Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Rowling does, lucky woman. I also do not own Disney...I just make references. :)
Its often said ones life changes when its least expected but more than needed, even if one is unaware of the need. I've listened to my friends explain that their life changes happened when they left the comfort and security of their parents for the life of a university student; a life with one foot on the side of the life you've always known and one toe on the side deemed 'real life'. The threshold that severs old ties and creates new.
I said nothing during these discussions because my friends of my old world would have never understood me if I said my life changed the summer before my twelfth year of life. They are of a distant past now. A world I no longer belong to but visit on occasion for the sake of proper appearances at family gatherings. A secret world. A world I had only read about in fairy tales. A world I felt at home in.
I was born and raised in a suburb of Bristol. It was an ordinary and quaint middle class neighbourhood with many children at or around my age; a happy thing for a child with no siblings. My parents had married and moved into the house a few years before my birth and I grew up in a secure and loving home. They named me Hermione, after the character from 'A Winter's Tale'. My mother had read the book during her pregnancy with me and had liked the name.
When I reached the usual age, I was sent to primary school, which I found extremely boring. Unlike my home life, I was forced to read the same information and do the same work as everyone else and I quickly grew annoyed; even at the age of six. My peers either ignored me or teased me to tears over anything and everything.
On one occasion, a girl by the name of Laura, pushed me down the four steps that led to the entrance. I felt the tears stinging my eyes and clouding my vision. I closed my eyes and wished for a place to cry in peace. Upon opening my eyes, I discovered myself in a small space between the school building and the shed they used to keep lawn care items and the like. The students who were pointing and laughing at me must have felt very astonished when I disappeared in the blink of an eye. From then on, I was ignored and avoided every day, even by the teachers. I was the weird girl. No one wanted to be near me. I can't say I minded too much since it meant that I worked alone and without the aid of anyone else on projects and such. Such was the routine for the three years I drudged through.
I had finished up my last year of primary and was readying myself for secondary school, of which I was very excited to attend. My parents had found a school that would cater to my educational needs and challenge my mind. I would be attending with like minded individuals and perhaps I could finally make a friend or two. What eleven year old girl doesn't relish the idea of having a best friend? But, along with the hopefulness I felt about attending, came the realisation that I would only see my parents for a few weeks a year while school was in session. It was a boarding school in the States that I was whisking off to. In addition to the tuition, my parents also had to pay for airfare for the holidays I wished to come home on. I was very grateful of the extent they were willing to go for me to be happy in life; even at the young age of eleven.
All of these plans changed in an instant one sunny July morning.
My mother had the day off and had gotten word that a visitor would be at the house around the noon hour. No specific details were given but these people were from a prestigious school in Scotland. My mother, ever in tune to my emotions, jumped at the idea of having me reside in Scotland as opposed to the States. I felt a small flood of relief at the prospect and made sure to be dressed in my best and on my best behaviour for the person coming to visit.
My mother made a light lunch but, I have to confess, I didn't have much desire to eat. My stomach was already fluttery with nervousness and food wouldn't help. I had learned the hard way a few years ago during a school play that eating on a nervous stomach often creates the release of digested lunch when you least expect it. Instead, I contented myself with a cup of tea and rearranging my hair; or, at least attempting to.
I watched the clock slowly tick the minutes by. At around noon, we heard a soft tapping on the door and my mother nodded for me to answer as she grabbed the tea things. What I saw when I opened the door was not at all what I had expected. I had been expecting something along the lines of the headmistress of the boarding school I was enrolled to attend. Mrs. Prescott was a short, dumpy woman who wore pant suits and wore so much perfume and hairspray that I sneezed all the time.
The man standing before me looked like a mix of a kindly grandfather and Santa Claus. My parents had never told me the stories of Santa Claus but I had seen pictures all over the stores at Christmas time. My parents never did like lying to me and I was probably too smart to fall for a fat man delivering presents all over the world in twenty four hours time. Regardless, I couldn't help but think of the cheesy wrapping paper relatives used for Christmas presents when I looked at him.
He was of moderate height with a long white beard and looked older than my nana, who had been the oldest person I had seen at that point. His face was old but his eyes were kind behind the half-moon glasses that rested on his crooked nose. He wore an odd hat that reminded me even more of Santa Claus except it wasn't red. He smiled at me from the doorway after a horribly impolite gap of silence and I quickly blushed and led him in.
As we waited for my mother, he looked around the house a bit and seemed genuinely interested in such mundane objects like the anniversary clock my parents had resting on the mantle or the telephone on the side table. He lifted a manual can opener and turned it this way and that to get a better look at it I suppose. He acted like he had never seen such things before which I found puzzling and humourous. After a moment, I swallowed and found a little courage to talk to the strange man.
'Sir?' I asked.
He put down the ceramic cherub he had been looking at and turned to me with a smile. He clapped his hands together and was about to say something when my mother walked into the room. She took one look at the man and started to say something but closed her mouth before she could utter a word. She gave me a look and then motioned for the man to sit down, which he did.
"Hello Mr..?' my mother said.
"Oh I didn't introduce myself, did I? And here you two are probably wondering what kind of person comes into a house without proper introductions! I am Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."
Now, I can't say I didn't giggle a bit at his name. It sounded like a character one would run across in some fairytale or Disney movie. I pictured Merlin from The Sword and the Stone and I was suddenly struck by how similar this man was to the Disney version of Merlin. My mother was unsure of whether or not this man was for real or an escapee from a nut house. Looking back on it, she probably was ready to call around to see if any mad people had recently escaped but she said nothing of the sort or betrayed her bewilderment.
"How nice to meet you Headmaster. I am Mary Granger and this is my daughter, Hermione. My husband, William, is currently at work."
The Merlin Man turned to me and gave a genuine smile. "Oh Miss Granger! How delightful, truly! I found your name rather peculiar when it was put on the list a few years ago but it seems to fit you perfectly."
"List?" My mother asked. "What school are you recruiting for?"
"Recruiting? Oh no Mrs. Granger. You see, our school is a special kind of school and we take a specific kind of person. The moment Miss Granger showed the ability to use magic, she was added onto the list of possible students," he answered matter-of-factly.
"Magic? Magic is for storybooks and fantasy shows. It doesn't exist." I stated.
"But it does Miss Granger. Tell me, have you ever done anything that seemed overly odd to you? You never ended up somewhere you weren't previously or never broken anything in anger without even touching it?" He peered at me with a knowing look which told me his question was of the rhetorical variety.
"That's magic. Now, its almost completely useless without some training and this is where I come in. You have the offer of learning to harness that power within you at the school I am on behalf of: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One of the finest establishments for magical training and, if I may toot my own horn here for a moment, probably the best."
He handed my mother a bunch of papers and jumped up from his chair while checking a watch devoid of numbers. Apparently, it told time or something of that nature because he suddenly announced that he was late for his next appointment. As he left the house, he turned to face my mother.
"Her enrollment is entirely optional. She could continue to live in the muggle world, your world. Or, she could take a new journey into the world I live in. Its up to you as her parent but a word of advice?" he questioned my mother.
My mother looked at him skeptically for a moment but permitted him to continue.
"Don't throw away a glorious opportunity because of a fear of the unknown. To do so would deny your daughter of a semblance of contentment. Good afternoon."
My mother and I watched him retreat off to a secluded shadowed area and with a loud whip-like crack, he was gone. I turned to my mother to see a million and one questions running through her head but my happiness at the forefront.
On one sunny afternoon in July, I had gone from being an awkward eleven year old girl into a magical being I had only read of in books and seen dressed in green paint and prosthetics. A whole world of possibilities had opened up. Never being one to back away from a challenge, I made up my mind then and there that I was going to go to this school of magic. And, in the realm of academia, what Hermione Granger wanted; Hermione Granger usually got. I was not backing down from this without a fight.
Turned out there wasn't much to fight. My father was genuinely surprised and impressed at this new turn of events. My mother, ever the realist, was was reluctant to agree. She felt that all of this was just one large joke and that we'd stop up at King's Cross to a group of people laughing at us and yelling 'Gotcha!'
I can't say I blamed her either. Every time I thought of going to this unheard of school, I felt dizzy and often pinched my arm to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I poured over the list of things needed that my mother had been given.
A cauldron and potion making kit, a wand, robes! Stuff I had only seen during the month of October and in movies. And the books! Oh, all sorts of new and interesting topics to read about. A book of spells. A book of potion making. A book of transfiguration, something I had never heard of. All of this could be picked up in a village within a city: Diagon Alley.
I had never heard of such a place and my parents hadn't either but we were assured that I would be able to see the entrance to such a place so my parents had decided to go one weekend in August. I had never been a patient child and this exciting trip was no exception. Then finally, I checked the calendar and saw it was the night before our excursion. I felt like it was Christmas Eve and I was five again and too excited for the present opening. I told myself the same thing I had told myself on Christmas Eve: the sooner you go to bed; the sooner it would be the much anticipated day. My parents shared a small smile as they saw me dressed for bed by eight in the evening. I fell asleep with my imagination running wild.
I awoke early the next morning and took the quickest shower ever; a hassle to do when one has the hair I did at that age. If I hadn't been raised with the thought of missing a teeth brushing as sacrilege, I probably would have forgone that as well.
I was dressed and ready to go. My parents; however, were not so keen on leaving immediately. I stifled a pout and ate my breakfast. I impatiently waited for my parents to ready themselves. Once ready, my father grabbed the keys to the car and we were off.
We parked on some side street in London and walked towards the area the letter had said would reveal itself to me. My eyes quickly scanned over everything around us as we walked when suddenly, I had spotted it.
A dingy looking building was quite obvious to me. My parents had seemed to overlook it but when I pointed it out to them, they saw it too. I grabbed my father's hand and pulled him to the pub. We must have looked quite the pair because-as my mother later told me- people were chuckling at my eagerness and his indulgent smile as I dragged him on.
My mum took out the paper that had the directions written on them and mumbled something under her breath and then handed me the paper. I scanned it and found that I was to tap a brick that was three bricks up and two bricks across. I stood in front of the brick wall and looked at it and then quickly looked at the paper. I took a deep breath and found the brick, closed my eyes, and tapped it.
I was expecting nothing to happen and said a silent prayer that it was still real. I opened my eyes and saw that nothing had happened. I looked over to my mother but our attention was quickly diverted back to the wall as the bricks rearranged themselves with a crunching sound. The bricks moved aside, I hesitatingly took a step in and gasped.
I had never seen such a place. People bustling to and fro to the tiny shops. I noticed an ice cream parlor and a shop that sold broomsticks for something that was called quidditch, which became the bane of my existence at times. To me, a broom was for sweeping the floor or squishing a spider in a high ceiling but apparently, the long-held belief that witches rode brooms was right to an extent. However, wizards undoubtedly rode them too as a group of boys were admiring one in the window.
My poor parents were overwhelmed at this new world before them. My dad, who I inherited my curiosity from, was looking into the window of the broomstick shop and genuinely perplexed at the escaping sighs of desire for the object coming from the window shoppers. My mum was shaking her head back and forth as if trying to not believe.
"Mum," I said, "This says that we have to exchange our pounds for the magical currency at a bank called Gringott's."
"Gringott's?" came a booming voice.
I turned around to see the largest man I had ever seen. His hair was unkempt and he owned a massive beard. His mouth was hidden in the beard but I could tell by the crinkling of his eyes that he was being friendly. My parents were at a loss for words but I wasn't. He seemed good natured, if a bit dim.
"Yes, sir. Do you know where it is?" I asked.
"O' course I know where Gringott's is. See that lar' white buildin' over there?"
I followed his pointed finger and nodded.
"That's where ya need ta go."
I thanked him for his help and attracted the attention of my parents. I pointed out the large white building the man had shown me and proceeded to it with my parents trailing behind.
Once in, I let out a squeak of surprise at the sight of some of the ugliest creatures I had ever come across. I heard some odd language being spoken. I would later come to find out that these were goblins and they spoke Gobbledegook but, at the time, I was a little confused. They looked mean and frankly, they looked grumpy. Their appearance reminded me of some creature from Tolkein's world.
I looked up to see one of them looking at me expectantly and rapping his fingers over the counter which he occupied. He gave a snarl that sounded like he was angry or annoyed.
"Are you or are you not here to exchange money?" he said quite nastily.
"I am." I said shakily, unsure if a 'sir' should be attached to that or not. I didn't even know what gender this thing was, if they even had genders.
"How much do you want exchanged?" he asked, this time quite polite...well, as polite as goblins got anyways.
The abrupt change in demeanor startled me a bit but, as I later found out when I was quite older, the talk of money made them very happy...as long as they were the ones receiving it. When I was told that, I found it odd that they found happiness in the exchange of money. As it turned out, goblins found more pleasure in dealing with muggle money than with wizarding money because muggles didn't treat them as second class citizens; a fact that had always rude remarks from goblins about the integrity of a wizard.
My father passed me a wallet with muggle money in it and told me to get as much as I needed. Unsure of what the exchange rate was, I grabbed quite an amount and exchanged that. I was somewhat aware of the cost of normal--or muggle to me now--school supplies and, quite logically, the cost of wizarding school supplies would be much the same.
I thanked the goblin, who raised what passed as eyebrows, and happily pulled out my shopping list. Time to get started.
At first, I debated over what to do first. I needed a great deal of things and, for some of them, had no idea how one went about getting them. Thinking on it a moment, I decided a wand was first since, it appeared to me at the time, magic couldn't be done without one. I glanced the block which had all the supply stores conveniently placed together and scanned for a wand store. It was small and looked very old but I had found a store that sold them. It was called Ollivander's.
My parents, having had their fill of magic for now, told me to go ahead and they would meet me at the car when I was done. They had often done this to me when they felt uncomfortable in a situation but, as it was normal for me, I just waved them off and went to open the door.
I walked in a dusty and dimly lit room. It was very small and the floorboards creaked with every step. I cautiously looked around for the owner and saw row upon row of long, narrow boxes stacked in high piles. They varied in color and most had a thick coating of dust on them. Since I was in a wand shop and wands were long and narrow sticks, I assumed that's what these boxes contained.
An opened box caught my eye and I made my way to it as quietly as possible. I didn't dare touch it because something told me it was very wrong to do so. Its quite an intimate thing, one's wand. It would be like me going through someone else's knicker drawer in their dresser. All witches and wizards feel very protective towards their wands and right so since it becomes a very large part of one's body.
The wand was a dark mahogany color with an intricate pattern of etched diamonds. When I read 'wand' on my list, I had seen imagined something akind to the wand a magician uses. This was nothing like that. It was exquisite beauty. A masterpiece of art. Whoever made these wands worked on them with a respect for the art. I could tell.
"Good afternoon Miss Granger," came an ethereal voice behind me.
I jumped, startled and turned to see who belonged to the voice to find no one there. I gave a small sigh and turned back to the counter to see an old man with slightly glowing eyes. His eyes pierced me and I suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"You want to know how I know you Miss Granger? I have seen you before. No, not in this world. I have seen you in a world far different than the one we live in now. You have a very difficult path ahead of you but you are most needed in the years to come if we are to escape the darkening shadows on the horizon. You will be the light in his dark life--", here he paused. He closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head. "Its better not to speak of these things right now."
I can't say I understood a word of what was said. The eerie, creepy feeling crawled over me and reminded me of the time I had tried to play with a ouji board. Needing something to do to distract him from staring at me, I rubbed a hand over my face.
"You are here buying your first wand, aren't you? I have sold many wands over the years. Some did good and some did evil. I can see both sides. Now, let's see..."
He rummaged through a few boxes before pulling out a long violet box and tapping it with his finger. He removed the top and held out the box to me and I picked up the wand. I felt nothing and looked at him.
"Give it a wave," he said.
I must admit, I felt very silly waving a wand around. I felt even sillier when said wand blew a puff of green smoke into the air. The man cringed but said nothing as he took the wand from my hand. He went back and rummaged through different pile and pulled out a green box and tapped it. He took the top off of it and paused momentarily and smiled...a knowing smile. My stomach did a flip because, truth be told, I had no idea if that was a good smile or a run for the hills smile. Again, he held the box out to me and I picked it up. The response I got this time was very different.
It started in my fingers and tingled as it traveled through my body. As crazy as it sounds, I felt my blood singing to the object I held in my right hand. No wand waving was needed. I knew instinctively that this was my wand. I abhorred putting it back in its box but did so. The ache I was tremendous and I relished the thought of being able to pull it back out and feel that warmth again.
"Quite interesting. Ten and three-quarter inches. Vine. Dragon heartstring core. This wand will serve you well Miss Granger. A word of caution however. When light mixes with dark, a new wand you should seek for this one will no longer work for one living in a shade of grey."
Odd words to hear for an eleven year old but I brushed it off. The man seemed about as nutty as squirrel droppings and I felt sure that he was just blathering nonsense at me.
But...but I couldn't help but feel, even then, that I should take heed to his words. I had no understanding of the magical world at that moment and felt a 'what if?' moment. What if he wasn't nutty but just...indescribable. I felt and still do feel that divination is a woolly subject based upon a few lucky coincidences. Something was telling me that these man's words may or may not be right.
I paid for my wand and left it for the bright sunny cheerfulness of Diagon Alley. A wave of relief washed over me and I looked at the next item on my list: a cauldron and potion making supplies.
The apothecary was heavenly. I had never smelled such a relaxing and comforting smell before. I had used to equate my father's aftershave with comfort and security but, from that moment on, the pungent and musky smell of the apothecary took its place.
The elderly witch behind the counter was happy to oblige me and her happy mood was infectious. My potion supplies were neatly packaged and placed into my cauldron. I paid for them and turned to leave. I must have not been paying attention because I suddenly found myself falling to the ground with a shriek. My face was about to hit the floor when a hand grabbed hold of my arm and helped me back up. Embarrassed, I kept my eyes to my shoes and thanked him as he handed my cauldron to me.
"Next time, just pay more attention to the space in front of you," he told me. His tone was a mix of annoyance and kindness.
I looked up a bit to catch a glimpse of him but all I saw was black. Not really feeling a need to further investigate who the stranger was, I left it alone and went off to get my robes for school.
Madame Malkin's was much like stepping into a muggle clothing store in the few weeks before school. A friendly looking woman came up to me and motioned for me to follow her.
"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked.
"Yes ma'am," I answered.
"Of course. Here now, you stand here and put your arms out like this so I can get a proper measurement."
I followed her instructions and stood on a dais with my arms stretched out as a tape measure flitted here and there taking various measurements. Once done, it rolled itself up and popped out of sight. The woman wrote down some numbers in her book and told me she'd be right back.
I stood there and put my arms down. I looked around and felt at ease. This was exactly the same as the fitting rooms in the muggle stores my mother had taken me into. A moment later, a blonde woman walked into the area I was in with her son who had the same hair color. The gave me nothing more than a cursory glance and then ignored me. I felt like I was in primary all over again.
The woman would have been extraordinarily beautiful but only if her eyes had held any warmth. As it was, her eyes were cold and calculating. She looked to me like the kind of woman who would stop at nothing to see her ambitions come to fruit. Her son was equally the same, I suppose. At that age, I had no real attraction to boys; that would come much later. He would grow up into a delicious piece of eye candy but just looked like a pouting child who had been refused sweets the first time I saw him.
If I had any inkling of the wizarding world, I should have clearly afraid or in awe; something like that. The boy and woman sitting near me carried the surname of Malfoy. Having no notion of blood purity and all that hulabaloo, I had assumed they were wealthy and snobbish. I wasn't too far from the truth at the time but there was more to it than that.
The Malfoys, like many other old wizarding families, believed in blood purity. That is, a hierarchy of wizarding society that was dependent on where your magic came from in your family. The idea was nonsense since most of the pureblooded families had eventually married into muggles at some point and most of wizarding blood didn't buy into it at all.
The elitisits were a different story.
Elitists like the Malfoys and many other upper class families felt that to marry or breed with muggles was an insult to the magical world. A slap in the face, if you will. They inter-married with only those of their blood status; a poor choice in the long run. They could have learned from muggle history lessons that continually interbreeding with a small genetic pool wreaks havoc on the success of a family but they chose not to.
They viewed someone like myself as dirt beneath their shoe. I carried sullied blood in my veins because I was born of parents with no magical abilities. Half bloods were higher up than someone of my blood status but were still treated with barely concealed disdain since half-bloods were the result of one magical parent and one non-magical parent or one born of a pureblood parent and a muggleborn parent.
Complete nonsense isn't it? If we're cut, we all bleed red.
When I learned of blood purity, I understood why they Malfoys treated me the way they did that day. I was either half-blood or muggleborn and of little importance to them.
The woman came bustling back to me with a stack of black robes. I paid for my purchases after assuring her that I was an upcoming first year and left before the Malfoy matron could finish the insult that was beginning to fall from her mouth.
I had one last stop and I had saved the best for last. Books.
I stepped into the bookstore and inhaled the musty aroma of undusted tomes. I wished to delve right into finding interesting reads but figured it was best to purchase the necessities beforehand. I handed the man at the counter my list which he filled and came back with. I paid for them and then wandered up and down the shelves caressing the spines of the various sized and coloured books. Counting my money, I decided to treat myself to one book and ended up choosing something which became my favourite: Hogwarts: A History.
I still own that very first copy I bought albeit instead of being read, it sits on a shelf bound in Spello tape. My friends and family gifted me with various editions of the book over the years and I eventually got ahold of the first edition which quite rare and very highly valued.
I left the bookstore and returned to my parents. I chatted animatedly about everything I had seen and done except for the man at Ollivander's. I showed them my wand but said nothing more. If they found that odd, they hid it well.
I counted down the days until I was expected at King's Cross Station to board the Hogwarts Express. I couldn't wait.
So, whatcha think?
I've never attempted first person before. If its not stellar, I'll take it down and maybe rework it. If it is, I will continue writing. Its so much easier to write first person while maintaining canon compliance. lol