Not Another Harry Potter
She’s snuck into the Department of Mysterious.
It was an awful and strenuous affair.
She had immediately left Grimmauld, pretending like she couldn’t actually see anything. She could feel Walburga’s and Kreacher’s eyes on her as she acted as though she were a lost muggle wandering.
It was just a stroke of coincidence that she made direct eye contact with her. That’s all.
For a self proclaimed “Perfect Pureblood,” Mrs. Black was a heavy mouth breather, fogging up the window glass as she looked out at Hermione with wide eyes. Every other second, Kreacher would stand there and wipe away the condensation.
She is reminded of the law she had just got passed before this issue occurred. She quite liked Kreacher, even though he went out of his way to buy a misogynist muggle book riddled with unique female insults for her and her only.
She made a large treck back to the wizarding population, unwilling to risk another apparition.
Now more than ever did she have to speak with an Unspeakable. She refused to deal with whatever mess almost befell her. Death Eaters? James Potter? Seriously?
That was the plan.
Until she was caught.
Hermione expected more of a reaction to being caught in a high-level security area. For goodness sake, she was walking through a restricted hallway with unauthorized access.
A detainment was expected. An instant duel. Maybe even dramatic laser beams like they do in the movies. Anything but this.
The male who found her had a look of awe and panic on his face, arms raising up as to say ‘he means no harm.’
Why is he looking at her like that?
Before she can utter a confused word out, he holds out his arm, a gesture he wants her to reciprocate. She very, very reluctantly walks towards him, staring at him wearily with her wand still raised.
“I’m not touching you.”
The man nods slowly, like he should’ve expected this. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her like she’s a miracle or his biggest muck-up.
“I- uh… I need you to follow me, Ms. Granger.”
“Excuse me?”
Why on earth does this strange Unspeakable man know her name?
“How do you know my name?”
He appears to have licked an invisible lemon. The man sways back and forth on his feet before turning around and walking, expecting her to follow with no commands given.
Hermione’s wrongness sensor is going off. She knows she isn’t going to like whatever happens next. She follows behind slowly. Evidently, she won’t be getting a clear-cut answer.
And she was right. She didn’t like it.
He led her to a private room, giving her one last look, still undecipherable. Inside held stacks and stacks of paper work, most thrown about. Strange maps of oddly drawn dimensions are sprawled out. Everyone here seems on edge.
All of a sudden, the hive turns towards her, each pair of eyes ranging with different reactions. But, each reaction holds something similar. They all have a hint of “Oh Shit” in their eyes.
She feels like shes just joined a cult.
One of the workers speaks up.
“Dale-“
“I know. I know!”
Dale, the apparent name of the worker who escorted her here, throws his hands out in front of him, the look of a sleep-exhausted man soon to be verbally beat by his boss.
One woman approaches her. She holds up a paper to her face, it being unseen from Hermione’s point of view. The lady hums nervously.
Hermione yanks the paper out from her hands.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here?”
Hermione looks down at the scroll. It’s a badly drawn picture of her, eyes too big, nose too wide, and oddly proportioned shoulders. And that bloody ugly tie she’s wearing.
If she wasn’t so weirded out with the panic coming back, she would take a moment to feel offended. She straightens up, business Hermione back.
“Someone. Explain.”
Dale nervously steps forward. His cheeks are a bit red. His eyes dart between Hermione and the door as though she would let him get away from this. She raises an eyebrow.
“You see… just a little while ago… a prophecy came about-“
“No.”
She’s not doing this. She takes a swivel and walks towards the door, intending to leave and never come back. She’ll find her own way home.
Someone spells the door shut as soon as she reaches it. Hermione turns back around, teeth gritting.
“Just- please, please hear me out here.”
Crossing her arms with her nails digging deep enough to feel drippage leaking out, she faces Dale once more.
“It, uh. It spoke of a woman with a purple zebra print tie appearing.”
Hermione looks down at the tie she’s wearing. Of bloody course. Harry gave her this goddamned tie. Harry Potter, when she gets her hands on you…
“What does it say?”
The workers look at each other. Dale does not speak.
“Seriously? Well, let me see it then.”
No one wants to admit to whatever wrongdoing happened. Dale gets pushed forward once more. He licks his chapped and dehydrated lips before mumbling out a response.
“It was stolen.”
“Stolen?”
Hermione takes a deep breath, willing herself to calm down and not hex a room full of Unspeakables who could probably take her down. Every ounce of will left is being used in this moment.
“Do you, at the very least, have a basic summary? Or possibly even an idea on who stole a prophecy related to me? Or, I don’t know, how I got here?!”
Dale bites his cheek, running a hand through his thinning brown middle-aged man hair. At this point, the only thing she can safely assume is that her name was indeed mentioned in this prophecy. The air reeks of booksmart genius. Common sense must have flown away along with Dales baby hairs.
“It spoke of a woman with your tie who… ended up here from a parallel reality. As a very credible threat.”
“The scroll, by whom?”
“…”
“By whom?!”
“The Dark Lord.”
Harry, when she gets you Harry.