Chapter 1: The Letters

(Hermione POV)

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror of her bathroom, just as she had done everyday for as long as she could remember. Same bushy brown hair. Same large brown eyes. Same front teeth that were just a tad too large. Everything was the same. Nothing ever changed. Her life was a monotonous blur, and she was absolutely sick of it. She was only ten years old, and still, she felt as though life was boring. She didn't have as much fun as the other children did when watching television, listening to music on their iPods, playing video games, and going on the computer to use the internet. It was interesting at first, but after a while, it became dull and uninteresting. Hermione was used to being a bit of an outcast among her peers. They loved their electronics, and she loved her books.

Books. Such wonderful creations they were. Each one of them a little story for her to escape to. A little place for her to get lost in the characters and the worlds they lived in. She loved all types of books and genres, but her favorite, at the moment, was fantasy, or, more specifically, those involving witches and wizards. Hermione loved everything to do with magic. Not only the thought of it, but the feelings she got from merely reading about it. She felt a connection to these people, and for the first time, felt as though she truly understood someone. Her longing to be accepted by her peers was growing ever stronger, but she couldn't help but know, deep down, that she would never fit in. The only place she felt as though she could be accepted was in her books…if only it were real…if only magic truly existed. Hermione laughed at herself. Stop it Hermione. There's no such thing as magic. She gave herself one last sad look in the mirror, and made her way downstairs for breakfast.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw her mother at the stove, cooking eggs and making toast, while her father sat at the head of the table drinking his tea, waiting for The Times to arrive. Her mother, Jean Granger, was a very pretty woman. She had bright green eyes that contrasted brilliantly with her pale skin, and her brown hair, while curly like Hermione's, was not as bushy. She was about average height, measuring at 5'5", and had a petite figure. Her father, Richard Granger, was slightly taller than his wife, but still average for a man. He was 5'10" and had light brown hair, brown eyes, and an average build. Both were dressed for work where they were partners at their Dental Practice, Granger Dentistry.

"Hermione, would you set the table while I finish breakfast?" Her mother asked, as she slid 3 fried eggs onto individual plates, and made her way to the fridge to retrieve jam for their toast.

Hermione took out the placemats and silverware, and made her way over to the table to set it. When she completed her task, she took a seat next to her father and pulled out a copy of The Amulet of Samarkand. Just as she began reading, her mother placed their plates on the table and sat down across from her daughter.

"Breakfast is served," she said with a smile. "Hermione, please put away your book and eat your food while it's still warm."

Hermione replaced her novel with her fork and took a bite of egg. As she chewed, she noticed her parents looking between one another before giving each other identical nods. Her father looked at her as he cleared his throat.

"Hermione, your mother and I wish to speak with you about something… something that is rather…" He trailed off, not knowing how to put into words the bizarre nature of what he needed to tell his daughter.

"Hermione," her mother tried to continue where her father couldn't, "your father and I were visited 2 nights ago by the Headmaster of a prestigious boarding school in Scotland."

"What? When were you looking at a boarding school in Scotland?" Hermione asked, before she realized something. "When were you looking to send me to Boarding school?" Hermione was flabbergasted. They wanted to send her away! Her parents, the only two people she really had a connection to in this world, wanted to ship her off to some BOARDING SCHOOL in SCOTLAND!

"Let us finish Hermione," soothed her mother, reaching her hand across the table and placing it over her daughter's. "We weren't looking to send you to boarding school at all; however, we feel as though you would be quite interested in this one in particular."

Just as Jean finished her sentence, the squeak of the mail slot hinge could be heard, and the thud of the morning's mail dropping on the entrance mat sounded throughout the quiet kitchen. Hermione, needing a breath of fresh air from the suddenly claustrophobic kitchen, scooted out of her chair, and went to grab the morning mail. She shuffled through the letters, still needing a minute to catch her breath. Bills. Bills. Bills. Postcard. Bills. She started to walk back to the kitchen when she came upon a rather thick envelope. It was packaged in a thick parchment, and stamped with a wax seal, and above it had a crest that read Hogwarts. Hermione turned the letter over and read the elegant green script.

MISS. H. GRANGER

The 3rd Floor Bedroom

17 ARID DRIVE

Guildford

SURREY.

Hermione's heart stopped. She looked up and realized she was standing in the middle of the kitchen's doorway. Her parents were sitting at the table, both staring at her expectantly. She held up the letter for them to see.

"The boarding school in Scotland, it wasn't called Hogwarts by any chance, was it?" She asked with a quiver to her voice. She didn't know what exactly was in this letter, but she knew, without a doubt, that its contents would change her life. Why else would her parents be staring at her as though she were about to disappear forever?

Jean and Richard continued to sit at their seats in silence, staring at their daughter for what may be the last time before she was swept off to a new life. They memorized their little girl in that moment, the last moment they truly had with her, before she discovered she was a witch. When they were visited by Albus Dumbledore two nights before, they were reluctant to accept the knowledge of their daughter having any magical abilities. Who was this funny dressed man to come into their home making these ridiculous claims about Hermione, and telling them she had been accepted into a magical school for young witches and wizards? Yes, magic was allowed to exist in one's fantasy, but there was no place for it in the real world. It was simply absurd. But the more they thought about it, the more they knew it to be true. Their daughter had always been special, always been different. As Dumbledore silently stared at them through his half moon spectacles, they remembered all of the strange occurrences they had shrugged off over the years. The time Mrs. Granger found Hermione reading a book that Jean had taken away from her so she would come and eat her breakfast. The time Richard was unable to open Hermione's door after her classmates had made fun of her, even though the door had no lock. The two parents had looked at each other, and slowly started to accept the reality they were facing. That night, after Dumbledore's departure, Mr. and Mrs. Granger decided to support Hermione's decision, whatever it may be.

And so, Jean and Richard sat staring at their daughter, frozen in their seats, as Hermione stood just the same, looking expectantly at her mother and father, still holding the Hogwarts envelope out in front of her, as the rest of the morning mail lay forgotten in her other hand. Suddenly, the loud screech of Richard's chair being pushed from its seat echoed throughout the silent kitchen as he stood from the table. He strode confidently towards his daughter, never breaking eye contact, and put his hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked deep into her father's eyes, and saw encouragement, excitement, with a touch of fear swimming in his chocolaty depths. With a shaking hand, Hermione brought the heavy envelope up to her own eyes, and tentatively began to open her letter.

In the same elegant green script, Hermione read:

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme

Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find a list of all necessary book and equipment. Items can be found at Diagon Alley, entrance of which is at the Leaky Cauldron, 12 Charing Cross Road in London. Muggle money can be transferred to Wizard gold at Gringott's Bank.

Term begins on September 1. The Hogwarts Express departs from Kings Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾, at precisely 9:00 a.m. We await your owl by no later than Jully 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Hermione felt as though her heart was in her throat. This has to be a joke. Magic can't be real. I can't be a, a, a witch… It's absurd. And yet… Hermione looked back up at her parents who both wore identical smiles on their faces as they watched their daughter's eyes frantically read the letter from Hogwarts.

Mrs. Granger was the first to break the silence. "Hermione, dear, are you alright?" It had been five minutes, and Hermione still grasped the thick parchment as though she thought it would escape her steel grip. Her eyes shot to her mother's concerned face, and she opened her mouth, still stunned.

"What… How… I don't, I don't understand. How is this possible? Is this a joke?" Hermione choked out the sentence that she was most nervous about. It had to be a joke, it just had to be. As much as she dreaded the truth of it being a joke, she had to know. She was no coward. As much as it would hurt, she would survive. And yet, her parents didn't confirm her fear; instead, they looked at her with the same encouraging smiles they wore before.

"I'm… I'm a witch?" Hermione said, not believing it as the words escaped her lips, but somehow knowing it was true all the same. "I'm a witch." She said again, more confidently, before bursting into a radiant smile. "I'm a witch!" Her parents shared a smile that held a hint of sorrow. They were happy for their daughter and her new discovery, but they knew that things would never be the same.

Hermione looked again at her letter, still bearing a smile that would make a Cheshire cat jealous. "It says we need to go to DIA-GON Alley for my supplies… Oh! The letter needs to be back by the 31st of July! What's today?" Hermione raced to the calendar, seeing that it was the 20th of July. "We have to send my response right away! Who knows how long it will take for an owl…" Hermione's adrenaline seemed to falter as she realized she didn't have an owl to respond with. She didn't even know how to respond with an owl.

Richard understood his daughter's predicament. He smiled at Hermione and told her, "Dumbledore informed us how to send your response. He will be sending an owl by 10:00 a.m., and we simply attach your answer to owl's foot." Hermione beamed up at her father once again, her happiness instantly returning with full force.

"I'm going to go upstairs to write my letter!" Hermione yelled as she sprinted out of the kitchen and up to her room. She sat down at her desk, pulled out a bit of parchment and a quill, and began to write, hoping against hope that this wasn't the most wonderful dream she'd ever had.

(Ron POV)

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Ron shot up out of his bed as the incessant clanging from the family ghoul rang around his room. He groaned and fell back down, his head hitting the wall as he did so. "Bloody hell!" He slid down his bed so his head rested against his pillow, and stared at his ceiling in disgust. He hated this stupid room, even if he did have it all to himself. The highest bloody room of his bloody house, right below the attic. He tossed and turned in his twin sized bed, feeling strangled by his Chudley Cannons comforter, as the summer heat smothered him. That was one of the main problems with sleeping right below the attic during the summer; his room became blisteringly hot. Finally escaping the comforter's grasp, Ron sat up in bed and looked around his room. Chudley Cannons posters lined the brown walls, his favorite team flying all around him. He had one window looking out to the family pond and garden, which was above an old, splintered desk. The desk didn't get much use, if he was going to be quite honest, since he had only recently acquired it. His father had brought it up here because Ron was to be starting school this fall, and during the holiday breaks would need a place to finish his school work. The only other pieces of furniture that were in his cramped room were the dresser by his door, and the trunk that was opposite of it, and was placed at the foot of his bed. He stood up, and placed his feet on the orange rug that was in the center of his room. As he stretched and ran his hands through his hair, he could already hear the signs of life downstairs, signaling that the rest of his family was already awake and starting breakfast.

Ron trudged downstairs, after making a quick stop at the loo, and took a seat at the chair closest to the end of the table, next to his brother Percy, who was already in a heated debate with his father about the news in that morning's Daily Prophet. The twins sat opposite Percy, himself, and Ginny, and were mocking Percy any chance they got, drawing delighted giggles out of Ginny. Ron watched as his mother gave Fred and George stern looks from the kitchen counter, where she was pointing her wand at the butter knife, which was buttering toast at an alarming speed; it tended to increase its pace depending on her mood. Ron sat at the corner of the table, going unnoticed by the rest of the family. He was used to this, however. While he wasn't the youngest of his seven siblings, he was the youngest boy. This might have been viewed as special in other families, but Ginny usually was on the receiving end of this type of special treatment, as she was the youngest child, and the only girl of the seven siblings. As much as Ron didn't like being forgotten, he had, unfortunately, gotten used to it.

It was while reaching in for a piece of the recently buttered toast, that a loud smashing sound came from the kitchen window.

"Errol's here with the mail, I take it." Said George, as he went over to the window to let the pitiful old owl into the kitchen. "Yup, fell right into thewindow box." George scooped up Errol and brought him into the kitchen, where the owl gave a thankful hoot, and went over to get some much needed water. George walked back to the table and flipped through the stack of letters in his hand. "Hogwarts letters. Blimey, is it that time already." George said as he handed out the letters to their respectful owners, finally landing on Ron. "Ah, first Hogwarts letter, Ronniekins."

"It seems like just yesterday we were turning his teddy bear into a spider, doesn't it George." Said Fred, dazing off, as if thinking back to a fond memory.

"They grow up so fast." Responded George, with that same dazed off look.

"Shut it." Said Ron, grabbing for his letter. He ripped it out of George's grip, and looked down to see the Hogwarts wax seal staring up at him. He turned the letter over and read,

MR. R. WEASLEY

The 5th floor bedroom

138 ARDENT AVE

Ottery St. Catchpole

DEVON

"Go on Ron, open it." Said Mrs. Weasley, who looked teary eyed and excited. Ron glanced up at his mother before looking back down at his letter. For as long as he could remember, his siblings had been going to this notorious school, and it was finally his turn. Ron was nervous, though. There was no way he would be able to mount to anything close to all that his brothers had already accomplished. Prefect, Head boy, Quidditch Captain, they had done everything of importance. Once again, Ron felt as though he would, undoubtedly, make his way through Hogwarts unnoticed. Ron took a deep breath, and tore open the wax seal, pulling out the thick parchment of his very first Hogwarts letter.