Chapter Text
The final battle of the second wizarding war took place at Hogwarts Wizarding School of Witchcraft and Wizarding. Harry Potter engaged Voldemort in battle that night, and neither survived. When both sides learned of the demise of each leader, chaos erupted. The surviving Death Eaters began massacuring students, teachers and members of the Order of the Phoenix with impunity while the majority fled.
In the aftermath, the survivors learned that the death count was astronomical, and the British Enclave struggled with their efforts to rebuild. Funerals and the fear of Death Eaters rising up again kept the magical population terrified, so much that many survivors chose to leave entirely.
Hermione Granger was one of them.
The young witch told no one of her plans as she applied for asylum with MACUSA, nor did she share when they granted her citizenship at an unprecedented speed. Her new government didn’t have to tell her why they’d chosen to fast track her application. Despite the lack of assistance from the international wizarding community, knowledge of the skirmish occurring in the British Enclave had spilled past the borders and into other countries.
Hermione received the revelation with apathy. She’d buried too many friends and family to bother reacting after learning how unnecessary those deaths were. In the dark recesses of her mind, Hermione buried the question, ‘If the ICW had intervened how many would have survived?” Unfortunately, power corrupts, which is why a group of school boys chose to set their world on fire.
Arriving at Ellis Island’s portkey checkpoint, Hermione Granger was ushered into the naturalization process for magical immigrants. The efficiency of the process astounded her, but it was the required courses regarding the Supernatural Classes that positively fascinated Hermione.
Unlike the United Kingdom, America was home to thousands of supernatural creatures, all of whom differed greatly from the Magical Creatures and Beings that lived in the British Enclave. Through these classes, Hermione rediscovered her love for learning and delved into the information. She took numerous notes, memorized as much as she could, and ultimately understood why MACUSA recommended Witches and Wizards avoid these supernatural beings if they could.
MACUSA helped her settle down in Columbus, Ohio. A city large enough to disappear in and it was home to a small wizarding district. At least that’s how they described it to her. Once she moved there, Hermione learned that the wizarding district was interwoven throughout the muggle city. Certain shops catered to both magical and muggle alike, with hidden sections for the magically inclined. Other magical shops were set up directly adjacent to muggle ones, with the relevant magic to deter muggles.
It was fascinating.
Hermione spent her first four months exploring the city, and perfecting the contents of her beaded bag. Despite knowing that she was safe and had cut all ties with her previous life, Hermione couldn’t shake the need to be prepared to run at a moment’s notice. So instead, she pretended that she was learning to love her new city. Hermione would discover a hidden gem, use it to avoid thinking of the death and destruction she’d escape, and add to her collection.
Successfully for four peaceful months, Hermione evaded Harry’s unfortunate penchant for attracting danger. The morning of the four month anniversary of her moving to Columbus, she answered a knock on her door and came face to face with two hunters.
“Afternoon ma’am, I’m Agent Robbins,” the hunter said when she’d cracked the door open. He and his partner were both holding up an excellent forgery of an FBI badge for her to see.
“This is my partner Agent Baskins. We’re investigating a few deaths in the area, and would like to ask you a few questions.”
“Baskins and Robbins,” Hermione repeated, not bothering to keep the skepticism from her voice while she looked at the two men and their identification.
Agent Robbins gave her a sheepish grin.
“Our boss has a sense of humor,” he explained.
“I’ll say,” Agent Baskins muttered. “I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Have you seen anything odd?” Agent Robbins asked, rolling his eyes at his partner’s comment. “Anyone appear out of place or just acting strange?”
Hermione shook her head, “No. I’m new to the area though, so I probably wouldn’t have noticed anyone acting out of sorts.”
The inquisition went on far longer than Hermione was comfortable with enduring. Each time she thought she’d cleverly ended their line of questions, one of the agents would think of yet another. The witch didn’t relax until both men had left her flat, and she was sure that they weren’t monitoring her.
“Bollocks,” Hermione muttered under her breath.
She would have to be exceedingly careful until both hunters left town. No deviations from her routine, or Merlin forbid, bolting for it. She’d never get rid of them then. For the next few days, Hermione kept wondering if one of them had noticed she’d never asked them what crime they were investigating. That alone would have been suspicious, and could cause them to come back.
Breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down, Hermione convinced herself that she had a plan and sticking to it would keep her safe. Which is why, two days later, she walked down to the local farmer’s market to buy fresh produce for the upcoming week. Every Saturday, she would go and meet more of her neighbors while exploring the Columbus community.
Hermione was walking up to her front door after going to the market when she saw it ajar. The bag of groceries slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor as she summoned her wand from its holster. Habits she’d developed during the war ensured she had cast a silencing charm over herself before slipping through the doorway.
“Bloody hell,” Hermione muttered as she cast a homenum revelio silently. It came back with only one charm, identifying that she was alone.
Her flat had been destroyed while she’d been at the farmer’s market. Shattered glass covered her floors. Windows, mirrors, and ceramic shards crunched under her feet as she walked. Every dish in her kitchen had been shattered, her books lay in tattered pieces, and her furniture had their stuffing ripped out and spilled along the flat.
She was in the center of her sitting room, surveying the damage that not even magic could repair, when her Occlumency shields were attacked. Blinding pain focused on her mind sent her plummeting to her knees, and she focused all of her energy on strengthening those shields. Glass embedded itself sharply into her skin, but all she could feel was the violent attempt of turning her mental shields into ribbons.
“No,” Hermione gasped. “You will not break me.”
She was so focused on saving her mind that she didn’t realize two men burst into her flat and frantically began searching through the debris. Hermione poured all of her magic into preserving her mental shields, ignoring that she’d collapsed entirely until she was lying prone on the broken shards.
It was the scent of smoke filtering into her nostrils that first helped her realize the pain had diminished. The next was feeling a biting pain in her knees and hands, and it startled her enough to realize someone was lifting her up from the floor.
“Balls!”
Hermione groaned as she was lifted. She recognized the voice of Agent Robbins.
“You with me girl?”
“Bobby! Bobby, I found another one!” Agent Baskins hollered from her bedroom.
“Burn it!” Bobby, the fake Agent Robbins called back.
“Don’t!” Hermione ordered, gasping the word out. “There’s a box on the kitchen island. Lead lined.”
“Rufus, bring it in here,” Bobby yelled. He half carried her over to the counter she’d gestured towards while the other hunter joined them. Bobby grabbed the box and opened it while his partner emptied the contents of the hex bag into it before slamming the lid shut. She watched as Rufus burned the bag and it lit up into blue flames.
“Who do I kill?” Hermione asked, as Bobby helped her sit in one of the remaining island chairs.
Slowly, she recognized that miraculously, she’d never dropped her wand during the attack on her mind. Considering the amount of pain Hermione was in, she didn’t care that she had two hunters watching her. There were shards of glass embedded in her skin, and she wasn’t going to use tweezers to remove each one. So she vanished them entirely before summoning an unopened bottle of Johnny Walker Blue and conjuring three glasses.
She was so focused on staying awake despite the pain and pouring the drinks that she missed Rufus’ eyes light up when he saw the label of the bottle as well as Bobby’s suspicious glare at the use of magic. Had Hermione been more cognizant, she would have noticed the hunter grip his gun tighter.
“We haven’t quite worked that out yet,” Bobby admitted, watching Hermione drink her glass in one gulp before she refilled it. “You’re taking this awfully well. Most people tend to be freaked out when they’re attacked.”
“It loses the shock value when it happens repeatedly,” Hermione answered, waving her hand nonchalantly. “Now it just pisses me off. Fucking Borrowers.”
“Borrowers?” Rufus asked, passing the bottle to Bobby after topping his glass off. “What the hell is a Borrower?”
“I thought you were hunters,” Hermione said, looking at them suspiciously as she slumped against the counter.
“We are,” Bobby answered. “Still never heard of a Borrower.”
“They’re a type of witch,” Hermione answered with a grimace on her face. “At least they use the moniker. In reality, they’re far closer to warlocks.”
“Warlocks?”
“Warlocks get their powers from making a pact with an entity able to make a deal. Think of pagans, fairies, demons, etc. The list is pretty widespread. They give terms, and if agreed upon power is bestowed on the Borrower,” Hermione explained, taking another drink, despite her mind feeling exhausted.
“But wait!” She exclaimed. “You piss off the deity and POOF! Powers are gone. Borrowers are similar in that they get their magic from a deal. Except they only make those deals with demons, more often than not trading their souls for a couple of parlor tricks.
“You a hunter?” Rufus asked, snatching the bottle again. “You seem awfully well read about the current situation.”
Hermione scrunched up her nose at him, and gestured towards her wand, “No. I’m authentic.”
“You going to poke someone’s eye out with a stick?” Rufus asked as Bobby glared at him. “What? She’s got excellent taste; figured she deserved a little leeway.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and blasted a hole in the nearest wall, before turning back to the two men.
“Yes. I use this to poke people’s eyes out,” she answered in a deadpan tone. She was relieved to see some of the tension leave from Bobby’s shoulders.
“So, you’re clearly not human, but you’re not a Borrower,” Rufus said, refilling his drink again. “Care to share?”
“She’s a mage, you idjit,” Bobby said, pulling the bottle of whiskey out of Rufus’ hands. “Except, mages supposedly died out during the Dark Ages. Clearly that was a lie.”
“We concealed ourselves from Muggles,” Hermione said, and then clarified because of their confused looks, “Those without magic. Several covens of Borrowers and Students incited the witch hunts, and since we do not learn how to control our magic until age eleven several families lines were eliminated for protecting their children. Thus the Statute of Secrecy was enacted internationally.”
“You expect that many people to keep a secret?” Rufus asked.
“When the punishment is a prison guarded by magical wraiths,” Hermione said, “Yes.”
“Exactly how are you going to avoid magical prison since you’re telling us about it?” Bobby asked, surprised when she grinned at him.
“MACUSA, the Magical Congress of the United States, created a law that classifies all hunters as employees of theirs who are vital to containing supernatural creatures and preventing unnecessary deaths of both Muggles and magical folk. It’s a pretty clever loophole.”
“They seem to have forgotten to pay me,” Rufus muttered into his glass, before glancing over at Bobby. “Think they’ll honor back pay?”
Bobby ignored him to ask, “What exactly are Students?”
“An unexplainable enigma,” Hermione answered, shrugging her shoulders. “Typically, they manage to master magic by studying it. There are theories that magic is sentient, and the existence of students certainly seems to support it.”
Hermione paused to take a sip from her glass, “Most students end up blowing themselves up or burning out their magic by trying a spell they can’t control. The last group is also the rarest, Naturals, simply have magic. We try to catch them early on, and then most of our world simply assumes they’re just another muggleborn.”
“What about the students? Can’t you help them too?”
“We’ve no way to track their magic,” Hermione said, sadly. “That’s how we find Naturals, because when they’re young enough, their magical outbursts trigger our underage detection wards. If a Student gets our attention….it’s usually because they’ve gone too far and have to be put down.”
“Like a dog?” Bobby asked, grimacing.
“The magic that they practice is just like that of Borrowers. The only difference is that they don’t have a demon corrupting their souls. They all use the same ritual magic, slaughtering animals, for example. Now granted, there are some potion ingredients that are rather gross, like rat spleen, but we have apothecaries which are regulated by our governments. You can’t just walk around slaughtering animals in your house to get a magical curse. In fact, the vast majority of our potions industry is heavily regulated, to prevent certain substances from being peddled.”
“It’s all unnatural,” Rufus said. “Rat spleen, gross, what’s next, the Eye of Newt?”
“Belladonna and Arsenic are both natural, but they’ll still kill you,” Hermione retorted. “Besides, Eye of Newt is actually a mustard seed. It became a popularized witchy ingredient after Shakespeare included it in Macbeth.”
Neither Rufus or Hermione expected Bobby to erupt into laughter.
“You’re a pistol girl,” Bobby said, still chuckling.
“Thanks, I think,” she said as she tapped the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. Rufus and Bobby’s eyes widened as they watched it become instantly full again.
“Did she just…” Rufus asked before his voice trailed off.
“Yes,” Bobby said. Rufus was the first to snatch the bottle and take a drink. He wordlessly handed the bottle to Bobby while he stared at Hermione like he’d found God.
“How do you feel about older men?” Rufus demanded, earning a grin from Hermione.
“Keep it in your pants, idjit,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things than fueling your alcoholism. For example, putting this coven of Borrower’s down.”
“Don’t suppose you have a witchcatcher handy?” Rufus asked. “They’ll just keep coming after her.”
“No,” Bobby answered. “Nor would it be helpful in this case, considering how many we’re looking for.”
“Just making a suggestion,” Rufus said, holding his hands up.
“A stupid suggestion,” Bobby muttered. “Easiest would be a bullet to the head. Aside from that, I don’t know, fire?”
Wordlessly, Hermione conjured her signature blue bell flames in the palm of her wand hand.
“Neat trick,” Bobby said, watching as she put the flames out. “We should head back to our motel room. All of the information we’ve gathered is there, and you can’t stay here.”
Hermione didn’t argue. Instead, she pulled her beaded bag out of her pocket and shoved the lead box into it. Before she left with the two hunters, Hermione summoned the single picture frame that was in the flat. Bobby and Rufus watched silently as the photograph of three teenagers was pushed inside.
The witch didn’t bother looking back as she followed Bobby and Rufus out of the flat.