A little something I started after getting bored with the "Hermione  
turns into a sex goddess over the summer for no reason other than she  
can't be ugly" fics. It will be updated intermittently
  * * * *

The body lay in the alleyway. It was a young girl, perhaps sixteen  
years of age. She had bushy brown hair, the pale skin of someone who  
spent too much time indoors and wore nondescript clothes. A bag of  
books, many of them having just been checked out from library hours  
before, lay on the ground, wet from the summer drizzle falling on  
London.

The body's throat had been slashed and a purse lay at the alley's  
mouth, empty.

In time, the body would have been discovered, the police summoned,  
the body identified as one Hermione Granger, and the parents  
notified. They would have grieved, buried their daughter and tried to  
move on.

Would have, except, that something very peculiar happened; Hermione's  
body began to glow.

* * * *

Herbert and Janet Granger were two of the most ordinary people  
possible. They were dentists, both having graduated from university  
with high honors and a successful practice in a decent section of  
London. They took a vacation to the mainland twice a year and took a  
proper amount of pride in their daughter Hermione.

Herbert was pushing forty, starting to go bald and wore glasses. He  
had long narrow fingers and a perpetual squint from staring into  
mouths all day.

Janet was lean and tall, with dark brown hair and a large eyes. The  
older of the two, she had little to do the fanciful and outrageous.  
But at the same time, when she chose, she had an infectious smile and  
could put anyone at ease.

Herbert adored her, though he sometimes felt depressed that she  
appeared to be barely out of her twenties and he was fast losing his  
youth.

Janet thought he was being silly, but Herbert remained convinced that  
he was losing his appeal.

Today, they sat together in the dining area of their cottage and  
drank tea as they did when neither had to go into the office.

"Let's go out tonight," Janet said, "I really don't want to heat up  
the kitchen, not in this weather."

"All right, Jan," Herbert agreed. "Where?"

Before Janet could respond, the front door banged open. They  
exchanged glances. "Hermione, dear? Is that you?" Janet called out.  
There was the sound of a heavy bag hitting the floor and slow,  
shuffling footsteps.

"Hermione?" Herbert asked. Around the corner came a young woman  
wearing Hermione's clothes stretched tight over lean, firm curves.  
Her hair was straight and glossy black and her eyes were deep blue.  
Her expression was vacant and she stared dumbly at them. But what  
drew Herbert's attention was that her shirt was spattered with blood.

"Who?" He demanded, rising from his chair.

"Sit down, Herbert." Janet snapped. Herbert sat. Janet crossed the  
room to the young woman and gripped her chin, moving her head so she  
could look into the young woman's eyes. For several seconds, they  
stayed like that and then Janet released her and uttered several  
words in a fast, chittering language, which sounded much like  
swearing. Then in english she addressed the girl. "Go to your room,  
Hermione, I'll be along momentarily."

"Mum?" The girl asked.

"Yes, now go to your room and change clothes. I'll be along in a  
bit." The girl nodded, Janet sighed and looked at her husband.  
"Herbert?"

"Don't tell me, go to the pub for a few hours," Herbert said,  
standing up as the grandfather clock in the living room chimed the hour.

"Thank you," Janet said, coming over and kissing him on the forehead.

Herbert smiled and went to fetch his keys. On the way back to the  
front door, he stopped and eyed the clock.

The grandfather clock was Janet's. She'd had it since before they had  
met. It was a good three meters tall, made of dark oak and brass. The  
face was made of marble and showed not only the time, but the sun,  
moon, and the current phase of the moon.

When he had proposed, she had sat taken his hand and told him that  
there were three things he had to know. The first had been the  
language she had occasionally lapsed into when under stress. He could  
never know what it was, or what she said. The second had been the  
clock. It was to always stay with them. The third was that  
occasionally strange things might happen. It had to do with the  
clock, but she couldn't tell him why.

Sloppy in love with her, he'd agreed and she had accepted his ring  
and a month later, they were married. He had no regrets, but he  
sometimes he wondered.

Shaking his head, he walked out the door.

* * * *

Janet sat in the kitchen until she heard Herbert leave and then  
checked to make sure he had left. It wasn't that she mistrusted her  
husband, but she had been hoping that this day would never come and  
now that it had . . . She invoked the names of long forgotten gods,  
whose names would mean nothing to anyone and then took a deep breath.  
She didn't shirk from doing the unpleasant, she wouldn't have  
graduated if she did, but it would be a lie if she was going to enjoy  
the next few hours.

One more deep breath, and then she headed down the hall to her  
daughter's room.

Hermione sat on her bed, staring at her closet, whose contents had  
been strewn on the floor. She was clad only in her knickers and she  
looked up at her mother in confusion.

"Nothing fits right. Nothing seems right," she said. "I don't feel  
right."

"That's the way of it, Hermione," Janet said and picked up a  
bathrobe. 'Keep using her name, hold her to the present.' she thought  
to herself and held out the robe. "Come on then, put this on."

Hermione donned the bathrobe and then resumed staring at the empty  
closet.

Janet sighed. This whole thing was bad enough if you knew what was  
coming. If not . . . well, at least Hermione appeared to be stable,  
just in a state of shock. Small blessings, she supposed. "Come with me."

Hermione numbly followed her mother out of her room and back into the  
living room where they stopped before the clock. Janet sighed and  
pulled out the small pendant she had worn around on a chain around  
her neck for her entire adult life. It was made of metal, shaped like  
a shield, and a a cross coming out from one point. She pulled the  
chain over her head and slipped the key into a hidden lock on the  
clock's doors. She turned the key once, and then pushed the door  
inward, the pendulum seeming to fade from sight.

Then, as though this was perfectly normal.  Janet took Hermione's  
hand and pulled her inside.

All was quiet and then Hermione leapt backwards out of the clock,  
staring in wide-eyed horror.

She sat there for several moments, chest heaving and then she got up  
and carefully examined the clock. "This is impossible," she said to  
herself and then taking a deep breath, went back to the front of the  
clock and stepped inside.

She was in a large, circular shaped room. Metal bumps lined the walls  
and the center of the room was taken up by a circular console covered  
with knobs, buttons, levers and switches. A large monitor screen  
covered the wall opposite the door and next to it was another door  
covered with bas relief of some creature Hermione had never seen  
before. The light came from some unseen source high overhead and a  
glass pillar rose from the console all the way to the ceiling.

Leaning against the console, arms crossed, was her mother.

"Mum?" Hermione asked. "What? How is this possible? What is this?"

"A little something of mine," Her mother replied. "And really, given  
some of the things you've told me about your school, your friends and  
that . . . Qudditch game, finding this should hardly be worth batting  
an eye."

But Hermione didn't hear her. Her brain, quick and clever, jolted  
into action by shock was at full tilt, digesting evidence, applying  
logic and then dispensing a conclusion. "It's . . . it's a tesseract  
space. The inside of the clock has been folded in on itself so that  
it's larger then the outside."

"Close," Janet replied. "This isn't a clock, it just looks like one,  
but yes, that suffices for now."

"Mum, are you a witch? Or a squib?"

Janet shook her head. "No, dear, nothing so fantastical as any of  
that. Just . . . just a survivor. Come on." With that, she led  
Hermione through the other door and into a long corridor. The walls,  
ceiling and floor were sterile white and at regular intervals were  
other doors, or hallways leading off to other places. Finally, they  
stopped before one door which opened onto a vast space filled with  
racks and racks of clothes.

Janet tapped controls on the wall next to the door and the racks  
moved. Some dropped into the floor, others slid into walls, and  
within moments, the room had emptied except for a handful of racks  
and shelves.

But oh, what racks they were! Shirts, jeans, pants, jumpers, in all  
sorts of styles and colors. The shelves held shoes of all types and  
colors. Trainers, heels, flats, pumps, sandals, boots. There was even  
a selection of hats and watches ranging from fancy digital to analog  
pocket-watches of various styles and types of chain. And bins of  
accessories. Wallets, pins, ties, and more.

"Go on, there should be something you like," Janet said, taking a  
small stool and sitting on it, leaning back against the wall.

Hesitantly, Hermione began to prowl the racks. "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Where did you get this? All this? Why do I look different? It's like  
everything is different. I feel different. I don't understand it at  
all and I hate it."

Janet laughed softly. "It's a very, very long story." She looked up  
at the ceiling. "I'm sure you've figured out by now that I'm not from  
Cardiff at all. I was born . . . no, that's not quite right. I  
was . . ." Janet's lips thinned into a line. "Suffice to say, I'm no  
more human than this place is a clock."

"You're an alien?" Hermione asked, her tone incredulous. "From outer  
space?"

Janet nodded. "From very far away. We were ancient when the first  
mammals emerged on this planet and yet, the light from our sun has  
yet to reach earth, if that gives you an idea. There was a war and I  
crashed here on Earth."

Hermione let some of the clothes fall to the floor. "So . . . you  
were stranded on Earth? Couldn't you fix it? Call for help?"

"There's no one left to call. I'd feel it if there were. In any case,  
it was the seventies," Janet said with a laugh. "The materials I need  
to fix this place won't be available for another fifty years at  
least. So, I did what I could and settled in to wait. University and  
then some sort of carreer seemed like a way to pass the time, and  
that's where I met your father. We married, you were born, and that  
was that." She smiled softly. "I've never been content before that,  
but now . . . " she shrugged. "I am. Funny how things work out."

"I see. So why do I look . . ." Hermione gestured at herself, "like  
this?"

"It's a little trick my people can do at the moment of death. I  
wasn't sure if you could as well, though if He could . . ." she  
trailed off. "An even longer tale and a very old one. Never mind."

"Does Dad know?"

"I'm sure he has some ideas, but I told him that I don't want to talk  
about my past, and bless him, he's never pressed me for details. You  
can't say a word about this to him either."

"But why not? He's going to ask questions about . . . me."

"You're a witch, dear. That is all the explanation he needs." Janet  
shrugged. "I'll handle it."

Hermione was at the shelves now, adding things to the small bundle of  
clothes she held in one arm. She made a few selections and finally  
turned to her mother. "Where?"

Janet waved an arm at the wall. "Through there."

Hermione disappeared through the door to the changing area and Janet  
busied herself with cleaning up the mess. She noticed with approval  
and a bit of concern that all the conservative clothing had been  
tossed aside as well as most of the more provacitive designs. That  
spoke volumes about Hermione's new personality. Less introverted then  
she had been, but probably not a "party girl".

"Mum?"

Janet turned. Hermione stood in the middle of the room. She wore a  
button down shirt with a black tie, dark blue pants and a vest that  
was a touch too snug and a light coat that came down to mid-thigh. A  
tie pin in the shape of a question mark adorned her coat lapel and  
she wore a fedora at a jaunty angle. Boots with a slight heel were on  
her feet.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked, turning slowly.

"It's what you think that matters, dear," Janet said. "Do you like it?"

Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror. "Yes, I do."

"Excellent," Janet clapped her hands together and finished  
straightening the room. "Come on," and with that, she led the way out  
of the room, back down the hall, through the room with the bumps on  
the walls and back into the Granger living room where she once again  
closed and locked the doors, the pendulum fading back into view.

"Not a word to your father," Janet said.

Hermione nodded and then she gasped. "What am I going to tell Ron and  
Harry? My friends!" She paused. "Why am I worried? I'll lie."

"Hermione Granger!" Janet snapped and Hermione stiffened. "You may  
not be the same person anymore, but you are still MY daughter, and  
you do not lie!"

"You lied."

"There are things I never said," Janet replied.

"Sophistry," Hermione scoffed. "You're not actually from Cardiff,"

"I landed in Cardiff," Janet replied. "It was in Cardiff that I  
became Janet Roman. That I was someone else before being Janet was  
never mentioned, therefore, I didn't lie."

Hermione frowned at her mother. There was a logical hole in that  
argument. It was so gaping wide that even Crabbe and Goyle could have  
seen it. "You're playing word games."

"But not telling lies," Janet replied with an air of superiority. As  
a child, Hermione had admired and tried to emulate that very air.  
When her mother spoke with that sense of rightness, people turned to  
listen, to hear, to really hear what she had to say.

Hermione had never, despite her best effort, managed to do the same.  
She'd come across as snobby, or a know it all. But she'd tried to  
duplicate it anyway.

Now, it irritated her.

"Sophistry," Hermione said again, crossing her arms. Then she looked  
down, and frowned and pushed her arms together. "Bollocks!"

At that point, Janet realized why Hermione's vest was a touch too snug.

"None of your bras fit?" She asked.

"Not very well," Hermione admitted sullenly.

"Well as it happens, I'd been meaning to get some new ones. One moment."

Janet went and got her keys and purse.

And then, as an afterthought, she went into Hermione's room and  
grabbed the wand lying on the bed.

* * * *

The car ride into London proper was uneventful, and they threaded  
their way through the mall crowds to a department store that sold  
good, practical clothing. Not to mention the staff knew how to  
properly fit a person.

Hermione was two sizes larger the last time she'd been in and Janet  
knew that she wasn't done growing yet. She rather suspected Hermione  
would be taller than her when all was said and done.

After shopping, they sat in the mall cafe and drank tea surrounded by  
shopping bags.

"We'll put these in the car," Janet said, "and then we'd best pay a  
visit to that Alley place and have you fitted for new school clothes."

"I'm sure mine still fit," Hermione protested. I might be a bit  
bigger in the tits and arse, but . . . what?"

"You have a fouler mouth on you, Hermione," Janet said frowning. "Do  
try to control it."

At that moment, Janet's eye was drawn to the door. Coming through it  
was three people. A black boy, a tall man in a brown suit and coat  
with messy black hair and a blonde girl. The black boy and blonde  
girl were arguing.

"Rose, I don't see why we had to stop here, I thought we were going  
to see dinosaurs."

"From a distance," the man in the brown suit said. "Up close, really  
bad idea. The bad breath. Phew!"

"I told you Mickey, I had a feeling," Rose said. "Just let's get a  
snack and we'll get back to the Tardis."

Janet stiffened as though she'd been shot and her head whipped around  
to stare at the Trio.

"What are you staring at?" Mickey demanded.

"I'm sorry," Janet said, a tremor in her voice. "Did I hear you say  
Tardis?"

Now the man in the brown suit was looking at them curiously.

"No, I said Cardiff," Mickey snarled. "Bugger off."

Rose punched Mickey in the arm and glared.

The man in the brown suit smiled at them and gave Janet a shrug.

"Even though Cardiff and Tardis sound only vaguely alike?" Janet  
asked, but she didn't sound very sure of herself.

Hermione was confused, she'd never seen her mother like this before.

"Well phonetically, the two words are similar," said the man in the  
brown suit. "You could get them confused easily. I do all the time."

Janet looked at him. Really looked at him. At his manner, his face,  
and his eyes.

His eyes.

Both her hearts skipped a beat and she fought the urge to laugh. Of  
course. Of course he'd have made it. If anyone else had survived, it  
was him. It would have to be.

"You always did let them come to you," she said with a smile.

"Excuse me?"

She stood up and went to him, taking his hand, tears in her eyes.  
"Doctor, it's me. Romana."

For the first time in over three hundred years, the man known only as  
the Doctor lost all control of his emotions and facial expression and  
showed complete and utter shock.

For the first time in her life, Hermione saw her mother cry.

***************
Note: This fic is set just before the Tenth Doctor episode "Rise of  
the Cybermen"

Disclaimer. Harry Potter and related characters are the creation of  
J.K. Rowling. Doctor Who is owned by the BBC. No money is being made  
from this and no such intent shall be inferred.


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