"Oh come on, you can do it, Hermione!" The young bushy haired girl gives herself some much needed encouragement. She sits cross legged in the field just a couple minutes walk from her house; she always loved coming here when she felt like getting away. There was hardly anyone who ventured this far into the grassy field, as the wildflowers grew tall enough to scratch and tickle the knees, and bugs of all sizes ran among all the flowers and weeds. She enjoyed the field and its emptiness even more so now that she knew what abilities she possessed. Once more Hermione scrunched up her face in concentration and glared at the small wildflower, which hovered just above her hand. But try as she might, the small yellow flower just wouldn't make its way higher than a few centimeters above her tiny palm, before it fell straight back down to her hand. It seemed to Hermione that on its short descent, the flower itself slumped in defeat much like her own shoulders.

Ever since the girl received her letter from the wizarding school Hogwarts, she couldn't help but try harder to make the strange occurrences around her happen on purpose and try to control them. Suddenly it made sense to Hermione that whenever she were exceptionally upset, strange things would happen. Like when she got a low mark, and the paper just turned to ash in her hands, or when Sarah Tuttle called her ugly in front of the whole class and then missed a week of school because of a very obnoxious rash. The letter that was delivered from her new Headmaster had opened so many doors for Hermione and as many questions as it answered, it left millions unanswered. Never in all of her short eleven years did she ever think she could be something as amazing and unbelievable as a witch. Oh how she wanted to rub it in the faces of all the girls at school who gave her such a hard time for being a "know-it-all". But she couldn't very well do that, Headmaster Dumbledore hadn't paid her a visit just for pleasantries.

Hermione sat at her small desk, furiously writing away trying to finish some extra maths homework, there was no sense in letting her brain turn to mush over the summer holiday. She continued, her pencil moving along the page at an impressive speed seeming to never slow or pause. She'd been working for over an hour, her bushy hair an absolute mess after being cooped up in her bedroom, when the small chime of the doorbell announced a visitor.

"Hermione, would you get that dear?" Her mum's voice drifted down from the kitchen where she had been preparing that night's dinner of Hermione's favorite beef stew.

"Of course, mum," Hermione called back as she hopped off her desk chair. She stretched, her joints popping after having been bent over her paper for quite some time without a break. Making her way down the hall past the small living room and to the front door, Hermione could make out the shadow of a person, whom she assumed to be a man because they were rather quite tall, behind the shade that provided some privacy over the small window placed in the front door. Hermione never did understand why people put windows in their front doors, it just made it all that much harder to figure out who knocking strangers were without them seeing you as well. She reached out and opened the door; immediately her brain was telling her that this man was in the wrong place.

He wore small half moon spectacles on his face that his soft blue eyes twinkled behind, and his snowy white beard made it all the way down towards where she assumed his bellybutton may be. But it wasn't the mischievous twinkle in his eyes or the very long but well groomed beard. No, what had Hermione believing that this man was in the wrong place were the long deep maroon colored robes he wore, whose intricate patterns almost tricked the eye into believing they were moving.

However, the longer Hermione looked, she wasn't so sure it was a trick but that they actually were moving. And to top it all off, upon his head sat a pointed hat of the same color, tilted slightly to the right. Hermione was about to ask the man if he needed some directions, but as she opened her mouth, he spoke for her.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are Miss Hermione Jean Granger?" If possible his eyes seemed to gleam even more at the shocked expression on her face.

"Erm, y-yes I am," she stumbled across her words, slightly bothered that this strange man knew her name.

Sensing her nervousness, the man smiled warmly, "I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a thick parchment envelope, handing it to Hermione. Across the front in a brilliant emerald green ink, an intricate slanted scrawl addressed the envelope to -

Miss H. Granger

Study Desk

12 Cester Street, London

Hermione once more glanced back up to meet those strange blue eyes, the sides wrinkled in a smile. Not able to contain herself, she quickly but carefully lifted the wax seal and brought out the first of many pieces of parchment. As she read on, she couldn't believe her eyes. How was she, Hermione Granger, anything more than just the insufferable know it all? And even more so, how could she possess magical ability? Once finished with the letter Hermione looked at the man in front of her, fully intending to tell the "Dumbledore" bloke to sod off, but when she looked at him, she suddenly believed it all. Because not only did her strange accidents begin to make sense, she wanted it to be true. She wanted this unknown world to exist, because she wanted to be more than just the daughter of two dentists. She suddenly needed this to be true.

"Hermione, who is at the door?" glancing over her shoulder, her mum came walking down the hall wiping her hands dry on a clean dishtowel.

"My new headmaster," she managed weakly.

Hermione can't help but smile at the memory. After introducing himself once more to her mother and then father, Dumbledore had come inside for tea. It had been quite a sight to see him sitting in their small but very normal living room, sipping tea from a small pink teacup that he insisted on conjuring himself from seemingly nowhere as he was "quite thirsty and didn't want to drain their tea source." He then went on to explain the magical world that Hermione was now a part of, and that he or another would be escorting her and her parents through the wizarding world to buy school supplies in a few days time.

Her parents were just as shocked as she had been, but delighted nonetheless. And now Hermione sat in a field, attempting to do something she once believed to exist only in dreams and the fantasy books she so loved to read. Hermione screwed her face up in concentration once more, and thought only of the small flower in her hand, and what she wanted it to do. She studied the flower, its delicate petals, and even the pollen that was in its middle. It was almost as if a breeze had suddenly swept up the flower, as it began to move higher and higher, swaying slightly in the nonexistent wind. Hermione let out a small cry of triumph as it was now floating above her head. She had done it!

"Father said there were no wizarding families in this area," a young drawling boy's voice interrupts from behind Hermione.

She whips around, her bushy hair falling off her shoulder onto her back, the flower falling to the ground behind her.

"I've no idea what you're on about," Hermione feigns annoyance as she looks at the boy. He may be about her age, his white blond hair slicked back, hard blue eyes staring her down. His clothing was horribly mismatched as if he didn't quite understand how to dress himself for going out in public.

The boy snorts, "Oh please, it's obvious what you were doing," he takes a half step closer, "Yet you aren't very good are you?"

"Oh, and you could do better?" Hermione crosses her arms and glares at him. Who did he think he was anyway, waltzing up here demanding to know her business?

"Well I can't very well be doing magic," he retorts rather defensively, "Or have your parents forgotten to tell you underage magic is illegal outside of school?"

Hermione bites her lip and can't help the sudden flow of words from her mouth, "I won't be kicked out will I? I've only just found out what I am, and I can't have it taken away from me," she grabs the boy's forearm and looks desperately into his ice cold eyes.

"What d'you mean you've only just found out?" Before Hermione has the chance to respond a look of realization falls upon the boys slightly chubby face. "Y-you're a muggle-born!" He accuses, taking a sudden step back and wrenching his arm from Hermione's grasp. At first Hermione doesn't understand, but then she remembers right before Dumbledore left, what he explained to her and her parents about some wizards and witches and what they thought of those born to non-magical people.

"Oh I get it," Hermione glares at him, "You're one of those kinds. If muggles are so disgusting to you, why are you here?" she challenges. A look of almost fear crosses the boys face, and then is replaced by feigned smugness, "My dad is on important business for a fellow... associate. Or else we wouldn't be caught in such a disgraceful place," he finishes, glancing around at all the tall weeds and dirt.

"Well if I'm such a disgrace, why don't you leave me be?" She turns on her heel and walks further into the field, sitting amongst some weeds. Rather fitting, she thought. Even in this new world, all Hermione was ever meant to be was a weed amongst all the beautiful flowers. She reaches out her small fist and grabs a bundle of weeds, tugging them from the dry dirt. She watches the crumbled dirt and tiny insects fall from the roots of the weeds. 'I suppose I could make the weeds fly', she thinks to herself then chucks the plant as far as she can.

"You left this behind," Hermione looks over her shoulder, the boy has his pale hand outstretched, the yellow flower contrasting greatly against his ivory skin. She gets up slowly and faces him, gingerly grasping the flower from his upturned palm.

He gives her the smallest of smiles, "Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger," and she returns his smile, with a small grin of her own.