AN: OK, so I've already done some fics in 39 clues, but this is my first one in the Harry Potter section, so bear with me.
Hope you like it!
Oh, and by the way, I signed some papers with J.K. Rowling, and I actually do own Harry Potter now (Not really. Sarcasm was intended).
The Girl Who Lived
"And there's your very own baby girl, Mrs. Granger," said a nurse as she handed the bundle over to the delighted mother. Her husband sat down beside his wife on her bed and gazed at his child, trying to except the fact he was now a father.
The newborn baby stared thoughtfully at both of her parents with inquisitive brown eyes. The bit of hair on her head was a light shade of brown, and she gurgled happily as her mother tickled her chin.
"She's beautiful," Mrs. Granger finally said. "She's the most beautiful baby in the world."
Mr. Granger nodded and then smiled at his new daughter. She stuck out one chubby hand to him, and gently he grasped it.
"What do you want to name her?" he asked his wife.
She shook her head. "I honestly have no idea."
The baby sighed contentedly in her mother's arms.
After gazing at her daughter for a few minutes, she looked at her husband. "You know, something about her seems…," she trailed off as Mr. Granger looked at her expectantly.
"…different. She seems - almost magical." Mrs. Granger laughed slightly at the foolish sound of her comment, Mr. Granger joining in with her.
"Darling, every mother thinks that about her child."
Mrs. Granger nodded, dismissing the odd idea. "Yes, yes, of course." She paused. "My child. I like the sound of that." She kissed her baby tenderly on the forehead. "She's intelligent, you can tell from her eyes."
Her husband looked closely at the baby. "Yes, definitely going to grow up to be a cunning, clever girl."
Mrs. Granger nodded. "Whatever her name is going to be, it must be unique."
"Sophie?" her husband suggested.
"No, that doesn't fit her. I think we should name her after a character from one of Shakespeare's plays."
"Juliet?"
"No, it seems too plain."
"Ophelia?"
"No, I - Hermione would be a perfect name, wouldn't it? It's derived from the Roman God Hermes, from the play 'A Winter's Tale.' Hermione Granger. I like the sound of that."
Mr. Granger smiled. "I like it, too," he said as he looked down lovingly at his daughter, Hermione.
And so the tale of Hermione Granger begins.
It was some time after that, when Hermione Granger was almost two years old, that something rather strange happened.
Mrs. Granger and her daughter had gone to the park, and while Hermione was playing on the slide, her mother had looked away for a few seconds, and when she looked back, she found Hermione…gone.
It took her only a few moments to locate her daughter again - she had run over to some strange group of people. Strange because they were a group of five men, each dressed in a vibrantly colored robe.
The mother ran over to them just as one of them had looked down and noticed the little girl.
"I'm so sorry, she wandered away. I hope she didn't bother you," Mrs. Granger said as she picked up her daughter. She honestly only wanted to get away from the odd men as quickly as possible.
"Don't be sorry. Today may be the greatest day of the world," answered one of the men cheerfully. "We are saved, all because of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. The dark days have now past us - You-Know-Who has gone. You may not understand, but -"
The man suddenly paused in his speech, which to Mrs. Granger seemed like complete gibberish, and looked closer at the girl nestled in her arms.
"She's not a Muggle. She's one of us," he suddenly said. The others seemed to be surprised at this and started gathering around him, trying to peer at Hermione.
"How do you know?" one of them asked.
"There is a sort of air about her," another added.
"She has potential," a third stated.
By now, the mother was thoroughly scared, and though she was tempted to push all of the strange men away from her child, she simply turned on her heel and started briskly walking away, close to running.
"You will know what we mean someday," one of the men called after her.
Mrs. Granger's heart only slowed down after she had reached her house, locked the door, and set her precious child down to sleep.
As she tucked Hermione into bed for her midday nap, Hermione sleepily asked, "Those people said I'm one of them. One of what, Mummy?" Her tired voice slurred the words.
Mrs. Granger tried to think of a quick answer but nothing came to mind. So she was forced to answer truthfully. "I'm not quite sure, darling."
Hermione accepted that as an answer as she closed her eyes and fell asleep immediately.
The mother desperately wanted to talk to someone about her odd experience, but when her husband came home several hours later, he had a strange story to tell himself.
"Owls!" was the first word he said when he walked through the door.
His wife frowned. "What in the world are you talking about, Harold?"
"Tons of owls everywhere! Literally everywhere. Sitting on buildings, on cars, and there were so many of them flying around that the sky was completely dark."
"But don't owls only fly during the night?" Mrs. Granger asked, perplexed.
"That's the whole point. No one can make heads or tails as to why they've suddenly all taken flight, because they're nocturnal birds." Then he muttered, almost as if to himself, "Strange day."
Mrs. Granger agreed wholeheartedly as she added in her own strange encounter. "They were saying something about a boy who lived - Harry Potter, I think they said, and that the dark days were past and we were all saved. And," she leaned in toward her husband and lowered her voice even though Hermione was fast asleep in bed, "they said something about Hermione being one of them, whoever they are. They said I would know what they meant someday."
Mr. Granger comforted his concerned wife. "There are always a few of those type hanging around the neighborhood - they either weren't mentally intact or were simply trying to scare you. Don't waste your time thinking about them. Just stay away from people like that next time."
Mrs. Granger nodded, soothed by his words. "Yes, you're right." And the conversation moved on from what a queer day it had been, and they started talking about the state of the economy, and the government, and about when Mrs. Granger would start looking for work again - she had quit to look after her young daughter.
Meanwhile, Hermione rolled over in her bed, ignorant to the flash of lights that had just exploded outside in the sky, which could be seen from her window, ignorant to the fact that the group of strange men she had met were very right in saying she was one of them, ignorant to the fact that she would indeed know what they had meant one day.
