Author's Note:
(Hermione's appearance will be based off of my interpretation of her description in the books; she was described as being 'very brown' once, and having a 'white face' — white can be an exaggeration, e.g. 'white as a ghost' — at another point at which she was frightened, i.e. she blanched.
Even Rowling said that she never specified that Hermione was white in response to racist comments against black actress Noma Dumezweni who was cast as Hermione in 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Child'.
Therefore, I have decided to cast Hermione as a mixed race woman in this story.)
606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1p5fOW8JTF
*******
606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgkfhnZdmFK
I don't think that I've ever been this cold in my entire life.
There is no snow present on the dark, lonely London street on which I am currently situated, but despite the many layers of clothing covering my chocolate coloured skin, I can feel the cold penetrating me, right down to the marrow of my bones.
I look around, shivering, my teeth chattering so hard that they feel that they might shatter like glass.
It's official. I'm lost.
However, just as I'm about to continue walking down the street, the street lamp goes out and I'm plunged into complete darkness.
"Darnit," I mutter to myself, pulling out my phone to turn on my flashlight, but it doesn't turn on.
It was fully charged a few minutes ago.
I'm now completely cold — freezing cold. If I don't leave now, I will die of hypothermia.
As soon as I get that thought, I hear a loud "crack", and suddenly, I get the feeling that I'm not alone. Then I see a light; a small light at the tip of a stick being held by a brown-skinned woman with kinky, untaimed hair; it kind of reminds me of Tip's hair, from the movie 'Home'.
The woman is looking straight at me, her worried brown eyes assessing my face.
"We have to get out of here," she says in a worried voice, and she turns, expecting me to follow her.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Just follow me," she replies.
She leads me a few feet down the road, but suddenly stops.
I see a dark, hooded figure approaching us, and the closer it gets, the colder I get. I didn't even know that I could get colder.
I am frozen in fear. The figure is right in front of me now. Then, everything goes black.
I feel as if my heart has frozen; I can't breathe. I begin to suffocate.
It it feels as if I'm under water, I can't see anything, and all I can feel is cold.
From far away, I hear her scream "Expecto Patronum!", and I see a flash of white light, and all at once, I regain control of my body. I gasp loudly, and double over, catching a glimpse of the figure racing back down the street from where it came.
"Hold on tight," she says urgently, grabbing my hand, and suddenly, I feel a jerk behind my navel, and the sensation of being squeezed through a tiny hole. When it's over, I have to resist the urge to throw up.
I look up, and I find myself in a cabin, and the woman is still holding my hand.
"You're a witch," I say, stating the obvious, as she goes to get something in what I presume is the kitchen.
I know that this isn't a dream; it feels too real.
"Yes," she replies from the other room.
"I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to traumatise you by apparating, but I had no choice."
"Thank you," I say; what else can I say right now?
I bite my lip. I've always believed in the supernatural to an extent but Dementors? The Patronus Charm? How did I even see them? I thought muggles couldn't see them.
"What's you're name?" I ask curiously. She just saved my life. Or soul, rather. I can at least get her name, right?
Here, she lets out a deep sigh. I can hear it from where I sit on the cabin floor.
She re-enters the room, a cup in her hand with vapours rising from it. It smells like hot chocolate.
"Hermione Granger," she says, handing the cup to me.
Oh. My. God.
"As in Hermione Granger from 'The Harry Potter Series'?"
She assesses the look on my face, and gives a nervous grin.
"Yes, the one and only," she states in reply to the question that must be written all over my face.
I have a million and one questions for her. But first:
"Does this have some kind of amnesia charm in it?" I ask, pointing my chin at the mug.
She smiles.
"No. If I wanted you to forget, I'd just use a memory charm on you."
"Will you?" I ask, stupidity. Of course she will. I'm a muggle.
However, to my surprise, she shakes her head.
"No. I feel like the Dementors came for you for a reason. They might come back," she says with her face set in a frown, as if she wants to say something, but can't.
I think about this for a second.
Come to think of it, what were the Dementors doing here?
To be honest, I always attract attention. I'm not loud, or vulgar. I am actually quiet and introverted, but somehow, I am always approached by absolute strangers, and it feels really awkward.
However, I know that Dementors should always be by Azkaban.
"What were the Dementors doing so far away from Azkaban?" I ask.
She exhales loudly.
"We were trying to get rid of them, for good — put them somewhere else — but a few of them escaped into the muggle world. The Ministry should have taken care of them by now, though."
I let out a sigh. I'll think about this later, but for now, I have some questions for her.
"So about the whole 'Harry Potter' thing," I start.
Her lips twitch.
"Yes?"
"How?"
This time, she gives me a genuine smile.
"Rowling is a muggle-born. She never went to Hogwarts... she lives her life as a muggle, but she taught herself magic. Since she wasn't formally taught magic, the ministry was resistant to the idea of letting her own a wand, so she made her own."
"What?"
"Well, it's not quite as powerful as a wand — the ministry can't confiscate it, because it isn't actually a wand — but she made something, and she can conduct her powers with it."
"Cool. So, uh, where do you come in?"
She smiles, as if remembering something from long ago.
"She was like a mentor to us when we were children. So she wrote a story based on our experiences, but inspired by Harry's life, and everything he went through."
I sit there and soak up this information, wondering what I should do with it.
Then, I remember:
"If I'm a muggle, how did I see the Dementor and Patronus?"
Suddenly, Hermione looks uncomfortable; as if she wants to tell me something, but she doesn't know how.
"What is it?" I ask her.
"I don't know how to say it," she mutters.
"Just come out and say it. I'll be cool wit it. Trust me," I say in what I hope is a convincing voice.
"I've been monitoring you — we've been monitoring you. At the Ministry."
Okay. That's not creepy at all.
I try my best not to look affected — and I know I'm probably failing.
"Taj," she begins, and again, I find myself trying not to look bothered, but god, she knows my name.
"— do you think that you're highly attractive?" she asks.
My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"No," I say slowly.
"Do you ever notice others being drawn to you without you trying to attract attention?"
This has always been a problem for me, as I mentioned before when speaking of the Dementors. Every time I'm in public, men, women, everyone either want to flirt with me, or just talk to me.
She exhales in defeat.
"What? What is it?" I ask, genuinely worried now.
She looks up, looks me dead in the eye with a seriousness that frightens me.
"Taj, you're a Huldra."
606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi3lOU0MFDn
*******
606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLM3vZXorKd
Author's Note:
Huldra: Seductive forest creature found in Scandinavian folklore
ns 172.70.100.113da2
