A/N: Hello all! I want to take the time to thank you in advance for reading this story. Even if you never read beyond this first part, that's all right. I appreciate you devoting any length of time to this regardless. A few things before you begin reading: This diary is currently being posted in real time on tumblr. For a link to the blog, see the link on my profile for Hermione-Grangers-Blog. I've decided to begin posting what I've put onto the blog on this website, because I needed an easier way to archive. As it was, people had to scroll through multiple pages to get back to the very beginning which really wasn't fair in the long-run. I was originally going to wait until the end of the school year, but this is good enough. Also bear in mind that I am American, but I'm trying to make this as authentically British as possible. If you spot any inaccuracies, please let me know what I need to change so that this actually reads like Hermione wrote it. And finally, I do not own Hermione, her parents, or anyone else in the Harry Potter universe. On the whole, the beautiful characters I have the pleasure of writing about were invented by the marvelous J.K. Rowling. I wish I was her, but I'm not.
11 June – 19 July 1991
11 June 1991: Tuesday
Hello dear diary. My name is Hermione Jean Granger. I'm eleven years old and enjoy reading, playing piano, and writing essays. My parents bought you for me so that I could write about my new school experience. I was recently accepted at Welsley's Academy for Girls, a private school in Wales and I'll be leaving at the beginning of September. I rather wanted to continue going to public school, since my friend Samantha is continuing here in Wandsworth, but Mum and Dad (particularly Mum) absolutely insist that I get the best education they can afford. They don't think I can do that here.
It's not like I have that many friends here, I guess. I have Samantha, who I don't see much since her parents think I'm strange. We bonded at school, though because we both love learning so much. Everyone else at school seemed to dislike us both, particularly me. I don't blame them. I suppose I am a little weird. I do work hard on my school work, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't smart.
But weird things also tend to happen around me. I can't really explain them…they just do. For instance, yesterday I broke one of my Mum's favourite china cups. I was so frustrated with myself, but when I went to pick it up, it fixed in my hand. I don't know how these things happen either and for some reason, it seems to worry everyone around me when I do it. Even Mum and Dad look at me like I'm dangerous, which doesn't make sense because anytime these strange things happen, it seems helpful. The only person who isn't bothered by it is Samantha, which I suppose is why I sort of wish I could stay here. I can't imagine the girls at Welsley's being very nice about it.
Not to mention it's really hard for me to make friends to begin with. I don't know why, but I always bring out the worst in people. I'll say something and they'll snort or make some sort of rude comment, even though I don't feel like I ever deserve that kind of treatment.
So you can probably tell that I'm nervous about leaving. I really am. I'm excited, of course. It will definitely be a new opportunity to learn new things, and I suppose I could try to change myself and act differently to get new friends. At the same time, I just don't want to go back to having no friends and I really don't fancy having to explain to people again that weird things just happen around me. I have a feeling that I'm going to be using you a lot within the next year.
14 June 1991: Friday
Samantha visited today. Her, Mum, and I made biscuits and watched The Little Mermaid. It was a wonderful day. Mum, of course, is taking time off, because she's three months pregnant and keeps getting sick all of the time. She acted like she was going to get ill while we were baking, but luckily today was a good day for her.
I don't know how I feel yet about being an older sister. I'm going to be so much older than he or she. I'm happy for Mum and Dad, of course. They have been trying to have another baby since I was a toddler, but it's been difficult I guess. I remember Mum and Dad seeming frustrated and crying a lot when I was younger, because Mum kept getting her hopes up, only to have them crushed over and over. I really want to see them happy and getting what they want. At the same time, though, I quite enjoy being the only child. I've never had to worry about my parents being too busy for me. I know this probably sounds selfish, but I like having them to myself. I don't want to have to share them.
It's probably just nerves though. I have a lot to be worried about—school, being an older sister, having to make new friends. I guess I'm just so upset because I feel like I need my parents now more than ever. I'll get over it.
5 July 1991: Friday
Sorry I haven't written in a while. I've been at a loss for words. Only one thing keeps going through my mind: I'm a horrible person.
On 20 June, my Mum miscarried. I wasn't allowed to go to hospital with them and spent the night with Granny Granger. Nobody told me what was happening until it was over, when my Dad showed up to let me know that Mum was resting at home and that I was no longer going to be a sister.
I feel like this is my fault. I wrote about not wanting to be a sister, not wanting to share my parents with another kid. Weird things happen around me all the time. What if I made this happen?
I haven't told Mum and Dad about my worries. Mum spends most of her time in her bedroom. She hasn't gone into her office at all since the miscarriage. And Dad's been working, cleaning, cooking, and shopping. He's working full time as both parents. I can't burden either of them with this.
I don't know what to do. This is all too much to worry about. Maybe I'll talk to Samantha about it…
6 July 1991: Saturday
Samantha visited today. She brought flowers she picked from her garden for Mum. It was sweet, but it made Mum cry.
Once things settled down, we went to my room to talk about everything. I told her about my fears, and Samantha immediately started trying to make me feel better. 'Yes, strange things happen around you, but it's never been anything so horrid!' she argued. 'And besides, your Mum and Dad have always had problems with this. As sad as it is, it shouldn't be surprising and you shouldn't think it's your fault.'
Samantha has the beautiful talent of being the level-headed one of both of us, which is really saying something, since I'm usually very logical. Still, I let my emotions rule me more often than she does, while Samantha always relies purely on facts. Sometimes I wish I could be more like her.
She was right about everything, of course. There hasn't been a single time in my memory in which my strangeness hasn't been beneficial. I'm always fixing broken things, getting people who don't deserve to be in trouble out of it, and cheering the people I love up without even trying. Even when I was a baby, back further than my memory, the weird things that happened were always good. For example, my Mum slipped on ice while carrying me to the front door of her parents' for their Christmas party; before we hit the ground we miraculously stopped and floated upright. Never have me or my strange abilities hurt anyone.
And yes, my parents have always had a hard time with pregnancy. Mum miscarried twice before I was finally born. I was a miracle, because in her fourth month of pregnancy with me, she became really sick, just like with this most recent baby. The doctor said she would never make it to full-term and I would probably die, but then I was born when my Mum was nearly eight months pregnant, a little early but completely healthy and most definitely alive.
They haven't been able to have a child since then, though, and we were really hopeful that this time, it would work out. I'm still worried that maybe my musings in this diary played a part. I'm going to trust Samantha's judgment, though. She's always so level-headed that I'm inclined to believe she's right.
8 July 1991: Monday
It was a good day. Mum left her room and stayed out and about for a long while. She actually started rereading Pride and Prejudice, one of her favourites. I promised her that I would take it with me to Welsley's so we could have something to discuss over my holiday break.
Also, Dad came home with some of my books for school! I was a little disappointed that he didn't take me shopping with him, but he said, "I don't think I could have pulled you out of that bookstore. We would have been there for ages."
I'm now the proud owner of Intermediate Algebra (my maths placement score was high, so I'll be taking it with second years), The History of Great Britain (a HUGE book that I'm dying to read), Mastering Chemistry, and Great Poets of Britain. I still have four more books to buy and I'm not going to let my Dad get them without me. I made him promise me that next Saturday he'll take me back to that bookstore to get the rest of my things. We can't go this coming Saturday, because it's Grandpa Johnson's birthday party, and really, how fair would it be if I received a present on his birthday?
Going to break out The History of Great Britain now.
9 July 1991: Tuesday
Places I want to visit before I'm an adult:
- Stonehenge
- Hadrian's Wall
- Avebury
- Bath
- The Scottish Highlands
Everything in my book is so fascinating. I'm now going through the Roman occupation. I feel bad for the Celts and the prehistoric peoples of Britain, but I suppose along with the Romans came roads, walls, and cities. Still, there's something romantic (no pun intended) about the Celts. They were so…mystical. So magical. They believed everything in nature was balanced with some sort of supernatural element. While the Romans—although believers of several gods—were rigid and scientific. Kind of like me, really.
I can't help but wish I could believe in magic like the Celts. It would be nice to just have faith in something, to believe that the world is more than just a lump of dirt in orbit around a star. I'm just too educated, I guess.
13 July 1991: Saturday
Grandpa's party was fun. I got to see my cousins Maisy and Miles (they're Mum's brother Keith's children). They're not quite like me. Miles is my age and more athletic than me. All he ever wants to talk about is football. He's a huge Liverpool fan and he constantly asks my opinions on This Player and That Player, none of whom I've ever heard of and none of whom I can remember now. I just guessed at what he wanted me to say, and was, more often than not, dead wrong.
Maisy, meanwhile, is two years older than me, and much more focused on boys than I ever want to be. She also attends Welsley's, so I figure if I have a hard time making friends, I can always turn to her. Of course, she's not quite who I look for in a friend. She's rather dark and poetically deep, which I've never understood. She keeps a journal like me, but instead of just writing about her day, she writes poems about death and despair. She showed me a few of them, and I felt rather depressed afterward.
At least Mum and Dad let me have a sliver of cake. That was nice.
15 July 1991: Monday
Today was supposed to be a good day. Mum went into her dental practice for the first time since the miscarriage, Samantha came over to discuss The History of Great Britain with me, and tonight my Dad promised to cook my favourite soup (French onion).
But then the post came.
If there's one thing my parents hate, it's coming home to their bills sitting in the entrance hall and accidentally trodding all over them. So as soon as I heard the mail slot rattling with the post, I put The History of Great Britain down on the table in front of the sofa and went into the foyer to retrieve it. Usually I don't look at the envelopes and check what we get in the post, mainly because I never get anything myself. But today I was curious to see if Welsley's had sent me a revised booklist (I'm desperate for more reading material), so I flipped through the letters.
On the very bottom of the stack was a letter addressed to me! But it wasn't like normal post, where it's only marked for the person and the address. It was as if the sender was unsure how the Royal Mail system worked. There was no return address, and on the front of the envelope was written:
Miss Hermione Granger
Cosy Upstairs Bedroom
33 Rose Hill Avenue
Wandsworth, Greater London
I really don't know what my bedroom has to do with the post, or how the sender found out it's cosy, but I was a little put out by the letter from the off. I wasn't sure what to expect. Part of me was curious enough to want to open it in the hallway, but I figured Samantha might be interested, so I brought it into the living room.
We inspected the outside of the envelope first. It was made of thick parchment not unlike something you would see with a wedding invitation. But I don't know anyone getting married, and if I did, I doubt they would invite me to their wedding but forget to invite my parents. Still, the calligraphy of the address was beautifully done, almost professional, so I didn't rule out a wedding as my fingers glided over the silvery green ink. The back of the letter was sealed with red wax, stamped tight with a coat of arms I had never seen before. I couldn't make out the shapes on the wax seal very well, but I could recognize some sort of bird and a snake.
'Oh, just open it already!' Samantha begged me. She was, perhaps, more inquisitive than I was. It's not every day that you see letters addressed specifically to a bedroom and sealed with mysterious coats of arms. I've never gotten a letter like this one before and I know Samantha hasn't either.
I peeled back the seal carefully, and pulled out a thick letter, which actually turned out to be two separate pieces of paper that were both made of the same parchment as the envelope. Upon the first page of the letter was scrawled the same beautiful calligraphy in the same silvery green ink:
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 been accepted 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
At first I couldn't process what I was reading. A huge part of me felt like a light switch had been turned on, as though I was finally getting some idea of why I've been strange my whole life. Could I be a witch? But then, reality crashed down around me. Witches and wizards aren't real. There is no such thing as Hogwarts, the International Confederation of Wizards, or Supreme Mugwumps. It was all just a bunch of nonsensical words, and I had almost made a fool of myself, because I nearly dared to believe it.
'This is some kind of sick joke!' I finally said. Beside me, Samantha sat with her jaw agape. She couldn't make a sound. 'Who would send me something like this? Why?'
'I…don't…know,' Samantha muttered. She was wearing that look—the one she wears when she's deep in thought—her blonde brows scrunching with concentration and her lips quirking to the side. 'Have you…made anyone angry recently?'
Of course I had. As nice as I am and as beneficial as my talents are, I often make people mad, because I correct them. I don't mean for them to get mad at me, of course. I only ever correct, because I want to help! I thought back to the other day, when I was at the library and Heather Bilson asked me to read over an entrance essay she was writing for Smeltings. I had to tell her to start again from scratch, because the essay was poor grammatically and not well thought out. She took offense and stomped off, nose in the air and fists clenched.
When I told Samantha, she seemed sceptical. Heather Bilson, though our age, wouldn't know what my bedroom is like and probably wouldn't have the talent to write in such beautiful calligraphy. Not to mention that she lacks the creativity to fabricate a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to tease me.
'Maybe you should look at the next sheet,' Samantha prompted, reaching out to flip through the parchment. I cast aside the first half and we read through the second together:
UNIFORM:
First year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black).
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear.
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar).
4. One winter cloak (black with silver fastenings).
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry nametags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic
by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory
by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration
by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions
by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK.
This was the most elaborate hoax I had ever heard of. I couldn't believe that someone would actually take the time to not only send me a letter saying I'd been accepted into a school for witches, but also come up with all these strange titles for spell books.
I felt like crying. Who did I know that would be so cruel? I know the kids from my old school don't like me very well and that my intelligence is off-putting to Miles and Maisy, but would any of those people really hate me this much?
'There's a postscript on the back of the first letter!' Samantha exclaimed suddenly. I jumped and snatched it from her hand and read:
P.S. A Hogwarts representative will call around your place of residence at 7:30 pm on Friday, 19 July. Please be prepared to receive their call.
So now I have that to worry about too. Is this all a joke? It seems to be. I can just imagine answering the doorbell on Friday and getting egged by rowdy teens who hate me for whatever reason.
But I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there's a small part of me that wants it to be real. I've always known I'm strange…what if there's a reason behind it?
16 July 1991: Tuesday
Samantha keeps begging me to consider the idea that this might all be real. I don't know what's gotten into her. Usually she's the rational one, but here she is, harassing me over this odd letter I got yesterday as though she's a firm believer.
"It has to be real! It's the only thing that makes sense! Why else can you do special things? How else would they have known your bedroom is cosy? Just hear them out!"
I haven't told Mum and Dad about the letter yet. I'm worried what they'll say. I'm sure they'd agree with me, and they'd also probably be suspicious over Samantha's behaviour. I'm starting to wonder if she might be behind the joke. I've never seen her so willing to believe a fairytale, but here she is, buying into it. It's so unlike her!
Anyway, I don't think I'll tell Mum and Dad until I know for sure. I'm going to be here at 7:30 on Friday and I'll make sure I'm the one to answer the door. That way if I am humiliated, Mum and Dad won't have to know. If this is all real (I can't believe I'm even considering the idea that it is), then I can talk to Mum and Dad about it. For now, it's best if I don't get my hopes up.
18 July 1991: Thursday
Tomorrow's the big day. I'm so nervous that I can't sit down for more than five minutes at a time. I keep trying to absorb myself in The History of Great Britain, but even that can't distract me. It's impossible not to imagine what some of those books on that other school list would be like. A History of Magic, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration all sound so much more exciting than the textbooks Dad bought me last week.
I never thought I'd ever find anything more interesting than British history, but now here I am, buying into the lie just a little bit, because it's comforting to imagine a world where I might belong for once.
19 July 1991: Friday
5:15 pm
Oh no. Dad asked if Mum and I would like to go out for dinner! Mum said she'd love to, and now I think we'll be leaving in a few minutes. What will I do?! My guest from Hogwarts is supposed to be here in a couple of hours, and knowing Dad, he'll want to take Mum to a fancy restaurant somewhere all the way across the city and by the time we get home, I'll have no chance to attend Hogwarts and my dream will be crushed!
Not that I believe in Hogwarts, of course.
6:03 pm
The car won't start. I think it's my fault. It's a brand new Honda Civic and it should run fine, but it won't even sputter. It's just sitting there, dead. This may be the first time I've been selfish with my magic.
Not magic…strangeness. Selfish strangeness.
6:17 pm
Dad's making spaghetti instead. I'm going to help, as I think busying myself with cooking will keep me from watching the front door.
6:59 pm
Table's set. We're just waiting on the garlic bread.
7:25 pm
Oh Lord, only five more minutes. I excused myself to go to the loo to write this, because I can't focus on eating. I'm so nervous that I feel sick. What if this is just a prank? What will I do if I find out Hogwarts isn't real? I know I kept telling myself that it couldn't possibly exist, but somehow I still managed to get my hopes up!
Please, oh please, oh please let it be real!
A/N: A weird place to leave off, I know, but these chunks are going to be sectioned for optimal entertainment. This seemed like the best place to finish for now. I will try to update this at least once a month (since I'm still working on this school year in real time, it limits the amount of updates). Please leave reviews to let me know what you think, and don't forget to check out the blog!