Hermione Granger
(A Muggle-born witch from the ‘Harry Potter’ series)
I feel like I wasn’t physically present yet I know, I was there. A wooden house stood far before me, its light from the small rusty iron-grilled window makes the house stood out in the dark. The surrounding place was plunged completely into the darkness. The humid must make me feel cold but I didn’t feel anything. I should be groping in the dark yet I am sure where I should be heading. I did not even trip on my way to the door.
I strode toward the old, seemingly deserted wooden house. I carefully nudged the door with my elbow, for I carry something in my hands. The room is the usual setting, which reeks of alcohol and burnt chemicals, broken mugs and utensils are strewn just on the left corner across the door, unwashed clothes are slovenly piled up in the basket just beside the door, the floor does not need waxing for it is disgustingly slimy itself, the once carpeted portion of the floor has been scraped to pieces, the walls’ paint started to wear away and the faded portraits were all slightly askew with the tendency of falling apart, the oak table seems like an outcast of the disorganized room, its dusty yet tough structure stands proudly among others. I traced my fingers on the dusty bookshelf just beside the unusable antique wooden cabinet in the far right corner which seemed to be waiting for me to clean it up. It is quite ironic since I cannot sense myself physically yet I am perfectly aware of the physical characteristics of such objects.
Then on the wall just on the right side of the door, five feet above the slimy tiled floor, I saw a mirror reflecting a teenage girl, the bushy ginger tresses stood out among her sharp physical features, fair complexion with almost impeccable skin except for freckles on the side and bridge of her thin nose, she stands inches taller than the mirror I reckon, her thin lips were tightly closed in forced suppression of any noise. I saw her, yet I was the only one facing the mirror.
I wasn’t bothered by it.
I walked straight to the spiral staircase in the middle of the room and upon stepping on the second landing; I saw a narrow hallway and tiptoed forward, as I shove away the strewn indistinguishable rubbish on the floor with my feet. I raised my head and noticed the broken incandescent lamp with a faint light emitting from it.
I didn’t pay attention to anything else but the lamp, everything else seems like a fuzzy blur.
The hallway is then divided at the far end, I took the left wing and just meters away, I saw a door at the end of the barely illuminated hallway. I pushed the ajar rusty metal door. As soon as I enter the room, I was lifted in the air upside down and I felt an excruciating pain and the translucent glasses my friends gave me fell on the floor and broke to pieces. I heard of a shriek and I am sure it wasn’t mine yet I felt my mouth opened.
A whirling sensation went pass through me as if I have been teleported in another dimension and all of a sudden, I am standing in a barely lit room, the only thing I can make out of the darkness was her sitting silhouette with her palms on her face.
I realized she was sobbing; she was alone in this Muggle room. With her disheveled bushy hair swaying with the sweeping wind, she stepped out of her bed and tiptoed to the door.
And I felt another whirling sensation but this time, I was just watching her, not being her.
Hermione Granger was a Squib, she was born with two prominent witch and wizard parents of the wizarding world yet she did not possess any magical ability. She experienced a painful childhood with parents ashamed of their Squib daughter, she was not introduced to the public eye. Physical tortures and mental torments, she experienced them all. Parents being ashamed of her hurt more than the physical torture. In complete shame and frustration, her parents decided to leave her to an acquaintance living in the Muggle world, where she experienced even more physical torture and nightmare that still haunt her. She was kept with utmost loathing and extreme discipline, where every trivial mistake results to physical pain.
She experienced the Sectumsempra curse once when she forgot to fetch her guardian a barrel of water for bathing but the latter was forced to heal Hermione’s wound since he cannot do stuffs of his own. She was flogged when the mugs her guardian used for tea were left unwashed and she was locked up in a room for days without food when she fell asleep while cooking because of exhaustion.
She managed to escape from her guardian when she was 16 and ended up in an orphanage in the Muggle World. Upon her escape, she vowed to make freaks who made her life miserable suffer and everyone of their kind.
With just a flick of a finger, the setting changed. She wears her usual uniform, black long-sleeved corporate dress matched with black slacks, to look formidable, she reasons. She was now the elected Prime Minister of England which she painstakingly worked for. Her features didn’t change a bit except for her sleek jet black that is once bushy ginger and the wrinkles that threaten to reveal her age; she is now on her mid-thirties. She walks haughtily on the barely illuminated hallway, her bushy ginger tresses sway swiftly as the wind whips her face weightlessly, and her thin lips twitched into a wicked smile as a thought came into her mind. She was heading into a place civilians knew nothing about. At the end of the hallway stands an old oak door with a wooden knob, she pushed the slightly ajar door and she was blinded by the light coming from the fluorescent lamp in the center of the coarse peach ceiling. She snorted with the stale smell inside the room and held out her kerchief to cover her thin nose. She heard movements before her and saw a heavily grilled cellar across the door. She didn’t pay attention to anything else in the room but the greasy, shabby, skinny and barbed wire-shackled man who crawled forward at the sight of her.
The memories she shoved away trailed back at the sight of the wizard and this made her furious. She glared at the warlock, examining his features, his cheeks were sunken and his eyeballs were threatening to be tossed out, his thick eyebrows met halfway and formed a cleft between them, his lips were trembling with fear and fury. His unkempt long hair swayed briskly as he made attempts to attack the lady before her. Hermione was far quicker, moving away before she could be reached by this madman and the grills barricaded her. He was locked up in this cellar where he cannot Apparate nor do some magic; his wand has been taken away from him. He was a wizard caught roaming around the city. He can hardly stand up for he looks frail and he looks like he hasn’t eaten for days. He managed a moan of protest as the Prime Minister flashes a deceiving sweet smile inappropriate for her sharp features. She pressed the blinking red button on the right side of the grilled cellar and it opened. The wizard hastily stood up and moved away for fear of danger and he shouted feebly at the lady before her. The Prime Minister easily got annoyed with this, brought out the whip from her pocket and with a sardonic smile plastered across her face; she flogged the wizard countless times. She stopped with flogging when the man fell to the floor face down pleading for mercy. She cannot feel pity; she was hardened by her physical torturous experiences.
“Do you want me to end this?” asked Hermione.
The man cannot and did not move an inch and did not respond. Infuriated, Hermione slapped her hard on the face with the whip; blood starts to ooze out of his sunken cheeks.
With fear of another flogging, the man hastily nodded. She picked up the something from the table on the left side of the door she got in and poked it in the wizard’s right rib and he shook furiously as he was electrocuted. The wizard, having no force to stop the lady from torturing him, succumbs to pain and everything became dark.
He fell face forward to the blood-smudged tiled floor.
“Then die.”
She laughed wickedly at the sight of a warlock dying in her own dainty hands. She wanted to make every witch and wizard to feel the torturous pain she has experienced on the hands of her parents and her former guardian.
I feel like I was being pulled into a tiny tube and all of a sudden, I woke up panting. Sweats trailed down my cheeks and I was relieved, it was just a dream, no, a nightmare - the worst one.
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A/N:
This was my homework in my English class. We were tasked to choose a fictional character and relate this character to ourselves and we were allowed to alter the attitude/personality of the character we chose. 😊 Don't get me wrong, I love HP and Hermione. It is my worst nightmare if Hermione turns into someone I have described in the story.
What do you think guys? It is my first work here. 😊 Enjoy!
