Hermione has always been my favorite character, no matter what ship she's in. She intelligent, trustworthy,and hard-working, two things I wish I was and one of which I don't do anything with. I've always wondered what a Muggle-born would think of getting into Hogwarts.

My first Harry Potter fanfic, by the way. I don't know if it's decent or not; I was just inspired to write it.

It should go without saying, by the way, but I don't own this madness, JK Rowling does. Enjoy!

-The Author

Typee, by Herman Melville. She had tried before to read Melville. That had been Moby Dick. So many English professors had said that was such a great book, that she thought that any school would be impressed by an eleven-year-old girl who had already read it. The first line: Call me Ishmael, and the rest of it was 611 pages of lid-droppingly boring staring at whales. When she had returned it in a fury to the library, the librarian, Mrs. Sedgwick, had suggest Typee as an alternative. "Something actually happens in it," Mrs. Sedgwick had said. "It's very exciting."

"But it's not Moby Dick," Hermione had argued. "Everyone reads Moby Dick."

"I know," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "But you're not everyone, are you?"

That advice was so used-up. She read the book anyway. Perhaps they would be impressed that she had read something lesser-known by Herman Melville.

It was very exciting indeed. As she read, she especially enjoyed the comparisons between the Western society (which sometimes meant America, where the narrator came from, and sometimes Europe) and the "savage" society that the main characters had fallen into. Although the cannibals depended on magic as their religion and didn't have any technology, they were very happy and decent people.

"Hermione!"

She sighed and looked up from her book. "Yes, mother?"

"There's a letter for you."

She went downstairs, curious. There was never a letter for her this time of year. Her eleventh birthday wasn't until spring, and it was summertime, so Christmas was far away. And she had Instant Messenger on her computer, so her friends didn't need to send her anything.

The letter was in very fine ink writing, addressed to her, plainly.

Hermione Granger

The Second Bedroom Upstairs

Lincolnton, Wessex

With a little surprise at the address, Hermione opened the letter. It told her, in plain words, that she had been accepted to a Hogwarts School For Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was signed, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.

She laughed.

"What is it?" her mother asked. "What does the letter say?"

She looked at the next page. It was a list of books to be gotten before the semester began. Books on Magical Herbs and a Basic Book of Spells, Level One.

"It's a joke," she said. "I've been accepted into a magic school." She showed her mother the list of required books. Her mother laughed at it, too; they threw the letter away, and Hermione mentioned it in her online diary as something very strange.

She returned Typee to Mrs. Sedgwick.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

"Very much," said Hermione. "Thank you for recommending it."

"I've always like you," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "You're so smart. You're so different, you know."

"Thank you," said Hermione.

"That is why," said Mrs. Sedgwick, "I would like to take you to Diagon Alley."

"What is that?"

"It's where you'll need to buy your school books," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "We don't have books on Magical Herbs here, you know."

Hermione stared at her.

"I'm a Squib," sighed Mrs. Sedgwick. "It's a Muggle born into a magic family. You're a Witch born into a Muggle family."

Hermione still stared.

"You'll see," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "We'll tell your parents we're going book shopping. We just won't tell her what kind of books, hmm?"

Hermione still stared.

"You can think about it," said Mrs. Sedgwick.

"Am I going to be the only Muggle-born?" Hermione asked on the train ride home.

"Probably not," said Mrs. Sedgwick. "Don't worry about it, though. I've heard that everyone catches up rather quickly."

Hermione despised catching up. She had been sick when she was eight years old, and had stayed in bed for three weeks straight getting over it. She had nearly failed and almost had to repeat the third grade. Frightened of staying behind her friends, she worked for an entire week straight to turn in all the missing assignments, along with her regular assignments. It would be horrible to have to repeat that.

She opened up the first book and began reading. She looked to memorize the material. The other students would have grown up knowing this stuff. No one would call her anything more than ordinary when she got to that school.