Note: Few changes, mostly spelling and grammar. Disclaimer at end.
C&C is always welcome.
****************************
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 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 and shuffled out. 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 her past
was hers. She didn't want to talk about it. Ever.
Sloppy in love with her, he'd agreed, she'd accepted his ring, and a
month later, a quiet little civil ceramony and just like that, they
were married. He'd never pressed her for details about her past,
though he had a number of theories that he'd come up with over the
years.
But he'd kept them to herself. Janet's past, whatever it was, must
have been bad, and what the clock had to do with any of it was beyond
him.
He loved her deeply, but sometimes . . . shaking his head, he walked
out the door.
* * * *
Janet sat in the kitchen until she heard Herbert leave and then
checked to make sure. 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 and 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 on a chain around her neck
for her entire adult life. It was made of metal, shaped like a
shield, and 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
door. 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 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 a 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, 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 career 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 provacative 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 Henrik's, 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 than 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 brown 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. "Quit being tetchy," she
muttered.
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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