Chapter Text
It was peaceful inside the lavender-colored bedroom with walls. Books were neatly placed on a mini shelf. Clothes are placed in an organized fashion inside the closet. Toys are all placed inside a big trunk. And the entirety of the room was clean and proper.
Yet, the quietness—the stillness of it all was too eerie.
Perhaps it could be because of a little girl who lay flat on her back, as she blankly stared at her ceiling. She didn’t utter a word, nor did she make any sound.
It was like she was lifeless.
But the rise and fall of her chest says otherwise.
“I’m hungry.”
She muttered and stood up from the floor. Her movements were sluggish, as if her body were sick. But her complexion was flushed with health.
Walking down through the hallway of her home, she took her time admiring the little peace around her. She descended from the stairs and went towards her kitchen, where her mother was preparing some snacks.
“Oh, Hermione, dear.”
The little girl—Hermione—went towards her mother. She tiptoed and tilted her head to see what her mother was preparing. Her mother chuckled fondly at her daughter and took a slice of apple from a bowl she was preparing.
“I thought you might want a snack, but since you’re here, you can eat fruit salad on the dining table instead of in your room.”
Hermione eagerly nodded and took the slice of apple, and went to the dining table to sit down. She waited for her mother to finish making the fruit salad so that she could eat her fill.
As she patiently waited, a thought came to her mind.
‘How do I navigate my life now as Hermione Granger?’
Letha was reincarnated as Hermione Jean Granger in this life. She didn’t know or remember how she died, but she does know that she died in her past life. And regained consciousness of some of her memories from said life.
Ever since she regained consciousness, she has been busy contemplating how she will navigate through the life of a fictional character. But at the same time, she has been busy trying to fix her own emotions—lack of, actually—regarding the situation that she’s in.
To other people, the first thing that they would do when they realized that they got reincarnated would be in a frenzy. Considering reliving your life again, but in a fictional world, is quite crazy. But, for Letha—or should she call herself Hermione? Either way, she couldn’t feel anything.
She’s not saying she’s emotionless. No, she very much has a functional emotional system. However, each time she tries to think about her past life, her mind simply goes blank. It was like her mind didn’t want her to remember. Was it so tragic that her mind erased her memories but not her consciousness of her past?
Hermione’s mother, Jean, placed the bowl of fruit salad in front of her side of the table.
“I added extra milk, just like how you like it, Mimi.” She wiped her wet hands on the kitchen towel, “Just remember to return the bowl! I’ll be in the backyard tending the garden!”
Hermione nodded and took her bowl of fruit salad. Savoring every bite.
‘Hm, yummy.’ She hummed as she ate, ‘Should I play exactly as Hermione, or should I plan things out first before deciding?’
To most typical reincarnated people, once they realized that they got reborn in a world of their preference, especially from shows or stories. They would often, if not always, drive to be the next hero of the story.
Changing the plot line to minimize the canon disasters. Unintentionally make a harem of their favorite characters—or just characters who are considered attractive. Save as many canon deaths of their own favorite characters.
Or you can pick all the above.
Which is something that Letha—Hermione(?) quite disliked about.
Sure, all of them sound so self-righteous and adventurous. But what would happen if you got reborn in a world where, realistically, you could not actually survive? (Unless you’re the main character—but she’s not)
All of those would never happen.
Letha would bet that she herself wouldn’t survive here if she didn’t play her cards right.
Sure, she got reborn as Hermione Granger from Harry Potter—the legit heroine of the story. You would expect that she could at least have plot armor, right?
No.
In theory, plot armor only works if the characters themselves play exactly how they should be. How they should have been written.
Hermione is a written character.
But Letha isn’t.
She could literally change the entire plot with her existing as Hermione, because Hermione isn’t the Hermione of this world—
“Whoa there, love! You look quite too green, you alright, lil’ Button?”
Letha turned to hers? Hermione? Ugh–whatever, her dad.
Dione Granger looked at his daughter with worry. He placed his hand on her forehead, checking if she had a fever or some sort. But thankfully, she didn’t seem to be heating up.
“What’s wrong, lil’ Button?” He sat next to her on the dining table, “You usually don’t go green when you're deep within your little thoughts?”
Hermione—might as well just take the name at this point—smiled at her father’s worried face.
“I’m good, papa!” Hermione poked one of the fruits in the bowl, “I was just thinking…how it gets lonely whenever you and mama leave to work, you know?”
Hermione was sweating over how childish her words sounded, but it was better than nothing. Hopefully, her father would take the bait.
“Oh! Then, do you want Mom and me to buy you a pet?”
Thank you, father, for being a fool for his daughter.
“But wouldn’t Mama get angry, though?”
Putting on the best sad puppy eyes that Hermione could make. Dione felt his heart get pierced by his own daughter’s cuteness.
“Don’t worry, lil’s button! Your mom would totally agree with getting you a little friend!”
“What friend?”
Hermione never saw blood drained so fast like her father’s face the moment her mother came back. She waved at her mother cheerfully, “Hi, mama, papa said he’ll get me a pet to make me feel less lonely!”
Jean—Hermione’s mother—sharply looked at her husband. Her gaze was piercing, as if it could cut through any solid. Dione could only shake nervously as he tried to avoid looking at her face.
“Hermione.”
Perking up from her mother’s call, Hermione tilted her head—a mouthful of fruit. Her mother tried not to melt from the sight of her cute daughter.
“Why would you feel lonely? Does sister Jessy ignore you whenever she babysits you?”
Hermione realized that maybe picking the lonely excuse was getting a bit out of hand. She only wanted her father to stop worrying about her; she didn’t expect that it would be an issue. But she can’t back down now; she’ll just have to play along to her own demise.
“Jessy takes care of me, and I have fun in school too… But.” Hermione acted like she was nervously fidgeting, “I keep hearing other kids at school having cool pets, and how it’s much better than hanging out with a babysitter.”
Which was not a lie, by the way, Hermione has heard from her peers how the others should get a pet too, because it’s cooler. But if she were being honest, she feels like she wouldn’t bother having one. After all, she has better things to worry about than a pet.
But Jean and Dione thought differently. They both believed that maybe they had been neglecting their little daughter (they aren’t). They both noticed how they often hand their poor daughter to other people to look after her while they were too busy in the clinic (again, it doesn’t make them bad parents).
Jean and Dione looked at each other's eyes, telepathically talking to each other on the issue at hand.
‘Maybe we should buy her a pet.’
‘But she’s too young!’
‘Minnie’s always been a responsible girl.’
“What are mama and papa whispering about?”
Both parents flinched when they realized that they weren’t actually being discreet. Their daughter could only look at them with confusion. To think that Hermione’s dentist parents were quite silly at times.
‘What a refreshing scene.’
Maybe planning can stop for now. After all, she has many years to prepare.
- o -
Standing in front of the Platform Nine and Three-Quarters sign. Both parents looked at their daughter, Hermione, now 11 years old, with worried eyes. Jean and Dione could never believe that their little bookworm was actually a witch in the making. Though they’re proud of their child no matter what, the idea of leaving their only child in a place that they couldn’t even visit saddens them.
“Are you sure we really can’t go inside…the brick wall, lil’ Button?” Dione was fiddling with the sleeves of his coat, trying to distract his worried mind.
Hermione couldn't help but smile sadly at her parents. Although it was sweet of her parents to drop her off at the platform, they were both muggles with no magic. Meaning they couldn’t pass through the wall.
Jean rubbed her husband’s shoulders, “Dear, you know what Professor McGonagall told us. We aren’t able to go past the barrier.”
The atmosphere of the little family dampened. Both parents wanted to watch their daughter walk up to the platform. Not watch her walk through a brick wall. At least then, they would feel a little better knowing she safely rode the train.
Jean smoothed the front jacket of Hermione, while Dione could only laugh awkwardly at the smoke puffing out from the other trains in the Muggle station. He crouched down at the same level as his daughter.
“Well, then,” the father crouched a little to match his daughter’s eye level, “your mum and I always knew you were special. But… this—” He gestured to his daughter’s trolley of school supplies and at the ‘magical brick wall’. “This is something else.”
Jean crouched next to her husband. “Write as soon as you arrive, okay? ” She went to hug her daughter.
“We’ll be waiting for every holiday, Hermione.”
Hermione’s smile softened as she hugged her mother a little tighter — not eager to let go just yet. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel like she was just a normal daughter.
Hermione nodded. “I promise to write as soon as I get there, Mama.”
Her father leaned in, serious and soft. “Don’t let anyone push you around. You’ve always been brilliant. Always remember that, Minnie.”
“I won’t.”
Her father joined them, hugging her like she was leaving forever—which, in a way, she was. The hug lasted longer than necessary, yet it still felt short.
Just as they were about to let go, her mother glanced upward and frowned slightly, “And you’re sure it’s alright for Obsy to come? I’m still not convinced… especially with him being the only crow. What if the owls—”
“He’ll be fine, Mama,” Hermione faintly smiled at her mother’s worry. “And no, he won’t be bullied. Plus, I got permission from the school. Professor McGonagall said, “As long as he doesn’t terrorize the post owls, he can stay.”
Her father raised a brow. “But how will he get there? He hates cages, and he’s certainly not getting on that train.”
“He’ll just fly,” Hermione replied as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “You know how he can easily track me anywhere, and honestly—he’d probably arrive before I do.”
Almost as if on cue, a large black crow swooped down and landed squarely on her trunk, ruffling its feathers and puffing out its chest like it had been listening the whole time.
Her mother softened instantly. “Well, it seems you’ll be in charge of looking after our Hermione, Obsy.”
Obsy cawed once—low and almost solemn—before giving Hermione a sharp, sidelong glance, as though to say, Don’t worry, I’ve got this.
Her father smirked. “And you be careful on your flight, champ.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’m the one going to a magic school, remember.”
“Mm,” her father said with mock seriousness. “Still pretty sure the crow’s the brains of the operation.”
HOOOONK.
The whistle of the train next to the family shrieked, startling both the family and the crow. Dione looked at his watch and sighed sadly.
“Well… I think you'd better go before that wall closes on you.”
Obsy cawed at Hermione, and she smiled at her feathered friend, then at her father, “Okay, I love you both.”
Her parents smiled, with teary eyes, as they watched their little girl—who is no longer little—walk through the brick wall.
As Hermione walked past the wall, her eyes widened in amazement at the surrounding scenes. There were so many magical families on the platform. Parents are all saying their goodbyes to their children as they board the train.
Hermione took a nervous breath, then looked at her feathered friend, who was already looking expectantly at her, “You can go ahead; just follow the train tracks, okay? ”
With a powerful push, he took to the air, wheeling above the platform once before disappearing beyond the steam. Leaving Hermione alone, she stood there for a moment, then pushed her trolley to the conductor so that she could place her luggage into the storage cart.
As she stepped onto the train. She took one last look at the platform, her parents not there to wave her goodbye.
…..
“Sigh, and the story begins,” Hermione murmured, “If I remember correctly, this is where I met Neville for the first time to help him find his…toad…”
There was a faint note of dread in her voice.
Hermione went to find an available compartment for her to put her trunk, hoping that she could skip this part of the story. But knowing the narrative, it was probably inevitable.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief after finding an empty compartment for her to stash her trunk. She sank onto the cushion, exhausted from the treasure hunt that was finding an empty compartment. She reached out from her sling bag and took out a book, Hogwarts: The History.
‘I always wondered what was so great about this book.’ She flipped a page. ‘Now I’m reading it in the flesh. I can see why I was so fond of it.’
After years of planning and scheming, Hermione—formerly named as Letha — was slightly confident enough for the inevitable story that would come. Though she will admit that her emotions were lacking in regard to her rebirth as a fictional character. Mentally, she was very conflicted.
It took her weeks to finally come to terms with the fact that she was really Hermione Granger from Harry Blooding Potter. She had to accept that Hermione’s parents were hers now. That she would face trauma that no 11-year-old should have to endure. And worse, that she was one of those 11-year-olds.
However, Letha—now known as Hermione—planned out her journey. Although it wasn’t a concrete plan, per se, it was enough to reassure her both mentally and emotionally.
Though the OG, Hermione Granger, survived the narrative. But that was the Original plot, what is to say the story wouldn’t change because of the sudden disturbance? That disturbance is Letha.
That being said, the story of the original plot might not play out the same way.
Sighing in despair, Hermione closed her book. “I just hope my Pre-Hogwarts Plan follows through,” she muttered, eyes flicking toward her bag. The one with that book inside.
“Ex… excuse me! ”
“Gwah! ”
She flinched, tossing the book from her hands. Her head whipped toward the intruder—then promptly went pale. Right there, standing—while gulping the air—was one of the characters that she wanted to avoid.
“Um, Hav-Have you—have you seen a toad here? He—his name is Trevor.”
Was fucking Neville Longbottom.