[Note: This one-shot is best read on a Muggle perspective. Enjoy!]
Hey, it's Liam Granger. And yes, if you've heard of the insufferable know-it-all Hermione Granger, she's my sister. If you're wondering what life would be like when your sister's the brightest witch of her age and you're just a petty asshole in your local high school, then be my guest.
When I was nine, I proposed a theory that my sister Hermione was adopted and insane. It all started when she received a thick yellow envelope with an ancient-looking letter stating that she’s been accepted into a magical school. I was shell-shocked and cynical. Hermione, on the other hand, was ecstatic – our parents too. I mean, they should’ve checked first if it was a mail prank. It could be Mrs. Robinson’s way of getting even to us for accidentally trampling on her bougainvilleas while Hermione’s hair tangled on her bushes on a hide-and-seek game.
My parents even thought I would get my own letter when I turn 11. For two years, this thought haunted me even in my sleep. Thank God nothing came into the post.
Nobody in our ancestry had been a witch or a wizard; at least that’s what I was told.
Hermione actually dropped out of middle school to join Hogwarts. There were real schoolbooks, real school robes, real quills, real cauldrons and a real wand. Any normal person would think that this could be a pretty serious prank. But there was actually a train waiting until 11:00 a.m. at a non-existent platform at King’s Cross on September 1st and that Hermione would go home exactly after ten months; talking uncontrollably about the things she picked up on her professors (one was a ghost and another was a goblin).
“Professor Flitwick taught us about special spells that could be used on Muggles who have seen magic,” Hermione discoursed.
“What are Muggles?” I asked. Sometimes I get curious, sometimes I don’t.
“It’s the term wizards would call to non-magic folk like you.”
“Sounds like a bunch of burglars.”
She rolled her eyes. “Muggles, Liam, not muggers.”
In the summer, she would write long essays on a parchment of paper using a quill. I wonder what era does the people at Hogwarts live in.
One time, I tried to prank her room by rearranging all the bookmarks she’s inserted in her ancient leather-bound schoolbooks. One of the books turned out to be a secret piranha. I left her room with bloody teeth marks on my palms, swearing to take revenge on her fat cat instead.
As for me, I’m just glad I didn’t get involved over Hermione’s idiosyncrasies; although sometimes, she would ask me to give her a hand to hand over bizarre ingredients to the various potions she brews over the summer. The more I look at her, the more I am convinced how witch-y she looked with her potion making and bushy brown hair.
Unfortunately, I was endowed with the same bushy brown hair from our father. However, I took the liberty to flatten most of its volume through pomades. Also, lots of people think Hermione and I look exactly the same. The only difference is that I’m taller than her by a foot.
And now that I thought about it, I actually have more similarities with Hermione than I have let on. We both like to read. She likes to read the ancient, dusty and informative types anyway, but I like to read fiction. If this could’ve been a motion picture, I would’ve shown you the shelf where I stack my ostentatious collection of Marvel and a few DC comic books that have been published since the 1960s until present times. I had fallen lucky to buy the originals at a thrift shop online and preserve them under my very own fortress. My favorite character is Tony Stark, but I always thought being a freelance S.H.I.E.L.D. agent would be so cool.
Today, I don’t see my sister a lot after she graduated from the once-I-thought-fictional Hogwarts. She pursued a career as a starting employee in the White House of the Wizarding World. And I heard she’s going out with her redhead best friend. I always thought she’d end up with the other guy with The Flash’s insignia on his forehead.
And I, on the other hand, am still pursuing college in the Muggle World. I still keep track of my comic book subscriptions.
I was rereading a few volumes of Avengers: Infinity War when Mum called me downstairs.
“Mum, I told you I already finished the dishes,” I called back.
“Just get down here! A bunch of people wants to see you.”
I’m pretty sure I didn’t invite Hector and his fat friends over for snacks. I left the publication on top of the bed and proceeded downstairs.
What I saw next was rather amusing. Five to six men stood in the living room, all wearing shades and black suits. If this is Men in Black, they came to the right place to hire one last man. Of course, with a little gym exercise, I’m ready to go.
I stood beside my parents who looked like people unable to pay their rent of the house owned by Mrs. Robinson and she’s sending these men to extract us out.
One man stepped forward. He seemed the shortest of them all but with full authority. His receding hairline caught the reflection from our light bulb and it just makes me want to laugh. But I realized that this was a serious situation.
“Hello, Mr. Liam Zachary Granger,” the man said, pulling out his shades. “I am Agent Phil Coulson. We’re from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division.”
My throat suddenly dried. “Excuse me?”
I don’t think I’m high but I’m pretty sure I heard the name of his organization right.
He smiled. “How would you like to become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?”
© Cole, 2018. All rights reserved.