Just a short drabble about what Hermione's letter might have been, a peek into how Muggle children other than Harry might receive and accept their letters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but Mr. Treeamble and the idea of Informers is my idea and I'd appreciate no one taking it.
Letter to Hermione
Hermione Granger beamed. She had been accepted into a prestigious secondary school north of London. Both of her parents weren't home, still toiling away at teeth at their family practice a couple miles from the house. Hermione didn't mind—she was content to bask in the glory of her hard work by herself for a while.
A few moments later, she sat the rest of the mail on the kitchen table, about to make herself a sandwich. However, another envelope caught her eyes. In her haste to open the school's letter, she hadn't noticed the odd-looking brown envelope with neat script sitting at the bottom of the day's rubbish post. She freed the envelope, surprised at seeing her name on this one, too. It was not only addressed to her in a fairly formal fashion, but an additional piece of information made her breath catch in her throat.
" 'The Kitchen Table'," she read aloud. Hermione flipped the envelope over and peeled a carefully stamped bit of purple wax from the flap. The crest pressed into the wax looked like an old English shield, separated into four animals. It looked sort of like a family crest, but somehow she knew that wasn't the case.
Hermione opened the letter and read softly to herself, her mousy brown eyes growing wider by the moment. At first, she thought it must be a joke, a last prank by her acquaintances at her primary school.
Then, something extraordinary happened.
A man appeared directly in front of her, wearing a poor boy's hat, a t-shirt with a vest over it, and a pair of brilliantly red-and-white striped pants. He tipped his hat and began to speak, as if it were perfectly normal to appear in someone's kitchen as if from nowhere.
"Hello, Miss Granger, I am your Informer of Muggle Witches and Wizards."
Hermione blinked at him, for the moment uncertain whether she should trust the man in front of her. From the way he dressed, she wasn't too sure about his sanity.
"My…I'm sorry, my what?"
"Informer," he nodded. "Right, well. Your parents are almost home. My name is Treeamble, by the way. Deli Treeamble."
She nodded, dazed. Sure enough, Mr. Treeamble was correct. Her parents made their way into the kitchen, and slowed down when they saw this odd man.
"Mr. Treeamble," he said, tipping his hat again. "I'm Miss Granger's Informer, I'll be taking you all to get her school supplies whenever's most convenient for you."
Hermione stared down at the letter she'd gotten and held it out to her parents. Mr. Treeamble spoke again.
"You're daughter, although Muggle—that's what we call nonmagic folk—has an innate magical ability. I assure you, Hogwarts is the best school in Europe for wizarding folk."
Mr. Granger nodded faintly. "Er…we're free on Friday…c-could go then."
"Right, well, I'll owl the school for you and we'll be seeing you on Friday to shop for school supplies, then. Till then!"
And he vanished from the spot. Mrs. Granger stared at the spot he'd been, but managed not to faint.
"My baby's special," she smiled slowly. She hugged her daughter and they began to talk excitedly about what shopping for the odd things on the school list was going to be like.