Chapter Text
Prelude
Her steps were tentative, measured. Her posture, guarded.
The well-paved road, with cleanly manicured trees lining either side, was testament to what she would find ahead - a world starkly different from the one she had known so far.
Upon reaching the end of the path, she stood quietly in front of the large, intricate wrought-iron gate that was flanked on either side by walls roughly twenty feet high - walls that shielded the world that it held within, walls that were meant to keep away the crowd, keep people like her off the property.
The day was bright and warm; the slight chill of autumn air mixed with the fragrance of leaves that had already begun to change colours, and would soon fall off from the branches to land on the rough soil - and then vanish into oblivion, hidden among many of its own kind.
In a way, Hermione was just the same. Once a bright young girl, hopeful of a happy, stable future, but now, ripped from her roots and thrown into a world where she belonged but wasn’t welcome.
The Mansion stood surrounded by an enormous orchard and rolling meadows on the outside. Beyond the gates - from what she could see through them- it was hidden behind enormous trees that were a magical hue of green, red and orange.
Magical…
She drew in a deep breath, wrapped her fingers around the handle of her suitcase and looked down at her modest attire. A simple dress and jumper, and boots that had seen better days. The light green jumper was knit last Christmas by her mother. She ran her palm over the wool, as if to find traces of the hands that had threaded the wool together slowly, patently, one knot at a time.
Two years, she reminded herself. Only two years. She just needed to survive this for two years and then she’d be free.
Tentatively she took the last few steps and came to a stop at the small outpost where a man in long robes sat holding a newspaper in his hands. The pictures in the paper moved, and for a while, she watched them, mesmerised, before finding her bearing.
“Hello?” she called politely, and the man looked over the newspaper, assessed her with his brows furrowed. He set the paper aside and stood up. She noticed he was a rather large man, wore long robes in deep maroon with a golden insignia on his breast pocket.
“I - I am Hermione Granger,” she provided, bowing a little, holding the suitcase with both her hands sheerly out of the need to hold onto something. “I have been sent by the Grangers from Ottery St Catchpole?” she added, unsure, and steadily uncomfortable, as the man gave away no sign of acknowledgement.
“I -” she paused and shrunk in herself a little consciously as he gave her a look over. She wasn’t new to this behaviour but was yet to get used to it - for the last couple of months she had met a fair few people who showed much disdain over her attire.
“You have a letter?” he asked gruffly, and she nodded in acknowledgement. Pulling out a small scroll from the pocket of her dress she handed it over to him and he unfurled it. Once he was done reading the brief few sentences, he rolled it back and handed it over to her. A rope, she noticed, hanging from the roof, was pulled and in the far distance a gong sounded.
And the next thing he did was the one she was still getting used to.
He pulled out a wand and waved it at the gate. A small section of the intricate and large ironwork gate, shaped like a small door just enough to allow one person in, opened.
“Go straight and turn left at the last bend. You will find the living quarters.”
She curtseyed, and her eyes caught the insignia clearly this time. It was an intricate ‘W’, the ends of which twirled outwards and turned into oak leaves.
“Thank you,” she replied and turned around, taking small, measured steps. She pushed the door a little and it opened noiselessly. She turned back to take a look at the lone path that she had taken to arrive at the Mansion, forcing down the anxiousness willing herself to move forward. Carefully, she stepped over and entered.
A broad, cobbled pathway, flanked on each side by dense growth of huge trees, came into view. It was hard to makeout where the property ended. But at the very far end of the pathway she could make out the rooftop of a huge building, mostly obscured by the foliage.
The opening in the gate had closed behind her, the guard had gone back to his newspaper.
She drew in a deep breath and said a small prayer.
There was something else in the air - something that tingled her senses, something powerful that felt new and unfamiliar but also - warm and welcoming? She tried not to ponder over it much - it wasn't wise to hope for good things; reality could be brutal.
Consciously, she patted her left upper arm, before pulling her hand away.
Two years - just two years, she reminded herself again, breathing deeply and mustering all the courage she could.
Unbeknownst to her, Magic cracked around her - a faint flutter in the thread of time - nothing would ever be the same.