickham Market. An uneventful little country town surrounded by fields and small woods. A lovely place, where, in one of the small houses at the end of Meadowside road lived a family known as the Grangers. A small family consisting of a father. Jean Granger, a mother Monica Granger and their daughter Hermione Granger. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were proudly practicing dentists and for them and their daughter, all was well in the best of worlds. The only thing Mr and Mrs Granger could complain about was their daughter. Not that she was disrespectful, rude, stupid or ugly, far from it! Hermione had always been bright for her age. Ever since kindergarten she had been praised by all her teachers. "Oh, how polite your daughter is." "How good her manners are. " "So young and she can already read such well-developed literature!" "You have to be so proud of her."

No. Strange as it may seem, Mr and Mrs Granger were not proud of their daughter. If they could hide her from the world they would. Hermione underneath her bright and sensitive little girl exterior hid a much darker side that her teachers and other parents had fortunately not yet noticed. Only the other children and Mr. and Mrs. Granger seemed to realize their daughter's true face.

Hermione, for lack of a better word, was a strange, unsettling girl. Many times Mr. Granger had caught his daughter talking alone in her room, long, complex discussions with one or more invisible, silent interlocutors. When she would walk by in the street and the neighbour's dog would start barking at her, one dark look from his daughter and the mutt would run away whimpering. Mrs Granger was not to be outdone. Many times she had seen Hermione staring at a point in the room where she was standing, motionless, as if she was watching something that only she could see. And the other children noticed it too, if Hermione's total social isolation was any indicator. All the other children avoided her like the plague, or harassed her. As much as Mrs. Granger and Mr. Granger should want their daughter to be happy and socially integrated, more and more they found it difficult to care about her. Hermione was becoming a disturbing stranger under their roof. Mostly silent and taciturn, spending her time reading or wandering in the garden or in the fields and woods around the town for who knows what reason.

Day after day Mr. and Mrs. Granger accepted the praise for their daughter, with a false smile stretched across their faces, and only one question lingering in their heads. Was Hermione even their daughter? Neither John nor Monica had been as smart as her at her age. Nor as socially reclusive, nor as strange.

Things continued to get worse, until, when Hermione was seven, things got out of control. Their daughter was a monster, a supernatural entity, something 'other' that had no business being under their roof. Hermione's physical appearance, the only thing bringing her closer to her parents, marking her as their daughter and not a complete stranger, was the last thing stopping them from doing...

After her seventh birthday Hermione's strangeness began to have an effect on the physical objects around her. One night Jean Granger entered his daughter's room and saw her surrounded by several books floating in the air around her. Hermione looked at him, her eyes cold with disinterest before returning to her reading. John had then closed the door before fleeing downstairs in indescribable fear. This kind of occurrence multiplied in the following years, his daughter, this creature, ever more intelligent, doing more and more unimaginable actions that went against the order of the universe. He had to do something. Anything, but something. He saw how the birds could suddenly start attacking the children who were bothering Her... the creature. How animals either feared it or obeyed it. How objects seemed to bend to its will.

Mr. Granger and Mrs. Granger were distraught, they had spawned a monster. A creature that ignored all the laws of physics. Something that once matured would have no problem breaking all moral laws by wielding far too much power. Mr and Mrs Granger were afraid. And out of that fear came resentment. They would have to do something, he would do something. A few months before Hermione's tenth birthday, as their daughter once again demonstrated the evil's hold over her by staring at a wall for over an hour, Mr. and Mrs. Granger sat down at the kitchen table after making sure that the creature who had taken on the guise of an innocent girl to hide its dark purpose was sleeping peacefully upstairs, they planned.

oOOOo

From her point of view Hermione was quite happy. Yes her Parents were very strange and didn't seem to like her very much for whatever absurd reason. And the other kids at school were a bunch of stupid, ignorant bullies who only took pleasure in trying to torment her in various ways. The key word in that sentence was trying. For no child in the school had ever succeeded in doing her any harm without facing the consequences of their actions. Were his books stolen? They would turn up in her bag within half an hour, and someone in her class would find nothing but ash in his bags. When someone tried to hit her, the attacker would stumble or miss miserably. In short, nothing serious had ever happened to her, and the fact that the other children persisted in trying to attack her made her wonder about their sanity. Were they all masochists? It was a term she had read in a book she had found under a shelf in the library, covered in dust. It featured ladies in tight-fitting outfits strapped with police paraphernalia, handcuffs and torture devices... Funny book, probably a book on female criminology and interrogation methods. Apparently the great enemy of interrogators was masochistic women, who liked what was done to them and therefore never confessed. Years later she would blush at the memory, having realised what kind of book it was, but when she had found it, at the age of 6, criminology seemed to her the rational explanation for it. After reading it she took it to the librarian, Mrs. Louisa, who inexplicably blushed and explained to Hermione's innocent and curious eyes that it was a book for grown-ups... Whatever that means. Grown-ups could sometimes be as stupid as small ones. Take her parents, for example.

Hermione had a strange relationship with her parents. When she was a little girl they were happy to see her smart and get praise from her teachers, but when her first powers appeared and she started to see more and more things in the house and pretty much everywhere she went her parents' behaviour changed. They now looked at her with fear, disdain, and apprehension in their eyes... a strange combination. But from Hermione's six year old point of view, it seemed trivial, after all if her parents became like the other children, her powers would protect her. She had powers too! Like the superheroes in the movies or the wizards in the books! But better! Where the former's powers were centred around a single stupid or limited theme (shooting lasers with their eyes... stupid.) and the latter's needed staffs and sticks, Hermione could do all sorts of things freely. She was just frustrated at the weakness of her power, maybe Gandalf didn't need his staff to do the same things she did but needed it to do bigger magic. She would have to read up on it in fantasy novels to know.

Fortunately for little Hermione her parents had never been very important figures to her. As long as they left her alone she was happy. In any case, they had shown her several times that she was not their priority. Their work always came before her. They always looked at her as if she were a funny, overly intelligent animal. A little creature that they had got in their house by chance and that they took in without really knowing why. By the time she was six, Hermione had stopped feeling hurt by this lack of attention.

No, the real important people to her were her teachers. Teacher Helene, kind and gentle, always helping her with her work, sometimes playing with her at the end of class. The librarian Madame Louise who always allowed her to borrow the books she wanted, who gave her advice and regularly invited her to her house for tea and to talk about the books she was interested in. Or Mr Marc, the school gardener, with whom she studied plants and who showed her lots of interesting things. In spring and summer she spent time at Mark's house helping him in his garden and Mark always gave her some fruit, vegetables or pocket money to thank her. No Hermione was far from lonely, but she only got on well with those three adults and not with her parents.

At the tender age of seven Hermione's powers had had a growth spurt as she liked to say. She could now make things fly and move them at will. Before her powers acted the same in most cases, but now she had the ability to control them a little. Not enough to do much more than before, but to do it willingly. She had even managed to make a small flame appear in her hand and play with it! It was during this time that Hermione began to read all the fantasy and science books she could get her hands on to try and understand her power. But it was also during this period that her parents' behaviour went from bizarre to truly disturbing. They now avoided her like the plague and every time they looked at her they had fear in their eyes?

Why were they afraid of her? Marc had seen her do strange things, he had seen her make plants grow faster and give bigger fruits but just stroked her head and smiled and congratulated her and told her she had a green thumb! Louise had seen her make a book fly in front of her to read one winter when it was cold and she wanted to keep her hands against the warmth of her tea mug. And she had just frowned for a moment but hadn't said anything and hadn't changed at all afterwards, the same sweet Louise. But her parents were afraid... Why? Hermione couldn't understand. She had once asked Professor Helen, and Helen had frowned and muttered something about bloody religious rationalists and Manichaeans, before putting her hands on Hermione's shoulders and asking her to go to her right away if her parents were mean to her or hit her. Hermione didn't think her parents were mean, just stupid, and since they didn't hit her she had no reason to complain. After all, she had a place to stay, a nice little room, food, and could read all she wanted. In short, there was no reason to complain.

At eight years old Hermione still had a strange relationship with her parents, they weren't overtly mean to her and didn't hit her so she had no reason to go to Professor Helen. But they were now looking at her with anger and resentment in their eyes and Hermione didn't like that. So she spent as much time as possible away from home. Reading in the library, gardening with Mark, or exploring the countryside around the town. Hermione had discovered a new passion for strolling and exploring. She would take something to eat, drink and a good book or two in her bag and if the weather permitted, she would go far away from home into the countryside. She loved to wander in the little woods north of the town, she had found a little valley with a small pond near it, where she would sit and read on a big flat mossy stone. It was her own little corner of paradise where no one ever came to disturb her. Near the pond she had found an old decaying house whose walls were carved with strange sigils. Perhaps a wizard like Gandalf or Tom Bombadil with Golden Bay lived there. The place was charming enough for that.

The old decaying house was made of old moss-covered stones and surprisingly well-preserved wood. In this place Hermione felt good, safe. Something told her that she would never be disturbed here. There were only three rooms, what must have been a sitting room, a bedroom and a kitchen. The place had been dutifully emptied by its last occupant, leaving nothing but the fireplace, the oven and the cupboards built into the walls. The little house, to Hermione's delight, had a roof and strangely enough the windows were not broken. The decision was quickly made, this would be her secret hideout to escape the hateful gaze of her parents.

In the months that followed until her ninth birthday Hermione fixed up the house as best she could, sanitising it by leaving the fire in the fireplace burning all day to get rid of the damp, collecting old and damaged furniture from a garage sale and dismantling them to transport them more easily before reassembling them in her real house. Hermione no longer felt at home with her parents at this stage, and only came home in the evenings, even on holidays. After ten months of effort, the house was habitable and Hermione spent more and more time there. Thanks to Mr. Marc's teachings she had even managed to turn the old abandoned garden into a promising potager.

On her tenth birthday she received a present, it had been years since she had received anything from her parents on her birthday or at Christmas. This surprised her greatly at first. A small glimmer of hope sprouted in her heart, hoping that her parents had at least a little bit of affection for her... Even though she tried to tell herself that her parents didn't matter to her, there was still a small hope in her, that one day she would be accepted by them. This hope was soon crushed when she discovered the complete camping kit and a guide to survival in the wilderness. Now her parents were serving her up on a silver platter with an excuse not to go home at all in the summer and spring, Hermione understood immediately. She plastered a fake smile on her face before thanking her parents and going up to her room. Hermione really appreciated the gift and read the survival guide over and over again. In her young mind she thought that perhaps it was an invitation to leave her parents' house for good and live alone in her real home. To test her theory Hermione spent two weeks in her real home without returning to her parents, only sporadically going into town to see Helen, Louise and Marc. But when a policeman stopped her to take her back to her parents' house and they put on their best acting act to thank the agent, Hermione realised that it was not yet time for her to leave. So she decided to take it easy. Soon. Soon she would be free.

The year she turned ten Hermione spent most of her time in her real home by the pond, the only place where she felt truly safe. The place where she was happy. Here she could use her powers without the horrified looks of her parents, she could be herself, even without Mister Marc, Professor Helen or Madame Louise. She could read by the fireplace even in winter, giving free rein to her thirst for knowledge.

She could even experiment with her magic, her power. She soon discovered the limits of her power, doing small things like levitating a light object or lighting a small flame was no problem, but as soon as she tried to do something bigger she hit a wall. Therefore she turned to other types of experiments. She could make herself warmer or cooler, but this never lasted more than twenty minutes and if the wind was too cold or the air too hot the effect of her magic dissolved.

She could also make people not notice her or make them sadder or happier, but always on a superficial level and with a backlash. Once she tried her little trick on her father to try and make him happy even in her presence, it worked for a few minutes, but the magic quickly dissipated and when it did her father became so angry that she chose to run away from home and stay in her real home for three days in fear. Her father's gaze had been cold, dark, as if she had opened the lid of a chest containing something horrible but was unable to close it. When she finally returned to her parents' house, the atmosphere was not the same. Fear had given way to hatred and resentment. Hermione couldn't even sleep in that place anymore because she was so afraid that her father or mother would end up doing something to her.

She hesitated for a long time to go and see Professor Helen and tell her about her fears, but decided against it. Her parents hadn't done anything substantial yet, she didn't want to worry Professor Helene any more than necessary and if she was ever removed from her parents' home, she would end up in an orphanage or in the foster system and wouldn't be able to see Marc, Louise or Helene, and above all she wouldn't be able to return to her real home. And she refused to accept that.

One fine day at the end of July, two weeks before her 11th birthday, the news came. They were moving, and Mr and Mrs Granger (she had long since stopped thinking of them as her parents) were taking her with them. Hermione was heartbroken, so during the three weeks of preparation for the move she said goodbye to teacher Helen, Mr Mark and Mrs Louise, closed and tidied up her real home, put her affairs in order and prepared to leave. According to her parents they were going to move to the Netherlands. They were going to let the movers send all their stuff there and before that, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, had told her they were going to go hiking in a remote part of France, a wild natural park. Hermione had a bad feeling about this but her interest in nature and walking in general prevented her from complaining.

On the 12th of August, the day after her birthday, under heavy grey clouds, the Granger family set off towards the Channel, leaving their old home behind. Hermione sat comfortably in the back of the car watching the fields and woods pass before her eyes, glum. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were up to something, and she was beginning to suspect what it was. A knot formed in her stomach. She had no idea they hated her so much.

oOOOo

On this 21st of August, Hermione was walking along a lovely shady path in the heart of a French beech, birch and oak forest, deep in the countryside, far away from everything, in a small mountain range. The scenery was very pleasant to the eye and the temperature more than acceptable. She stopped for a moment to watch a large buzzard fly over the path, before readjusting her heavy backpack. The sun filtered through the foliage giving the ground the appearance of a brown coat speckled with golden spots. The place was really beautiful, and Hermione was really enjoying the hike. It had been three days since they had left and Mr. Granger was leading them further and further away from civilization. The only downside to this long hike was the silence of her relatives. They walked in silence, staring into space, not looking at the landscape or the animals, immersed in their inner world.

Hermione had understood from the start what their plan was. Within a few days they would never have to see her again without even having to get their hands dirty. An ingenious plan if not so obvious. Hermione would continue to pretend she didn't realise anything, and when they showed their true colours, she would go back to England to her real home under her own steam. Hermione wasn't very ambitious, not out of disinterest or laziness but simply because no cause really touched her. She had gradually disassociated herself from other humans over the years, and her only real contacts were three adults living their lives peacefully without any problems of importance. So no Hermione wasn't going to change the world. She would return to her real home and live there as a hermit. As painful as it was for her Hermione finally understood. The people who would accept her were a tiny minority, and with her powers, intelligence and memory Hermione was pretty sure she could fend for herself.

Her only problem would be the lack of human contact she would feel. Although Hermione was a loner by nature, she wasn't fooling herself. She knew that she would suffer from the total solitude she would impose on herself until at least her majority. But for her, a young girl of barely eleven, it was better to live alone than in a society or with people who would either want to make her choices for her, use her, or ostracize her and hurt her. If her own parents couldn't accept her who could? Hermione had accepted it, Mr Marc, Professor Helen and Mrs Louise were very rare exceptions to the universal rule of 'everyone hates Hermione'.

It was getting dark when Mr. Granger spoke for the first time in three days. "We're going to look for a place a little further off the path to camp tonight, follow me." He then turned off the path and walked away through the trees. Hermione hesitated for a moment but followed him when she felt Mrs. Granger's heavy gaze on her back. A few miles further on and they came to a small clearing enclosed at the bottom of a narrow valley. A beautiful place for a farewell, Hermione thought.

Without another word the three Grangers set about setting up their tents. Hermione, who was much more efficient, finished first, and began to prepare a mushroom soup. The meal also passed in silence, the atmosphere heavy and dark. When the sky turned a dark blue and the first stars came out, the Grangers entered their respective tents. Hermione lay down in her sleeping bag and with a tightness in her throat closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be the day of truth.

That night her dreams were strange, she saw piercing green eyes shining in the night. Distant stars dancing in the sky. A red stone beating like a heart, vicious shadows drifting in the cold and darkness, great insane clay constructions travelling through the night sky, and an asphodel flower dancing in the mists, stirred by a still wind.

Hermione opened her eyes, her forehead covered in sweat, and sat up suddenly. She had never had a dream so vivid, so real in her life. She looked around, still in her little tent, the light of the rising sun filtering through the canvas, the sound of morning birdsong echoing in the clearing. Hermione shook her head to rid herself of the vision of those beautiful, hypnotic green eyes, remembering that she was hiking with Mr. and Mrs. Granger, far from any form of civilization in the deep French countryside, in the hollow of a valley surrounded by ancient mountains whose rugged sides had long since been smoothed and worn away by wind, water and time.

She sighed, pulled on her clothes and stepped out of the tent before stretching, listening to the joints in her legs and spine creak as she let out a small moan of satisfaction. She then looked around at the clearing around her, and her eyes twitched as she saw that indeed. Her fears and apprehension were well founded. Only her tent remained in the clearing. Mr. and Mrs. Granger's tent and all their equipment were long gone. Their tent had not even been in place long enough to leave a mark on the ground. They must have left within minutes of her falling asleep. Her cowardly parents hadn't even dared to confront her and tell her to her face that it was all over. That she was no longer a Granger. That tonight, in the heart of the Jura mountains. Dozens of miles from the nearest village, they were abandoning her to her fate.

Hermione giggled slightly, then was shaken by spasms of stifled laughter, before bursting out laughing like a madwoman in the middle of the woods. A broken laugh of a girl abandoned by her own parents for something she had no control over. At least her parents had the courage to abandon her instead of building up their hatred for a long time and beating her, starving her or making her live in a cupboard. All this time, deep down, she had been right. She was not made to live with humans. In a whole small town only three people had shown any interest or compassion for her, and for that she would be forever grateful. But the others... teachers blinded by her talent and intelligence to ever pay attention to the girl underneath the brilliant student, to the human being rather than the image. And of all those who tried to see more, of all those who really looked at her, only three treated her as a human being and not as a monster or an anomaly.

Her laughter subsided, and her tears stopped flowing down her cheeks and began to dry, leaving only a thin trace of salt and reddened eyes as the only evidence of their passage. Hermione walked to the edge of the clearing and sat down on a fallen tree. What was she going to do now? She was alone, in the middle of the woods, with a tent and a limited amount of food and water. Fortunately she had more or less realised that she was going to be abandoned and had stolen a map of the area on the sly and a compass.

She strengthened her resolve. She was going to find her way back, earn some money, return to England, to her real home and live there as a hermit, visiting Marc, Louise and Helene regularly so as not to go mad from loneliness. Yes, it sounded like a plan. These three would understand her situation and leave her alone. Now she just had to find a way to find a village and public transport to take her back to Calais. She walked to her tent and grabbed her map and compass. With the mountain ranges surrounding her she found her position quickly enough and with the compass she pointed to the nearest path. Yes, she would make it. Again and ever.

A few minutes later her tent was packed and she had eaten a piece of cheese on top of a piece of bread, and a tomato for breakfast, then put her bag on her back. And walked to the edge of the clearing. She took one last look behind her, gave a mocking salute to her old life, and set off between the trees, stepping over the brambles and climbing the massif in the hope of crossing the old eroded ridge and finding her way back.

A few miles up the hill Hermione noticed several strange things, the first was that she had passed several stones engraved with runes similar to those she had found on the walls and stones around her house. The second was that with every new mile she walked the landscape became wilder, taller, more majestic. The trees were larger and older, their bark thicker, their leaves sometimes with a silver sheen. She had also passed a mossy dolmen which she had chosen to ignore because of the ominous aura it gave off. The plants and animals were also more diverse and much less frightened by her presence than usual and the number of plant, animal and fungi species unknown to her was multiplying. She could believe she was in a completely different world if it wasn't for the large number of species of trees and plants she recognised. At last, when she reached the short grass of the ridge she had climbed for the last three hours, she realised that something had really changed.

In front of her was a mountain range with steep, snowy peaks, not present on her map. Between the peaks, in the distance, flew a huge white creature with bat-like wings. A dragon, his fevered mind whispered. Worse, her compass was strange, pointing in random directions, or spinning around as if gone mad. A cold terror filled Hermione, she had to get out of here and fast. Her blood ran cold through her veins, her heart was pounding. She was an intruder in hostile territory. In an unknown mountain, marked on no map.

She turned and as she was about to descend the slope towards the world of men, she saw it. A hundred yards into the forest, a large emerald green reptilian form gliding through the trees, its eyes ember, graceful. Luckily, Hermione felt as if she had not been seen yet, no she could not go back. Not with that creature roaming the woods from whence she came. She had to move on, towards these supposedly non-existent mountains.

She crossed the ridge.

And began to descend towards the wide wooded valley at the bottom of which flowed a river whose name was not indicated on any map. She walked terrified, until she reached the tree line. Then she ran into the forest. Everything here was magical, every plant and animal. Pure and wild, untainted by the mark of man. The trees, the plants, the herbs all seemed to vibrate with life. Hermione walked deeper and deeper between the trees praying that the creature she had seen on the other side of the ridge would not follow her. Her fear having taken over she began to run down the slope as fast as she could. She had the impression, imaginary or real, she couldn't tell, of feeling the creature's hot breath on the back of her neck and seeing its fiery eyes reflected in the streams and puddles she passed.

When her panic finally subsided she had reached the bottom of the valley. She leaned against a tree, wiped her forehead and glanced back. Fortunately nothing seemed to have followed her. What to do now? She had clearly arrived in a magical place where humans had no business being. Hermione was torn, she knew she was an outsider to the human world and didn't feel like she belonged here in the magical valley either. Was she a hybrid being destined to wander between worlds in endless loneliness? She hoped not, but more and more things led her to believe so.

She pulled out the map and looked around. She was in a valley more than ten kilometres wide, on the edge of a forest opposite a large meadow behind which the mountain stood, in an environment of many dangers and creatures unknown to her. A place hidden from the eyes of normal humans, but which for some reason she had managed to reach. Perhaps it was due to the existence of her powers? Perhaps it confirmed her suspicions about her inhumanity.

But more importantly she needed a plan to get out of this hostile environment. Perhaps he could use the mountain as a landmark and go around it and then continue straight on and hope to reach civilisation. Or build a makeshift boat and sail down the wide river out of this place unknown to humanity. The problem with the river solution was that she had not seen such a river on any map of the surrounding area which did not inspire confidence in the reliability of the method of getting out, plus making a boat is a complex process, even for a simple raft.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a movement in the periphery of her field of vision. Instinctively she immediately hid behind a tree and watched from her hiding place. Her eyes widened in surprise. Walking through the tall grass was a peculiar trio. On a tall, broadly antlered stag sat a young woman dressed in a rich, light green, yellow-edged, light dress, and of stunning beauty. Her long golden hair fell down her flowing back like a waterfall, her face was of a perfection as bewitching as it was inhuman and disturbing, her shining golden eyes turned towards the distance. A crown of flowers and ivy delicately placed on her head. Leading the stag by the collar was a man with goat's legs dressed in a dark blue tunic, his face was hard, the opposite of the gentle beauty sitting on the stag, he sported a thick black beard and large horns curled on either side of his head. With every step the trio took, the grass and plants in front of them blackened and withered before turning to ash, and behind them everything grew back in seconds, more alive and flowering than ever.

Hermione's heart was pounding, she was dying to join the little procession, to follow them wherever they went for some reason, but the little voice reminding her of the danger and her visceral fear of the unknown helped her resist the temptation. Once the couple, was it a couple? Out of sight she came out of her hiding place and sighed. What was that? She had never seen such beauty, felt such fear but at the same time such a desire to be a part of... Whatever it was. Hermione realised that she had blushed to her ears. Was she? No... Maybe? No... Probably... Rahhh. She had to think of something else urgently.

No, following the river was too uncertain and without a boat too difficult to achieve. Going back, impossible. Not with the emerald-scaled, fiery-eyed monster lurking atop the mountain behind her. It was decided, she would try to go around the mountain and use it as a landmark to get back to civilisation or at least somewhere where her compass wasn't trying to point north in eight places at once.

She readjusted her pack and set off through the tall grass towards the river and the mountain, the journey would be long but she could ration her current food supplies and pick up edible berries and roots along the way, plus with her powers there was nothing easier than building a fire.

Two hours of walking later Hermione had arrived at the edge of the river. It was well over twenty metres wide and seemed quite deep in the centre, fortunately the current did not seem too violent. What to do? First throw her bag over the side before swimming? Find a fallen tree as a bridge? She looked upstream and then downstream, no tree... Her thoughts were interrupted by a small crystalline voice coming from the reeds.

"Oh, bonjour jolie demoiselle, êtes vous venue admirer les ombelles ? (Oh, hello pretty lady, have you come to admire the flowering umbels?)"

A voice addressed her in French. Surprised, Hermione turned her head sharply towards the rushes. Between the long green stems she saw two large yellow eyes staring at her and the flash of white teeth.

"Venez vous juste vous baigner ? Vous promener ? Ou par tous hasards tenteriez vous de traverser. ? (Are you just coming for a swim? Go for a walk? Or are you trying to cross)?

Hermione took a few steps back, worried. And addressed him in the best French she could. "Montrez vous ! (Show yourself!)"

"Oh, bien sur ma belle ! Tout pour la demoiselle. (Oh, of course, my dear! Anything for the lady.)"

Out from between the rushes came a small humanoid creature, about fifty centimetres tall, naked except for large worn leather boots, with completely green skin, large round and soft yellow eyes, large pointed but finely hemmed ears, a broad smile and a fine, well-trimmed moustache. He bowed in a very refined manner, with an elegant little bow of the wrist before adding "André le Houzier, pour vous servir. à qui ai-je l'honneur ? (André le Houzier, at your service).

"Hermione, une voyageuse. (Hermione, a traveller.)"

The creature nodded. "Et que venez vous faire ici ? En cette belle journée. Vous plonger dans l'oublie ? Ou tenter de traverser ? (And what are you doing here? On this fine day. To plunge into oblivion? Or try to cross over?)"

The creature was very strange but didn't seem to mean her any harm. Hermione relaxed slightly and said. "Je souhaite traverser. (I wish to cross over.)"

The creature's smile widened, " je puis vous aidez, si vous le désirez, mais ils va vous en coûter. ( I can help you, if you wish, but it will cost you.)"

Hermione didn't quite understand the creature's desire to keep rhyming. But why not... "Et qu'est ce que votre aide me coûterait? (And what your help would cost me?)"

The little creature's wide yellow eyes crinkled for a moment. "La jolie broche d'or, que vous arborez. Offrez la moi donc, et je vous mènerait. (The pretty golden brooch you wear. Offer it to me, and I will lead you.)"

Should she accept? The creature had been friendly so far, and had merely offered her help. Deciding that she preferred this to the risk of drowning she unclipped the golden brooch from her hair and held it out to the little creature. It grabbed it and jumped into the water, leaving only a few circles haloing the wave. Hermione waited a few seconds and a large log rose to the surface. The creature held it by the branches.

"Montez donc mademoiselle, Ce rondin seras votre passerelle. (Hop on, lady, this log will be your bridge.)"

Still a little hesitant Hermione climbed onto the log and without waiting the creature began to pull it towards the other bank. Hermione was rather glad to have accepted the offer when once in the centre of the river she realised that the water was much deeper than she had imagined and the current much stronger. However, her respite was short-lived when, less than a metre from the shore, André's eyes lit up with mirth and he turned the log so that Hermione fell into the water with a shriek. She stood up immediately, completely soaked, knee-deep in water, red with anger. "Pourquoi avez-v… (Why did you...)"

André cut her off. "Donnez toujours plus qu'il n'est demander, cela vous assurera de la bonne volonté, autrement vous vous retrouverez trempée. Cette leçons valait bien un bon bain sans doute ? (Always give more than is asked for, it will ensure goodwill, otherwise you'll end up soaked. This lesson was worth a good bath, without doubt.)" he said before disappearing into the water with a crystalline laugh.

Ashamed, Hermione climbed the other side, she was still angry with the creature but this lesson would indeed be valuable if she had to deal with creatures of his kind again. "Always give a little more than asked... noted." Fortunately for her, the summer heat would allow her clothes to dry quickly. So she promptly stripped down to her underwear in the sun and laid out her other soaked clothes. She emptied her bag and laid out all its contents under the blazing midday sun. Fortunately, by some miracle, her food was not wet. She was therefore able to eat the ration she had calculated in her head to last a week. That is, an apple, a piece of bread and a few slices of saucisson that she had bought in the 'Tout est bon dans le cochon' deli in a village before their departure.

Two hours in the hot sun and everything was dry. She packed up her things, put her clothes back on, adjusted her bag on her shoulders and continued her journey towards the mountain. She sighed at least in her misery, the river water had relaxed her and the long pose had loosened her leg muscles and rested her aching feet. Something told her that this journey to civilisation was going to be long and difficult.

By evening she had reached the other side of the valley and was setting up camp. Her tent was already set up and she was roasting meadow dew over the fire, the grilled mushrooms on the menu tonight would save her rations, she also boiled the river water after filtering it through a cloth. , to fill her canteens with drinkable water. Blessed be the survival book offered by the Grangers. A wave of sadness washed over Hermione, but she chose to ignore it, concentrating on the taste of the delicious grilled mushrooms. Exhausted after the day's adventures Hermione put out her fire and hid her tent with herbs and branches found in the forest. She had seen the kind of creatures that roamed this magical valley, there was no need to take any more risk than necessary by sleeping in the open.

Once she was satisfied with her camouflage Hermione entered the tent, pulled on a cotton shirt and a pair of shorts as pyjamas before slipping into her sleeping bag and immediately succumbing to sleep, exhausted from her long day's walking.

In the middle of the night, several things woke Hermione up. First a strong musky smell of sweat and urine made her nose wrinkle, but also heavy footsteps all around her tent. Hermione could only pray that her camouflage was working, the ground-shaking footsteps were coming from all directions. Running away was not an option. After a few moments the footsteps stopped and Hermione allowed herself to hope that the things had gone without realizing she was there when she heard the sound of a snotty sniffle right next to her tent.

Hermione froze in terror, then after a few minutes of unbearable tension two huge fingers with sharp, pointed nails tore the thin canvas of the tent. The gigantic fingers then widened the opening, completely ripping open the tent, revealing, less than a metre from the opening, lit by the light of the moonbeams, a huge, grotesque, slobbering face staring blankly back. At this sight Hermione screamed as loud as she could and tried to escape through the normal entrance to her tent, frantically grabbing the zip. But she wasn't quick enough. A huge hand closed around her slim waist. Lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing more than a twig. She lashed out with all her might, slamming her fists into the thick fingers, screaming and crying, whipping ineffectively the huge arm as wide as a tree trunk with her slender legs.

The huge, hideous humanoid, lifted her high into the air, a rictus, a parody of a smile plastered on its vile, deformed face, a mockery of humanity. Hermione looked around desperately for a way out of the situation. Only to sink deeper into panic, terror and despair when she saw half a dozen other similar creatures staring at her with the same idiotic grin plastered on their faces. Hermione finally looked at her attacker, to scream at him, hoping to make him let go, but all she saw was a large fingernail right in front of her forehead, then a flash of pain shot through her skull and she sank into the darkness of unconsciousness.