Chapter Text
Usually trains are a safe means of transportation. Key word Usually. This particular day was a fluke that resulted in a great tragedy, though its only importance is to set the plot in motion.
See there was a group of people, friends, on a weekend getaway. Where they were going doesn’t matter, only that they died from an accident. There was no logic or reason behind it, only the ineffable nature of fate leading them to be reborn into a world they thought only fiction.
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When Hermione Granger was born it was with much confusion on her part. This was completely reasonable because to her memories she was just an eighteen year old American and suddenly she’s a baby surrounded by English accents. She had it easier than the others because she at the very least picked up accents quickly.
Her parents adored her, but they did note some peculiarities. Her undying love of the library was one. Another was her seeming understanding of what was happening around her as well her calculated reactions to those happenings. It was as if she thought about and planned out her tantrums. It was ridiculous of course, because what child would plan out their outbursts, and with this utterly flawless line of reasoning the Grangers continued on with their lives grateful that their child was easy for them to take care of and keep happy.
Except… Hermione was planning her outbursts, because Hermione was in fact an eighteen year old who had experience in tailoring her life to her preferences. Hermione also had many many ideas as to what she could use her magic for, but muggleborn status limited her research. However, she could be very resourceful, and had a complete willingness to familiarize herself with the entirety of the local library’s science section. After all, Hermione had always wondered what would be possible if one combined magic and science, and she had many magic systems to recreate.
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By the time Hermione got to primary school, she was reasonably certain that she had figured out how to be a child accurately in the presence of adults. Her trick was to talk about what she had read about recently and then let the adults around her explain it to her.
Except, this was relative to adults. She had no idea how to be a child around children. Children can be straightforward to a fault which is a problem because Hermione couldn’t stop herself from thinking in terms of nuance and vague “what-if” statements. It took her a couple weeks of floundering to find a reasonable niche within the schoolyard, that of the conspiracy theorist. Because there is always a child asking too many questions and making outlandish hypotheses (though hers were more accurate than most) and she thrived as the most eccentricly inquisitive girl in her year. Emphasis on eccentric.
Hermione was an odd duck, but she was a proud duck. Proud… and lonely. It’s difficult to make deep friendships when everyone “your age” can’t think of the nuance behind actions. The deepest any relationship could go was a puddle, not for lack of trying on anyone’s part, but children just don’t have the experience that Hermione has so she couldn’t help but ache for her friends from before.
They were the deepest human connection she had had and it took her years to get. She missed them, and Hermione knew that it was highly unlikely she’d find anything like them in her new world. Who else would listen to her rants or make silly rules for her to ignore like “You’re not allowed to have any sort of sword or long stick”.
In other news, she wanted an enchanted or otherwise magical magic staff to cast spells with while simultaneously thwacking people with it. Perhaps a magic umbrella with which to recreate Mary Poppins. Or a lightsaber. Either way she was one going to get her long magic stick with which to maim and seriously injure.
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It wasn’t often that Hermione was confused (except for that one time at Christmas when Aunt Stacy and Uncle Ken brought their “bachelor friend” that they travelled with, of course that was more a “is this what I think it is” moment than actual confusion) but right now she was confused.
She just got home from school, and her parents were sitting in the living room on the sofa looking very… concerned. At first she was worried she would be getting into a whole “we’re worried about who you are friends with at school” that her oldest brother in her first life had (though that was from a teacher and not the parents but it was the same principle) and besides it wasn’t her fault that the kids who wanted to play with her were the ones who would act on her intrusive thoughts turned comments.
Walkingfurther into the room and Hermione saw a stern looking bespectacled woman with hair pulled into a severe bun, and wearing what looked like a black and green 1830s dress except with a high neckline, though it still had the poofy sleeves and high waistline that she was pretty sure was reminiscent of 1830s fashion.
“Hermione, dear, go put your school things away and then come back and sit down.” Her mum said, putting on a convincing brave face.
“Ok, Mum.” Hermione started up the stairs then looked back dramatically, “And if Ms. Jones called you today about someone instigating a heist of the book room’s stampers, it wasn’t me!”
Once she dropped her bag off at her desk in her room, Hermione raced back downstairs. She had a Professor McGonagall to meet.