Crookshanks & Cockatoos
“Oi Crookshanks… here Crookshanks! I SAID HERE CROOKSHANKS!!!!”
Hermione was not having a very good morning.
Not only had she been woken up by what it seems to have been a hundred screeching noises over her side of the maisonette roof, but Crookshanks decided it was a fantastic idea to go hunting after the said noises; the local pack of Sulphur - Crested Cockatoos.
Moving to Sydney, Australia to be closer to her parents after The Fall of You-Know-Who had been hard.
But leaving behind her friends and magic, well… that was a thought she was used to pushing down.
Starting a fresh in a new country had its challenges. The slang terms were strange at the beginning. Like the word barbie, for BBQ. Yes, you would think that means the famous doll, but here it’s known for putting grilled meat like sausages and lamb chops on a hot charcoal grill. At times, she felt glad to have been Muggle born, otherwise the concept of anything cooking without magic, would have been different of in itself.
She scoffed at the thought of a magical user trying to light a barbie without spell work or wandless magic, now that would be fun to witness.
Bloody hell, how far did he go?
If this damn cat decided not to turn up in the next five seconds, she was going to be late for her shift at the local café.
Hermione let out an exasperated breath, it was later in the year, where Spring was soon turning into Summer; her favourite and least favourite season. The sun was glorious, absolutely, but the Sydney humidity that came with it, was devastating for her hair. She wore it shorter than she used to back at Hogwarts, just hitting above her shoulders. It was easier to deal with at this length and made washing and styling more manageable with products she could use to defrizz and give it some bounce… well she hoped it did.
She had been up till the early hours of the morning in her study, making fast progress on her last university assignment she needed to pass in, before hopefully graduating soon before the end of the semester. Yes, she would have her degree in her hands, proudly mounted in her hallway, and she knew the perfect spot for it.
She was too tired for Crookshanks games this morning.
“If you don’t come back in the next five seconds, there will be no leftover food for you Mister Shanks” Hermione projected into the tree and bushy landscape of the Berowra Valley National Park that backed up against her backyard.
She was at the back of her joint maisonette, unable to see into her next-door neighbour’s garden by a green galvanised fence that just went above her head, and stopped at the national park tree line. The neighbours were nice enough, they were a young couple from Canada, and had moved in just after she had. In passing they had told her their lease would be up soon, and they would be moving back to their home country. She was sad for that, as they were always happy to keep to themselves, would simply wave and say a brief “hello” or “How are you?” in passing and wouldn’t mind Crookshanks wondering into their side of the garden.
Where she lived was nice and private enough, with only the couple next door, the next neighbours were up the road, as the bush kept them in their own little comforting hug of nature. The maisonette boasted a small veranda at the back of hers (where she was currently sitting under), with paving underneath and grass up until the tree line. She enjoyed having nature at her back door, and unfortunately, so did Crookshanks. With the tree line only starting a few meters from her back door, it was easy for Crookshanks to dash out while she exited in the morning, to enjoy a good cuppa tea, on her two-seater wicker outdoor setting.
“Bloody cat” she grumbled.
With no word from the escape artist, Hermione surveyed the parkland one more time, in case she saw a flash of ginger. With no luck, she downed the rest of her now cold tea and went back inside to lock up before leaving. Hoping that her little adventurer did not make any trouble while she was away.
~~~
“And so I said, pass the beetroot love, and so she did and then AND THEN I said to her, you can’t beet a good root AND that’s when she chucked her pint at me and left, shame really, that was one of me best jokes”.
“So, just a small flat white with two sugars was it, Bert?” Hermione was over today; she was over it since this morning to be fair. Bert was an unfortunate regular at her local Café, The Morning Magpie. It was a cute hole-in-the-wall coffee and toasted sandwich nook, that could seat tops of ten people. It was mostly indoor with some outdoor seating - when the weather was good.
“Yeah love, that would be right. You always remember, and with a smile to. If only I was younger, hey?” Bert gave what he thought was a wink, more like a half squint, from which eye, I have no idea, and went to the drinks take away counter.
I can’t believe the only man that ever flirts with me is 50 plus, no hair and wears thongs that are being held together with bread clips.
I gotta get out more.
But Hermione had to put those thoughts on hold, as the brunch rush was coming through.
The Morning Magpie was not only a local café for the surrounding suburb but also happened to be in walking distance of a world-renowned private hospital: The Prince Mayfold Hospital.
The name always struck as familiar, but then again, she always tended to try and link different things to back home when she let her mind a drift.
“Claire, I’m just gonna make this coffee order, can you please take the till?”
Hermione enjoyed the thrill of making coffee; here she found her own type of magic.
With a line firmly forming at the counter, there was no time to waste.
Starting the coffee grounder, she tamped out the first basket of grinds, hooking it into the espresso machine. While extracting the first golden espresso shot, Hermione started frothing the milk. Adding two sugars, then pouring the perfectly foamed milk into the takeaway cup, with its design of a Magpie drinking a coffee stamped upon it, she made a perfect leaf shape pattern upon the Flat white. It was much like wand work, as she had to flick and shake her wrist, in order to make such patterns with the frothed milk; her favourite was a swan, but she’d save that for someone special.
“Small flat white, two sugars, thanks Bert”, Hermione swiftly placing the coffee order in the take away area, she moved on before her only love interest - bleh – could talk back, she went straight back to the espresso machine, back into the flow of making coffee orders for the morning rush.
As it was her own ritual at the end of the shift, instead of riding her bike back home the entire way, she went to the local wharf to hop on a Ferry.
Sydney Harbour was looking absolutely gorgeous in the afternoon sun, there were people everywhere, moving to and from destinations of work and play. She had mixed emotions these days of people watching. At first, she loved it when she had first moved here. It gave her insight into how people talked, walked, dressed and most importantly, acted. That’s the only way at 17, at the time, Hermione knew how to survive, was to blend in. She had been on the run with Harry and Ron prior to coming here, that she even herself forgot that other parts of the world were not as affected by you-know-who, and terror was not the new norm for some. She was shell shocked when she came all those years ago; tired, scared but also determined and hopeful. She wanted to adapt back then quickly, she wanted that for herself and when she found her parents, to be able to be as adjust and be “normal” as possible for them.
Now, she despised looking at people. It reminded her of what she could have had, families surrounding her laughing, loved ones in embraces, and partners sharing moments.
Yes, she wasn’t a fan of people anymore, but Ferries, now that was a different story.
Hoping on at Circular Quay station, it would take her a bit out of way from here leafy suburb, but she felt alive skimming across the water. She supposed this was the closest thing she had to flying with a broom, not that she had cared for flying like the boys and Ginny had back before.
Parked with her bike next to the balcony rails, she sighed and breathed in the cool air of the Harbour, looking towards the bridge and opera house in the dappling early evening sun.
It was daylight saving, so even now at 5PM, the sun would still have hours left before finally going to the other side of the world… the world she left.
Enough, no more dwelling.
With a slight nod, Hermione decided to take out a book from her bag, an easy read, a comedy/romance, hate to love, it was silly and of no importance, but it gave her some spark and humour that she was missing in her life.
Finally, the Ferry linked to the other port, at Manly, in which it would let Hermione disembark. As she was striding off, she needed to adjust her sling bag, so the book would fit nice and snug while she rode home. As she turned to take her bag from her left hip, she was looking down when the waters reflection caught something in the corner of her eye.
The Ferry was leaving with new passengers already, she could of swore she saw a reflection of…
No Hermione, stop, it can’t be! Of all the places and PERSON for that matter, no way.
She chuckled at herself for a moment, adjusting her book, now secure in her bag, she hopped onto her red speedster bike that she found in a local op-shop years ago and started peddling without a backwards glance.
An image of bright white hair, reflecting upon the harbour water, flashed within her thoughts.
Mad, I’m going mad.
She put the thought away as quickly as she could, and continued the steady peddle home.