Complications

Chapter 1

It’s raining. I can hear the drops of water as they hit any and every surface that has the misfortune of being outside at this moment – leaves, branches, the grass, the garden path, the roof of the house. I can hear the trees as they are forced into collision with my bedroom window by the wind, strong and relentless in its attack. Despite the chaos it causes outside, rain soothes me, accompanies me on the journey to the world of unconsciousness.

Usually, I would be fast asleep, totally oblivious to the effects of the rain outside. But not tonight. My open eyes flick over to the clock on my bedside table, where orange numbers inform me that it is 2:15am. Tonight, the rain’s power over me has lost its hold. I am sleepless on a stormy night.

After having tried for almost four hours to fall asleep, I have given up. For the third time this week, I slowly fold back the covers, slip out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, being careful not to disturb my parents, so lucky to be asleep. Their memories are still coming back, ever so slowly and tauntingly, but they don’t jump when they see me in the kitchen making breakfast anymore, which I can only think of as progress.

I’m not entirely sure why I choose the kitchen as my go-to spot on a sleepless night. There aren’t many foods that can be associated with 2:15am, so most of my time is spent soundlessly rummaging through the pantry, the fridge, the cupboards over the stove, looking for anything that even slightly resembles a midnight snack. For such a well-known and overly used saying, there are not many foods that even remotely fit that description.

Finally, I decide on a muesli bar, not the most delicious of midnight snacks but the quietest to eat and the only one that requires zero preparation. I wait until I am in my room to slowly tear it open, cursing the thin walls that divide this tiny house. I’m only here for the holidays, but that is more than enough time to get used to accidentally overhearing a private conversation, or trying to block out the uncomfortable sounds of someone using the toilet, which is conveniently located on the other side of my bedroom wall.

Now wide awake, the mood strikes me for some reading, and I turn to the stack of books I keep on my bedside table. I make sure that there is a mixture of genres present at all times – ranging from mystery to romance to science fiction to non-fiction – so that selecting a piece of literature to devour is as simple as reaching over and sliding one out from the pile. My bookshelf is on the opposite side of the room, and would pose no threat to my perpetual and exclusive holiday laziness if magic was allowed outside of school. Since it’s not, my wand lies uselessly on my desk atop a stack of papers that contain essays from previous school years. I am something of an academic hoarder – I find it nearly impossible to dispose of anything that is remotely related to schoolwork, a habit my parents have instilled in me.

I have grown so accustomed to the sound of a summer storm that it takes me almost an entire chapter to realise that there is some kind of commotion occurring outside, something unnatural. I was never the curious type, the girl who would stop reading a fictional character’s adventures in order to live her own, but if there is anything the past year has taught me, it would be that curiosity is a good thing – although it can, at times, get you killed.

I place my book carefully back on the bedside table and tentatively pull back the curtains across the window above my bed. At first, I can see nothing, as I am competing with wind, rain and the darkness that comes with 2:20am. Slowly, however, shapes appear in the black, lit up by brief flashes of unnatural, almost electrical light. But there is no lightning to accompany the storm – these flashes are low to the ground, almost as if they are the result of a spell being cast.

I gasp involuntarily and throw the curtain back across the window, instincts telling me to bury myself under the covers and will myself to sleep, to not get involved, to keep my spotless school record spotless. But if someone is using magic outside of school, and in my own backyard, I have to stop them. It’s my moral duty as Hermione Granger to ensure that rules are followed, not bent; respected, not broken.