There once was a girl
who dreamed of fairies every night
and of prince charming every day.
At play time she would have tea
with her fairy godmother and
serve magical cake and cookie crumbs
to the mermaids in the pond.
For her, life was magical. Every little girl was a princess, with good manners and a kind heart. She didn't think boys were princes until they grew up though, because surely no prince would play in the mud and chase a princess around the playground until she became dirty too.
Reading was her escape. Every night before bed she would take her big book of fairy tales off the shelf and read of sleepy beauty, cinderella, repunzel - of course, the book wasn't necessary because the princess had memorized all the stories long ago. It was the pictures she sought, because in her dreams they came to life and left the girl believing magicdid exist after all.
As the young girl grew up, she knew she was different from other children. While she knew how to play hopscotch and jumprope like the other girls, she didn't enjoy it like when she was sitting under the big oaks in the corner of the schoolyard reading her pretend stories.
But were they just pretend? Sometimes, when the princess was angry or upset she could almost feel the magic flowing through her, or what felt like it should be magic from all she had read.
Soon, the girl turned eleven years old and had finished year five at the local school. That summer her whole family - just her and her mum and dad - took her to Italy on vacation. She decided it had to be the most beautiful place in all the world, and vowed to live there one day.
When the small family returned home in mid-August there was a letter adressed to the girl sitting on her bed. How it got there she wasn't sure, but as she opened it, the girl felt her "magic" within her, and knew something was about to change her life forever.
Hermione Granger was a witch.
Now she knew why she felt different. Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry wanted her to go to their school and learn everything they could teach her about magic. Never in her wildest dreams did Hermione think it could ever happen.
And yet...it made sense. It could explain the tingle in her fingers when kids on the playground made fun of her hair, and the attachment she had to being a witch on All Hallow's eve since she was four years old. So Hermione studied, visiting Diagon Alley two weeks before her train was due to leave. She read almost everything she could get her hands on, except books about a wizarding sport called Quidditch or something like that. She wasn't very good at sports.
September the first came, and Hermione believed she was ready. She knew how to get onto Platform 9 and 3/4, how to manage a few simpler spells, and to always nibble a magic jelly bean before eating the whole thing. Most of all though, she knew of the terrible horrors in the magical world's past, a man called You-Know-Who by almost every witch and wizard alive, and more than once she had come across another famous name, of a boy ten months her junior - Harry Potter, the boy who lived.
When Hermione boarded the train, she found a compartment with just one other boy in it. He said his name was Neville Longbottom and that his uncle gave him a toad, named Trevor, for being a wizard. When Hermione told Neville she was the first witch in her family, he dropped his jaw and loosened his grip on Trevor, who took the opportunity to hop near the door, which was still partially open.
Before Neville or Hermione could go after the toad, a small boy with white blonde hair anbd the sourest expression Hermione had ever seen in her life sauntered into their compartment. Hermione, always the kind princess at heart, decided to try her hand at changing the boy's expession, deciding it was probably how he showed being nervous.
"Hello," she began. "I'm Hermione Granger and this - "
The boy cut her off. "Please don't feel the need to tell me who Neville Longbottom is," he spat. "While he may not have the sense or the talent to be a wizard, at least he has the blood, unlike you."
At this, Neville turned very red and excused himself, saying he had to look for his toad. He left the compartment with his head down not looking the boy or Hermione in the eye.
"Glad to be rid of the slob." muttered the boy before turning back to a very confused princess. "Now, back to important matters. Don't think going to a magic school makes you anything more than a dirty muggle with a stick in your hand."
"What? You don't even know me! I've already tried some spells - "
"So you think knowing a few spells will cut it here? I've grown up with magic my whole life - do you honestly think you're better than me?"
"N-no! I never said that and - "
"Good," he interrupted once again. "You never will be, so don't forget it." With that, he left, shutting the door behind him and leaving a tearful Hermione all alone.
After collecting herself and deciding it was better to forget about his meaness for now and help Neville look for his toad, Hermione wandered into a compartment a few doors down, which turned out to hold the famous Harry Potter! He looked like any normal boy her age, except for a distinct scar (of course she'd read about that) and a look of sadness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Again, Hermione could feel the magic in her, and knew Harry Potter, and the grubby red head (named Ron Weasley) across from him were going to impact her life. Hopefully they wouldn't care about her non-magic ancestors like the blonde boy did.