the_debt_of_time

for a very exclusive and special school for gifted children. I've come today to speak with
you about your daughter, Hermione."
Elsewhere in the home, Hermione stood in front of the bathroom mirror after
brushing her teeth, grumbling a bit at her reflection as she attempted to pull her overly
thick and bushy hair back into a hair tie that snapped after one twist. She angrily threw the
broken hair tie in the bin, feeling static electricity run through the unmanageable mane.
As she made her way back to the dining room to fetch her book from the table, she
heard the sound of her mother screaming and, in a fit of reckless courage, went running to
see what had happened. She came into the living room to see her mother and father
clutching one another desperately, staring wide-eyed at a small tabby cat sitting on the
couch in front of them.
"What happened?" Hermione asked. "Is that another of Mrs Smythe's cats?" She
looked at the small animal that seemed... different. "I told her I wasn't stealing them, they
just like me," the little girl said with pleading eyes, not noticing the way her parents were
now staring at her as though she'd grown a tail of her own. "What's wrong?"
Then, right before her eyes, the cat on the couch transformed itself into a tall
woman with black hair. Hermione gaped at the sight—though, instead of the fear that her
parents were displaying, Hermione felt excitement and wonder bubbling up inside of her.
"I knew it! I knew magic was real!" she said, heart racing. "Are you a shapechanger
from Homana, like in my books?!" She rushed to the dining room table and pulled off of
it the small novel she had been reading that morning.
The older woman stared down at Hermione, looking at her with a similar expression
that her own parents were using as they gawked back at the stranger. Hermione got the
distinct impression that she was at a loss for words—uncomfortably so. Eventually, the
woman looked at the book in Hermione's hand, and her brows furrowed. "No, my dear, I
am not a shapechanger from... wherever you mentioned," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm
a witch from Scotland."
"A witch?" Hermione dropped her book onto the coffee table, turning expectantly
to the woman, ignoring the strange way her mother was squeaking. "Like Glinda from The
Wizard of Oz? Or the White Witch from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? Or the Three
Witches from Macbeth? Or like Circe, Nimue, and Morgan le Fay?"