The Awakening
Dec. 28th, 2006 03:11 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: The Awakening
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Prompt: Osmosis
Summary: She realized that there was something different about her, but nobody had answers to her questions.
Author's note: Genfic on Hermione Granger, pre-HP series.
The Awakening
She didn’t understand what these feelings were. It was a stirring deep inside her, an awareness that sparkled outside her perceptions. Something swirled in the air around her, within her, and it made her different from the rest of her family. They didn’t feel it; they couldn’t, she finally realized. She had nothing to compare it to. She tried to explain it to her mother and father without success, their blank looks jarring her and forcing her to question her sanity. Only ten years old and they thought she was insane.
It tingled, much like a sleeping limb would upon awakening. She could feel it in her fingers and toes, this tingling, this overwhelming sense of something more. She wondered if it was something like osmosis, that strange effect that they had studied in science class a week ago. Moving particles that equalized concentration, forcing themselves through her and around her until she was a part of it all. Permeated with them, whatever they were. She wondered about radiation, about chemicals that she ate and drank, about anything that could have wakened these feelings, and found nothing out of the ordinary that could have made this happen. She pondered the chance that it would pass and she would be normal again, then discarded the thought. The sense was getting stronger, not diminishing.
On her occasional outings with her mum, she had started to notice things. She seemed to be drawn to certain places, places that her mother took special care to avoid or didn’t notice at all. She wanted to explore them, but knew that her parents wouldn’t allow her to traverse the streets of London alone, even as smart as she was. She had always been the quickest in her class, the smartest in the school; IQ tests had placed her in the top of the class and made the teachers watch her suspiciously at first, with pride much later. It was her greatest gift and her worst enemy—even the other children knew that she was different and avoided her, sometimes calling her names and forcing her away from them.
She saw the world differently, a view askew from that of most people. She believed in most things that nobody else did—ghosts, magic, and extrasensory perception—things that garnered her stranger looks and worse name-calling when she was caught reading her ever-present books on the subjects. She found that most books downplayed their existence, however, and trivialized it to be superstition or even fiction. She stopped reading them after that, content in her own beliefs and perceptions and willing to build on those instead.
She spent a lot of time alone, wondering more and more about the strange things that happened when she was around. The broken platter that seemed to fix itself when she put the plate back together, the idle wishes that came true, the whirlwind that swirled inside her when she was angry. The things that happened when she was angry scared her more than anything, so she tried to keep herself calm and on an even keel, placid in the storm that surrounded her when her family finally did notice that something wasn’t quite right when she was around.
By this time, she had almost learned how to control the tingling sensation. She began making her bed with a wave of her hand in the morning, pulling out her school uniform with a thought and laying it out on the bed. Calling her juice to her hand without moving her mouth or reaching for it. Forcing her mum to make her favorite breakfast, eggs and kippers, just with a thought in her direction. Even then, she still didn’t have the answer to why it worked, only that it did, which was enough for her for the moment.
Still, her insatiable curiosity was too much to bear and she had to know. Needed to know.
The same curiosity led her to one of those places her mother wanted to avoid. She took the bus to a busy street corner and walked until she felt the pull behind her gut, then followed it to a shabby shop in the center of London. She peered through the window and saw stripped mannequins and broken shelving inside. When she tried the door, it was locked with no other way inside that she could tell.
Disappointed, she turned away from the shop and went home, never realizing that her answers were not inside the shop but beneath it, concealed from her view and that of the rest of the world.
When she got home, she heard voices as she waved her coat to the hall tree. Her parents were talking to someone who paused and said, “Well, I see Miss Granger is home now. Perhaps you will believe what I tell you with her confirmation?”
She entered the parlor to find an old man in a dress, covered in moons and stars, and she knew that his mind held the answers to all her questions. When she tried to find them by indelicately looking inside his mind, she found a smooth brick wall, then noticed the smile on his face.
Albus Dumbledore straightened his head and smiled at her gently. “Hermione, we never do that without permission. Now, if you would, let me tell you about your gift.”
Hermione Granger sat down on a footstool, her attention captured and held fast by the wizard in blue and gold.
Author:
spikespetslayerRating: G
Pairing: None
Prompt: Osmosis
Summary: She realized that there was something different about her, but nobody had answers to her questions.
Author's note: Genfic on Hermione Granger, pre-HP series.
The Awakening
She didn’t understand what these feelings were. It was a stirring deep inside her, an awareness that sparkled outside her perceptions. Something swirled in the air around her, within her, and it made her different from the rest of her family. They didn’t feel it; they couldn’t, she finally realized. She had nothing to compare it to. She tried to explain it to her mother and father without success, their blank looks jarring her and forcing her to question her sanity. Only ten years old and they thought she was insane.
It tingled, much like a sleeping limb would upon awakening. She could feel it in her fingers and toes, this tingling, this overwhelming sense of something more. She wondered if it was something like osmosis, that strange effect that they had studied in science class a week ago. Moving particles that equalized concentration, forcing themselves through her and around her until she was a part of it all. Permeated with them, whatever they were. She wondered about radiation, about chemicals that she ate and drank, about anything that could have wakened these feelings, and found nothing out of the ordinary that could have made this happen. She pondered the chance that it would pass and she would be normal again, then discarded the thought. The sense was getting stronger, not diminishing.
On her occasional outings with her mum, she had started to notice things. She seemed to be drawn to certain places, places that her mother took special care to avoid or didn’t notice at all. She wanted to explore them, but knew that her parents wouldn’t allow her to traverse the streets of London alone, even as smart as she was. She had always been the quickest in her class, the smartest in the school; IQ tests had placed her in the top of the class and made the teachers watch her suspiciously at first, with pride much later. It was her greatest gift and her worst enemy—even the other children knew that she was different and avoided her, sometimes calling her names and forcing her away from them.
She saw the world differently, a view askew from that of most people. She believed in most things that nobody else did—ghosts, magic, and extrasensory perception—things that garnered her stranger looks and worse name-calling when she was caught reading her ever-present books on the subjects. She found that most books downplayed their existence, however, and trivialized it to be superstition or even fiction. She stopped reading them after that, content in her own beliefs and perceptions and willing to build on those instead.
She spent a lot of time alone, wondering more and more about the strange things that happened when she was around. The broken platter that seemed to fix itself when she put the plate back together, the idle wishes that came true, the whirlwind that swirled inside her when she was angry. The things that happened when she was angry scared her more than anything, so she tried to keep herself calm and on an even keel, placid in the storm that surrounded her when her family finally did notice that something wasn’t quite right when she was around.
By this time, she had almost learned how to control the tingling sensation. She began making her bed with a wave of her hand in the morning, pulling out her school uniform with a thought and laying it out on the bed. Calling her juice to her hand without moving her mouth or reaching for it. Forcing her mum to make her favorite breakfast, eggs and kippers, just with a thought in her direction. Even then, she still didn’t have the answer to why it worked, only that it did, which was enough for her for the moment.
Still, her insatiable curiosity was too much to bear and she had to know. Needed to know.
The same curiosity led her to one of those places her mother wanted to avoid. She took the bus to a busy street corner and walked until she felt the pull behind her gut, then followed it to a shabby shop in the center of London. She peered through the window and saw stripped mannequins and broken shelving inside. When she tried the door, it was locked with no other way inside that she could tell.
Disappointed, she turned away from the shop and went home, never realizing that her answers were not inside the shop but beneath it, concealed from her view and that of the rest of the world.
When she got home, she heard voices as she waved her coat to the hall tree. Her parents were talking to someone who paused and said, “Well, I see Miss Granger is home now. Perhaps you will believe what I tell you with her confirmation?”
She entered the parlor to find an old man in a dress, covered in moons and stars, and she knew that his mind held the answers to all her questions. When she tried to find them by indelicately looking inside his mind, she found a smooth brick wall, then noticed the smile on his face.
Albus Dumbledore straightened his head and smiled at her gently. “Hermione, we never do that without permission. Now, if you would, let me tell you about your gift.”
Hermione Granger sat down on a footstool, her attention captured and held fast by the wizard in blue and gold.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 09:34 pm (UTC)~Nebula
no subject
Date: 2006-12-28 11:24 pm (UTC)*hearts you*
no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 12:24 am (UTC)Interesting use of the prompt, too!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-29 01:26 am (UTC)I'm glad that you enjoyed it!