Chapter Text
Ding. Ding.
A silvery bell rang somewhere deep in the dark antiques shop. A floorboard creaked after the sound.
“Hello?” Hermione said into the dimly lit store. She received no response. The dark wood floors creaked as she stepped in. Maybe the shop owner was just upstairs. She found the beige spiral staircase and made her way up. She kept going, and going, and going. She didn’t remember the building having this many floors. “Hello?” She said again. This time, she received a response.
“Welcome to the Emporium!” A boy appeared from behind a pile of board game boxes. “My name is Alex.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Hermione.”
“Hermione… hmm, very odd.” The boy peered at her through blue-tinted welding goggles. And he’s calling her odd? “What are you here for Her-mio-ne?”
“I’m looking for a typewriter or something of the sort to do my writing on.”
“You’re a writer, huh? Hmm … never liked writers myself. Never can tell what they’re up to.” Alex frowned. “They are always into such weird things. I had a ‘writer’ in here buying a book on the deadliest poisons. I personally don’t think that was just for writing.”
Hermione was going to ask why he had a book on the deadliest poisons anyway, when he began walking away. “ Excuse me? Could you lead me to the writing things? It’s slightly confusing in here.”
“Sorry, I cannot. We don’t have specific sections. You’ll have to find it yourself.” The boy said before disappearing.
Hermione sighed and crossed her arms. She wasn’t in the mood for a scavenger hunt. Thankfully, she didn’t have to look far. The next floor was filled with many things, all thrown all over the place. Luggage, shoulder bags, dresses, teacups, and other little trinkets were among the things scattered in the small area. As she trudged through the mess, she spotted a brown typewriter balancing dangerously on a pile of books. She pulled it down and placed it on a sturdier surface. The woman pressed a key and a small letter A was printed on the page. “Alex?” She called. The boy appeared, making her jump. “Where did you -?”
The boy smirked. “I walked.”
“How much is this?” Hermione asked. Alex tapped the price tag on the typewriter. After a moment of digging through her purse, she handed the money over.
“Thank you!” Alex said, before disappearing once again. Hermione carried the typewriter down one flight of stairs to the bottom floor. Wait. One? Odd.
The brown typewriter looked amazing on Hermione’s writing desk. It’s neutral tones stood in great contrast against the colourful spines of her books. She circled around the desk, admiring her new typewriter from all angles, when she noticed something she hadn’t before. Written in fading ink were the letters AB. Hmm. Must’ve belonged to someone with those initials. Hermione settled herself in her chair, and took a sip of her tea. Then, she settled her hands on the keys. Click. A small letter T printed on the paper. The woman smiled and continued.
The rain had been falling for a week, maybe more, which was bad news for Captain Diana and her crew. She stood looking out at the deck, which was filling with water faster than her crew could dump it out. She trudged through the water, her boots protecting her feet from the moisture. She grabbed the bucket from William and tilted her head, telling him that he could leave. Once her crew was gone, she dropped the bucket, and vanished the water using only her mind.
Hermione’s fingers stopped typing. She wasn’t sure where she was going to go from there. She lifted her hands from the typewriter and took another sip of her tea, deep in thought about Captain Diana, when something caught her attention. The keys of her typewriter were moving of their own accord.
Aw, is that all? It was just getting interesting.
Hermione blinked blankly at the page. Either the typewriter was sentient or it was haunted. Or, the more reasonable answer, the tired writer’s imagination was seeping into her real life from lack of sleep. The clock on the wall striked two in the morning. That was it settled then, she was going to sleep.
The next morning, Hermione had completely forgotten about the typewriter. She carried out her morning like she usually did. Got dressed, made tea, and warmed a muffin in the oven. After breakfast, she returned to her office to continue her work. And then she spotted the typewriter. The beginning of Captain Diana’s story was still very much printed on the top of the paper. And so were the words underneath it. But, there was also something new. Written on its own line was one word.
Hello?
Hermione sighed and sat down. Are you a ghost? She typed on a new line. No response. She was going crazy. She must’ve typed the other sentence too and forgotten about it. She really needed some fresh air. Embarrassed, Hermione left her office to go for a walk. She was in her front hall, tying her boots, when she heard a click. And another. And another.
Her boots spread half-dried mud through the house as she ran back to the typewriter. Three small letters were typed under her’s.
Yes.
Her heart was beating loudly. No one would believe this, a real ghost! The keys began moving again.
BOO! Did I scare you? I’m just kidding, I’m not a ghost. Although in your time, I might be.
Hermione was confused. Deciding that she had no more dignity left to lose talking to a typewriter, she settled her hands on the keys. Which were warm.
What do you mean ‘my time’?
She received a response right away.
Well, if my invention worked correctly, you should be in a different year than me.
What’s your invention?
A typewriter that makes it so I can type to people in the future. And clearly it works, because here I am, talking to you!
How’d you do that?
With a spell, of course!
They’d reached the end of the paper. Hermione removed it and put another in.
A spell?
Yes! You are a witch or wizard, aren’t you?
Are you pulling my leg? No, I’m not. They don’t exist.
The keys were pushed halfway down, as if someone was going to type but changed their mind.
What year is it?
2010. Hermione responded.
2010? Wow.
What year is it for you?
1975.
What’s it like?
You’re asking me what my time is like?
Yes.
Tell me about your time first. Do you have flying cars?
No. It’s just boring. In my opinion, your time seems much more fun.
Huh.
Why’d you change the subject?
What?
I said witches don’t exist. You asked me what year it is.
Yes, you wouldn’t know about us. You’re a muggle.
Alex and the shop with floors that made no sense came to Hermione’s mind.
No. I know about you. I think I met a wizard yesterday. The boy who sold me this typewriter.
Really? What’d he look like?
Brown hair, short, wore weird goggles.
Oh. I don’t know him.
There was a silence. Hermione thought about the initials on the back of the typewriter.
Are you AB?
No response. She played with her thumbs as she waited.
Yes. But don’t ask my name, I don’t like it.
Okay. What can I call you, then, mysterious thirty-five year old typewriter person?
Hey! I’m not that old!
I was talking about the typewriter. Also thirty-five’s not old!
Someone’s insecure.
Hermione scowled. You’re older than me.
Not at the moment, though.
Mmhm. I’m not born yet in your time. And, unless you’re typing from the womb, you’re older than me.
She laughed triumphantly.
Whatever old lady. By the way, you can call me Abbie.
Hermione thought of a nickname she could use for herself.
Nice to meet you, Abbie. I’m Mio.