Six year-old Hermione padded around her family home one December night. She was dressed in a light pink nightgown, and wore fluffy pink bunny slippers to match. Her bushy brown hair was put up into a high plait; she would have looked like a child model if not for her large front teeth.
Little Hermione yawned, and stretched a hand up above her head to rub her eyes. It was 8:30 in the evening--the very latest that she had been up in her short life. She silently walked around the second floor, past her bedroom (which matched her nightclothes--pale pink) and her parents room. She eventually got bored, as she had never had this much time alone before, and started down the stairs to her parents.
She walked through the foyer and into the sitting room, where her parents were stringing multicolored lights onto a freshly-cut tree. A Fraser Fir, to be exact.
"Mum?" asked Hermione, coming away from her hiding place behind an armchair.
Mrs. Granger was a tall woman, a dentist by trade, with sleek brown hair that was tied behind her head hastily. She wore black trousers and a red shirt, and when she smiled you noticed her perfectly straight teeth.
"Yes, darling?"
"Mum, I'm tired, but I don't want to go to bed. I want to help you and dad decorate the tree," Hermione said, gesturing towards the giant evergreen that was almost covered in twinkling lights. She spoke as if she was contemplating the most troubling problem in the world.
"Well, we're almost done, honey. Why don't you start picking out the ornaments that you would like to put up first?"
"Okay mum," agreed Hermione.
She padded over to a large wooden chest that was used as a table for most of the calendar year. Slowly, she tugged at the lid, trying to lift the ornate top.
"Hermione stop!"
She immediately dropped the lid, which fell with a crash to it's resting place--on top of the wooden base.
"What is it Dad?" she looked up, eyes wide with fear that she had done something wrong.
"Nothing, really, I'm sorry darling, but I was afraid you might hurt yourself. Let me get that for you," he said, not waiting for an answer but raising the lid of the ornate chest for his pink-clad daughter. "Here you go, 'Mione. Pick out all the pretty ornaments that you can, and your mum and I will help you hang them on the tree. Deal?"
"Deal, dad. Now you go back and help mummy, so that we can get this finished soon."
"Sure, Hermione, but before I return to the tiresome task of chaining multicolored lights on this tree in succession, I must ask you a question: Why are you so anxious for us to finish? This has been all you have been asking about for days, and now you want us to hurry up so it will be over?"
"Well daddy, I thought this would be fun, and I guess I'm right, bit I didn't plan on being so tired. Right now, all I want to do is go to sleep!"
"You know you can do that, Hermione," her mother reassured. Her reply was muffled because she was standing on the opposite side of the Granger family Christmas tree, still stringing lights,
"Thank you for your suggestion, mum, but I really want to finish the tree. That way I can sleep well, knowing that everything that I need to take care of is done. Does that make sense?"
"Oh yes darling," said Mr. Granger, joining his wife on the opposite side of Hermione. "Who would have thought," he said, lowering his voice, "that we would have had a daughter that all but refused a late bedtime?"
"I know", Mrs. Granger answered, "it's a blessing, and I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Me too."
While her parents were inconspicuously talking about her, Hermione was oblivious to the world around her, absorbed in a mess of glitter and gold that masqueraded as Christmas ornaments.
Hermione sifted through level upon level of ornaments, of glitter and gold, until she finally found what she was looking for: an angel dressed in blue robes with a pale complexion, deep blue eyes and ruby red lips. A halo was perched on top of her long, luminous hair. Hermione held the tree-topper in front of her, gazing into those blue eyes.
Angel. That was her name, her given name. It was the name Hermione had given the decoration three years ago, while setting her on top of their family Christmas tree. She put her Angel down slowly, and crossed the room to her parents, still thinking about the upcoming holidays.
A voice broke into her thoughts:
"Hermione, we've finally got all the lights on, it's time to put Angel on the peak of the tree."
"Okay, Mum," said Hermione. She started to again cross the room to retrieve Angel, but stopped when Angel rose, and zoomed into her hands. Hermione was shocked; everything that she had learned about the world she lived in so far had contradicted what just happened happening. Her parents, however, did not seem to have noticed the zooming angel.
"Hermi?" called her father tentatively. He stood to one side of the tree, staring at Hermione, who was also standing, although this time stock-still, and in the middle of the sitting room, staring at her Angel. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh, sorry dad, I was just, er, remembering something," she said, lying. Why tell my parents what I think just happened, she asked herself. There really was no reason, and they may begin to doubt her, which, according to Hermione, would be a fate worse then death. "Here, let's put Angel on the top of the tree, so we can begin to decorate."
The Granger family did decorate their tree that night, or at least until Hermione fell asleep on a nearby crimson couch. Mr. And Mrs. Granger couldn't find it in their hearts to continue without their daughter, and after they safely tucked Hermione into bed, they retired themselves. Christmas tree trimmings were all in place by the next night, and presents started to appear as early as a week later.
Christmas that year was one that Hermione would always remember, not because of the magnificent food, extravagant decorations or perfect gifts, but because of Angel bolting towards her without any assistance. Similar incidents occurred throughout the years, and Hermione always took great notice. She knew something was wrong, or at least different, but didn't know what.
As soon as she discovered the research section of her library, at the tender age of nine, she dove into books about unusual phenomena and other strange occurrences, trying to find out what caused Angel to zoom. As much as she worked, she found no concrete reason as to why things would occasionally streak towards her.
At the age of eleven, two years after she first began her search, and five years after Angel sparked this whole controversy Hermione got a letter in the mail.
It was written on heavy parchment, with an emerald green fountain pen. Curiously enough, there was no postmark. Hermione opened the envelope carefully, and read through the enclosed letter, daring herself to believe what she was reading.
She was a witch! And now, she, Hermione Granger, was accepted into the finest wizarding school in the world. Why me? I never have done anything spectacular or incredibly amazing, she asked herself, before the answer dawned on her.
That's right, Angel! I guess deep down inside, I always knew.
Disclaimer: All characters, and trier likenesses belong to J.K. Rowling. This fic is property of Lady Christina, copyright 2000.
Author's Note: I recently changed my pen name from "Christina" to "Lady Christina" because there were about four other Christina's on ff.net. Sorry for any inconvenience that this may have caused!
Also, this was originally written as a stand-alone fic, but if I am asked to continue I would oblige because I have ideas for doing Pre-Hogwarts fics for the other characters. How does this concern you? Well, see that box right below this text? It's orange and yellow on my screen, but could be any combination of colors on yours. If you have an opinion, any opinion about my continuing this storyline, either way, I would love it if you could leave it for me. Thanks so much! :)