actae memento aetatis xiv. message [50%]
[ I N T R O S P E C T I O N » Hermione Granger was called the brightest witch of her age for a reason. Waking up the morning of the fourth was a cause for panic. At first it was fine and dandy she'd kissed her husband on the cheek, wished him a happy Independence Day, went to make breakfast but then-- wait. A part of her brain screamed out and it took a few minutes to think of it. She'd never celebrated Independence Day before-- England was a free nation since the Romans up and left. Besides why was she so domestic? And kissing someone else on the cheek was wrong. There was also the fact she had instinctively picked up the slender piece of wood from the bedside table. Then it hit like a pile of bricks as she struggled to find the truth.
She'd struggled to find the rational part of her mind which, thankfully in droning hadn't changed much. Reason and logic still reigned currently in the improper droning and when she had a hold of herself she went to the living room. She's looking for something, not quite sure before... Opening a drawer of a side table she found that it held various journals each neatly labeled: The Defense Association, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Mayfield, Years 1991-1998, A Guide.
However it is the latter three that is of importance. Mayfield held all of her notes on the town, 1991-1998 her years at Hogwarts and adventures with the two boys, and A Guide was simply something to herself if she were ever droned and couldn't remember her time in Mayfield. She'd made various copies o everything and was supposed to distribute the one on the D.A. for now, however, she picked up the three with a bite of her lip. The battling part of her knew it was true, but what if? Well, what if it was all false?]
[ P H O N E » The telephone picks up a little while alter after she's finished reading the journals. There was a few interruptions as things happened in the household and she'd found herself quite happy to be willing to do whatever it was. Yet, even the drone of her liked to read which cause the husband to chuckle lightly.
She shook head as she situated herself before propping open the journals.]
I am Hermione Jean Granger. Born September 19, 1979 in England of the United Kingdom. When I was eleven years old I found out I was a witch accepted to Hogwarts School. My best friends are Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter...
[A pause and a shifting of paper as she changes journals.]
One of Mayfield's favorite past times is acts of physical and mental torture. Within the past eight months there have been two occurrences in which it has had us try to murder each other. There are statues for the most recent in the bowling alley. [More shifting of paper] There is a tendency within the town to use our emotions and memories against us. [More paper shifting!] On Valentine's Day of my fourth month here they implanted memories of our love for someone else within the community...
[The shifting stops and she quiets!] Memories.
I must admit it's all a bit hard to believe. If it isn't true than I must have quite the imagination to think up such things. I mean-- after all-- isn't Mayfield lovely? Today hardly seems a day that I describe here! But it is a bit silly... it feels strange thinking about it. Something doesn't appear right about the whole matter and this certainly is my own writing. I'm quite adamant in most of this, I must say...
Oh. There's other matters, but I'm wary of testing those.
[Another pause and she slips as she rubs a hand to her temple.] Merlin, this is getting ridiculous. I know exactly who I am why am I questioning myself? It's obvious Mayfield is up to its old acts. It must be. To the D.A. -- Well, we are rather silly aren't we? Nothing ever happens here! Ridiculous to believe otherwise.
[Oh a frustrated sound as the phone cuts off. As much as she wants to believe well... yeah, it's a hard stuggle.]
She'd struggled to find the rational part of her mind which, thankfully in droning hadn't changed much. Reason and logic still reigned currently in the improper droning and when she had a hold of herself she went to the living room. She's looking for something, not quite sure before... Opening a drawer of a side table she found that it held various journals each neatly labeled: The Defense Association, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Mayfield, Years 1991-1998, A Guide.
However it is the latter three that is of importance. Mayfield held all of her notes on the town, 1991-1998 her years at Hogwarts and adventures with the two boys, and A Guide was simply something to herself if she were ever droned and couldn't remember her time in Mayfield. She'd made various copies o everything and was supposed to distribute the one on the D.A. for now, however, she picked up the three with a bite of her lip. The battling part of her knew it was true, but what if? Well, what if it was all false?]
[ P H O N E » The telephone picks up a little while alter after she's finished reading the journals. There was a few interruptions as things happened in the household and she'd found herself quite happy to be willing to do whatever it was. Yet, even the drone of her liked to read which cause the husband to chuckle lightly.
She shook head as she situated herself before propping open the journals.]
I am Hermione Jean Granger. Born September 19, 1979 in England of the United Kingdom. When I was eleven years old I found out I was a witch accepted to Hogwarts School. My best friends are Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter...
[A pause and a shifting of paper as she changes journals.]
One of Mayfield's favorite past times is acts of physical and mental torture. Within the past eight months there have been two occurrences in which it has had us try to murder each other. There are statues for the most recent in the bowling alley. [More shifting of paper] There is a tendency within the town to use our emotions and memories against us. [More paper shifting!] On Valentine's Day of my fourth month here they implanted memories of our love for someone else within the community...
[The shifting stops and she quiets!] Memories.
I must admit it's all a bit hard to believe. If it isn't true than I must have quite the imagination to think up such things. I mean-- after all-- isn't Mayfield lovely? Today hardly seems a day that I describe here! But it is a bit silly... it feels strange thinking about it. Something doesn't appear right about the whole matter and this certainly is my own writing. I'm quite adamant in most of this, I must say...
Oh. There's other matters, but I'm wary of testing those.
[Another pause and she slips as she rubs a hand to her temple.] Merlin, this is getting ridiculous. I know exactly who I am why am I questioning myself? It's obvious Mayfield is up to its old acts. It must be. To the D.A. -- Well, we are rather silly aren't we? Nothing ever happens here! Ridiculous to believe otherwise.
[Oh a frustrated sound as the phone cuts off. As much as she wants to believe well... yeah, it's a hard stuggle.]