Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Chapter 9

Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 9

A/N: I've found some free time to post and write on this finally, but alas, bills come first. Enjoy this while it lasts! As a warning, Dr. Wang does speak in somewhat grammatically incorrect English. I used his speech patterns based off the kids I teach English to, an odd mix of Chinese, Japanese, and Spanish. So, like my Asian kids, I dropped articles like the and a/an, left out verb tenses, mismatched the subject-verb agreement, and left some nouns singular when they should've been plural. These are common errors all my Asian students struggle with as they don't always have something similar in their first language, but just so you know, this is on purpose. Also, woo, we've made it to Hermione's eleventh birthday. Not much longer now, and we'll start to see some behind the scenes cameos from other Harry Potter characters! Review please! I love to hear back from you.

September 19th, 1990

Hermione sat staring out the window onto the suburban street outside their home. It was raining today. How odd. It felt anticlimactic for some reason.

The swinging door opened behind her as her dad's heavier tread entered the kitchen, whistling a jaunty tune as he went about fixing his coffee. "You're up early, Tootsie."

"Yes," she replied, noncommittally, staring transfixed out the window. She couldn't help but feel like something big, something life-changing was going to happen on this nondescript, dreary Tuesday morning.

The sound of coffee brewing preceded the rich aroma that filled the air.

Her dad slowed behind her. "Is something bothering you, Tootsie?"

She tilted her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Don't 'think' so? That's not the most reassuring answer, sprog."

Hermione shrugged because that was the best she could explain it. Something felt off, but not necessarily dangerous. Just... life changing somehow. Or maybe that was her being romantic about the universe.

He paused before glancing around. "Wait, is it one of your, you know—ghost friends?"

"Dad, if it was, you do realize that they'd still be able to hear you, even with you whispering, right?"

He blinked, straightening up. "Really?"

Hermione relented. "Well, I think so. I'm not one hundred percent sure. The stronger ones might be able to. Others, you'd need to say their name and think of them with a certain kind of intent..."

Her dad snapped his fingers, interrupting her monologue. "See? There you have it. You don't know for sure, but it can't hurt, right? It's ghostly ettiquette"

"I suppose," she replied, drawing the word out before her gaze returned to the window staring at the skyline above their neighbor's house.

"So," he prompted after the silence stretched. "No ghost?"

"No, Dad. Don't go diving for any skillets just yet. I actually had a restful night of sleep. Only one visitor, and she just wanted to confirm she was dead. She was the most low-maintenance ghost-encounter yet."

Dad leaned back, an interesting mix of both pleased and disappointed. "Good then. It sounds like you're off to a good birthday."

"Yes, you could say that."

She listened to the sounds of her dad fixing his coffee while she tried to internalize her consciousness like one of Dr. Hampton's associates taught her when she described the core of light inside her that powered her abilities.