Everyone expected Ron to be a wizard. He had five older brothers that had shown great promise by the age of three. Bill had, at the age of three, set his father's Ministry papers on fire when no one would play with him. Charlie, at age three and a half, set his stuffed dragon on his Aunt Muriel when she started pinching his cheek and smothering his in kisses on visiting on holiday. Percy, at a spectacular age eighteen months, ("He'll be a genuis, Arthur, Minister of Magic someday, right after his father!") sent all the books on his bookshelf leaping off to the floor, after which he picked up his favorite one and politely bonked his mother on the head with it. (Apparently, he didn't want to wait to read it.) Fred and George waited a bit longer than the others, until there were alomost four years old, but when the finally displayed their abilities, it was quite a show. While at a parade, the twins had their vision blocked by the most oblivious of witches, a rather plump woman who stood directly in front of the boys. They quickly grew tired of trying in vain to push her out of the way, and resorted to jumping frustratedly. Suddenly they found themselves hovering over the parade, with the best seats in the house. The picture of them giggling and clapping was used in the article on the parade in the Daily Prophet.
So Ron was expected to show his skills by around age three, give or take. Of course, no one expected Ginny to follow so soon, so Ron was put out of the spotlight quite soon and quite suddenly. Ron was not being noticed when he was learning new words (his first one was "Cannon"), or learning to play new games. (For quite some time, much to Molly's dismay, his favorite game was one Fred and George invented: Roll-The-Ron. You can imagine how it was played.) But Ron finally showed everyone his talent on his fourth birthday.
The whole family was there to celebrate Charlie getting his Hogwart's Letter, along with Ron's birthday. Bill was on holiday from Hogwarts for the weekend, and Percy was pestering him with questions, wanting to see his wand and wanting to see "real magic." Charlie had gotten his wand and had opened his gifts (a quill set, a cloak clasp with his initials on it, and the Flourish and Blotts recommended "Young Quidditch Players Essentials" collection, a set of three books about Quidditch), he was more interested in keeping an eye on the twins, who were busily trying to steal Bill's wand and swap it with someone else's. That had been their favorite game recently, switching wands and watching the sparks fly. So Ron was in the thick of things, opening his presents and desperately wanting to try out the cake on the table. No one was paying attention to Ginny, for the moment.
About halfway through the presents, Ron suddenly got very upset about something, but no one could see what he was fussing over. Suddenly everyone turned to a muffled scream from the general direction of the cake. Ginny, who had been helping herself to about one quarter of the cake, now had a very chocolately hand stuck to her teeth – Ron said "BAD GINNY! MY CAKE!" at the top of his lungs and sat down to finish his presents. Ginny, not one to not have the last word, turned Ron's hair green, then sent the cake flying at him, hitting him full in the face. The toddler brawl that ensued was remarkably muggle-like, with the standard kicking and hair-pulling, but with Fred egging them on and George waving one of the wands they'd snatched at the two, which eventually turned them both a neon blue. Arthur finally had enough, and he grabbed his wand (which the twins hadn't bothered, thankfully) and with a flick lifted his four youngest children up in the air. Molly unstuck Ginny's hand from her mouth, then let her down, and then cleaned up Ron, and brought him down as well – making sure to keep them far apart. The twins stayed suspended in the air for a bit longer, until Arthur realized they were enjoying it, and then they came down with an uncermonious thud.
Hermione's magical childhood went unnoticed for sometime, though. Her parents were quite busy as dentists – Hermione was nearly born in her mother's office – and they hired a babysitter for their little angel. After Hermione started walking and talking, though, the sitter turnover began climbing inexplicably high. The Grangers explained it to themselves as "high strung teenagers" who "just couldn't handle such a bright toddler." After all, they'd never seen Hermione move the dining room table across the room, like one claimed she'd done in response to refusing to read to her, or make her bottle come to life and bite the sitter, like one swore she'd done when she was hungry.
The Grangers kept hiring sitters, and some would last a few months, some a few weeks, and a couple only lasted a day, quitting with wild stories about Hermione throwing heavy objects at them, or changing the color of their clothes, or unlocking her nurserey door. As she grew, though, the Grangers noticed that odd happening occurred near her. The most outstanding of which was when she set her teacher's dress on fire – then old woman had given Hermione a smack on the hand with a ruler for arguing with her about a math problem.
Her parents admitted that she was different; she was so bright, it wasn't a bit surprising. The most surprising moment of all came one day when she had just turned eleven. She wanted to go to the libraqry, but her parents had to both work, so she was going to the office with her father. Little Hermione snuck out of the office, climbved in the car, and drove herself to the library. When her father noticed his car and his daughter missing, he called the police, like any concerned an nearly panicking father would. The fact that she got in the car and drove to the library wasn't the surprising part; no one could figure out how she got there while the keys where still in her father's pocket.
The "happenings" were explained several months later, in June of the next year. A very stern woman showed up on the doorstep of the Grangers' house. She looked old, but her hair was still very black – it was very difficult to place her age for those reasons. She asked for Hermione to join them in the living room, then sat down on the sofa and proceeded to begin explaining her presence. Jus tthen the telephone rang – Mrs. Granger got it, and stayed on it when she realized it was a patient, asking about his inflamed gums. A few moments later, the other phone line rang – her father's phone, another patient, more waiting.
Hermione, fed up with being patient, and brimming with curiosity, finally asked the strange woman: "Just who are you, and why are you here?"
When the woman protested, saying she would rather discuss this in front of the other adults, Hermione stated matter-of-factly, "They'll be forever; I know it has somehting to do woth me personally, else you wouldn't have asked me down her with you. What's going on."
"Well, young lady, I have some news about you and for you. I don't believe I should tell you everyhting right now, but I will tell you right now that I am a professor at a school here in Britian, and I have your invitation righthere with me."
"A school? What kind of school?"
"A – special – school. One for special young children such as yourself."
"Special… A school for the Gifted, you mean? Mother and Father were talking about sending me to one last year, but none would accept me. Born three weeks too late, apparently. Afaraid I couldn't keep up, apparently. And Father wouldn't dare argue with them, because obviously, three weeks makes such a massive difference in intelligence. Oh well, rules are rules, I suppose, but…" Hermione flopped back against the sofa. This was apparently a sore spot for her.
"Well, I'll have you know that a cutoff for student's birthdays is set usually not because of the students' intelligence levels but because of their maturity, and their education level from the schools they were in prior to Hog – our school," the woman sniffed gently. "Students with birthdays in the beginning of September always present a difficult decisioin, especially in your case – you almost made it, but our concern was your being so far from home – "
"A boarding school? I wouldn't mind being far from home. That's what's keeping them," she motioned to her parents, engrossed on their phones, "from sending me to one in France this year. They don't want me to leave. Honestly, like I couldn't take care of myself."
"Well, Miss Granger. Tell me, do you feel you're a bit – different – from all the other students at St. George's?"
"Oh, absolutely, Professor… I don't believe you told me your name."
"My name is Professor McGonagall, Miss Granger. I am the Deputy Headmistess."
"Well, Professor McGonagall, I know there's something different about me. Things keep happening. Strange things. I set a teacher's dress on fire once. I just don't know how, I was so angry at her, she was so stubborn about how her answer just had to be the only one, and suddenly she was screaming. These things keep happening, and it's me, I know it is, there isn't any other way, but I can't explain it, I just can't!"
"I can explain it dear, but you'll have to wait until your parents are back here with us."
"So what else do you do at this school, besides being a Professor? What is there to do?"
"Well, we have sports, I'll explain it in a bit, and I am the head of house for Gryffindor House. My house when I was a student, you know," she added with not a little bit of pride.
"Griffin… griffin.. those creatures are mythical guardians, like sphinxes, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are guardians, and yes, they are like sphinxes, but our house is named after one of the four founders of our school, not after the beast. Godric Gryffindor helped found Hogwarts a thousand years ago. My house is named after him."
"A thousand years ago? Gosh… surely I would have heard about this school, though. Any school a thousand years old would be in all the listings of schools.
"Well, we like to keep ourselves rather inconspicuous, though I will tell you that there is a book available, called Hogwarts, A History. If you'd like, when we get your supplies – assuming you accept your invitation, of course – I could direct you to a copy."
"Wonderful! I like how it sounds, I accept, I accept!"
"My dear – oh, here are your parents."
"What is happening here, now, Hermione? What have you just accepted?" Mr. Granger asked.
Before Professor MdGonagall could answer, Hermione burst forth, "Father, Mother, She's Professor McGonagall, of Hogwarts, it's a school here in Britian that's been in existence for a thousand years, and it has it's own book published about it, and it's a boarding school for the gifted, and I've been accepted, and I want to go right now, she said she'd take me to get my supplies and everyhting!"
Professor McGonagall politely waited until Hermione stopped for breath, then began to explain her presence and everything that Hermione had just said. When she was finished, Hermione said, "I always knew I was special, I knew it, I knew it! I want to go, I accept, let me sign the letter or the contract or sign up or whatever I have to do, I can't wait!"
"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I believe she has made up her mind, and if the car incident last year was any indication, I don't think you'll be able to stop her. What is your answer to the invitation?"
They said yes.
