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She burst backwards through the window, the force of Yaxby’s spell sending her through the single pane of glass at Tesco’s. She hadn’t even been working; if she’d been on Ministry time, this would at least have a smidge of logic. But no, she’d been looking for her favourite brand of biscuits from her childhood that she couldn’t ever find at any of the Wizarding shops. She’d no idea what she’d stumbled into, only that she’d heard screaming, and after years of chasing Harry, she’d instinctively run to the source.
She was shocked to recognise Yaxby, wand drawn, face panicked and fearful. Before she could even mutter a single, wandless Expelliarmus, Yaxby saw her, eyes wide, and sent a curse her way. The curse sent her flying, and she heard the crack of Apparition just before she hit the glass.
Hermione’s head smacked the pavement, and she yelped in pain as her vision tunnelled. In just a few moments, her eyes opened to see a pair of brilliant green eyes.
“Harry?”
“Not today, sweetheart,” a gruff voice answered in an American accent, and as not-Harry came into focus, Hermione realised she was slightly dizzy and more than a bit confused.
“Are you okay, miss?” Another man, also American, asked, and she slowly turned her head to look up to see who spoke. It was a near giant of a man, and if he hadn’t been so fit and clean cut, she might have guessed him to be half giant.
“A concussion, I should think,” Hermione answered, letting the green-eyed man help her to sitting.
“Had a lot of those, have you?” The tall one asked.
“One doesn’t survive a war without a few mementos,” Hermione said gingerly, touching the back of her head, and relieved to see that there was only minor bleeding, which had already begun to clot.
“War?” The green eyes flickered up to the tall one and back to her, “You a soldier?”
“Not quite,” Hermione answered dryly. With help, she stood and brushed herself off. Once she’d balanced, she stuck out her hand, “Hermione Granger. Thank you, gentlemen, for your help, but I must be off.”
“Woah, woah,” the tall one placed a large hand on her shoulder. “You can’t just walk away; you’ve got a concussion. Let us get you to a hospital or urgent care.”
She gave them both a grateful, but almost depreciating look. “Thank you, but I’m quite certain I can handle a simple concussion.” The statement would have been much more convincing if she hadn’t, at that exact moment, decided to wobble and fall backwards, the tall one catching her fall.
“Nope,” he said, “We’re taking you. I’m Sam, this here is my brother Dean. His car’s just down that way, and we’ll get you to a doctor.”
Hermione let Sam keep an arm around her shoulder, he was doing so very respectfully, and she was a bit more dodgy than she’d like. She looked around, feeling Confounded; this wasn’t where she remembered having been last. The cars were all wrong, they were driving all wrong, and the signs weren’t right and in a panic she gripped her arm where her wand was holstered. Upon contact, she gave a heavy sigh of relief, and Sam stopped.
“Everything okay, there?”
“Yes. Well, no,” Hermione furrowed her brow, she hated admitting when she didn’t know something. “This may seem a bit daft, but, where are we? Only I don’t remember going into that shop, and I’m worried my concussion might be worse than I thought.”
“Monterey,” the green eyed one, Dean, Hermione remembered faintly, answered her, sounding pleased to be there, but mildly concerned at her question.
“Mexico? I wouldn’t have thought Mexico would look like this.”
“No,” Sam spoke up, “California. Monterey, California.”
Hermione laughed, a bit giddy from the faintness, “The States! How in the world did I end up here?”
Her mind was rolling along, sluggish, but as fast as it could given the circumstances. She’d somehow ended up in the Americas, with a concussion. Had she accidentally Apparated when she fell? Was it even the same day? How much could she ask without ending up in a psych ward, or tipping these men off to the fact she was a witch? If only she weren’t so foggy.
Sam directed her towards a crosswalk, but she stalled on the way. “The newsbox!” she exclaimed, to a pair of confused looks. She thought quickly and lied, “I collect newspapers when I travel! I haven’t gotten one from here yet, have you got the correct change?”
“You English chicks are in a class of your own,” Dean muttered appreciatively, pulling change from his pockets, and deposited two big silver coins into the slot before opening the door and fetching a paper. He held it out to her, reading the headline “Economic Summit Highlights Innovations, Collaborations in Monterey Bay Region,” aloud. “Sounds thrilling,” he deadpanned.
Hermione grabbed the paper and checked the date; it was the same day she’d remembered being at Tesco’s, so how had she inadvertently ended up in the States? What spell had Yaxby used? She thought about Ron; she couldn’t very well call him, he didn’t have a Muggle telephone. He would likely be panicked once he heard she was missing; could her Patronus reach that far in her state? She’d done magic before with a concussion, but never one this severe. She’d have to check.
They passed an alley, and Hermione took a chance. “One mo’. I think I’m going to be sick,” she held her stomach, and ducked into an alleyway. Quickly she brandished her wand behind a skip while making a distasteful retching noise. “Lumos,” she attempted with a whisper, but her wand did nothing. Didn’t even glow or fizzle, let alone give her enough light to suggest she could cast a successful Patronus. If she couldn’t use magic; she’d have to be extra careful. She couldn’t Obliviate Sam and Dean if something went wrong. She couldn’t contact Ron. She thought Harry might have a mobile, but if he did, she certainly didn’t remember the number for it. She’d have to wait for them to find her.
She looked grim, as she heard her husband’s voice in her head.
Bloody hell.