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Hermione tucked herself beneath the wide branches of the oak tree at the far end of the schoolyard, knees pulled to her chest, a worn paperback cradled in her hands. The distant squeals of the other children playing on the swings and climbing frame echoed across the grass, but they felt like background noise. Here, in the shade with Alice in Wonderland, the world made more sense. Rules bent, logic danced, and the peculiar had a place.
She glanced wistfully toward the other children, laughing in little knots, chasing each other in packs. She wanted to join them sometimes but never quite knew how. The moment she opened her mouth, things went wrong. She used too many big words. Too many strange things happened around her.
Better to stay in Wonderland.
“Oi, Chompers!”
Hermione winced. The familiar voice sliced through the air like a stone through glass.
She didn’t look up. “Leave me alone, Irwin,” she muttered, the page in front of her already blurring.
But Irwin Sykes didn’t do subtle.
A shadow fell across her book as he leaned in, far too close, the smell of crisps and muddy trainers clinging to him. “The teacher says we’re supposed to be more like you,” he drawled, mock-pious. “So I thought I’d see what’s so bloody brilliant about you.”
Behind him, Nigel burst into snorting laughter and pulled his lips back in an exaggerated grin. “How’re we supposed to be like those teeth, huh?”
Hermione’s grip on her book tightened.
“I mean, my gran’s got falsies. Maybe we could borrow those, eh?” Irwin quipped, and the boys cackled like it was the cleverest joke in the world.
Hermione stared down at the page, her knuckles white. If she stayed still, maybe they’d get bored. If she spoke up—no. She couldn’t afford another “incident.” Not after what happened with the hairbrush and the mirror in the school bathroom. Or when her desk levitated in front of the counselor.
“I’m normal,” she had insisted last time. “Just clever.”
But normal girls didn’t make windows rattle when they got angry.
Suddenly, a sticky hand darted forward and yanked the book from her lap.
“Can’t ignore me now, Chompers,” Irwin sneered, flipping it open. The spine cracked ominously. He started tearing at the pages.
Hermione shot up. “Stop that,” she said sharply, her voice trembling with fury. “Give it back!”
Irwin only grinned wider. “Shut her up before teacher hears.”
Before she could react, Nigel shoved her hard. She hit the ground with a breathless thump, the sharp sting of gravel and twigs biting her palms. Her hair, already a wild halo in the breeze, puffed around her face like a mane as leaves tangled in the curls.
“Nooo, stop,” Nigel parroted in a high voice, skipping away with exaggerated prancing. “Giiive it baaack!”
Laughter again.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but Hermione blinked them away.
She could feel it rising inside her again. That strange trembling hum under her skin was like static before a lightning strike. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her whole body shook.
No. She couldn’t lose control again.
But her book lay limp in Irwin’s hands, pages bent, spine torn. Her safe world, ripped apart like it was worthless.
Something snapped.
The wind, which had been mild, turned sharp. Leaves rustled unnaturally, then lifted, slowly rising around her like dancers in a spell. Her hair, thick and frizzy with rage, began to crackle and lift from her shoulders as if drawn to something unseen.
She rose to her feet, slowly, steadily. Her eyes locked on the boys.
Nigel stumbled back. “What the—?”
The leaves around Hermione spun faster, forming a tiny whirlwind at her feet. Static danced through the air. Irwin flinched as sparks snapped across his knuckles, the book dropping from his hands as if burned.
Hermione’s voice, when it came, was low and furious. “I said... give it back.”
The book flew from the ground with a violent jerk, ripped from Irwin’s feet by an invisible force, and landed gently at Hermione’s side.
Both boys stared, mouths open.
The thing within her, the very feelings she tried to suppress, thrummed with a strange energy, a power waiting to be unleashed. She'd show them just how special she could be.
"Allow me," a voice said in a low, silken tone.
Hermione gasped as though the words had been shouted directly into her ear. Her heart lurched. "Wh-who’s there?" she stammered, whipping around, scanning the space behind the oak tree. There was no one nearby. Only shadows stretching long and wrong in the fading light.
The sun vanished.
Not behind a cloud. It was just gone. As if snuffed out. Darkness spilled into the clearing like ink poured from a broken bottle, swallowing the tree, the grass, the air. Even the chirping birds fell silent. A hush fell that wasn’t natural. It was expectant.
"What are you doing, you freak?" Irwin barked. His voice cracked. He stood a few feet away, fists clenched around the battered pages from Hermione's book as though it might shield him. “You think this is funny?”
The ground answered.
A pulse of light surged upward—not from above, but below. The earth beneath their feet split open with a groaning crack. Grass withered instantly, curling back from a growing circle of scorched soil. The scent of burning roots filled the air, sharp and acrid.
A thin vein of molten rock oozed from the ground, glowing dully orange, lighting the children’s faces from below in a flickering, hellish glow. Heat rolled off it in waves. Plumes of black smoke shot into the air, thick and oily, stinging their eyes. Hermione choked on the reek of sulfur and scorched metal, her nose wrinkling with the need to sneeze.
“Th-this isn’t right,” Nigel whimpered, stumbling back toward the schoolyard.
“We’ve got to tell teacher—now,” Irwin said. “Chompers has really done it this time.”
They spun to run only to collide with something.
Or at least, something that looked like someone.
"Naughty, naughty," came the voice again, but this time it slithered from a visible mouth. Two clawed hands shot out from the smoke and seized the boys by the collars, lifting them effortlessly into the air.
They screamed.
Hermione’s eyes widened, heart hammering as she backed against the tree trunk, half-hidden by its roots.
The thing holding them stepped forward, impossibly tall, its form wreathed in smoke and shadow. Glints of metal-like scales shimmered across its limbs. Its grin gleamed with too many teeth, long and glistening like polished ivory, layered in tight, perfect rows like a shark’s.
Its eyes burned like molten coins. No pupils or whites, just deep, radiant gold set into a face far too calm.
"Mm,” it murmured, voice now a rougher rasp, layered with others like a choir whispering from the bottom of a well. The smoke churned around it like living things.
“I’ve just eaten,” the creature drawled, tilting its head as it brought Irwin and Nigel closer, noses inches from its jagged smile. “But I suppose I could make room for two plump, screechy little morsels.”
A forked tongue slid languidly across one glistening fang. Crimson trailed in its wake.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.
The boys thrashed helplessly in the air, but the claws held firm.
“Please!” Nigel sobbed. “We didn’t mean it!”
“Let us go!” Irwin yelled, his voice cracking in fear now, and all bravado vanished.
Hermione’s hand had flown to her mouth, and even through her terror, a single, impossible question screamed inside her:
What did I call here?
Or…who?
Tears began sliding down their faces at a rapid pace. Panicked whimpering escaped their throats. The two boys squirmed with all their might, swinging in the air like pale pendulums.
The skin around the creature's mouth separated, revealing more rows of teeth. It leaned forward.
Two pairs of trousers darkened, and the smell of urea burned the creature's nostrils. Nigel and Irwin were dropped instantly.
A clawed finger sliced the air. "If you ever think of looking at this girl again." The creature's cloven hoof thundered forward. "I'll. Be. Back."
The boys scrambled up, tripping over each other as they fled back toward the school.
The gnarled oak pressed into Hermione's back as she squeezed her eyes shut, whispering a desperate plea. "Stay away, demon," she choked out, her voice trembling. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, mirroring the frantic hammering of unseen claws against the rough bark. Had she truly stumbled upon a creature from the darkest corners of legend?
A low growl echoed through the clearing, sending shivers down her spine. "Is that all you have to say to someone who just saved your miserable hide?" the creature rasped, its voice a grating cacophony. Wisps of obsidian smoke swirled around its massive form, a fleeting glimpse of a monstrous power that sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through her. "Humans," it continued, the sound dripping with disdain, "truly have no manners." The smoke dissipated as abruptly as it appeared, leaving behind a chilling silence.
Just as despair threatened to consume her, a sound pierced the silence. The rhythmic crunch of confident footsteps drew near, each step resonating like a drumbeat in the stillness. Her breath caught in her throat as the steps halted mere inches from her.
Then cool fingers brushing gently against her hair, sending a jolt through her that had nothing to do with fear. Tentatively, Hermione opened one eye, then the other, squinting through the remnants of her terror.
Her gaze fell upon a figure bathed in the moonlight filtering through the trees. Soft, sable curls tumbled down the woman's back, framing a face as captivating as it was strange. Two magnificent, tan pronghorns, their ridges etched with an intricate tunic design, sprouted from her head, their tips gleaming with a faint, ethereal light. The woman's dark eyes glinted with amusement, a playful smirk gracing her ruby lips.
Before Hermione could fully comprehend this otherworldly vision, a blurted sentence tumbled out. "I don't think I'd be very… delicious," she stammered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. It felt impossible to tear her gaze away from those mesmerizing dark eyes, yet she made a valiant effort.
"Is that right?" the woman chuckled, a melodious sound that echoed through the glade. One eyebrow, sculpted with an almost predatory grace, arched playfully. "Well, Pet," she continued, "that's a stroke of luck for you. Because believe me, I have no interest in a human snack."
A bewildered frown creased Hermione's forehead. "Why are you here, then?" she asked, a flicker of curiosity sparking amidst the embers of her fear.
The woman regarded her for a long moment, a hint of a smile lingering on her lips. Then, she spoke, her voice imbued with a power both comforting and unsettling. "Let's just say, little one," she drawled, "I'm something of a guardian angel."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "A…what?" she repeated, disbelief lacing her voice. The very concept of mythical protectors seemed absurd in the face of such a bizarre, yet strangely captivating, creature.