Various shades of purple dotted different areas of the room here and there. A large bookcase loomed beside a small wooden desk piled with library books, now sharing occupancy with several clean, fresh books, newly bought and in stark contrast with the worn, dog-eared books borrowed from the local library. It seemed like a room for a normal, studious eleven-year-old girl.
However, the monstrous leather-covered traveling trunk in the middle of Hermione Granger's bedroom changed the whole ambience.
Hermione was sitting on her bed, staring into her trunk filled with various magical supplies (as she had been doing for about a week now) still in utter shock about what had happened to her and her little family. One letter had changed everything in her life, uprooting her plans for her immediate future. She was no longer to go to the quaint school down the road, but to a faraway school "somewhere in Scotland" (as the stately witch who'd introduced herself as Professor McGonagall had said with a vague wave of her hand).
Not only was Hermione in shock, she was also paralyzed by sheer anxiety. Would she be laughed at because she didn't know any magic yet? Would the assignments be hard to do? Would she have to learn more than everyone else because she'd never touched a wand in her life? Would magic be hard? How could she summon magic when she needed it? Would she be the only person who knew next to nothing about magical society?
All her life, she had had to deal with lots of new, different things, but never magic. She and her parents tended to believe in the tangible, the things they trusted to be true that they could see and feel. However, magic was making Hermione learn to trust what wasn't there for her to touch. Magic wasn't real...or so Hermione thought until the cream envelope dropped onto the braided rug in front of the door with a soft flump as she watched. The envelope was smooth and heavy, and Hermione was fingering it again now, the seal now broken. Her slender fingers traced the green lettering that formed her name, Miss Hermione Granger, and her address. Hermione put it aside and stretched out a trembling hand for her wand.
A wand. Her wand, lying there in the palm of her shaking hand. It wasn't just a tool for her to use for the next seven years of her life: it was a tangible sign that Hermione couldn't be classified as an ordinary girl anymore. It was a sign, plain and clear as day, that she was Hermione Granger, witch-in-training. Suddenly, the strange exhilaration that Hermione had felt caressing every nick and groove in the magical wood of her wand quickly rushed out with the force of a receding wave and was replaced by a crashing wave of anxiety much like before. And then, resolve settled over Hermione. She replaced her wand carefully back into the trunk and rummaged through for a book. In triumph, she held up The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, feeling its weight in her hands.
It was very early in the morning: five o'clock. She looked out the window and saw the first heralds of the morning sun emerging over the horizon. The stars were packing up their bags and slowly disappearing, and the moon was pulling its night-cap over its head, ready to let the sun rule the sky once more. Hermione grinned and felt the last vestiges of anxiety retreat into the fast-receding night. She curled up in bed again with her book and excitedly opened it up to the first page. As she did so, she realized that she was, truly, opening a new book to the first page of a new day, a new life, a new beginning. Once more, she looked to the sky, and saw the fiery head of the sun peeking up out of the horizon.
Hermione Granger was standing on the edge of a precipice. It was extremely scary, but the view was beautiful and the way down didn't seem too far. Dawn was breaking, ushering in a new day, a new life.
Sure, I don't know any bit of magic yet, but who told me I couldn't do some advance studying of it?
Hermione thought this and her grin grew wider. She'd be at the top of the class if she tried hard enough.