Moon Witch

  Hermione couldn’t help the feeling of listlessness that permeated her being. 

  She felt lost. 

She felt stuck.

  An odd combination, and yet it was a feeling she knew quite well. Her entire life she’d always been…strange. Odd. Misunderstood. 

  As she grew older, Hermione came into her own- and became the powerful, resilient witch she is today. She was strong for the people around her. They needed her, needed her strength. 

  And she was proud of that. 

But again, when she was alone Hermione felt… off. Like something wasn’t quite right. 

  She felt that way from the very beginning, for as long as she’d had memories- Hermione could remember people looking at her like something was wrong. Children in her neighborhood pointed and laughed while calling her names. Teachers at her school watched her carefully, like they knew something she didn’t. Her parents whispered behind closed doors, thinking she couldn’t hear. 

  They were afraid of her. 

She didn’t blame them, at the time she was afraid of herself as well.

   Accidental Magic is what they call it.

 Neither her parents or herself knew what that was back then- or even believed magic was real at all. 

   Now she knows it’s common in children like herself, for their magical cores to be unpredictable- but at the time all it was, was frightening. 

  Hermione didn’t remember it, but apparently for as long as her parents could recall- her emotions were always heightened. 

  If she was happy? Nothing in the room outshone her smile. 

If she was sad? It was as if the whole world was ending.

  But if she was angry? Anger was the worst of all in a young child who could not be reasoned with. 

Her parents described the incident to Minerva McGonagall that day she came with Hermione’s letter, that it had been as if the room around her had crackled with hostile energy. Her curls sparking in her ire. 

  They were scared of her. 

She had been about seven years old the day of the incident. Her parents had rightfully put her in timeout after a particularly rough day at school. Hermione was unhappy about it and disliked that she’d been sent to her room without supper. 

  Sulking and stewing in her anger and resentment at being treated so terribly, Hermione fitfully fell asleep. And woke up hours later to her parents, shaking her awake- her entire room had been in flames and she’d almost burned down half the house… and yet she was fine. 

  Not a scratch on her. 

Her bed was untouched by the flames that scorched the room around her.

  Her parents didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain it either. So they covered up as much as they could, said it was an accident- that she had been playing with matches. But they were afraid of her. And to a child, that only made her more afraid of herself.

  So when Minerva came and explained to her parents that magic was real and present in their daughter, Hermione was elated. There was finally an explanation, she wasn’t a freak- she was a witch! 

  All she had to learn was control, and Hogwarts promised a world of learning. Hermione being herself, couldn’t wait to finally be around people like herself, where she could truly be accepted. 

  Only to find, she was yet again out of place.

 Rumors of her arrival had apparently made their way all throughout Hogwarts. Again, Hermione was not accepted. 

 She was different, in a way she had no control over.

  She was a Muggleborn. And apparently, her particular powers had a name- Elemental.

   Hermione had no idea what that was or what it meant, but there she was- labeled already, an Elemental Witch.

  Different. 

In a place where all she wanted was to be the same.

   Somehow, word of what had happened to her home as a child had gotten out- and people knew what she had done. 

  Even though, again, this had been something out of her control. The fire wasn’t her fault- it was magic. 

  It didn’t matter. 

They didn’t care. 

  Hermione was a freak yet again. 

And nothing seemed to change that, no matter her age, no matter her aptitude. She would always be different. 

  So she embraced it, while hiding how much it hurt to have to do so- Hermione walked with her head held high, and dared anyone to cross her. As far as they knew, she was an unstable witch who could burn anyone who had something to say about it. 

  Her confidence bloomed as she grew older, as she truly began to understand her powers, as she formed her Coven. With them she was her most true and strongest self, and felt as if there was nothing she couldn’t do. 

   Hermione’s fellow Elementals accepted her as she was, but that didn’t stop the rest of Wizarding London from still looking at her with fear and contempt in their eyes. 

  After years living amongst the hustle and bustle of the city, Hermione was growing restless- and needed a change of scenery. And despite how much her fellow witches and wizards despised her, she was an exceptional Potioneer- people would continue to buy from her no matter where she chose to brew. 

  She was just that good.

So Hermione was searching for a place she could call home, somewhere isolated and remote- where her magic could truly be free from the oppression of the small minded people around her. Her current neighbors didn’t really appreciate her or her Coven’s monthly appreciation for the opulence of the Moon. 

  Her inner magic was hungry for a home that could be permanent, at twenty five years old Hermione felt ready on the inside and out for a place that was her own. A place where her magic could not only settle, but thrive. 

  Having even sought out help from a magical estate agent, Hermione gave the woman no monetary limit- she was ready and willing to pay almost any amount for the right place that called out to her magical core. 

  Though her being an Elemental was openly shunned in most circles, Hermione had found over the years that money- however ugly it felt to flash so crassly, opened doors previously shut to her kind. She was no longer embarrassed at using her magic, and her somewhat newfound source of income to take advantage where she could. 

  It felt decidedly pureblood to be so open with flashing her purse strings, but unfortunately it was how things must be done. She had found her aptitude and good hearted nature didn't matter to these people- she would always be different. So if she had to get what she could by means at which she previously thought unsavory, Hermione would do it. Besides, a majority of her wealth was made from the very same people who thought her beneath them. The wizarding world wanted her potions, they wanted the benefits of the magic she could create- so if she charged a little extra, who are they to complain? 

  Her money came with benefits; namely the promise of a hearty commission made people clamor to be the one who sold her the ‘perfect’ home. 

   Arabella Brixley M.E.E.A (Magical Executive Estate Agent) had shown her at least a dozen properties so far, and none of them stirred anything in her gut yet. They had traveled to Italian Paesino’s(Italian Villages) , three homes in La Compagne de Française( the French Countryside), up and down the outskirts of Britain- yet nothing was what she wanted. Arabella was beginning to lose hope and patience, Hermione understood but figured if she was paying for her services, she should get the home that felt most right. 

  Until finally Arabella brought Hermione to a home on the outskirts of Scotland, closer to her childhood school than she’d been in years- and again the actual house Arabella was showing her, was unsatisfactory. But Hermione couldn’t deny there was something in the air, something about Scotland- of all places- made her magical core sing. 

  Hermione wandered outside, her magic drawing her closer to the forest resting on the back of the property for some unknown reason. She ignored Arabella's pleas to turn back round to the car waiting in the driveway, yet Hermione wouldn’t stop. 

  But again- the promise of money, made Miss Brixley push her concerns aside and follow her further into the forest. 

  She couldn’t explain it, but something was calling out to her, making Hermione’s heart flutter with every step closer. 

  Until finally she saw it- a cottage nestled amongst the beauty of the woodlands surrounding it. It was perfect, thought the house did seem to need some tender loving care- the entire property made her heart sing quite beautifully. 

   “This… Miss Brixley, this is what I want…” Hermione said over her shoulder. 

 The woman scoffed, “Miss Granger? This… You want something like this?”

  She shook her head and walked closer to the place Hermione knew she would one day call home, “No. I want this house. Specifically.” 

  Arabella looked around skeptically, “Umm, I-I don’t think that’s possible, Miss Granger.” 

  “And why is that?” she asked.

The woman walked carefully in her high heeled shoes, trying unsuccessfully to avoid the wet earth, until she stood face to face with Hermione, “This place? I’m almost positive this is SLF territory.”

   At this Hermione was confused, “SLF?”

“The Seuls Les Forts pack.” Arabella almost whispered, like the wolves might somehow be listening. 

  She considered for a moment, “Is that French?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Arabella answered. 

 It was strange, maybe Hermione hadn’t been keeping up with most of the wizarding world's latest gossips- but she was unaware of this pack or their residency. 

  “What is a French pack of wolves doing with territory in Scotland? Shouldn’t they be in France?” The question was mostly rhetorical, and didn’t require an answer that she thought might be helpful from Miss Brixley, but the woman answered regardless.

  “I’m really not sure, Miss Granger. But if this is what you are looking for, I’m sure I can find something like it somewhere else.” Arabella replied in a huff.

  But Hermione wasn’t finished. 

Her magic had responded to nowhere but here… 

  She wouldn’t give up quite so easily, “So it is absolutely unavailable?” 

  The woman beside her stuttered out a response, “I- I mean, I don’t know?”

“Find out, then. I want this or nothing, I will pay any price- I hope that motivates both you and them.” Hermione whirled around and started back for the car they had arrived in.

  There was a moment of shocked silence, before Arabella began jogging to catch up, “Well, um- Miss Granger, I think you need permission to live on SLF land. Are you sure I can’t convince you to keep looking? I know this is our… thirteenth? House we have looked at, but now I know more your style and I ca-“ 

  She cut Arabella off, “I will meet with whoever I must to secure this house. I trust that you are capable of setting up such a meeting for this ‘special permission’ that I must acquire?” 

  Hermione could feel the bitterness seeping out of her, was it because she was an Elemental Witch? Was that why she needed special permission? 

  She didn’t care, Hermione would make this cottage her home- prejudice be damned. She didn’t wait for an answer from Arabella, willing to wait to see if the Estate Agent would follow through on her request for a meeting- or do it herself, if she must. 

  It wasn’t for another three weeks that Miss Brixley sent her an owl with a response that was anywhere near helpful: 

   Dear Miss Granger,

             I have acquired that which you have requested. A meeting with the Alpha of the Seuls Les Forts pack. You are invited for tea in the pack house, where you will discuss your request for permission to live on pack land. Attached is a portkey to your destination for next Wednesday. Your meeting is set for eleven thirty in the morning with the Alpha of SLF, Mr Draco L. Malfoy. 

I hope this is to your satisfaction, Miss Granger. Keep me informed, if you would. Thank you.

                   Regards,

         Miss Arabella Brixley

                 M.E.E.O

  Well, damn…. That was unexpected…