Chapter 1
It’s a tuesday, when the old Nations close their eyes for the last time, all as one whole. The new Nations open theirs.
Little children sit up with gasps, and politicians turn over in their beds. Today is the beginning of the new age.
Hermione Granger is fifteen years, she knows. But she is also over three hundred. Sometimes she is one hundred fifty.
The beginning of the nation is ambiguous.
Her eyes are dead and her hair chopped short - dangling red tresses dripping blood. States grow in her pockets, and hurricanes start with her breath. The grind of her bones mirrors the earthquakes rattling Oklahoma, and her tears shed rain to California's drought. She is fire, she is ice, she is water and earth.
England’s breath catches. They're here, she says.
Scotland looks up in interest. America?
Wales snickers and Ireland scoffs. Of course. You know England.
England rolls her eyes. But why?
Hermione knew she was different the first day she arrived at preschool and all the other kids were scared of her. When she was eleven, she thought she figured it out - magic. She thought she knew what was wrong.
But it continued. People avoided her like the plague, and it was only luck that placed her in the same bathroom as a troll. Ron and Harry were good people, yes, but even with them she never felt like she belonged.
Only now does she understand.
America is a warlike nation, with terrifying military and a government whose secrets no one is blind to. Her strategies destroyed countries and only resourcefulness allowed her to survive.
Her aura creates fear.
Russia is amused. America is English. I never thought I’d see the day.
Taiwan rolls her eyes at him. How did England take the news?
I haven’t told them, she admits. I don’t want to know what they’ll say.
When she sits in a compartment with Ron and Harry, she is more subdued. They notice, and question her, but she just shakes her head. While she appreciates their concern, there’s nothing they can do.
They ask where she was over summer, why she didn’t respond to Dumbledore’s letters, she lets a sly grin creep onto her face. America, she responds, and laughs softly. She relaxes slightly as they pass through invisible barriers onto Scotland’s land.
Ginny Weasley takes one step into the compartment, and the world seems to freeze. She stares.
Hermione swallows. 英格兰, she says, Mandarin slipping past her lips easily, silently acknowledging that neither of them want the boys to know.
England shakes her head. 你好美国。好久不见。
Ron demands to know when Ginny learned Chinese.
普通话，America corrects lightly.
Harry stares at them both.
England hesitates, then sits. 我想跟你一起聊天儿。
America nods. Later.
The carriage ride to the castle is as awkwardly silent as the train ride was.
Hermione carefully avoids Ginny’s gaze, instead opting to stare at the table. As a result, she doesn’t notice the toad until she speaks.
Hem, hem!
Both Hermione and Ginny’s eyes snap up to the woman in entirely pink. Hermione wrinkles her nose.
As the speech goes on, she feels the incredulousness of the student body rustle and raise. Her own eyebrows continue rising until she’s sure they’re gone forever, never to return.
Dumbledore’s smile isn’t even pained.
As they’re dismissed, Draco Malfoy catches her eye. He’s staring, frowning, trying to work something out. Grey bores into brown. Slowly, he blinks, then nods. She smiles. France always did have habit of knowing things before he was told.