Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously.

AN: I know it starts off slow, and it will be for the first couple of chapters, but it does get better.

Chapter 1 - Letter from Hogwarts

Hermione Granger wasn't sure when she realised that she didn't fit in with the other children at school. It just seemed to be something she always knew.

Everyone else could sense it, a dark kind of energy surrounding her, protecting her. It kept people away from her. She was bullied at first, but soon they left her alone. If asked why, her would-be tormentors wouldn't be able to give an answer. It was just something that made sense to them. 'Don't mess with that Granger girl', they told people. Even parents didn't want their children hanging around with her.

But Hermione wasn't aware of any of this. She mever knew the reason why nobody talked to her, why they refused to play with her, or to be her partner when they needed to pair up at school. She was okay with that though. She could do the work by herself; she was clever enough.

And then the letter came. She wasn't at school that day, she was in bed with a bad cold. Her parents both had to work. They couldn't take time off for their daughter, not when there were teeth to be saved. She had to make do with a phone by her bed and access to the fridge for the nest twelve hours. It wasn't anything new to her, being on her own in her house. Often she had faked illness, if only to avoid going out. Nobody liked her, she reasoned, so why should she make an effort. Why should she even look at them, if they wouldn't look at her?

She had been sleeping for the past three hours, when the loud bang of the letterbox shot through the whole house. It woke her in an instant. Was this just one of those cruel jokes that some of the children occasionally played? She didn't even want to think about the taunts that some people prepared for her. That had been ages ago, of course, before they had been scared away.

The sound of wings past her window snapped her out of her reverie. Something was going on, had been going on for far too long, and it was time to find out what it was.

She slipped out from under the thick white duvet, and rose shakily to her feet. Illness had taken a lot of energy from her, and it was all she could do to stay upright. So she took a deep breath, then another, then another. Soon she felt a lot better. Well enough to walk, at least.

Yet with every step she took, she felt a little better than before. She made it out of her attic bedroom, and halfway down the stairs, without any problems whatsoever. In fact, she was almost normal again. Only a trace of the cold remained now.

On the landing, she looked across to her parents' bedroom. The door was left completely ajar, the yellow wallpaper standing out like sunshine penetrating the dark grey clouds of the hallway. A thought occured to her, but she wouldn't let it form. 'Not now,' she told herself. 'Not yet.' Feeling slightly frightened by what she had considered doing, she scurried downstairs, almost slipping on the mat outside the front door.

As she caught herself on the smooth wooden bannister, she looked down to see what she'd nearly fallen on. A parchment envelope lay innocently underneath one of her feet, sealed with red wax and a symbol that she didn't recognise. The postman never delivered this late, she realised. It must be pretty important. For her parents, probably. She sat down heavily on the bottom step and, with shaking hands, picked up the envelope and turned it over. It was for her.

Hermione's heart nearly stopped. Whoever had written this knew exactly where she was; in fact it read the following:

Hermione Jean Granger,

The bedroom in the attic,

14 Snakehead Grove

Kensington

London

LN3 RTS

That was it. That was her house, her bedroom, displayed on fresh parchment in scrawling green ink. How could they know where she was? Whoever they were. She was sure, certain, that it couldn't be anybody her own age. No one knew that her bedroom was in the attic, no one knew that there even was a bedroom in the attic of the house. Before they had come along, two months ago, nobody had lived in the house for years. They had moved house. Why couldn't she have moved school? Not be known as the freak with the creepy house and no friends?

The envelope was still in her hands. There didn't feel to be much inside it, maybe a letter? Whatever it was, it was perfect timing. Her parents, always a little too protective for her liking, they wouldn't have let her read it. They would have opened it before she did, checked through it, and told her everything they thought she needed to know before burning it in the large fireplace in the living room. For the moment, they were gone, and they would be for the next few hours. She had all the time in the world.

For now, anyway. She slipped her bony fingers underneath the flap, and pulled it open. The wax clearly wasn't strong, or it was hastily done, either way it came away with only a mere trace of resistance. Out of it came a letter, and two smaller squares. All of it parchment.

First, she read the letter through. And then again. What it said made no sense to her.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have 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

But what did it all mean? Hermione had no idea. And being Hermione, she had to find out. The logical side of her kicked in. She looked at it, analysing every bit of it, from the colours to the words.

The handwriting was that of an adult, she would bet all of her money on it. It flowed too smoothly, joined too perfectly, yet was rushed as well. She would estimate someone who was middle aged at least. That handwriting had to have years of practice behind it.

And the words. It was too advanced to be anybody of her own age, and yet again she would guess middle aged, possibly older. It was written as though the reciever were expected to know what the letter was meaning. Surely it had to have some hidden meaning. She'd never heard of this 'Hogwarts'. A school for witches and wizards? Nonsense, pure nonsense! And yet...

For all her life, she had felt that she didn't fit in. It wasn't that she felt better than her peers, just... How could she put it? More powerful? Yes, that sounded right. But in what way? Magic?...

She shook her head to clear it of her crazy thoughts. No, that was nonsense, she wasn't magic, there was no such thing as magic! She had to go upstairs, now. Before she started to believe it was true.

Her head pounded as she ran upstairs. That made her think. She had been ill, now she was better? How was that possible? She knew full well that occasionally people were miraculously cured of illnesses, but not one as mild as hers, and certainly not that quickly. Could that be a symptom of her magical powers? No, no, she needed to stop that. It was ridiculous.

She rushed into her bedroom and fell onto her soft bed. It welcomed her with a marshmallow kiss. She always felt safe in her bed, like nothing would hurt her. It was a comfort to be amongst the pure white sheets, the closest to heaven she'd ever known. Relaxing into her pillows, bathing in the warm light from the sun, she reached across for a book by the side of her bed, the first one that she picked up. It was a collection of Roald Dahl stories. She may have considered herself too advanced for childrens books, but she was still only eleven years old after all.

She breathed a heavy sigh as she opened the book to any random page. Whatever she could find, she would read. But the words she opened it up to, the few words sprawled casually across two pages greeting her like an old friend, they made her drop the book in shock.

Magic is everywhere if you know where to find it.

Tears formed in her eyes. She had no magic in her life, she never had any magic. It was boring, meaningless, without that little spark of something which could make it a little more bearable. She had to find that magic herself. Whoever had written that letter, whatever it had meant, she was going to chase the magic that she felt from it. All she needed was an owl.

As she thought those words, an dark shape flew to her window. An owl-shape. Had she summoned it? She didn't know.

The little window she possessed was unlocked, but she had to pull quite hard to get it open. The owl flew into her bedroom and settled itself on one of the hard wooden bedposts, hooting gently. She stretched out a hand tentatively to touch it. It rubbed the side of its head against her hand, then bit her sharply, enough to draw a little blood.

Hermione gasped in pain. The cut throbbed a little as blood pumped itself around her finger, but it wasn't going to kill her. It wouldn't even leave a scar. So she turned her attention to the task at hand. She took a deep breath.

''Okay, um, owl. I don't know your name. I want you to stay here while I write a letter, and then bring it to McWhatever her name is. Understand? Good!'' The owl kept a beady eye on her the whole time it took for her to dash across to her little desk, grab a fistful of crumpled paper, smooth it out and write a hasty note in biro. It looked messy, but it would do, and she was in a hurry. It was four now, her parents would be home soon. Once she had finished, she read over what she had written.

Dear McGonagall,

I am delighted to recieve my place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My only problem is that I do not know where to find my school equipment, or indeed, how to find the school itself. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me? I will not be at the address listed on your previous letter, so I trust that you can find me wherever I am. You did know which bedroom in the house was mine, after all!

Yours faithfully

Hermione Granger

It didn't sound too rude. It was okay to send. But she didn't know what to do with it. She walked over to the owl, who stuck out it's long brown leg, and she understood. A pink ribbon lay on the floor, but she didn't know where from. Even so, she hurriedly tied the note to the owl's leg, then nudged it gently. It understood her immediately.

She closed the window as it flew away, then began to think again. What she had wanted to do earlier, what she had stopped herself from doing, that was in her mind again, only this time she knew she would do it. So she found a much neater, cleaner piece of paper, and began to write again.

Dear Mum and Dad...

AN: Thanks for sticking around. Review if you want more!