Chapter One
Waves of Magic
skyabby
Chapter One
“Silencio!” Hermione stumbled over something, watching her spell speed towards Dolohov. She allowed herself a second of internal celebration as it hit, but that allowed Dolohov to aim his wand at the momentarily, blissfully unaware Hermione and cast silently.
An unknown purple spell shot at her, one of the quickest spells she’d seen in her magical education. She dodged, and it hit her on her chest…
…then it looked like the remaining spell residue flew through her and into the wall behind her.
The sound of shattered glass. Hermione could see herself beginning to bleed, but glass cut her limbs and made her vision temporarily hazy. As sand sprinkled on her, she realized what it was.
Time sand.
Dolohov’s eyes widened. Hermione could practically see the thoughts whirring through the Azkaban escapee’s mind. Harry was meant to be the only captive, and the rest of them – Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and her – were to be killed. Time sand was unpredictable. Manipulating time wasn’t the only thing it could do, though channeled in Time-Turners, its magic was molded to one specific aim.
He made the decision quickly. Leaving her, a reportedly smart – Draco Malfoy’s sneer flashed through her mind – witch with time sand that could possibly (and it was a very small possibility, but still) enhance her magic or something and let her go free?
Hermione felt his slimy, cold grip on her arm. She felt numb, like it was an out-of-body experience. Dolohov tensed and held onto her even more tightly.
Crack.
Hermione stirred, reaching a hand up to wipe her eyes. Where was she? Where had Dolohov Apparated to? She felt a warm bed beneath her. Did Dolohov’s Apparation fail? Was she in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing? She couldn’t hear Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps or any rustling of the bedsheets, or even Harry half-heartedly complaining.
Her chest hurt.
“You’re awake.”
Hermione slammed upright, her eyes wide in panic. She didn’t recognize that voice. Maybe she was in a Death Eater’s lair after all. She scrabbled desperately around for her wand, though a Death Eater would deprive her of it immediately.
“Your wand is right here, pequeña bruja.”
Hermione grabbed her wand from the hand that was offered to her and took a deep breath. Steady there. Brightest witch of your age, fighter of Death Eaters. Doesn’t matter where you are or who you’re speaking to. Channel Draco Malfoy. When that didn’t work, Pansy Parkinson.
“Excuse me?” she finally said. Her voice was croaky and hoarse from disuse. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, where am I? Who are you?” She lifted her head cautiously.
The old lady, her face full of wrinkles but her blue eyes still kind, smiled. “You are in my home. We are in the Encanto. I am Marie Ramírez. It is your name I do not know.”
Hermione hesitated. The stranger had already given her name, it would be impolite not to give hers. But how did she know that this Marie Ramírez was telling the truth? “Mia,” she said finally. “Mia Gran – Grant.”
“What a beautiful name,” the woman mused. “Foreigner?” A Spanish accent flooded her voice.
“Britain, actually,” Hermione said, remarkably calmly (if she did say so herself). “Um, you’re a witch?” She had tentatively taken Spanish lessons when she was younger, before Hogwarts, and had continued her studies during the summer holidays. She wasn’t fluent, not by any means, but she could get by.
“I believe so,” Marie laughed – a tinkling sound that reminded Hermione of her own grandmother’s.
“How did I get here? Where are we? Like, country?” Hermione didn’t recognize the name Encanto, not in Muggle or magical maps of the world. Maybe it was really obscure…
“You were found by my cousin in the mountains with glass embedded in your skin and sand all over you. He and his family patched you up, but you were still unconscious and couldn’t be woken, so they couldn’t feed you Señora Julieta’s arepas.”
“I don’t think I need food that badly…right?” Hermione frowned.
“And Encanto is in Colombia. And no, you don’t need food,” Marie held her fingers up as if doing air-quotes, “that badly, but you needed medication. Still need it.” Her gaze narrowed on Hermione’s chest. “And I know from experience that Señora Julieta’s arepas work on magical wounds too. They won’t be healed fully, but it’s better than usual magical medication.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Colombia. Okay.” She had a feeling Dolohov hadn’t meant to land her in Colombia. Speaking of Dolohov…where was he? She began to panic, her fingers tightening on her wand. She could feel the runes carved into it. “And healing food. That’s interesting; I’ve never heard of it before. Oh, and have you seen a man with black hair and a beard with wild eyes walking around here?”
Stupid, stupid. Her description of Dolohov could send him running to her. Why couldn’t she just not mentioned him instead? She cursed herself and waited breathlessly for Marie’s response.
“No,” she answered. “And healing food is…unique around here.”
“Wait.” Hermione took a deep breath. “Recap.” She started murmuring to herself, uncaring if Marie was listening. “In Colombia, with a witch, no Dolohov, healing food, something called Encanto which sounds disturbingly magical to me.”
Marie eyed her. “Mia, dear, I think you should settle in.”
“I am.”
Marie took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Encanto is magical, Mia.”
“I know that…I think.”
“Not in the way you think,” Marie said. “A different type of magical. The ‘head family’,” she did quotation marks again, “The Madrigals, they are gifted. Each has a gift, a type of magic of their own. Señora Alma is the head of their family. She brought us all to Encanto many years ago when a miracle was granted to her.”
“What type of gifts?” asked Hermione, feeling her inner bookworm bubble up.
“Well, Señora Pepa controls the weather. It is always a good indication of her mood when there is rainbows in the air or storm clouds gathering. Señora Julieta’s gift is to be able to make healing food, as you call it. Señora Pepa married Señor Félix and they have three children – Dolores,” – for a second Hermione had a flashback to Umbridge – “who can listen to all of Encanto, though not beyond the mountains. Don’t worry, she cannot listen here,” Marie assured the young witch. “Silencing Charms still work. Her brother Camilo can shapeshift, so be careful of who you impart your secrets into, but he is very friendly. And little Antonio, who is getting his gift in a few days.
“Señora Julieta married Señor Agustín. They have three children, all girls: Luisa, blessed with super strength, Isabela, blessed with the ability to create flowers, and Mirabel, who…has no gift.”
“Like a Squib.”
“Exactly,” she nodded. “The Madrigals take care of our village. Luisa helps people with adjusting houses or collecting donkeys, Julieta distributes her arepas and other foods among the sick and injured every day, Camilo babysits the children, Isabela creates flowers for lovesick men and women…”
Personally, Hermione thought the last one was pretty useless, but okay.
“My name is actually Hermione,” she said. “Hermione Jean Granger.”
The next day Marie – Mami, Hermione corrected herself, remembering The Plan – went out early and bought groceries, bringing home an arepa for Hermione. “Made by Señora Julieta herself,” she promised.
The Plan, in a nutshell:
- Pretend to be Marie Ramírez’s daughter she didn’t know about since recently.
- Either figure out how to get to Britain or attend a small magical school in Colombia.
- Keep her head down. Don’t get the notice of the Madrigals. Or anyone else, really.
(Oh yeah, and shocker, they weren’t in 1996. It took surprisingly long to get to, probably because Hermione hadn’t studied magical or Muggle Colombia much, ever. Hermione fainted when she heard the year.)
By lunch her purple scar had faded to just that – a scar, barely noticeable. It only tingled slightly when she touched it now.
She sat on her bed, twirling her wand in her hand with a Spanish book on the sheets. She had cast a complicated Translation Charm so that she felt like the book was written in English and she could hear people when they spoke Spanish as if it were English. Speaking fluently was also a bonus.
They had decided that she could keep her name, thinking she would respond better to it and more automatically to divert suspicion. Accidentally coming across Little Hermione Granger wouldn’t be a problem, because a) she wasn’t born yet b) her parents weren’t in Colombia and c) if she did bump into a Hermione Granger, she’d know her name wasn’t all that unique anyway.
She realized she hadn’t been reading for the past few minutes.
She’d been waiting.
For a mental breakdown.
Hermione Granger had always known she was special, and not in the normal special way when she was a child. It wasn’t as a big shocker to her as it was to her parents when Professor McGonagall arrived on their doorstep. This, however, was entirely unexpected.
She would never see Harry again. Never see Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, the DA or Dumbledore. She would never see her parents again. She had come to this Encanto with nothing but the clothes on her back, embedded glass, time sand and her wand.
She wanted to cry.
But she wouldn’t. She was Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger. She repeated it like a mantra in her head. Brightest witch of her age, she could do this. It was probably only temporarily…right? They could figure out how to get her back to her correct time. Right?
…right?