Disclaimer: Obviously I have no claim to Harry Potter.
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Prologue
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Hermione sighed as the girls twirled across the stage, their skirts swirling with them. Her mother explained to her in a whispered voice that these girls were ballerinas, dancers at the local dance academy. From that moment, Hermione had her heart set. As everyone clapped as the ballet finished, she said, "Mum, I want to be a ballerina."
Her mother smiled knowingly. "Of course you do, sweetheart."
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A week later and Hermione still hadn't relented. Emma Granger sighed in exasperation. The older woman tiredly dried the dishes, while her daughter chattered away about what she had read about ballet in library, and how disappointed she was that children in the lowest form could only take out one book at a time.
"Alright, Hermione!" Emma cried. "I'll sign you up for lessons!"
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Hermione examined her new pink ballet shoes with pride as the other girls filed into the room. Madame Desalda looked harshly at the other chattering students, but her gaze softened as she rested eyes on the quiet and attentive Hermione, who barely avoided jumping into the air with joy.
"Alright, ladies, let's start by stretching. How many of you can do a split?"
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Emma smiled happily as she drove Hermione to ballet lessons. Her little girl was flourishing under Madame Desalda's regime. After a month of practice, Hermione was the first girl to perform a split during stretching. The six-year-old was determined to succeed, and Emma was glad that she had something else to focus on. At the rate Hermione had been reading, someone was sure to have taken notice and make things challenging for her. Just last week the Madame herself had come to her after the lesson, suggesting to Emma that Hermione may be able to move up a level after another month or so.
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