The Seven Faces of Hermione J. Granger

Prologue

Hermione blinked stupidly, her jaw dropped in a way that was not at all characteristic of Hermione Granger, grade "O" student. She was in a large, near-empty, hospital-white room. In a semi-circle in front of her sat seven plain, wooden chairs, six of which were occupied.

"You might as well sit instead of just standing there, gaping like an idiot," offered the second from the left. "You are going to be here all night, after all." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but ended up uttering a small shriek instead when a pair of hand seized her from behind and yanked into the chair. A delighted and slightly crazed giggle echoed throughout the room, and the culprit soon skipped merrily around into visibility, arms swinging like an orangutan. A glinting pair of eyes set in a pale face surrounding by a mass of bushy brown hair poked itself in Hermione's face, laughed again, even more manically, and then burst into song.

"Oranges and lemons sang the bells of Saint Clemmons..."

The blur of patchwork, brightly colored fabric then made its erratic way over to weave between the other chairs, poking another girl wearing a perfectly orchestrated outfit of pink floral skirt and purple V-neck sweater and sporting a head of perfect brown curls; she simply gave a disgusted sign and turned her head away.

Still trying to regain her breath and composure, Hermione's eyes flickered around to meet six sets of others; some were harsh and sarcastic, others gentle and smiling, some reassuring, and others just calculating, but regardless of what they conveyed, all were precisely the same shade of chocolate brown, and all were staring directly at her.

When Hermione felt her heart leave her throat and slide comfortably back into her chest, she managed to ask incredulously, "What's going on here? Who are you people?"

"Isn't it obvious? Honestly, you don't do our intelligence credit." The one who spoke was the same who had quipped sarcastically at her, and now rose and began to pace back and forth, hands clasped neatly behind her back. The patchwork one grabbed the newly vacated chair and began to dance with it as she hummed an old Beatles tune. The pacing girl was dressed in a sharp blouse and long black skirt, her hair in a severe bun, and was wearing thin oval-shaped spectacles. She turned and rolled her eyes to the fourth from the left, who was wearing a suffragette-style banner that Hermione was sure read, "S.P.E.W."

"I have no idea what's happening to me. Is this even real?" Hermione craned her neck around, looking for any kind of confirmation that this was just a bizarre dream, or at least to find an exit. She wasn't so lucky, being met only with smooth, white wall.

"We're you," the McGonagall-like creature explained, gesturing to the row of girls. Hermione tried to digest this, to force the pieces to fall into place. "All of us. We are the representatives of the various people that combine to make your personality. And as for why we are here, which I happen to know will be your next question, it is quite simple. We are here, Hermione, because you need to sort your life out. And if there is anyone qualified to help you organize your priorities and make some real decisions, it is us. Or should I say you? No matter."

The original Hermione had now stood once again, and was backing away towards the wall, desperately searching for any source of sanity. Between the various people simply examining her like a hippogriff, who she recognize all had undeniable similarities to herself, and the one figure who was still whirling around with a wooden chair, none was offered.

The elected speaker continued, heedless of her discomfort. "I will assure you, before I offend our ingrained sense of reason any further, that this is, in fact, a dream." Hermione, who had by now reached a wall, released an audible sigh of relief and slid to the floor. "However, this does not mean that what we say should not be taken into account. This is entirely for our own good, Hermione. And it won't simply go away; not until your issues have been resolved. Do you understand?"

At the sound of the weakness in her own voice, Hermione cringed, but still replied. "This is entirely too surreal. My I wake up now?"

"Bloody hell, we're a wimp!" rang out another voice in an accent bordering on eastern Londoner. A girl in grungy black jeans, a leather jacket, and a frizzy ponytail stood and raised her hands above her head, exasperated. "Don't you get it? Miss Priss over there laid it out in black and white for you, didn't she?"

"Stop it," another one said gently, standing so that her yellow sundress just brushed her ankles. "She's just confused, all right? It's a lot to take in at once."

"Whatever," retorted the grunge girl mockingly.

"You guys are disgusting. This is ridiculous!" threw in pink-skirt. "I don't know what your problem is, but-"

"You couldn't even begin to pronounce her problem," White Blouse snapped back sarcastically.

"Listen to us all! If we are to achieve anything, we must unite our efforts," S.P.E.W. Banner cried passionately, also standing.

"Umm... Excuse me..." Without rising from her chair, a girl in a grey housedress attempted to add her opinion to the fray.

"You say goodbye, and I say hello..." Patchwork was still twirling and singing, louder now, as if spurred on by the madness of the entire situation.

As a full-scale argument erupted, Hermione clapped her hands over her ears to try and block out the intertwining and rising bickering voices, then stood and yelled out over the racket, "Stop it, all of you!"

A silence fell over the group, although Grunge Girl's "Now that's more like it," was still perfectly audible. A few of the others opened their mouths to reply to this, but Hermione gave them her best menacing glare, and they thought better of it. "I am perfectly willing to accept that, as the result of some crazy me, I am being faced with various different personified stereotypes. Although I find it difficult," Here she shot a pointed glance at Grunge Girl, "To believe that all of you are a part of my personality. However, since I don't seem to be able to wake up, I am not going to sit around listening to myself argue. I have not had an easy day, and I won't deal with this in my sleep, too."

"Squabbling with Ron again, I suppose. That's why you're here, Hermione. We're going to help sort it all out," Sundress explained encouragingly.

"Yes, so you've all said," Hermione responded grimly. "And someone please tell me what's the matter with her?" she added, pointing at Patchwork, who was now standing on the chair and making various strange poses.

"Oh, don't worry about that," White Blouse replied casually. "There's a little bit of madness in everyone. She's yours."

"And before you ask, no, she doesn't have an off button," Grunge Girl muttered angrily.

"This is one hell of a strange dream," Hermione murmured softly.

Instantly, White Blouse quipped, "Don't profane," at precisely the same time as Grunge Girl thrust a fist into the air and cried, "All right, one point for the bad team!"

Hermione put a hand to her forehead. Considering she was asleep, the migraine she seemed to be getting was awfully real. The arguing broke loose once more, louder this time, and Patchwork began emitting long, loud beeping noises. Just as Hermione filled her lungs to yell once again, she felt her whole body spasm forward as though she had been shoved, hard, from behind. A voice totally unlike any of those present rang out ominously, "Hermione! Hermione, what's wrong?" She was jolted again. "Hermione?"

"Oh dear," Sundress said thoughtfully. "See you tomorrow night, then."

The next thing she knew, Hermione opened her eyes to find Parvati staring down at her. "What's wrong with you? You were mumbling in your sleep, and then you fell right out of bed, smack on the floor!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione reassured her apologetically. "It was a strange dream. Go back to sleep."

"Yeah, well, next time, try to dream a bit more quietly, all right?" Disgruntled, Parvati stormed back to her own bed and pulled the covers up, turning to face the wall. Clambering awkwardly back into bed and shutting the drapes of her canopy, Hermione stared at its roof.

That, she thought absently, Was really odd. And try as she might, for the three hours remaining until she had to get up for classes, she was unable to drift back to sleep.