the magpie // tomione

ii.

"There is not one big cosmic meaning for all; there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person."

— Anaïs Nin

Hermione Granger has more time travel experience than the average witch.

But travelling hours back in time is not the same as travelling decades. And using a time turner is not the same as suddenly inhabiting a new body. So while her experience and knowledge might mean she should feel perfectly equipped to handle the situation at hand, Hermione instead finds herself dissolving into panic.

After finding the newspaper Hermione realized she had wandered downstairs barefoot in a nightgown, and ran up to the room to rifle through Marion's closet. Once dressed, she allowed herself a series of calming breaths, before again spiralling.

1945.

Fifty-five years in the past. She hasn't been born—Hermione Granger doesn't exist. Her parents haven't even been born. And yet here she is, in a body not her own. In a time not her own.

"Come on, Granger. Stiff upper lip." She splashes cold water into her unfamiliar face, a last ditch effort to wake herself from the bizarre dream. Her hands rake back thick dark hair, and she turns away, not yet able to stomach the woman in the mirror.

Stiff upper lip, she murmurs to herself again, pacing the quaint hotel room. She rattles off everything she remembers about time travel, searches into her mind's library to refresh herself on the theories and basic principles. She knows the one rule, that she must follow above all: Do not alter the timeline.

But she has no idea what the timeline looks like for Marion Lestrange, beyond what she's read of the diary. Time travel of this magnitude alone shouldn't be possible, but souls switching bodies? Hermione has never heard of such a thing.

What happened to Marion after her last entry? Had she died?

Or had their souls truly switched, and she was standing in Grimmauld Place in the year 2000 feeling just as confused?

Hermione studied the diary, but she has no idea what will happen to this young woman after today. All that she knows is that she must meet F.G. tomorrow. And in between that...

"Wand, wand... accio wand!"

The wand snaps into her palm, stinging soft flesh with the sudden force. Hermione can feel a conflict within the wand, as it recognizes the body but not the soul. There's a brief resistance before, finally, it acquiesces.

Her grip adjusts and she studies the wand, confident it won't set her hand on fire. It's a little bit longer than her own. A beautiful aspen wood, so white it looks like carved ivory. Probably a dragon heart's string core, based on the ease at which it became accustomed to her. Well suited.

She tries a few spells to get accustomed to the wand. There are a few hiccups and glitches, but eventually both she and the wand gain a comfort with one another.

Hermione continues to go through the hotel room, searching through Marion's belongings. It feels like a strange, definite invasion of privacy, but she knows her own safety is at stake. Anything she can find, any piece of her that could give some kind of clue what the hell has happened, would be welcome. She's pleased to find books within the belongings, scattered across the desk and among her clothes.

She picks up a book, runs her fingers across the binding. The scent is somehow the same, that old and worn fragrance. Another book, and another. It's a familiarity within the decidedly unfamiliar.