Author's Ramble:
Just a little practice before I start in on my bigger fanfiction projects. I have some lovely crossovers and AU's in the planning stages.
Matilda
Hermione Granger was no slouch when it came to reading. In fact, she'd already devoured Lord of the Rings and she was just ten. Admittedly even a smart ten year old could take issue to some of Tolkien's writing style, but she knew enough to enjoy it, and get a much enjoyed advancement when it came to her vocabulary.
She remembered when she was seven, as a case in point, when she'd said for close to six months that she was 'parched' rather than thirsty. The warm glow of pride that accompanied successfully using a new word hadn't faded until her mother expressed how using it made her sound like an old lady in miniature. Hermione had asked if all she needed was patchouli to complete the effect, even though she hadn't any idea what it was, just that it was often used in some of her books.
There was a downside to being brilliant. Pointedly, you had to acknowledge that the fantastic – dragons. Magic, faeries – wasn't real. No matter how desperately you wanted it to be. Real people just didn't find wizards on their doorstep intent on recruiting them as burglars for a set of homeless dwarves. The world outside her bedroom just seemed so boring compared to the one in her head. Who would ever want to be an accountant after reading about Aslan and so-called ordinary girls changing the fate of an entire faraway land?
So, the book about a little girl with Telekinesis wasn't exactly a challenge. It only served to make her heart ache.
Hermione sat on her bed with the new book closed on her lap, and flopped backward into fluffy pillows, flyaway curls insisting on getting in her mouth and nose.
I want to be special.
Even as she admonished herself for being so vain, she couldn't ignore the truth. She wanted to be the main character, and change the world. She wanted her own adventure, preferably one involving magic. Though she wouldn't write off science fiction either. Doctor Who? Count her in. Her father had instilled a healthy enjoyment of the old show in her. Particularly for one Tom Baker.
The brunette grinned to herself, and closed her eyes, clutching at her book with a romantic sigh. Maybe she could be special.
Without opening her eyes, she lifted one of her hands, and imagined the books in her bookshelf floating up towards her bed. They dipped and flew through they air like a flock of birds trying to dance. She could almost hear the pages flap, and smell the book glue.
Grinning madly at her fantasy, she hummed to herself and gestured wildly, like a conductor. All she needed was a little baton in one hand and it would be complete. Only instead of directing violins and drums, she would be directing stories!
A laugh tumbled past her lips at the idea, and she opened her eyes, deciding that she was very hungry and that the scones she'd observed on the kitchen counter earlier were probably fair game.
All thought of food left her head a moment later when she saw all of her books just coming to a stop from her imagined fantasy.
Mouth dropping open in a singularly unattractive way, she watched as they abruptly fell one after another with heavy thumps and fluttering pages.
In awe, she lifted her hand, imagining again, absurdly, that her finger was a baton. The book she pointed to began slowly to float once more.
"Wicked!" She popped off her bed, and caught 'The Magicians Nephew' as it fell, then went dashing out of her room down clean carpeted halls to try and find her father.
"Daddy, guess what!"
Matilda
She hadn't managed to float the books again. And of course she'd only been humored when trying to tell her parent (and of course instructed to clean up the mess she'd made).
Not being able to do it again didn't stop her, of course. Hermione was far too stubborn to let her tiny opportunity to be something extraordinary escape her. She was focused enough on this that she barely paid her teachers any mind. If any of them had something to say about her uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm, none mentioned it. Though one or two made a point to ask her if anything was wrong if it continued.
"Hey bugs!"
Hermione cringed and self consciously tried to cover her teeth with her lips. Who knew her new set of front teeth would be so embarrassing? The worst part was, she and her frequent tormenter had been friend before the start of the previous school year.
"Aw, the widdle wabbit can't hear us!"
With determination, she squared her shoulders and kept her eyes on the black board, waiting for the teacher to come back. Ignore them, and they'll go away. It worked. Until one of them threw a wad of paper large enough that she actually noticed when it hit the back of her head. She reached for the back of her hair, then jerked in abrupt disgust when she felt the spitballs there.
The tittering coming from behind her was the final straw.
She was a Good Girl. The teachers liked her. But even Hermione had her limits. And little Susie Snot Nosed had just hit it.
"You – you're a butthead Susan! You're just upset I beat you on the last spelling exam!"
The other girl puffed up angrily.
"Well at least I can actually eat without havin' to throw my head back to get carrots past my giant teeth!"
Hermione gasped, then stomped forward, past the desks of her classmates. She pointed at the girl, and saw red. Literally, red. A bolt of scarlet light shot from her finger and hit her frequent tormenter right between the eyes.
Susie went down with a crash of her chair like a sack of potatoes.
Torn between vindication and fear, the ten year old looked at her index finger in wonder.
Matilda
Since the problem with Susan, Hermione had had several adventures in odd occurrences. Apparently she'd been prone to them as a toddler as well from the some of the embarrassing stories her mother liked to tell at company functions.
Now though, she'd just turned eleven. Not nearly as momentous an occasion as hitting her double digits the previous year, but a birthday wasn't anything to scoff at. Breakfast crepes in bed, and the promise of going to a show and a fancy restaurant for dinner and opening presents (oh how the brightly colored parcels in the dining room taunted her) had her vibrating with excitement.
She'd planted herself very deliberately on the window seat, and was watching for her Father's return from the store. It was a gray and rainy day, but even that couldn't dampen her spirits.
The clock ticked mercilessly from behind her on the mantle as Hermione counted raindrops.
It was only her impatience that allowed her to watch as a tabby cat with rather peculiar marking slunk into their front yard. Only her boredom allowed her keen eyes to pick up on the fact that the cat was staying miraculously dry, too! Was it somehow walking between raindrops –
The mystery of the dry cat skittered completely out of her head when she watched the cat become a woman. She nearly fell off the window seat in her haste to answer the front door.
The woman who had been a cat was only just preparing to knock when Hermione yanked it open. From the kitchen she could hear her mother making concerned noises.
Smiling in a way that made her seem a good deal less intimidating, the woman spoke.
"Miss Hermione Granger I presume?"
She nodded, excitement and apprehension at war within her as her mother came down the hall towards them.
"I am Professor McGonagal, Deputy Headmistress for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -"