Author's Note: I haven't written Fan Fiction in a very, very long time. I accepted this story as a challenge. The challenge was to write a fan fiction in exactly 1000 words. So here it is. And, of course, all characters rightfully belong to Ms. Rowling.

Hermione had never suspected that she had been adopted. She had never watched her parents from another room and wondered if they had transformed from a childless couple to parents of a toddler overnight. She had never curled underneath her blankets at night and wondered if there was someone, somewhere in the world, that was missing her. No, Hermione Jean Granger had never wondered if she, the brightest witch of her age, was adopted, because she knew she was.

In fact, her earliest memory was a sad, dark haired woman handing her a book and turning away. She remembered being cold and hungry. She remembered the dark haired woman being unresponsive, and her anger at being ignored causing the lights to blow. She remembered longing for attention, affection, family or friend or anything, but finding her only comfort in books.

But most of all, she remembered the day she first met her parents (they had raised her; that made them her parents). Her mother's dress had been yellow, standing brightly against the white house they were standing in front of. And her father, with his thick hair and bright smile, she was immediately content. This was where she was meant to be, and although she couldn't remember it, she had been told that for the first several weeks, she had only wanted her father's attention and showed no desire to spend time with her mother. After the first few weeks, she warmed up to her mother, of course, but it took time and patience to reach that point.

Her parents learned a few things about her rather quickly. If Hermione chose to be alone, it was wise to allow her that privacy. If she begged for attention or affection, she really needed it. She lived for books; the best present to get her was a book. She had a heart to help people who were struggling, a desire to please those around her, a thirst for knowledge, and wisdom beyond her years. But most of all, Hermione was special.

Not special in the way most people spoke of their children. It was more than knowing all of the words to the national anthem or writing a book. Hermione was magical. Nearly any time the child was feeling particularly emotional, strange, unexplainable things would happen. Once, after discovering her parents had thrown away the Halloween candy she had worked so diligently to collect (they were dentists, after all) she had clenched her fests and glared and the candy had zoomed right back up the stairs and into her bedroom. Or the time a girl had made fun of her on the playground for her frizzy hair and her teeth. Hermione's emotions boiled over and next thing she knew, the girl wasn't able to speak at all. Her lips were moving, but no sound was uttered. It was as if she were a television on mute. The girl found it drastically less funny than Hermione did. It wasn't long lasting; the girl had regained her ability to speak by the end of the day, and had never attempted to tease Hermione again.

Somewhere, deep in Hermione's chest, she knew she was different. Other children couldn't pull books off their bookshelf using their minds only. But none of it truly made sense until her eleventh birthday. Then, everything changed.

She was a witch. It explained so much, and ignited a spark of desire. She wanted to learn all she could. True, her friends in the muggle world would wonder about the boarding school she was going to, but it was worth it. To be magical! This was what she had dreamed of! And obviously, whoever her biological parents were were magical as well.

However, the more Hermione thought about her biological parents, the more she felt connected to her adoptive parents. Really, they had raised her. They had always been proud of her, and moving to a world they couldn't reasonably join worried her. One evening, the night before entering Diagon Alley for school supplies, Hermione made up her mind. She would never tell anyone she had been adopted. Her real parents hadn't wanted her anyway. Why claim them?

The next morning she and her parents left for Diagon Alley, and her world was opened to a whole realm of possibilities. She was going to learn all she could, study hard, and make herself proud. While observing the stores carefully, her eyes caught Flourish and Blotts. This immediately became her favorite store. She combed over countless books, eventually buying not only the set of required school books, but several just for "fun". It was in one of these "fun" books (that she read over lunch at The Leaky Cauldron) that she first learned about Harry Potter. After reading a brief breakdown of his defeat of the Dark Lord, she began scanning her other books for a mention of him. She found him in a few other books, surprised to discover they were the same age. Chances were, she'd meet him at school. Even more excitement bubbled up. This new world was terrifyingly exciting.

After lunch, they traipsed to Madame Malkin's for her school robes. Here, she had ducked behind a rack of brightly colored dress robes to watch a thin, pale, blonde boy get fitted for his robes. He was magnificent. His very being oozed importance. His mother kissed his forehead and left to collect his supplies. Just as Hermione was working up the nerve to speak to him, another boy walked in. She hid again and listened to the beautiful blonde speak about not letting the "other kind" in. Her brow furrowed. She was adopted by the "other kind" and they were wonderful. Slowly her heart sank to her stomach. He wasn't as magnificent as she thought. He was arrogant. Rude. Overbearing. And when he would find out that she was a "muggle born" he'd hate her.

So against Hermione Granger's initial hopes, she decided then that she would hate him first.