CHAPTER 1 – The Invite
The end of year exams are coming up, and at the moment, I'm the only year 6 student who's started revising! I mean, it's nearly February! The exams are just over 5 months away, and nobody else has made a revision timetable yet! I did offer to make another one for my best friend, Jaz, but she didn't seem too enthusiastic about it, and told me that I really should stop worrying about the exams, because they're ages away! So instead, I revised for Geography, which made my wrinkled, stony faced geography teacher, Miss Smith, make a shape with her mouth, which I can only presume was a rare attempt at a smile.
I have been told on many occasions that I am the brightest student in my year, and they say that my parents (who, by the way, are both dentists) must be extremely proud of me. My mother tells me that I get my brains from her, but my father and I both agree that it's him who my brains come from. Of course, my mother protests.
"Books and Cleverness!" she tells us.
"Books?" My father asks mockingly. "What, do you think we read up on how to make such clever brains?" We all laugh.
"Alright then! You win!" says my mother exasperatingly. "But you have to agree her looks come from me. Don't they Hermione?" she bats her eye lashes in an over exaggerated way.
"Of course, mum," I say sarcastically, briefly looking up from my History homework. My father and I always tease her. She sighs her retreat, and serves dinner.
Five months pass, and exams week lurks nearer, like a lion, ready to pounce. I'm pretty certain that I know everything on my revision list, but to be sure, I don't stop. Jaz has only just started revising, after weeks of nagging from me ('these exams will determine what set you're in at High School!'), and joins me every other lunchtime in the Library to revise. It's nice to have company, but she does annoy me at times, because her perfect red ringlets never seems to be good enough, as she's constantly messing with them (she's lucky she doesn't have my bushy brown hair, which closely resembles curly pasta, to control!). And also, she always wants to gossip in a quiet whisper about 'that girl at the other side of the library', or 'that boy who fell over the other day', or her recent love affairs. I've never really been interested in boys myself, as I find them annoying, the way they rarely hand in their homework in on time, and find reading, a thing beyond their level of intelligence.
I remember one time, in year 4, a large boy named Justin Cook, who strongly reminds me of an oversized toad, was teasing me, because I was reading 'Matilda' for the second time in a month. My temper had just boiled over the top, and I was just about to shout something rude, when it happened.
In no less than three seconds, his chin and neck swelled up into a bloated bubble, like a frogs Vocal Sack. The bulgy sack was about the size of a medium sized melon, which seemed to draw everyone's eyes in his direction. And then in mine. With the shock of it all, I ran. I ran to the old storage cupboard that nobody ever went in, and sat for the rest of the day, curled up in a ball, in silence, trying to figure out what had happened. No luck there.
Everyone in the school steered clear of me for two months after that. The last I heard of Justin, was that he had had an operation to remove his frog sack, and he and his family had moved to Scotland. A letter was sent home, and I remember my mother and father sitting me down on the sofa at home, and kindly asking what happened. Of course, I didn't have a clue. And I still don't know to this day.
It was a week after this incident, when the bullying started. In history, we had been learning about superstitions of witchcraft, and when the teacher mentioned that witches were thought to have cursed people, everyone looked in my direction. And I mean everyone.
The teacher hastily changed the subject, but it was no use. I was, from that day, 'the witch', or 'nerd' or 'Bucky'. The latter of the three examples is down to my over-sized front teeth, which make me look like a rabbit. People teased me by stealing my books, or stupidly saying: "Hey, Bucky! Did you hear that the library is closing down? What will you do with all your free time?" And then someone will scoff: "probably just curse some more people!" this lame joke would always be followed by an eruption of laughter.
Everyone teased me. Well, everyone but Jaz. The teasing went on for a couple of months when one day, completely out of the blue, Jaz (who was in one of the 'snotty' groups back then) suddenly started sticking up for me. The stuck up remarks of "Hey, bookworm! Where's your witchcraft book?" would be rebounded with "Just leave her alone! You're just jealous because she's more intelligent than a dead goldfish, like you lot are!" Having someone to stick up for me felt brilliant, and over the months, Jaz and I became friends.
"Hermione?" asks Jaz, one rainy lunchtime, as we are quietly revising for our German exam.
"Yes?" I reply, without taking my eyes away from 'German Beginners – KS2'.
"Do you fancy coming round to my house this weekend? We could have a sleepover! Or, we could go to the zoo!" She must have been a little anxious about asking, because once she's started talking, she can't stop. After many suggestions of what we could do, I get a chance to reply.
"That sounds great!" I say excitedly, as loudly as I can, without getting a strict glance from the grumpy Librarian Miss Turner. As much as I hate to admit it, I've never been on a sleepover before.
Later that evening, after dinner, as I'm just getting ready for bed, the telephone rings downstairs, and I hear the familiar sound of my mother's voice answering the phone; so much more formal and posh than in real life. I presume that it was Jaz's father on the phone, because when I hear the phone placed back on the receiver, my mother calls me downstairs. I spit out the last of the toothpaste, and run downstairs.
"Yes mum?"
"That was Jaz's father on the phone, he said that Jaz wanted you round for a sleepover. Do you want to go?"
"Yes please!" I say politely, knowing that one wrong step would mean I would not be able to go on the sleepover.
"Very well, you'll be going home with Jaz after school tomorrow. I'll help you pack your bag now."
"Thanks, mum." I reply, knowing perfectly well that I'm old enough to pack my bag myself, but my mother insists, so I go along with it, and try to be as courteous as possible, to thank mum for letting me go. She's normally over protective, and doesn't realise that I've grown up a fair bit since I was four years old.
Despite the good lessons (English, Maths, Geography, Music, Science) to look forward to today, I am so excited about the sleepover, it's bound to go as slow as a tortoise climbing up Mount Everest.
"I've packed your jumper for you, and your dressing gown in just in case it's cold. There are also some sugar free mints for you to share with Jaz," my mother tells me, as I get out of the car. "Have you definitely got your toothbrush, Hermione?"
"Yes, mum. I told you I've checked three times already!"
"I'll see you tomorrow at eleven o'clock. Have a good day at school! Don't forget your manners!"
"Bye!" I call back to her, as I march off to see Jaz at the front gates. She doesn't normally wait, so I hurry to meet her.
"Hi!" she calls as I near her.
"Hey, Jaz!" I respond. "I'm so excited about the sleepover!"
"Me too!" she exclaims. Followed by a long list of what we will do, and in what order. I don't get much of a chance to say anything, apart from the odd 'yeah' or wow'.
The day drags on, and Jaz seems to be in the most talkative mood. In English we practise poetry, in Maths we revise the shapes, in Geography we go over the weather, in Music play the recorder, and in Science we look at the Solar System. After what seems like forever, the bell rings for home time. Jaz and I make eye contact across the classroom and smile, as the teacher reminds everyone that the exams are next week, and tells us to 'revise our socks off'.
As Jaz and I exit the school gates, we catch site of Jaz's father waiting for us. He looks a bit leaner than last time I saw him, but that was a year ago now, and just before his wife died. Jaz wasn't in school for a month. His usually upbeat personality has been replaced with a quiet one, however he still manages a friendly smile and greeting for me.
We are just strolling to the car, when she arrives. Slightly paler than usual, her expression aghast, her curly brown hair, which is identical to mine, tied in a bun. My mother pulls up in her car.
CHAPTER 2 – The Discovery
"Mum?" I ask, baffled. "What are you doing here?" I'm at sea with the question of why she's here. Maybe I forgot something. But why does she look so worried and pale?
"I'm sorry, darling, you can't go to the sleepover."
"Why not?" I question.
"Not now Hermione, I'll tell you when we get home," She seems to be in a hurry. I look from mum to Jaz, and back to mum. It must be serious. Why else would she come to pick me up?
"I guess I'll see you on Monday." I look back at Jaz, miserably. She looks just as devastated as I feel.
"Yeah, bye." She responds. I get in my mother's car, and within one minute, Jaz is out of site.
"So, why can't I go?" I challenge. No reply. Just silence.
"Why can't I go?" I demand. Nothing, again.
"MUM!?"
"I'll tell you when we get home." She says, shortly. The remainder of the drive home is in silence, as I try to make sense of what on earth is going on.
We arrive home, and without speech, my mother leads me into the living room. Sat on the sofa is my father, and my mother takes a seat next to him, in the same position that they sat when the letter came home from school about Justin Cook's frog neck. I sit opposite them, and examine my father. Much calmer than my mother, but still fairly ashen faced. On the table, lies a letter. Addressed to me.
The envelope bares no stamp, and the address is written in swirly writing, in a deep green ink. It reads:
Miss Hermione Jean Granger,
1st Bedroom on the Left,
Oak Tree Cottage,
Baldwins Lane,
Watford.
"What's this?" I ask quizzically.
"Open it." Orders my father. I pick it up to find it has already been ripped open. The rip goes straight across a logo, with what I can make out has lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake on it. Inside it reads:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WHITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
A thousand questions explode like bombs in my head. A school for Witchcraft and Wizardry? Me? A witch? We await your owl? What owl? I am speechless.
"Well?" My father presses. "What do you think?" I muster up the only word I can think of.
"Yes" I say, in no more than a whisper. And with that, I get up, take the letter, and go to my room. I think of a school where everyone learns magic. I read through the list of books required. A History of Magic – By Bathilda Bagshot. So, I'll still learn history, but apart from that, there are no familiar lessons. I think about leaving Jaz, and having to make new friends. Leaving everything I know, to go into an entirely new world. Surely I can't be a witch? I ruminate my thoughts over and over, so that when my father comes in a couple of hours later, I know what to do.
CHAPTER THREE – The Decision
"Alright, sweetheart?" he asks kindly, as he sits on the end if my bed. I nod my response, preparing for the massive decision that I'm about to make. We sit in silence for a few minutes, when my father says:
"Your mum says dinner's nearly ready"
"Okay, I'll be down in a minute" I mumble, and he leaves. Five minutes later, I hear the familiar call up the stairs from my mother, ('Hermione! Dinner's ready!'). We chew through our chicken pie in silence, and I have a few more doubts about the letter. Is it possible that the letter was sent by one of the local lunatics, just messing around? But despite my doubts, Hogwarts sounds amazing, so towards the end of the meal, I take a deep breath and begin.
"I want to go to Hogwarts." I declare. It feels better to get it out. Slightly worried about their reaction, I glance up. To my relief, both of their faces break into ear-to-ear smiles.
"Well, that's wonderful darling!" my mother exclaims, as she leans across the table and kisses me on the forehead. "I'll go and get the owl." I'm bewildered at first, but then I remember – We await your owl by no later than 31 July. When my mother returns, carrying a beautiful barn owl, I can't help but let out a small gasp. "I know, she's beautiful isn't she?" she says, as she scrawls down a short letter, addresses to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and, with caution, ties it to the owl's out-stretched leg. And with the letter, the owl spreads her wings and takes flight through the ajar window.
"Well that wasn't strange, was it?" says my father sarcastically. And with that, he gives me one of his extra special, fatherly hugs.
My dreams that night are filled with all sorts of strange people, wearing different coloured robes, and pointed hats. Witches riding broomsticks, with black cats. A strange school, filled with witch and wizard children, learning magic spells, and making potions.
I sleep so heavily that in the morning, I awake later than usual, to a tapping noise on the window. At first, I think it's one of the magic spells in my dream, but when it continues, I look to the window to see the dazzling barn owl, looking so out of place in broad daylight, bearing a new letter around her leg.
I stumble over to the window, blinded by the sunlight and dizzy from standing up too quickly. I open the window and gently untie the letter. The owl doesn't leave, but just stares at me. She wants a reward. I fumble around in my drawers and fond a few seeds that belong to my deceased canary. The barn owl takes them gracefully and swallows them down, before taking flight through the open window. I open the letter, with the same logo, and address as the last one did. Inside it reads:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WHITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss Granger,
We are pleased to have a response from you, confirming your place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On 1 September, you will be required to catch The Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross Station, London (Please find enclosed train ticket). The train will leave at 11 o'clock sharp, so do not be late. (You will be required to run straight at the barrier between platform 9 and 10, to enter 9 and 3/4). Students can bring, if they wish, either an owl, a cat, a toad, or a rat.
Your books end equipment can all be purchased in London, near Trafalgar Square. Enter the pub called The Leaky Cauldron (only visible by witches and wizards), and ask the barman, Tom, to show you to Diagon Alley. You can change muggle money at Gringotts Bank.
(Ps; a muggle is a person from a non-wizarding family).
Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Another million questions explode inside my head, and it takes me a few minutes to let the fact that there is a hidden platform at Kings Cross, and a hidden road in London, to sink in. After I've had time to wake up, I tread bare-footed downstairs, to the warming smell of bacon on the grill.
"Morning!" my mother and father chime in unison.
"Morning!" I echo, cheerfully. "Another letter came this morning." Both their heads look in my direction, their ears pricked like horses', listening carefully as I read them the letter.
"Well, that Diamond Alley, or whatever it's called, will be a challenge to find," My father states the obvious. "But we'll find it. Don't worry. As long as we get our Hermione to her new school in time, that's all that matters." He grins.
I can't help feeling happy as we gobble up our bacon sandwiches, with the smell of freshly mown grass wafting through the window, and the idea of going into a magical world, that twenty-four hours ago, I didn't even know existed.
CHAPTER FIVE – The New World
"Hermione, your father and I have had a talk," my mother begins on that Sunday afternoon, "and we think its best that you don't do your exams this week."
The anger and frustration fires up in me immediately, and the glass on the table next to her smashes into a million little pieces, making my mother jump up in shock. "What?!" I exclaim. "You're telling me, that I have been revising for five and a half months for nothing?!"
"Well, Hermione, dear," my father chips in, trying to calm me, while my mother cleans up the shattered glass, with shaking hands, "you won't be needing, what they call muggle, grades will you?"
He is trying to joke, but there is no witty reply, as there usually is. I am angry. And once again, I find myself storming up the stairs and concealing myself in my bedroom to think. I can see where my parents are coming from, but really, don't they realise how much effort I have put into my revision this year? I debate with myself in my bedroom, listening to the two little voices in my head; one telling me, in a soft and sweet voice, to go along with my parents and take the last two weeks off, and the other telling me, in a devilish voice, to fight back and do what I want to do. After an hour of this, I finally see sense. I'm not going to win this argument. My parents are right; I won't need these exam results at Hogwarts.
I tread quietly down the stairs, and hear my parents having a conversation, in short whispers, in the kitchen. A bubble of curiosity inflates inside my head, and I tiptoe closer to the closed door.
"I told you, we shouldn't have even suggested that she didn't do her exams!" whispers the voice of my mother.
"I know, but I wasn't expecting her to take it like that!"
"What did you expect?" my mother asks, her voice raising slightly "you know what she's like about her schoolwork!"
Sensing an argument emerging, I reveal myself. I push the door open and speak: "Before you start arguing, I'd just like to say, that you're both right, and I won't do the tests this week." They both look up in shock.
"Well, you can do them if you –'' my father starts, but my mother interrupts him with a nudge and the death glare.
"That's great, Hermione! When do you want to go and find Diagon Alley?" her sudden question takes me by surprise, and for a moment, I am slightly speechless.
"Whenever you're free" I reply.
We park the car in a car park near Trafalgar Square, and set out on our search for The Leaky Cauldron pub. We start out in the streets near the square, and make our way around it. I am just giving up hope, as we turn down Charing Cross Road, and the doubts and thoughts that this is all just a nasty trick begin to kick in again, when I see it.
Slightly darker than the record shop and bookstore that neighbour it, the pub stands proudly, hidden from all muggles. The hanging sign outside is slightly grubby, but the gold writing is still clearly eligible: The Leaky Cauldron.
"There it is!" I tell my parents, pointing at the magical pub. By the look on their faces, they can't see it. This confuses me until I recall the second letter from Hogwarts; Enter the pub called The Leaky Cauldron (only visible by witches and wizards). "Of course! You can't see it! You muggles!" I joke.
Their expressions are nervous, as they bid me goodbye, and double check that I have my list of equipment. I take a deep breath, and enter the pub.
The gentle murmur of chatter stops, and everyone looks in my direction, to take a look at which young wizard or witch has entered the pub. Trying to keep my head, I smile politely at some of the people.
"Trying to get to Diagon Alley?" asks the hunch-backed barman, Tom.
"Yes" I reply shyly, not really knowing what will happen next. With my reply, he opens the hatch through to the bar, and indicates for me to follow. I follow him through to a small, concrete back yard, and watch as he taps a sequence of bricks on the patchy brick wall with a stick, which I can only presume is a wand.
Immediately, the bricks on the wall begin to slide about, making an archway before me. I stand, dumbstruck, as I try to take in what just happened.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!" Tom says cheerfully. I slowly make my way through the archway, staring, open-mouthed at the magical street before me.
Wizened old men, with long beards, wearing robes from indigo to gold. Large families weave in between the constant bustle people, getting on with their shopping. I bid Tom goodbye, and thank him for showing me here, and begin my shopping.
Firstly, I go the obvious bank; a large white marble building, that stands tall and proud over the small shops beneath it. I enter, and see that engraved above the door there is writing - Fortius Quo Fidelius - which, if I remember correctly from my Latin textbook, means 'Strength through Loyalty'. As I pass through the doors, I can't help but let out a small gasp, as I discover that the bank is not run by people, but small, ugly creatures, that barely come up to my hip. They are sat on tall wooden stools, below a marvellous crystal chandelier. The walls and floors are all made of the same snow white marble as the outer walls, and I can't help admiring how beautiful it all looks. I approach the most inviting creature I can see, and begin
"Hello," I begin. The creature slowly looks up at me, in an un-nerving manor. It has long, wispy, grey hair, and wears small glasses on the end of its hooked nose. Its teeth are sharp and pointy, and its black eyes, with no white or colour, look like black holes. "Please can I change some muggle money?" I hand over one-hundred pounds, and the creature gives me a curt nod and disappears below the desk. Thirty seconds later, it re-appears holding a small bag of gold, silver and bronze coins.
"The gold coins are Galleons, the silver coins are Sickles, and the bronze coins are Knuts. One Galleon is equal to seventeen Sickles or four-hundred and ninety-three Knuts. There are twenty-nine Knuts in a sickle. You have 20 Galleons, 1 Sickle, and 10 Knuts." The creature speaks in a small, low, slightly croaky voice.
"Thank you." I say, and it gets back to its work.
As I exit the bank, I over hear a mother saying to her son, who looks about my age, say: "Strange things Goblins, aren't they?" gaining a disapproving look from the goblin stood outside the doors. Well, I'm not sure I like goblins either.
First on my shopping trip, I decide to get all of my school books. I get them from Flourish and Blotts, and think about what an interesting read they will all be. Then I go to Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, to get my Hogwarts uniform fitted. After that, I go to Potage's Cauldron Shop, and get my size two pewter cauldron.
I decide to go and get my wand now. I ask a very large woman where I could go to get a wand, and she tells me to go to Ollivander's, down the other end of the street. On my journey to Ollivander's, I pass a turning for another magical road. I walk to closer, to enable me to read the sign: Knockturn Alley. With one glance down the road, I know it is no place for children. Hidden in the shadows of Gringotts, the road is dark and mysterious. Cloaked figures wonder around, and in the distance, I can see an old man with a dog-sized spider on a lead. With this sight in my head I continue on my walk to Ollivander's.
Just as I am about to enter the wand shop, a huge family are just coming out. First, the parents, both with firing red hair. The children, all with their parents' hair, follow; a tall boy, with horn-rimmed glasses, and a sparkling Prefect badge pinned to his jumper, a pair of identical twins, both laughing about something, and pointing at their prefect brother, a young girl, slightly younger than me, so not yet at Hogwarts, also giggling about something, and finally, a boy of about my age, inspecting a scruffy looking wand in his fingers. The sight of the mix of red heads is slightly amusing.
I enter the shop to find that it is empty. No sound comes from the sky high shelves that tower up to meet the ceiling. The dark shelves are stacked with small black boxes, each with a small label bearing small, scruffy writing that I can't read. There is row upon row of these shelves, and all of them are behind a small desk. On the desk, I spot a small, silver bell. Without hesitation, I step forward and ring it.
With no warning, a frail old man, with mad blue eyes whizzes to the end of an aisle on a tall ladder. His sudden appearance makes me jump, and knock over a tall stack of books.
"Sorry." I say apologetically, as I try to re-build the tower.
"No worries, my dear" he replies, and with a swish of his wand, the books are lifted up off the floor, and stacked neatly in the exact same order. "Need a wand?" he continues, as though nothing happened. Without waiting for a reply he asks "Which is your wand arm?"
"Erm," Well this is awkward. How do I know which my wand arm is? I go with the safest option. "Well I use my right hand to write." And with that, he grabs my arm, pulls out a long silver tape measure, and makes it, all by its self, measure my arms and body in different areas; shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, and even in between my nostrils. While he does this, he explains how he uses all different cores for his wands, such as unicorn tail hair, and phoenix feathers. When I have finished the measuring, Ollivander picked a random wand of the lowest shelf, and hands it to me.
"Try this one, Miss…"
"Granger. Hermione Granger"
"Okay, Miss Granger, try this one. Elm and unicorn hair. Eight-and-a-half inches. Fairly supple."
I take the wand, and not knowing exactly what to do, I raise it and give it a twirl. To my surprise, an explosion of orange sparks shoot out of the end, and a nearby lamp grows large warts. Mr Ollivander takes it back immediately.
"Here, try this one. Vine wood and dragon heartstring. Ten and three-quarter inches. Quite brittle." I take the wand and feel a sudden warmth in my fingertips and a bubble of happiness inflates in my chest. Mr Ollivander's face breaks out into a massive smile, and he exclaims "Excellent! The wand chooses the wizard!"
"Thank you, Mr Ollivander" I acknowledge him.
"It's a pleasure, Miss Granger," he replies honestly. "That's seven galleons and 3 Knuts then, please." I hand him the money, thank him one last time, and leave.
After a quick visit to a small stationary shop to get some parchment, ink, and a very handsome quill with my remaining, one galleon, 4 sickles and 2 knuts, I leave Diagon Alley. I leave the magical place through the Leaky Cauldron, to find my Parents waiting for me, sipping tea, outside a nearby café. When they see me, they seem relived.
"How did it go?" My father asks, eying my heavy load of shopping bags.
"Great" I reply, and when we get to the car, I tell them all about what happened.
CHAPTER SIX – Kings Cross Station
A week passes, and I have done nothing but read my Hogwarts books. I've learnt loads, really. When reading Hogwarts – A History, I learnt that the ceiling in the great hall is enchanted to look like the real sky outside, and Hogwarts is protected by magical spells and charms, so that muggles can't stumble across it. I found all this fascinating, and can't help feeling excited about my new school.
I also learnt what the animals on the Hogwarts logo are all about – each animal represents t You will be required to run straight at the barrier between platform 9 and 10, to enter 9 and 3/4)he four school houses – the lion represents Gryffindor (for daring and brave people). The snake represents Slytherin (for cunning and ambitious people). The eagle represents Ravenclaw (for wise and logical people). And finally, the badger represents Hufflepuff (for friendly and loyal people).
All was well, until the night Jaz phoned to find out where I'd been for the last two weeks of school.
"Hermione," my mother knocks quietly on the door, but lets herself in anyway. I look up at her holding the phone. "Jaz is on the phone." Oh god. What am I supposed to tell her? I take the phone, grit my teeth, and begin.
"Jaz?"
"Hermione! Where have you been? You missed the exams!" says the shocked voice of Jaz.
I go with the safest option and say "I was ill." Realising this is not enough, I add "I had a sickness bug. Probably caught it off someone at school."
"Oh, you're better now though, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I feel a bit better." I reply. I hate lying, but what else can I say? "How did your exams go anyway?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
"Brilliant!" she exclaims. And then, she goes off on a tangent about how she got all B's and a C, and how 'difficult' the tests were.
While she is telling me this, I debate with myself on whether or not I should tell her that I'm not going to the 'muggle' high school. But I can't tell her about the magical world!
"Erm, Jaz." I begin. "I need to tell you something."
"Go on." She encourages me.
"I've been accepted at a different school, in Birmingham," I lie.
"Really?" she says in a shocked tone. "So you won't be coming to the high school down the road?" she asks an obvious question.
"No," I tell her, "but we can meet up in the summer holidays andhave that sleepover we were going to have!"
"Yeah. See you in the summer then" she mumbles in a disappointed voice.
"Bye" I say, confused by her sudden mood change.
And she's gone. A bubble of guilt inflates inside me, and I feel like a rock has just been dropped in the bottom of my heart. Why had she suddenly gone so cold? She couldn't have known I was lying could she? We can still meet up in the holidays!
I take the phone downstairs to find that lunch is set out on the table. I put the phone back, and sit at the table with my parents.
"That was a short phone call" my mother points out.
"Don't worry, I didn't tell her about Hogwarts. I told her I've been accepted at a school in Birmingham." I assure them. By there expressions, that wasn't what I was supposed to say. "What?"
"Hermione, we already told her before you went on the phone."
"Oops" I say, and for some reason I don't feel bad. That's why she suddenly went so cold – she knew I was lying!
I wake early on the 1 September, ready for the journey to Hogwarts. I pack my trunk with my school books, parchment, ink and quill, and on the top, my Hogwarts robes; plain black, but I learnt that there is a charm put on them, so that whatever house you are put in, your robes turn either red for Gryffindor, green for Slytherin, blue for Ravenclaw, or yellow for Hufflepuff.
I have no appetite for breakfast, so I sit sipping orange juice, until we leave for Kings Cross Station. We're nearly there when I realise something
"There's no such thing as platform 9 ¾, is there?" I ask my parents.
"Well, there must be. It said in the second letter didn't it?" my father implies, but I can't help hearing a little doubt in his voice. We travel the rest of the journey in silence, and as we go, I get even more anxious. What if we're late? What if I can't get through to the platform?
We arrive at Kings Cross, and after reading the second letter from Hogwarts (You will be required to run straight at the barrier between platform 9 and 10, to enter 9 and 3/4), together we manage to drag an extremely heavy trunk, bearing the name H. , to platform nine.
I stare at the barrier, and am just about to make a run for platform 9 ¾, when a boy rushes past me, pushing a heavy trunk with all his might. However, he stops just before he hits the wall as an old woman shouts from behind me "Neville! Don't forget Trevor!"
"Oh yeah, I forgot!" he turns back and takes a large, green toad from the old woman (who I presume is his grandmother), and puts him on his shoulder. After apologising to his toad, he runs at the wall, and disappears.
I look for my parent for the encouraging nod, take a deep breath, and run. The wall gets closer. And closer. I brace myself and gasp. And as if by magic, I am transferred into a completely different platform.
A handsome red steam train lies before me. People rush in all directions, grabbing forgotten pets, or books. Children hang out of the windows of the train, waving at parents and grandparents. It's like Diagon Alley, only much, much more busy.
I glance at my watch: 10:55am – the train leaves in five minutes! I rush over to the door, and my trunk is taken away immediately, to a different carriage.
Next mission, I need to find an empty compartment. I walk down the aisle in the centre of the train, in a world of my own. I can hear the blood pumping in my ears, and feel my five galleons in my jeans pocket. I find the emptiest compartment I can.
Scrambling around on the floor is the boy I saw run through the barrier.
"Trevor?!" he calls, looking under the seats.
"Excuse me?" I start. He stands up quickly, and turn the colour of a tomato. "Do you mind if I sit in here? Everywhere else is full."
"Yeah, sure." He says in a timid voice. "You haven't seen a toad anywhere have you?
"No, sorry. I'm sure he'll turn up.
"My grandmother ill kill me if she finds out I've lost him!" he panics. "I'm Neville, by the way."
"I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger." I hold out a hand, and he shakes it. Unsure on what conversation to make, I pull out my book, and read. But I can't concentrate. My mind wanders of, thinking about what Hogwarts will be like.
I hear the whistle of the train, and we're away. For now, I can only guess what Hogwarts is like.