Chapter One - "press 1 to be connected to someone who can assist you"

Hermione Granger climbed out of bed, rubbing her eyes, red from crying, and saw it was late, far past her bedtime. She had cried herself to sleep after discovering what had become of her workbook when she tried to do her homework that evening. Many pages had been torn out or ripped nearly in half, and all the others had been drawn on in marker. Not a single page was left un-vandalized. Sadly this was not the first time such a thing had happened, just the most recent. She remembered being so excited before her first day of school, she had spent the months before reading her books and practicing her letters. It took a disappointingly short amount of time for her enthusiasm to turn to dread. None of the other students were anything like her and they soon made their feelings clear about that. Within the first week she was completely alone, none of the other children wanted to be her friend. The years that followed only escalated her loneliness, and her bullies torments. Sitting at her desk, she stared at the ruined books and papers that had filled her bag. Why? The question rang through her mind, why did they hate her? She had only ever tried to help. She couldn't think of a single reason for them to hate her as much as they did.

Tears threatened to fall as she asked herself why over and over again. She pushed the damaged books to the corner of the desk and opened a fresh notebook and started writing. Every question in her mind she put to paper, every doubt and fear soon followed. Tears fell staining the page as she poured her heart and soul out. She sat back in her chair feeling strangely lighter, nothing had changed but having written her feelings down she felt a bit better. Looking down at her writings she almost wanted someone to read them, to see the world from her point of view, to know her. Reaching for her pencil she added a closing as a proper letter should have

Hopefully Yours

Hermione Jean Granger

P.S. I'm 7 and ⅓ years old today.

The only thing missing to make it a proper letter was someone to send it to. She recalled a letter she read in the paper and addressed hers the same way.

To whom it may concern,

Carefully tearing the page from her notebook she imagined what it would be like to have a friend she could send it to, someone who would care.

?

Do you think there's a limit to how much you can learn? Like if you read one more book would you just not be able to comprehend it if your brain got full? Or would you forget something you knew, like now you know astrophysics but you don't know Dr. Seuss? Is there a limit to the human brain? Should magic be any different?

Shadows deepened and old magic answered an innocent call.

Hermione gasped and leaned away as a darkbulb went off between her chair and the desk. Darkbulb was the only way to describe it, the exact opposite of a lightbulb. It seemed to draw all light into its shadows. A gentle breeze flowed around the room, just barely enough to ruffle paper. She wasn't sure why but she was unafraid of this thing. It had startled her when it appeared but whatever it was it felt familiar, like a beloved family member you didn't see often enough. She let her letter go and watched as it swirled in the breeze, she didn't know why or how but she knew that sending her letter through this darkness was the right thing to do. It floated for a moment before it fell into the darkness which lightened until the dark of night seemed like day again.

∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o∆|o

In the darkness of a small cupboard lay the broken body of a young boy, green eyes clouded and cold. They would see no more.

¡

Albus Dumbledore felt every single minute of his 158 year age. How had he been so wrong? That the wards had fallen could only mean one thing, Harry Potter was dead. He rested his face in his hands, he had hoped Petunia would see beyond her hatred. He knew she had hated her sister but hoped she would take her child as a second chance to be a family. Everything he had worked for was undone. He had wanted to introduce a young and innocent Harry Potter to the Wizarding world, to teach him the wonders of magic, to guide him to eventually take his place as the next leader of the light. How had this been allowed to happen? The prophecy meant that only Tom could be the one to kill Harry. He sat in deep thought as his longtime friend Minerva McGonagall vented her rage in his office and at him in particular. He doubted he would ever hear an end to the "I told you so's" from the angry Scot.

He would have to see the prophecy, the sooner the better. Making up his mind he strode past a still ranting transfiguration professor and disappeared in a flash of green.

Hermione felt like she hadn't slept a wink last night. She had stayed awake for hours waiting for something to happen again and had finally fallen asleep at her desk in the early hours of the morning. As it was Saturday she had spent the day with a book under her favorite tree in the back garden. Twice since lunch she had woken from a nap in the shade before she decided to go inside before it got dark. Dinner with her parents passed as it usually did.

As she climbed into bed she began to wonder if the whole thing had been a dream. She had never doubted her own mind before and she didn't like to think she might have to. She lay on her side facing her desk just watching as she contemplated what it could mean if she began seeing things that weren't there. She heard her parents climbing the stairs and knew they would be in to wish her goodnight with a hug and a kiss.

The darkness gathered slowly concentrating into a ball of darkness that absorbed what little light fell into the room from the open hallway door. Hermione paid no attention to the shouts of her parents as she approached the darkbulb that hovered between her bed and desk. She could understand why her parents were scared, it had startled her last night when it appeared. Tonight she had been waiting for it and watched as it formed, it was the same feeling of peace and familiarity as last night so she had felt no fear of it. She reached out a hand as if expecting something and wasn't disappointed. Out of the total darkness a folded piece of paper drifted on a freezing cold breeze and landed on her hand. Hermione's parents had only now reached their daughter and watched with her as the darkbulb lightened the room to dark.

Hermione allowed her parents to pull her from the room and downstairs to the living room. Her mother's frantic hands searching for any hurt and her father's hand on her shoulder assuring him she was ok. The questions began without answer, the only clue was the paper that had yet to be read. Sitting between her worried parents she opened her letter. Written in what appeared to be dried blood, in a messy script.

Hello Hermione

My name is Harry Potter. The answer to your question is magic…..