***Author's note***
This one really isn't very fluffy and isn't romancey at all but I kind of wanted to write it and then found out earlier that it's Hermione's birthday today! Happy 32nd Hermione! – hope it's not quite so eventful as your eleventh.
Also, I thought I might write all her birthdays up to the 19th – see the character development and stuff: yay or nay?
Up until the day she turned eleven, Hermione spent most of her time wondering why people didn't like her. She may not be especially pretty or funny or all that interesting , but she knew all that and did her best to make up for it by being perfect in every other way; be confident, smart and friendly – wasn't that what all the books always told her? But then why did she still have to sit on her own at lunch? Why had even her teacher started sighing every time she put up her hand? She did not understand it.
She hoped that it would be better if she got into the grammar school next year.
Her parents had offered her a big party for turning eleven, even with real cake! But she didn't want to have to go through the agony of handing out invites to people who hated her, so she suggested just going to see something at the theatre on Tottenham court road, one of her favourite places in the world with its bright lights and fancy old buildings that she had read about in "a tourists guide to London." It always made her feel like she was floating up out her normal life and self into someone new.
The morning of the 19th dawned crisp and bitingly cold so that she had to pull two jumpers over her pyjamas to keep her warm enough for the short journey down the stairs and into the kitchen , which was always steamy and bright whatever the weather.
Padding down the stone hallway, she felt a sudden thrill of excitement: she was eleven, she was growing up and soon she would get to go to a school where it was normal and good to work all the time, where she might finally make some real friends, where- she stopped in her tracks.
There was someone standing on the other side of the door, watching her through the stained glass. The ripples in it made their own outline quite distorted but whoever it was appeared to be wearing a pointed hat…people did seem to be trick-or-treating awfully early recently – but 9AM in September just seemed ridiculous.
Just as Hermione thought this, the figure rang the doorbell, the sound echoed dismally around the wall and she shivered.
"Hermione, would you get that please?" Her mother's voice came out slightly muffled through the kitchen door, but not so much so that she could pretend that she couldn't hear her. With a feeling of fore boarding that she couldn't quite explain to herself, Hermione slowly turned the handle and the door creaked open.
To her surprise a severe looking middle aged woman stood on the doorstep. Although now devoid of her hat, she was still peculiarly dressed in what Hermione recognised as robes and was staring shrewdly at the small girl, a white envelope in her hand.
"You are Miss Hermione Granger?" Asked the woman, before she could say anything.
"I-er- yes, I am and…" she was going to ask who the Woman was but thought it would be rude, as would asking why she was dressed so strangely. Perhaps, she thought, she was a patient of her parents –who had come straight from a party or something…
"Are you here to see my mum or Dad?"
The woman raised her eyebrows slightly. "Well no doubt I will be talking to them later, Miss Granger, but I am here, first and foremost, to see you. I am Minerva McGonagall and have been sent to discuss your…schooling for next year. Might I come in?"
Hermione opened her mouth to say that she'd better ask her parents first, only to find that Mrs McGonagall had already let herself in, left her pointed hat on the hat stand, and sat down on one of the dining room chairs, gesturing for Hermione to sit on another one close by.
"I understand completely that you probably want to call your parents by now, but I found in these times that it's much better if you allow me to talk to you first so that you may….get over the shock a little."
Hermione sunk into the offered chair, her worst fears realised.
"You're not letting me in, are you? To st Margaret's…" She felt tears prick her eyes but did not care; she had tried so hard in her end of term exams last year. "I KNEW I'D GOT THAT QUESTION ABOUT TITANIUM WRONG" She heard herself wailing before bursting into tears.
After a while she became aware that the woman was trying to talk to her- her voice still a little sharp but much more genial than before.
"Stop it, you silly girl – you misunderstood, dry your eyes now."
Hermione felt a handkerchief being pressed into her hand and took it.
"I'm actually here because you're very talented- quite extraordinary even…. Have you ever noticed ….peculiar things happening to you, when you're upset perhaps?"
Without really meaning to, Hermione thought of the things she had been dismissing and explaining away for years now – that book she had dropped that seemed to take much too long to reach the ground, that time she sneaked into the library when she was not meant to, and when the librarian came back unexpectedly he hadn't seemed to notice her, right in front of him, when that boy had pushed her down the steps leading up to the school and she somehow found herself at the bottom feeling no pain and having no recollection of landing at all.
She gazed at the woman, part of her still sceptical of anything to do with those times, and what this person could have to do with any of it, but another, more instinctive and stronger part already knew that this was going to be true, this was going to be important, this was going to change her life for the better.
"Miss Granger," the woman pursed her lips slightly, as if reluctant to use such blunt words "you are a witch."