Hi there! This is my second story, written from Hermione's point of view. It will be her account of what happens in the books. So, without further ado, here it is!

-jkrwannabe

ps: i don't own any of these characters, or most of the plot for that matter

It's funny how you can have your life all figured out, and then have that all change in a moment. After all, I knew what I was doing with my life, for the most part at least. I was eleven and I knew exactly what was going to happen to me. I was going to graduate from high school one day and then I was going to attend a prestigious university which would secure me a respectable job, probably as a dentist. From there, I was going to meet someone who I would fall in love with and we would have children. Eventually, I would get old, retire from my job, and live in peace in my comfortable home.

That was how I imagined my life. I was a little girl! I never thought to question it. My parents were practical people, and they always made sure I never wasted a moment with silly dreams of adventure.

"Life is an adventure within itself," they would say. They believed that I should learn to accept my inevitable future and be proud of it. To me, it made perfect sense.

Or, at least, it did until I was about seven years old.

My mother, whose many talents unfortunately didn't include hairdressing, had decided to experiment on my hair one day.

"You have such thick, pretty locks!" she said as she tied a bright green bow around a mass of bushy brown hair that seemed to be collapsing in upon itself as it sat on the top of my head. "You look so unique!"

I didn't know what to say. As a seven year old, my sense of fashion hadn't quite kicked in yet and I didn't know what to think if it. Still, I'd never seen any of the other girls wear their hair like this. All the other girls wore their hair in curls or tied back their hair with dainty pink ribbons. However, I didn't want to hurt my mother feelings and I went to school hoping that no one would notice how "unique" my hair style was that day.

But, just my luck, Angela Smith noticed.

"Why is your hair on the top of your head?" she asked the moment I walked into school that day. "And why is it all bunched up like that?"

Now, in hindsight, Angela probably asked me this question more out of curiosity than malice. But back then, I was an outsider; I didn't have any friends, and, being seven, I didn't quite know how to distinguish between the two. Quite simply, I was mortified, but I refused to give her the pleasure of knowing she'd upset me.

Sticking my nose in the air, I said "My mum said it looks unique."

I don't think Angela liked being snubbed like that because the next thing she said was "Well, I think it looks stupid! Doesn't your mum have a curling iron? My mum said that all ladies must have curling irons because otherwise their hair grows flat."

Feeling smaller by the minute, I resorted to using my knowledge to win this battle. "Don't you know that curling irons will cook your hair? Their just so hot that they make all the water inside it evaporate and it ends up leaving it dry. Maybe my mum doesn't use a curling iron on my hair because she doesn't want to dry out my thick, pretty locks."

Angela seemed angry. I'm not sure if it was because she was insulted or because she didn't know what "evaporate" meant. Either way, she said "There isn't much left to damage, is there?" Then she reached up and grabbed the big, green bow my mother had so meticulously arranged and yanked.

It came off in her hand and all my hair tumbled down, hanging loose over my eyes and looking, I imagine, even worse than it did before.

My breath caught in my throat. Tears stung my behind my eyes. I wanted to run as fast as I could to my mother and hide in her arms. I was scared. I was sad. But most of all, I was angry. Words can't even describe how angry I was. And, as Angela Smith sneered, dropped the green bow, and turned away, all my anger welled up in me at once.

"Ahhh!"

Angela had suddenly cried out. She reached to the back of her head and her fingers brushed a huge wad of bubble gum that had suddenly tangled itself up in her hair.

She screamed again, trying desperately to pull it out, but the more she pulled, the more hair seemed to get stuck.

Teachers came running over to see what the commotion was about, but I couldn't move a muscle. While Angela was screaming and crying and gumming up her hair, my hairstyle had somehow rearranged itself into exactly the same shape as before.

Angela had to get her hair cut short after that, and even though she told anyone who would listen that it was my fault, no one could prove that it was. The teachers, flabbergasted as to how such a big wad of gum managed to fasten itself so securely in Angela's hair, called my parents and told them what had happened. When my parents reassured them that they were dentists and they never let their daughter chew gum, the teachers decided that it must have happened earlier without Angela's notice.

From then on, I just stayed away from my mother's hairstyling advice.

Not that that was my last encounter with the strange and mysterious.

There were times when a book that was supposed to be checked out from the library somehow managed to find its way to my bookshelf. Other times, I'd find large, extravagant cakes in our refrigerator, just when I was in the mood for something sweet. Most of the time, though, whenever I felt threatened by the other children in school, whenever they teased me, the strangest things would happen.

I was ten years old and trying to explain to my parents that I had no idea how Billy Porter's pudding cup made its way through the air to dump its contents directly on Georgia Patterson's head right after she pointed out that "Hermione was a stupid name."

"I just don't know what to make of this!" I heard my mother whisper to my father behind closed doors.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Nancy," my father replied. "It can't be her fault, after all-"

"I don't think she does it on purpose," my mother quickly pointed out. "But, let's face it, there's something that's different about her."

"Of course there is! She's our special little girl!" He said this with pride, and I felt a rush of gratitude toward him.

"I'm not saying she isn't! But these accidents aren't normal. Who's ever heard of a pudding cup flying through the air? And just last week, Mrs. Codswall told me her cat started hissing and spitting when Hermione walked by."

Dad shrugged. "That's not unusual for a cat. That doesn't have anything to do with Hermione. Mrs. Codswall is just a superstitious old bat."

My mum let out a sigh. "Maybe you're right. I don't know why, but lately, I've just been getting this- this feeling about her."

"A feeling is not a basis for an argument." my father reminded her.

"I know," Mum said. "You're absolutely right. Hermione is our special girl. That's the only feeling I'm getting. Obviously, she must be destined for great things."

Destined. I heard that word as though through a tunnel. The thing was, like my mother, I had a feeling too. Although, my feeling was more sure than hers was.

I knew that all those accidents were my fault, and I didn't like the fact that I was making my parents uneasy. Was that what I was destined for? Imagine being ten years old and destined for destruction. What I especially didn't like was that I didn't know the hows or whys of the matter, but that didn't mean I couldn't find out.

For the next week, I spent all my time at the local library devouring anything I could find that might have something to do with the mysterious things that seemed to happen around me. I read every scientific study I could get my hands on about telekinesis, psychic powers, even paranormal activity. Nothing I found gave me any clues. So, in a moment of desperation, I turned to fiction books.

I'd never really been a fan of fantasy. I was raised to regard those types of books as impractical and a waste of time. But under the circumstances, I felt it was worth the shot.

I, Hermione Granger, daughter of the world's most practical dentists, read books about potions, magic spells, and ghosts. I read about unrealistic creatures like vampires and unicorns. Worst of all, I read all kinds of books involving evil sorcerers and ugly witches who used their magic powers to kidnap princesses and fight against good kings. Was that who I was? Was that what I was destined for?

I stared at myself in the mirror. At least I had no warts. However, no one mentioned the size of a witch's teeth.

My mother caught me examining them when she suddenly walked into my room

"Mum!" I cried.

She looked at me strangely. "Something wrong with your teeth, darling? I can't imagine you'd have a cavity."

"No! Nothing like that!" I said quickly. I turned back to the mirror where two giant front teeth stared back at me. I decided to see what my mother could do about it. "Do you think my front teeth are too large?"

She laughed, and then quickly stopped when she saw my frown.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're much too young to be feeling self-conscious," she said. "You're teeth are beautiful. They're big and they make you look very dignified."

Or make me look like a ferret, I thought to myself. Nevertheless, I smiled, said thank you, and asked her to take me back to the library.

My parents never questioned why I was going to the library so often. I spent most of my time there since I never had friends to play with.

The library was like my second home. I liked the feeling of safety I got as I walked between the bookshelves. I could spend hours just running my hands along the spines of books and searching for just the right one.

Today, my goal was to find a book about good magic. The books about ugly witches made me more nervous than before. I decided that this would be my last fantasy book; my last chance to find out who I really was.

Finally, I picked up a book. On the cover was a bearded, red haired man holding a sword in one hand and a magic wand in the other. I quickly found a quiet corner and began to read.

This was the first story I'd read that put magic in a good light. It was the story of a wizard who used magic for the good of all people. He traveled all over the kingdom, and when people saw him, they asked for his help in sorting out the problems in their ordinary lives. He was loved by everyone that saw him. He was a hero.

By the time I finished, I actually started to believe that I could learn to use magic like that.

Ignoring every bit of logic that my parents had ever taught me, I hid myself in my room and tried to make something happen.

At first, I waved my arms in the air and muttered nonsense sayings like "hocus pocus" and whatnot. Nothing happened. Then I shut my eyes and willed things to start floating around the room. Still nothing. Then, finally, in a fit of frustration, I pointed my finger at the glass of water next to my bed and told it to explode.

It did.

As the water came pouring onto the carpet, I screamed and my father came bursting in.

"What's going on?" he shouted, then seeing the broken glass and checking to make sure I wasn't hurt, breathed out a sigh of relief. "Knocked it over, eh? No problem. We can clean it up."

He smiled what must have been a reassuring smile, but I didn't look at him. I was staring at the place where the intact glass had once rested. I couldn't move.

Did I do that? asked a little voice in my head.

As my father carefully picked up the pieces of broken glass, I reviewed exactly what happened over and over again in my head. The glass hadn't broken until I told it to. I had destroyed it! I would never be like the good wizard. He made good things happen, but when I tried to do the same, I just destroyed them.

That night I promised myself to never again try to use magic.

One morning, in the middle of July, I was busy reading a book on dentistry that my parents had given me. It was very boring and my mind kept getting distracted. Mum was making breakfast while Dad read the paper.

I looked up from the chapter on incisors and found myself staring at a tabby cat, sitting in the window.

"Dad! Look at that cat!" I said, jumping to my feet.

He glanced up over his newspaper, but the cat had gone.

"It was there a second ago." I said, blushing.

"I'm sure it was." he replied, returning to his paper. I walked over to the window.

The cat was still there, sitting on the driveway. It seemed to be staring at the front of the house. Suddenly it's eyes moved and it seemed to see me there, with my head out the window staring at it. It gave me a stern look.

Surprised, I quickly moved away from the window. My parents, oblivious to my discomfort, were chatting amicably about the latest news in dentistry when we heard a knock on the door.

"Answer the door, will you, Hermione?" my mother asked before continuing the conversation with my father.

After hearing a direct order from my mother, I instantly jumped to my feet and ran to the door. I wondered if the cat was still there as I turned the doorknob.

To my surprise, I found myself face-to-face with, not a cat, but a very severe looking woman. Her dark hair was pulled into a very tight bun in the back of her head and she wore a strange old-fashioned dress with tartan stockings.

"Excuse me," she said. "But is this the Granger residence?"

I spluttered something that must have sounded like "yes" because she went on.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" she asked me.

I nodded, too awed to speak.

The woman stared down at me. Her gaze was stern, but she didn't seem to look down on me like an inferior. Rather, there was something more of an understanding in her eyes. Almost like she understood that she and I were cut from the same cloth.

"Well," she said, awakening me from my momentary lapse of thought. "I need to speak with you and your parents, if I may."

That's when I suddenly remembered my manners.

"Y-yes, of course! Please come in!" I nearly shouted at her. I wasn't used to being addressed like an adult and the foreignness of it made me nervous.

My parents, having heard me shouting, came into the hall to see what all the commotion was. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the woman standing in the threshold.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I presume?" she said. When they said nothing, she continued. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Minerva McGonagall and I am a professor. I believe I have some exciting news concerning your daughter."

My parents still looked shocked, but they beamed proudly at me.

"Yes," my mother said, breaking the silence. "It's very nice to meet you. Why don't we all go into the kitchen and I'll bring out some tea?"

"That would be lovely." Professor McGonagall said.

Once everyone was seated at the kitchen table, except Mum, who was busy making tea, Professor McGonagall began to speak.

"Well, as I said, I am a professor. I teach at a school for very special children. Your daughter, Hermione, has been on our lists of potential students for a very long time now. You see," she said, watching my father gush with pride, "the school where I am employed isn't an ordinary school. As you may know by now, Hermione isn't an ordinary girl."

"Yes, we know." my father chuckled, affectionally putting a hand on my shoulder. My mother, though, had gone rigid, staring at Professor McGonagall with eyes as large as saucers.

Professor McGonagall nodded her approval. "Have you noticed that Hermione isn't like the other children? That there seem to be inexplicable accidents that occur in her presence? Do you get the sense that she's different?"

My father's hand tightened on my shoulder, and his smile began to be a bit strained. My mother's hands shook as she shuffled over to serve the tea.

When neither of them said anything, Professor McGonagall went on. "The school I where I teach is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are asking Miss. Granger to attend because," she paused, drinking in my parents stunned faces. "she is a witch."

BANG!

My mother dropped the tea kettle, which shattered, spilling its contents everywhere. My mother, however, ignored this. She stared at McGonagall with cold fear in her eyes.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asked. "It isn't true! Our daughter isn't a- a-"

"A witch." McGonagall supplied, meeting my mother's gaze calmly. "I understand you're alarm, but what I tell you is the truth. There's nothing to be afraid of. I, too, am a witch."

My father's face was red with fury. "What's this talk about witches?" he bellowed. "Magic doesn't exist! There are no such things as witches!"

"I assure you, we do exist." McGonagall said in that same calm voice. "Would you like a demonstration?"

She pulled a long, skinny stick from a pocket in her dress that I immediately recognized as a wand. She muttered something and waved the wand at the remains of the tea kettle at my mother's feet. Instantly, the shards seemed to repair themselves, leaving an undamaged tea kettle full of tea sitting of the floor. Professor McGonagall waved the wand again and the tea kettle rose into the air and began to serve the tea.

My mother screamed and ran to me, crushing me to her chest.

"What do you want with our daughter?" she asked in a high, frantic voice.

McGonagall sighed. "As I have said, I'm here to invite Miss. Granger to attend Hogwarts this coming fall. There, she will be trained in the ways of magic by the best professors available. She will stay in a safe environment with other witches and wizards her own age. When she graduates from Hogwarts, she will have received the best magical education that can be offered. Tea?" The floating tea kettle had finished serving tea and now rested on the table like it had never been part of anything strange.

I somehow managed to squirm out of my mother's grip. I reached for the teacup that had been placed in front of me.

"Don't drink that!" my father warned, ghostly pale.

Professor McGonagall eyed him like a student who refused to learn. "Perhaps if you knew more about the Magical World you would understand." she said.

She launched into great details about witches and wizards, how most magical children came from magical parents, however there were many who came from Muggle parents. "Muggle" was the wizarding name for a non-magic person. She talked about Hogwarts, how it was considered one of the greatest magical schools in the world, and how many of their students went on to become officials in the Ministry of Magic.

As she talked, I noticed my parents beginning to relax. I saw them start to believe in this magical world, even though it went against every bit of the logic they had taught me. When McGonagall finished talking, they began to ask their own questions. They asked all kinds of questions about the Wizarding world and about Hogwarts until, eventually, I saw the incredulity in their faces disappear. Instead, they looked amazed and unsure.

McGonagall seemed satisfied. She turned away from my dazed parents and turned to me.

"Well, Miss Granger," she said. "What do you think?"

What did I think? I was surprised by the question. I was so used to adults asking me for answers, so used to raising my hand in the air the minute the question was asked. I wasn't used to being asked what I thought.

Both my parents and Professor McGonagall were watching me expectantly. After a while, I said, "I suppose I think I believe you."

McGonagall gave me a knowing look. Did she know that I had already guessed what I was?

"I think Professor McGonagall means what do you think of the school, Hermione." my mother said gently.

"Oh," I said, and I realized that my parents, presented with the solid evidence of a real, live witch in their very kitchen, truly believed in this new world. "I think it sounds like a very good school."

"The best," McGonagall went on. "It is an honor to be asked to attend."

At those words my father got a proud gleam in his eye and I knew that no one could convince him not to send me.

And so, my parents began discussing the details of my attendance at Hogwarts. I was only half paying attention. The only thing on my mind was that I was going to Hogwarts. Me! Hermione Jean Granger was going to learn magic! I was going to have friends! Magic friends!

Finally, McGonnagal left, just as abruptly as she arrived, and my parents began chattering excitedly. I left them to their conversation, and stumbled in a kind of daze up to my room. I searched for the library book that I had never been able to force myself to return: the one about the red-bearded wizard. I sat on my bed and read it once more. When I had finished, I laughed to myself.

I wasn't destined for destruction! I was going to Hogwarts! There, I would be trained, and one day, I would be just like the hero from the book.

And just like that, the life I had always imagined for myself rearranged. I had a new dream and a new destiny.