Summary: Hermione Granger's life before Hogwarts. She goes to a school full of muggle and magical children alike, and a certain blonde finds out about her magic before anyone else, and does something that drastically changes her life for the worst: he tells his father. A/U, modern.

Warnings: Set in modern times (expect mentions of iPhones, Google, Wikipedia, Macs etc. etc.). Child abuse in later chapters.

Looking for a beta.

"Sometimes, your knight in shining armour is just a retard in tin foil."

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everyone can smile even in the harshest of circumstances.
but sometimes, you need a nudge every now and then.

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Mudblood Diaries
LYREI

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ONE.
can't google it

showtime.

Forest Pine Mansion: night.

Insomnia is a symptom which can accompany several sleep, medical and psychiatric disorders, characterized by persistent difficulty falling asleep and/or difficulty staying asleep. Insomnia is typically followed by functional impairment while awake, Hermione read, biting her lip in distress and eradicating the last trace of her cherry lip gloss in the proccess. She flipped quickly to "Treatment for insomnia", but the only thing she had access to without telling her parents was alcohol, and Hermione knew that there was no way she was going to drink alcohol, insomnia or not.

She frowned as she shut the laptop, her pretty face scrunching up into one of acute frustration. Wikipedia and Google had never failed her before. Still, she comforted the sleek Mac, it wasn't its fault. It was just that Hermione couldn't, and didn't want to, tell her parents about it. (Because therapist equals to PSYCHO ALERT in school.)

Her parents... they were both well-known dentists, though her mother had briefly flirted with the idea of becoming a neurologist before. She had blanched at the amount of time she needed to spend away from her daughter however, and had stayed a dentist instead. Both were adept dentists and brought in more and more money each year as people grew more appreciative of their talents in not making their twice-a-year visit more horrible than they had anticipated it to be. That all changed a few years ago, though. Her father wasn't a gambling man, but he had a quick intuition when it came to playing in the stock market. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement.

Their financial advisor had called her dad a genius, and her dad had actually blushed.

Bidding farewell to their semi-detached home, the family happily moved into the richer districts of Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, and Hermione was entered into one of the most expensive private schools in the country. Her new friends convinced her that not studying for a while wasn't so bad after all, when they could just relax and hang out in the richer parts of town. But being friends with the heirs of millionaires had taken its toll on Hermione, and she began to obsess over planning outfits, accessories, and... homework? Homework was midnight only.

And bam, that was when the whole insomnia business had started.

Hermione sighed and got off her bed, looking critically at the outfit laid out before her. The light blue checkered jacket that hung off her shoulders and onto her arms like a shawl and the strappy cotton top screamed casual country, but with her hair in elegant curls and shiny white and black Chanel ballet flats, she could make it look fashion-forward. She wasn't sure whether to go with black short jean shorts with dull brass buttons that told the world I'm-rich-but-I'm-wearing-ripped-shorts-anyway with sheer black tights, or a small miniskirt. Frowning, she consulted her huge walk-in wardrobe, begging the fashion gods for divine trendy inspiration.

"Skirt is kinda boring," she admitted to herself, and boring just wouldn't do. The shorts looked nice with her lightly tanned legs, now that it was summer… But would it be too snobby? She didn't know for sure until she called her best friend, but Naomi would probably remove Hermione from the top of her friends list that she kept taped to her locker door for calling her at- Hermione moved her Tiffany charm bracelet out of the way to look at her Chanel chunky white watch and silently yelped. It was thirteen past twelve! It was a miracle she never got eyebags, and she offered up a prayer to God.

Please don't let me have eyebags, she prayed desperately, and I will love you forever.

Hermione knew she was ignoring her pile of homework more and more, favouring obsessing over superficial stuff like clothes, make-up and the newest obsession and direct cause of lovesickness in Aerallis Landon Primary, one blond-haired, stuck-up, Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, to Hermione's distaste, had managed to get even Naomi batting her sweeping eyelashes at him. Everytime she did that, Hermione couldn't help throwing up in her mouth a little because Draco Malfoy was just that... icky. She wouldn't ever admit it though, even under torture.

Malfoy was one of what she dubbed the "gifted" kids, not in a bad way, but in an envious way that had her stomach twisting in jealousy. He was part of the small group of elite students that got mysteriously yanked away to 'extra lessons', plus the teachers seemed to do whatever they said. They weren't at the top of the food chain, they were above it.

Hermione had managed to befriend, or at least become acquaintances with one of the gifted kids, and no more quotation marks please. His name was Theodore Nott, a really quiet kid that didn't seem to have many friends. He wasn't cold, Hermione would defend Theo when her friends mocked him, he was just a bit of a loner, that was all. As much as Hermione grilled Theo for information, he just shook his head and smiled simply while looking down at his tailored leather shoes. So. Annoying.

Maybe it was because of the way she deliberately snubbed Malfoy while his fangirls hung on to his every word, but the smug b-word had taken to hanging around her these days, making her really uncomfortable.

What had he said the other day, anyway? "You don't need that stuff on your face," he had drawled, knocking the eyeliner from her hands onto the floor. "Just makes you uglier."

And that was the problem, Hermione fumed- he thought she was ugly. Ugly! Hermione dug into her pink quilted Marc Jacobs bag and produced a large mirror, which she held up to inspect herself with. Her light bulb mirror, which she had demanded last year when she was eight, just didn't work as well as her Clinique compact mirror.

Hermione could safely say she was anything but ugly. She had striking eyes and yes, they were brown, but she couldn't do anything about them, and her hair was brown as well, but she made sure they were a very glossy auburn before she even stepped out of her house. She was noted to be very pretty, even by Aerallis Landon Primary's impossibly high standards; model-esque like Naomi was, and her skin was always flawless, which could be because she was nine, and her lips were always lightly glossed with Lancôme Ultra Shiny Gloss- cherry tree shade, of course, and her lashes were always curled and alluring. And she was stylish! And smart to boot, thought she looked a little guiltily at her small stack of overdue homework. She still couldn't bring herself to let Naomi hand her workload off to what her best friend called "the lower class".

No, she was definitely the opposite of ugly, and the opposite of lazy as well. Malfoy was such a liar, but she didn't dare to say so in public. Calling one of the most popular kids in school, even though she was one herself, the L-word was social suicide. Even Naomi wouldn't be able to dig her out of that hole if she got in it. No, she'd just go another day in school, tolerating the smug b-word and trying her best to listen to teachers without looking like she was actually paying attention. (Because being known as a nerd didn't exactly help her social standing, Naomi had said.)

Hermione Jean Granger lead a dangerous double life.

Luckily, things were looking up. Malfoy's stocks had begun to go down, Hermione thought with the professional air of a dentist-slash-investor's daughter, while Blaise Zabini's had just shot through the roof. With that thought, Hermione reached out for a scarlet ringbinder folder that she kept lying around just for these purposes, and consulted her contents page.

According to her contents, Malfoy's details were kept on wallet number twenty-three, so she quickly flipped through the plastic sleeves until she pulled out everything she had ever written about Malfoy out, and reached for a red marker. She promptly drew a line straight down to seven out of the scale of ten, in her popularity-time graph. Hermione smirked. His popularity had been off the charts lately, managing up to about eighteen out of ten, but as Newton's first law said: what goes up has to come down.

Effortlessly sliding the small bundle of papers covered in her impeccable handwriting, Hermione shifted Zabini's sleeve from the demure yellow of the B-Lister ringbinder to the bright red one for A-listers, and marked his popularity up to twelve. It was psycho times ten, Hermione admitted, but it gave her a feeling of control when she had graphs, statistics, and a detailed report laid out before her.

Naomi did the same thing, but she did it with her 'ranking list'. In fact, every Wednesday since she was four, she came to Hermione's house and together, they exploited her research to draw up the new ranking list. The ranking list only showed the top ten people in her year group, but Naomi made sure that the demise of those less popular were immediately pointed out with a damning red arrowed going down, a neatly penned number beside it deciding that person's fate. The list, when taped on Naomi's locker, ended social lives or started them.

She studied her own graph for the week. Her popularity had gone down a little on Tuesday, she noticed with a frown- only sixteen 'hey's an hour. But still, the results showed that overall greetings were way down this week, so despite her uncannily low numbers, she'd still keep her place in the top five. Satisfied, Hermione put the folder to one side and climbed into bed, hoping that sleep would come quickly.

It didn't happen.

Half an hour later, she climbed out of bed wordlessly and began to do some maths homework. Because every nine year old with insomnia did maths homework past midnight. So. Damn. Normal. She glanced at her glow-in-the-dark clock and frowned, rubbing her eyes blearily. It was one a.m, and the world was so quiet except for the scratching of pen against paper.

I need to sleep, dammit.

Aeriallis Landon Primary: Paracelsus Corridor

Draco Malfoy frowned, watching Granger laugh with the large group surrounding her and Naomi De Santis with a critical eye. Something was off with that girl. Her appearance? No, she looked pretty, Draco admitted to himself. He liked to think he was a fashion connoisseur and was highly critical of the clothing most children around him more. De Santis had managed to surprise him a few times, when she wasn't obsessing over everything Marc Jacobs, but Granger was kind of nice for a muggle, and dressed rather well. The casual checkered clothes and the slightly puffy cotton top meeting chic chanel flats was nice, but Malfoy privately thought the black leggings under her jean shorts weren't her usual casual chic style, and the flats were perhaps too logo-ed. But most people were nice, and most people in this school dressed well. So why on earth was he concerned for her her of all people?

Her eyes looked slightly glazed over and her smile was a shade too fake.

Maybe he was obsessively overanalyzing again, but he could never tell with the muggle girl. She was a little too different from the other muggles- when others adored him, she snubbed him with her little muggle nose up in the air. Draco frowned. He would have to study the girl further. Draco Malfoy hated anything that he didn't understand, the reason why he was the top of the year. And, Draco thought to himself, how was he going to excel as his father's political heir if he couldn't even understand a simple muggle?

No, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

"Granger," he drawled in a commanding voice, as the first bell rang and the crowd dispersed, "come here."

Hermione's face immediately melted into one of extreme annoyance. It was far too early to deal with a b-word like Malfoy. Besides, it was time to go to class, even if it was Drama. "What do you mean, come here?" Hermione gritted her teeth as she noticed Naomi and the rest of their hanger-ons looking closely at them. She had to keep up appearances, as the second most popular girl in their year and the third most popular overall, now that Zabini's stock had gone up. "I'm not your dog."

"Whatever," Draco smirked, making Hermione redden beneath her blusher. She had studied the W-word in her sleepless nights, but she still hadn't come up with a strategy against it. It was just too cool and laid-back, and anyone who went up against it instantly lost popularity points. Draco looked at the crowd with slanted grey eyes, gleaming with mild disgust. "What are you waiting for? Get lost."

The crowd got lost immediately, but De Santis stayed there, looking at him challengingly. "Hermione," she said, deliberately ignoring him, "I'll cover for you, but five minutes max."

Hermione forced her glossed lips to curve up and nodded slightly, thanking her best friend, and Naomi left, the sharp click-clack of her heels against the floor fading away quickly. As soon as Naomi was out of ear-shot, Hermione glared at Malfoy. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what goes on in that ugly head of yours," Draco smirked, "and you have five minutes to tell me." Why isn't she like the others? Bow down to my superiority.

Hermione clenched her fist unconsciously, but quickly unclenched them- she had her French manicure to think about. She wasn't ugly! "Mostly, I'm thinking about how annoying you are," Hermione snapped, and Draco put a hand over his heart, pretending to be wounded.

"Your words cut through my heart," he deadpanned, "but seriously. What's wrong with you?"

Hermione quickly changed tactics- maybe her insomnia was getting to her? She had an itch to get her mirror out and check herself- she had to look fabulous times ten or lose points. "Why Malfoy, I'd think you're actually concerned," she said demurely, her lashes fluttering in mock-swoon. "You're making my heart beat so fast."

"Yes," Draco agreed, knowing the muggle was playing him, "I tend to have that effect on girls." He wasn't joking, either.

Aww, pre-puberty crushes.

Hermione sighed, deciding to look "serious". Sure, Malfoy was the king of bluff, but maybe she could convince him? "I'm serious, Malfoy," she told him, injecting slight annoyance into her voice, "there's nothing wrong with me. Get that into your thick head, will you?" She was so tired she was going to fall asleep straight in first period, and god have mercy on any teacher, student or flying pig that tried to wake her.

Then she stalked off, flats slapping quickly against the ground as she left Malfoy standing there. Alone and unwanted, she thought with a vindictive smile, but quickly wiped it off her face. Fifth nicest in the year, she reminded herself, and a calm smile replaced it instead. I'm gonna die of exhaustion.

A few metres away, Draco raised an eyebrow. Granger had to be the worst liar in the school. The Lady doth protest too much, methinks, he smirked. Malfoy slipped his hand into the pocket of his blue Armani Junior blazer, and curled around a bottle that contained the potion he had innocently asked Mr. Avery if they could try brewing yesterday. With a sense of pride after finishing the trick potion, Draco had labelled it as neatly as he could with his elegant handwriting: the common-cold brew.

Ah, Granger, Malfoy couldn't help smiling as he walked towards Drama, the heat from his palm warming up the potion, the games we play are just too fun.

Aerallis Landon Primary: Drama house: Room Thalia.

When she first came to Beaconsfield, Hermione was a mess. A gawky face, uneven teeth, and, she couldn't help wincing at the recollection, frizzy hair. Her clothes were unfashionable bright shirts and jeans, plus she always carried a book as thick as a dictionary, if not a dictionary, around with her. She had been hellishly nosy and stubborn, always assuming she was right, and she had always been secretly called "that annoying nerd" behind her back. Bossy, too.

When she first met Naomi, Hermione had been stunned. Here was an impossibly pretty girl, wearing really nice clothes and looking down at her contemptuously. "So, you're the new neighbours," she had sneered, frowning. When Hermione merely nodded, Naomi looked disgusted.

"I can't have neighbours looking like you living so close to me," she screeched, putting her slender arms on her hips, exotic green eyes glaring. "I like this mansion," she mumbled to herself, "and you probably won't move… So," she glared at a quivering Hermione, "we've got to change you."

Then the Italian girl had looked her up and down, nodding to herself. "Really nice skin, and your hair colour and eyes aren't too bad, but we pity we can't do something about that brown," she said, disgusted, flipping her own light ash-blond hair. "Can't do anything about the teeth, but the clothes have got to go," she declared, and she dragged Hermione into her mansion, refusing to listen to the poor girl's stammering.

"Oh shush," Naomi had snapped while throwing open the door to her enormous room, "I simply can't have friends around while a… a… hobo lives so near! Simply can't," she pronounced again, ignoring the choked sound Hermione made at being called a 'hobo'. The girl wasn't very nice, Hermione frowned. She had hoped for someone who liked books and learning new things, not someone who called her a hobo.

But Naomi had loaned her some clothes while making her leave her book on her table, immediately requesting that her chauffeur drive them to 'Donny', because they had a severe 'fashion emergency'. After Donny had pronounced her passably pretty for Naomi's standards, recommending that Naomi brought her to him for touch ups once a week, Naomi had taught her what she called popularity lessons. Lessons on discretely nosing into someone's business, while being so popular people felt privileged that you cared about their stupid problems. But it worked. For the first time in her short life, Hermione felt pretty, and interesting, with some mysterious giddying power over others called 'more popular than thou'.

No, Hermione decided as she slid into the empty space beside her best friend, Naomi wasn't a very nice person. But as she smiled gratefully at her best friend and got an eye-roll in return, Hermione found she really didn't care.

"Alright class," Mr. Dylts clapped his hands eagerly, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm, "now that everyone is here, I can finally tell you the fantastic news! We're going to do a Shakespearean play!"

If Mr. Dylts was waiting for applause, he would have been kept waiting for a long time. The entire class was looking at him in stony silence, Hermione silently wondering if the Drama teacher had finally lost it. Shakespeare was bad enough, but having to do an actual play on one of his dishwater-dull works? No freaking way. What was going to happen to her dream of falling asleep in first period?

"Bagsy not being a guy or a tree," Naomi said, sounding supremely bored, like she was filing her nails. "Hermione bagsies not being one too."

I love you Naomi.

Hermione had always been the tree in school plays. There was an immediate scramble over not getting the worst parts in the play, Naomi exchanging a bored look with Hermione. "Honestly," she scoffed, raising an eyebrow, "someone has to do it. Just not us."

Hermione smiled, silently thanking the Sicilian girl. "I know, but I really don't want to learn lines." No, I just want to hug the sandman.

"Especially not from Shakespeare," Naomi agreed, her eyes narrowed as she pronounced the name with immense disgust. "I mean honestly, when we read stuff from him in English, it's awful. At least we can text under the table," she grinned.

The chaos continued for a few minutes before Mr. Dylts managed to clamber onto the top of the Grand Piano in the Drama Hall, his eyes furious and lips a thin line. "Be quiet, all of you!" he shouted, and almost magically, everyone immediately shut up without a murmur. "Thank you. We'll be doing Twelfth Night, and it'll be our own interpretation."

There was a round of giggles at that. Modern interpretations were always hilarious. Hermione felt a sign of relief wash over her- normal Shakespeare was so dry and boring. "Alright, get into five groups of three, take a paper and a pen, and start jotting down ideas!"

Naomi grabbed Hermione and swivelled her around to expertly survey the crowd of hopefuls, wondering who they should pick today. Hermione suggested Vanessa, but the idea was quickly shot down by Naomi. Not with what she's wearing today, she whispered, and they giggled. Olivia was too boring, but Anna was hilarious and trendy. But before Hermione could grab her arm, Malfoy joined them.

"Zabini got into a little bit of trouble there," he smirked, gesturing over at the tall boy, mobbed by starry-eyed girls, "so I've come to join you, Granger, De Santis."

Before Hermione could snap at Malfoy to get lost and wipe the stupid smirk off his face, Naomi squeezed her arm and agreed in sugary tones that made Hermione want to puke. "We'd love to have you join us," flashing one of her predatory smiles. "Hermione especially."

Hermione glared discretely at Naomi but she couldn't get mad; not in front of Malfoy. "Sure," she said nonchalantly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I'll go get the paper."

"Oh no, Olivia will, won't you, Olivia?" The dark-haired girl blinked and immediately handed over the sheaf of A2 paper in her arms to them, along with three black markers and the old and modern version of the first Act. "Thanks Livi," Naomi cooed, and the girl smiled, happy at being acknowledged. Hermione gazed admiringly at her best friend. No matter what, she just felt bad at manipulating popularity-starved people to "rightfully do your bidding", as Naomi called it. She had been bossy before, but she didn't use people.

Malfoy took two markers and handed one to Hermione, who muttered a grudging word of thanks, while Naomi naturally took charge, writing their names in her swirly handwriting. "Okay, so any ideas, Hermione, Draco?"

Hermione racked her brains. Originality, she thought, was not one of her strongest points. "Werewolves," she offered, thinking back to the horror movie marathon they had last Halloween, where the themes were pretty much werewolves and vampires. Everyone had loved it. "Viola can be a werewolf pretending to be a guy."

"Sounds good," Malfoy agreed, and Naomi scribbled the idea down, drawing a heart next to it. "And Olivia could be a vampire, so she can't go out into the sun, and always wears black anyway."

Hermione had to agree that it actually sounded sounded like a pretty good idea. Strange like hers, but still pretty good. She couldn't remember Malfoy going to the Movie Marathon, though. "How about we make the Captain the Flying Dutchman?" Naomi suggested, and Hermione agreed immediately. Mr. Dyltts would love that kind of eccentric stuff, and they'd get graded an A star for sure.

"Yeah, that sounds good as well. I'm going to get a drink… you want anything?"

Naomi shook her head, but Hermione nodded. A cup of orange juice didn't sound too bad to her, and it wasn't like asking Malfoy to get her one damaged her reputation any. Malfoy smirked, and put his hand in his blazer pocket. Poser, Hermione couldn't help thinking, but guiltily wiped that thought from her head, turning back to focus on the script.

"Okay, so I'm thinking that it should all be like, in a high school, Illyria High?" Naomi would think that, but Hermione went along with it. 'It should be full of monsters and stuff, but Orsino could be the headmaster and Olivia could be the sexy Head of English, while Viola's just a random English sub that's a werewolf but has to look like a guy because she's an unclaimed lady…"

Forest Pine Mansion, morning.

Hermione felt like she was about to empty her intestines onto the floor, and her head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Her butler had taken one look at her and told her she wasn't going to go to school, no matter how important she claimed the drama project was. Hermione wasn't really in a position to complain, however.

Despite the aspirin, she knew she was really sick, so the last thing she wanted to do was to put up with Malfoy while sitting in school all day, looking like something the cat dragged in. Hermione refused to go into school without looking like an airbrushed model. Laying her head back against her soft pillow, Hermione coughed weakly, wondering if she could convince her parents to let her have the flu shot, because she didn't want to feel this bad ever again. She started to feel a little drowsy from the cough syrup and her eyes started to flutter shut.

"I never knew someone so small could sleep so much," someone remarked.

"I am not small," Hermione snapped as she rose from the bed upright with her eyes narrowed, "I'm perfectly normal-sized." Her jaw dropped slightly when she saw Draco Malfoy just standing there against the doorway like he belonged there. She clicked her jaw sharply upwards.

Malfoy nodded approvingly. "You do look less ugly without all that stuff on your face," he told her tactlessly with a small smile as he strolled right into the room. Offhandedly, he dumped a bouquet of flowers onto Hermione's bedside table and held a glass out to her with a pale blue liquid inside. "Butler told me to hand this to you. I hope you get better, bla bla bla, and De Santis mentioned she was going to murder you for not texting her; you had her worried for all of five seconds," he rolled his eyes.

Hermione knew Malfoy was probably right about Naomi; that she was just a bit too shallow, but the thing was, Naomi was also her best friend. And Draco Malfoy didn't have the right to talk about her best friend that way, even if it was the truth. She was just going to tell him off when he yelped loudly and pressed his hand to his mouth.

"Hey, are you okay?" Hermione frowned when Malfoy shook his head, his eyes squeezed tight in pain. "Come on, give me your hand." He looked suspiciously at her like a wounded animal- kind of like Bambi, really, but she wasn't going to tell him that- and slowly held out his hand. Hermione pulled him down to sit on the bed with her, just in case he decided to faint from the sight of blood.

She winced.

"The roses in the bouquet cut me, I think."

The cut wasn't very large, but looked deep, like someone had cut it with a knife. No wonder he was whimpering like Bambi- actually, no, there was no excuse for why he was whimpering like Bambi. "Stop being a wimp," she barked at him, "your mother wasn't shot by a hunter."

Draco looked at her, a little hurt, and more than confused- what was that about his mother? Hermione smacked herself mentally for making a Bambi reference. Naomi would never let her live it down. She cradled his hand in hers, wondering if she had any plasters lying around. His skin was super pale, whiter than the white shirt he wore under his blazer, and the cut did look kind of bad. She looked at her cell phone on the table with the flowers. Maybe she could call Jefferson up if it was really serious, but for now-

"Oh my god."

Hermione blinked and her eyebrows creased up into a questioning look. She never thought Draco Malfoy was the religious type, but first appearances were always deceptive, she guessed. "What's the matter now? I'll call Jefferson up-"

"No need," Malfoy said in a small, odd voice, "look. At my hand."

Hermione looked dumbfounded as she stared at the wound- or extreme lack of it. His pale skin (whiter than his white starched shirt) was flawless, as if he had never been cut at all.

"Holy crap, you're a really fast healer," she congratulated him. That was going to come in handy for him some day, or maybe he could be a magician or something. His shows, Hermione reflected, would be very gory. And maybe he could donate his body to medical science when he died, so other people could heal as superfast as he did.

"I don't think it was me," Draco said quietly, looking strangely at her. In retaliation, Hermione looked strangely at him right back. "I… I have to go. See you tomorrow."

"Um, okay? Bye."

But despite everything, Hermione didn't feel as desperately tired as yesterday even if she felt like she was going to die. She was starting to feel better, but she decided not to risk it and grabbed the glass Draco had brought up.

Draco Malfoy was a really strange kid, Hermione mused, but it was nice of him to bring flowers. And thank god the roses weren't red- now that would be awkward. Delicately, she sniffed the bouquet. It really was a lovely bouquet with sunflowers, red daisies, tiger lilies and the roses with tons of green leaves, but there was one large sunflower hidden in the back that looked wilted. It was a pity really, and it kind of spoilt the whole bouquet. She would have to pluck it out.

The flower came back to life the moment she grasped it.

It made her feel like crying, but she didn't. She was strong- Naomi had said so, and her best friend was never wrong. So she had to act strong, at the very least. Okay, she was going to think of the whole thing in a calm, rational manner, because things like these always had a logical explanation. Her eyes flicked to her Mac.

Safari:

ENTER.
super healing

Her fingers hovered over the enter key, but she eventually shut the window and closed the laptop, snuggling back into her bed.

Some things just couldn't be googled.

"Father, I think Hermione Granger used magic today."

"A muggleborn then. It isn't that rare, unfortunately."

"Her magic… It's kind of different. It isn't the usual shattering glass or turning someone a different colour."

Lucius Malfoy put down his newspaper and looked at his son, who swallowed nervously. He had to make this good, because he didn't want to find out the punishment for disturbing his father when he was reading the paper. The blond man waved a careless hand at his son, gesturing for him to continue, but there was a severity to his mouth that indicated that he wasn't pleased with the distraction.

"Explain."

A/N: This was a challenge by Dont Diss Einstein over at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges. This is what she said:

"How did Hermione find out that she was a witch? She would have received her letter, obviously, but what signs of magic showed up before then? What was her reaction? What were the reactions of others? How were these things explained away by Muggles? It should be a story about the very young Hermione and how she discovered she was more than she appeared to be."

Hehe, only I replaced 'received her letter' with 'freaked Draco Malfoy out by healing him'. Subtle, Hermione, subtle.