It was a mild summer evening and the birds in the Eel Brook Common playground were chirping happily at the change from the heatwave that had dominated the south of England for the last few weeks. The playground had been silent for weeks, it had been too hot for the parents of the children in the London borough of Fulham and so most had stayed in their allotments where the children could cool off in inflatable pools under the soothing shade of parasols. A few drops of water fell on the parched, dusty earth under the playground swing. The ground turned dark where the drops hit the earth. If someone had only been paying attention to this patch of earth, they might have raised their head to the sky in anticipation, only to be proven wrong by the still cloudless sky.

Another drop fell, accompanied by a gentle sob from the person sitting bent over on the swing. The tears ran down her slightly reddened cheeks, gathered at her chin and fell to the floor between her legs. The girl crying these bitter tears was called Hermione Granger. As she took a faltering breath, she twirled her index finger through a strand of her bushy mane of hair, which she rarely and with much effort got tamed.

"Disgusting snakes!" thought Hermione.

As early as the first year of primary school, her classmates had started systematically bullying her. They had made fun of her prominent incisors, which had developed on her during first grade. What bad dentists her parents were, judging by her daughter's dentition. Another target of teasing was her hair, which was bushy and unruly, quite different from the straight hair of her classmates. And then the biggest target of her bullies, her glasses. Since both her parents were already spectacle wearers, low vision had not passed her by either. More than that, even in her earliest memories she had worn glasses. She had already shown severe long-sightedness as a baby, which the optician told her every six months when she needed new glasses. In the meantime, she was at 7 dioptres, which meant that her eyes were considerably enlarged by the thick lenses. She was still too young for contact lenses, the doctor said that the earliest she could get contact lenses was at the age of 14.

'Specky four eyes Granger' she had been called since kindergarten, which bounced off her more often than not, but this term Debbie Winters had taken it to the extreme, reducing Hermione to her appearance and poor eyesight at every opportunity. Her parents had advised her, as parents did in most cases, not to pay attention to the others and 'laugh with them'. However, neither of them had had to go through systematic bullying in their childhood, making their suggestions rather the opposite of helpful. The comments that the others were just jealous of her perfect grades did not help much either. Even if they were just jealous that Hermione had been top of the year by far every year since first grade, they had enough wood to keep the fire of Hermione's figurative pyre alive. Even today, a week into the holidays, Hermione was haunted by her bullies and had been harassed first on the banks of the Thames and later in the bookshop. She was fed up, at the same time she was powerless and helpless. And so she sat, as she often did, in one of three different playgrounds where she could temporarily hole up, apart from her home.

Hermione pulled the soaked paper handkerchief, torn in several places, from her sleeve and blew her nose. She looked up at the birds in the tree opposite the swing.

"None of you want to trade places with me, but I'd rather be a bird too. Free from the cares of human society and culture", Hermione thought as she watched the family of swallows feeding their young. She looked at her wristwatch and hung her head. It was still an hour until dinner. By now, in her room, the ceiling was falling on her head. She would not go through the textbooks for next year until the last two weeks of the holidays, then her knowledge base would be fresher for the start of the next year. Apart from the TV and her novels, there was nothing she could do at home, let alone wanted to. The books were great, but lying in her bed or reading corner all day was too boring after a while.

In the distance she heard a familiar sound and her head snapped around. About two hundred yards away, at the entrance to the park, Debbie and her entourage were on their way to catch up with her. Hermione pushed herself up out of the swing and immediately turned to leave the park in the other direction.

"Granger! Stop right there, how could you have noticed us so far, with your mole eyes?", cackled Debbie from behind her across the greenspace.

Hermione didn't turn around and quickened her steps. Her parents' house was only two streets away and if she was quick she could escape her third serving of bullying today. Debbie and the others also quickened their steps and added a few more insults that caused Hermione's eyes and nose to sting slightly.

"Enough," Hermione thought and sprinted off.

Up until now, she had avoided running away from others in such an obvious way, as she felt it only showed more weakness. But now she didn't care, she just wanted to get away from Debbie before she came home with gum or dog poo in her hair again. When she also heard running footsteps behind her, she stepped it up a notch. She was still about 50 metres from her front door when she heard the footsteps coming closer. She knew Debbie and her friends were faster than her. Tears welled up in her eyes and her field of vision became temporarily blurred.

When she was only one house away from her parents', she stumbled. Someone had swept her foot from behind, sending her right leg crashing into the heel of her left foot. She landed hard on the pavement, her hands outstretched to catch herself. She heard jeering laughter now moving away from her. Apparently it was enough for them that Hermione was lying on the ground in pain. Possibly they were also aware of the proximity to Hermione's parents' house and wanted to escape before an adult noticed. Hermione groaned and stood up in pain, whereupon she looked down at herself. Her tights had been torn open at one knee, with a round gash throbbing underneath. Otherwise, her clothes had been spared and even her hands showed minimal abrasions, but hurt from the friction of the impact. The others, still laughing uproariously, had turned a street corner and were out of sight.

Hermione sobbed and set off to make the last few steps to her parents' house. As she slammed the door behind her, her father called to her from the living room. When he saw his daughter in tears in the doorway, he immediately put down the book he had just been reading. With quick steps he walked towards his daughter and pulled her into his arms. Hermione wrapped her legs around her father's stomach and let her tears run freely.

"Martha!" cried Elliot Granger, hugging his only child tightly.

From her husband's tone, Mrs Granger knew something had happened. She placed her magazine on the kitchen table, checked once more out of the corner of her eye to see if everything was all right with the roast before heading towards the living room.

When she arrived in the living room, she saw her daughter sobbing heavily in her husband's arms and exhaled loudly through her nose. Without another word, she pulled them both into a hug and stroked her daughter's cheek until she calmed down.

"What happened, my little cupcake?" asked Mrs Granger anxiously, looking into Hermione's red, tear-swollen eyes.

The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched when she heard the affectionately pronounced nickname. Only her mother was allowed to call her that. She took a deep breath, once again being shaken by light sobs. Mr Granger gently placed her on the armchair and knelt beside her to assess her knee.

"Debbie and her friends chased me," Hermione said softly, looking down at the floor. Her hair fell over her face.

"And you fell?" her father asked as he gingerly examined her wound.

"Yes. But only because that beast tripped me!" cried Hermione angrily.

Her parents exchanged worried glances. Mrs Granger wordlessly went into the kitchen to fetch disinfectant spray for wounds. Her father gently stroked Hermione's cheek. She looked up at him and could see in his expression that he was worried and wanted to say something, but probably couldn't find the proper words.

A quarter of an hour later, Hermione relaxed a little as she settled into the warm bubble bath. She was careful to keep the knee with the gash above the water's surface. Dinner had been postponed without further ado, partly because Hermione's mother had made a slight miscalculation in the cooking time of her roast. Hermione was grateful for the time to relax and let her hair slide into the warm and fragrant bathwater. When she opened her eyes again, she took a deep breath. She pulled her knee closer to her face and examined the wound. It wasn't particularly deep, but a few layers of skin had been damaged by the fall. In the kindergarten, the boys had such wounds examined by the teachers almost every day. Slowly she let her knee slide into the water. It stung a little, but the disinfection had already taken away most of the pain. Ever since Hermione could remember, this had been the first wound in her skin. Sure she had fallen down a time or two as a toddler, but even in kindergarten Hermione had preferred to keep herself busy with books and indoor games.

"We have to do something, Martha!". In the kitchen, Mrs. and Mr. Granger stood consulting their daughter's situation.

"Nasty remarks and laughter can be ignored or countered, but violence? We need to talk to this Debbie's parents," Mr Granger said firmly.

"You won't get through to them, her father is an alcoholic and her mother is on the verge of it too," Mrs Granger replied and the two looked at each other.

Wordlessly they agreed that Debbie's problem was buried there, but there was nothing that could be done about the girl's situation from the Grangers' position.

"What are we going to do, Elliot?" asked Mrs Granger, burying her face in her hands thoughtfully.

"There are several possibilities, but only one of them is realistic," Mr Granger said with an agonised undertone in his voice.

"And what would that be?"

"We send Hermione to a boarding school, one for her level of education. If you ask me, she would have skipped several classes by now anyway, if I had had my way."

"I feared as much," sighed Mrs Granger. The thought of seeing her only daughter in the holidays only gave her a stab in the heart.

"I can't think of anything else, but it's our job to protect our child from such abuse as best we can, Martha."

He looked into his wife's maroon eyes, which his daughter had inherited, and saw the glistening sheen of tears that had not yet found their way over her eyelids. A twinge also shot up his nose and his eyes grew wet at the thought of no longer seeing his daughter every day.

At dinner, there was a silence unlike anything the Grangers had ever experienced before. Hermione was usually the centre of attention and a fountain of observations, facts and stories. Even her parents were never left out of it, and had to describe their day at work in their shared dental clinic. But not today. Each member of the Granger family ate in silence, lost in thought. The silence seemed strange to everyone, but no one wanted to break it. After the meal, Hermione got up without a word and headed towards her room. She dropped into the comfortable reading corner her parents had set up for her a few years ago. Determined not to shed another tear today, she took her favourite book from the shelf beside her. She already knew the Arthurian legend by heart, however, this world was a good place of refuge when Hermione was reading the familiar lines. When her eyelids grew heavy after a few hours, she put the book aside and fell asleep snuggled close to her favourite plush otter.

Hermione awoke the next morning to the first rays of sunlight that had found their way into her room. She felt well rested, although the clock on her bedside table only read 8:13. Not being hungry yet, she took her glasses from her desk and cleaned them with a cloth before putting them on. She picked up the book she had started again last night and sank back into 5th century Britain. In the living room, Mr Granger had made himself comfortable with a cup of tea and the day's newspaper. He looked up when he heard the flap of the letterbox. He scratched his chin in surprise, mail had already been put in today. Normally all the mail was delivered at the same time. He folded up the newspaper and stood up.

"Maybe it was just a breeze," he muttered and turned into the hallway, where he was surprised to find a strange-looking letter. He picked it up and read with a frown the address written in green ink on the yellowish envelope.

"Ms. H. Granger, reading corner in the second bedroom of the first floor, 15 Irene Rd, Fulham."

"Reading corner?" wondered Mr Granger.

Never before had he come across a letter whose address had included a piece of furniture in the addressee's room. With a snort, he turned the letter over. It had to be a prank. The letter was sealed with a seal showing a crest. Four animals were emblazoned on the crest, which bore a large H in the centre.

"An elaborate prank," Mr Granger murmured with raised eyebrows. The last time he had received a letter sealed in wax had been an invitation to a child's birthday party at primary school. His mood brightened at the thought. Possibly Hermione had been invited to a birthday party.

Hermione was a little startled when there were two knocks on her bedroom door. Usually her parents let her sleep in during the holidays and didn't disturb her until she came downstairs on her own.

"Come in, Dad!" she called, giggling.

She could clearly tell her parents apart by the knock. Apparently her father was having the day off and wanted to spend time with her early. Her father entered the room and stopped abruptly. Puzzled, he looked down at the yellowish piece of paper he held in his hands.

"Reading corner," he mumbled absent-mindedly, scratching his head.

"Good morning," Hermione said, giggling again at the look of surprise on her father's face.

He seemed to regain his composure, for he finally returned the morning greeting and held out the hand with the letter to her.

"It's for you," he said. Hermione frowned and took the letter.

"Reading corner in the second bedroom?" she exclaimed, looking at her father in disbelief.

The latter shrugged and left the room, stating that he would make her breakfast. But Hermione had already loosened the seal with a displeased huff and her eyes darted over the curved script of the lines written in green ink.


HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF

WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

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 a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you are the first witch in a family tree of non-magical people, this letter is merely an announcement of our assigned teacher, who will be visiting you in the next few hours to give you more details.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress


Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did Debbie go to such lengths just to call her a witch? Seals, green curved writing, a school crest. Paper that looked like parchment she had seen in the Museum of London. And then this exact description of her current seating position. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet and walked towards the stairs.

"Now, who invited you for their birthday?" her father asked as Hermione entered the dining room. When he saw her scowl, his brow furrowed as well.

"No one, just another stupid prank!" said Hermione. Mr Granger sighed and silently prepared the English breakfast for his daughter.

He took extra care in arranging it and beamed when he saw Hermione's smile at the sight of the plate.

"Enjoy," he said. Hermione thanked him and began to eat. She had to admit that by now her father cooked a better breakfast than her mother. Hermione had spat out his first attempts as a kindergartener with a distorted face, which had awakened ambition in him.

"Let me see that," Mr Granger said, holding out his hand. Hermione handed him the letter and her father's eyes darted over the few lines.

"What's this supposed to be?" he asked aloud, frowning.

Hermione shook her head, munching, and rolled her eyes.

"A bit elaborate for an insult, don't you think?" he asked.

"That's what I thought, but you don't believe a word of that letter, do you?" asked Hermione in astonishment. Her father scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Strange, a night after Martha and I first discussed a change of school," he mused.

"Then I'm curious to see what's in store for us there in 'the next few hours'," he said, underlining the quoted wording from the letter with his fingers.

"Probably a burning paper bag full of dog poo," Hermione said grimly. When her father started laughing in response, Hermione's mood improved too.

"Or maybe Merlin really is at the door," she said sarcastically and they both laughed.

When she was full, Hermione stood up and told her father to only let people into the house who were leaning on a wizard's staff and wearing a beard down to the ground. Mr Granger snorted and replied that he would call her if anyone rang the bell that wasn't on fire.

It was just before noon when the doorbell rang briefly. Mr Granger frowned and rose from his chair. As he walked towards the door, he could make out the outline of a person behind the milky glass.

"No burning poo," he muttered before opening the door. Standing in front of him was not Merlin, but the young man was wearing a dark green robe that could at best be the latest thing in fashion, but Mr Granger had never met a person who dressed so extravagantly.

"Good afternoon," the man said, looking a little embarrassed. "I am Professor Snape, I presume you have been informed of my visit?" he added as Mr Granger merely eyed him up and down several times.

"Good - good afternoon. Forgive me, but if this is a prank, I must tell you that you are wasting your time," Mr Granger said as he regained his composure and gave the young man a frown.

"Not at all, I will explain everything to you. If I could just ask you to proceed inside." The man seemed to have anticipated Mr Granger's suspicions. With his black eyes he appraised Mr. Granger, whose suspicion then strangely subsided.

"Well, excuse me," he said, stepping aside so that the visitor could enter.

Professor Snape entered with his arms folded behind his back and let his gaze wander briefly around the place.

"I must say, Mr. Granger, the decor of your home is more stylish than many a wizard's home," Snape said.

"Um - thank you," Mr Granger said, confused. If this man was an actor, he must be getting a substantial salary for this prank.

"I take it Miss Granger is at home? Would you be so kind as to summon her? I would rather not have to repeat the explanation. After Miss Granger, I have another appointment with a Muggle family," Professor Snape explained.

"Sure," replied Mr. Granger, who was momentarily unsure if the man had insulted him with the unfamiliar word.

"Hermione! Professor Snape is here!" he called over his shoulder, motioning for Professor Snape to take a seat on the couch.

Hermione's bedroom door flew open instantly. She had been waiting eagerly behind her door ever since she had heard the bell. Trusting her father's judgement that it was not a prank, she whirled down the stairs. At the bottom she stopped briefly to collect herself and then headed towards the living room.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," said the black-haired man sitting on the couch. Hermione guessed him to be in his late twenties, but his black eyes looked as if the man had lived at least twice that long.

"Sit down, my dear!" her father said, putting a hand on her shoulder after she had lowered herself onto the armchair. She was very grateful to him for the sign of support and now looked up shyly at Professor Snape.

"Now then, first I would like to extend greetings from the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He regrets not being able to attend your first magical encounter in person today. He has been prevented from attending by a last-minute appointment, so I am standing in for him. I would like to get to the point quickly and remove any doubts about the legitimacy of this meeting," Professor Snape said, brushing aside part of his cloak.

He pulled out a black wooden wand from an inside pocket. Hermione's eyes widened as he waved it and a terracotta teapot and three ornate cups appeared out of nowhere, floating in the air between the sofa and Hermione's armchair. Her father uttered a surprised sound. With another wave of his wand, Professor Snape had the teapot pour its steaming contents into the cups and took one cup out of the air as the other two cups floated precisely towards the two Grangers. Hermione accepted her cup, stunned, and smelled the steaming drink.

"I hope ginger is all right for you. I've added a few leaves of young mandrake to it to flavour it up a bit," he said, taking a large sip.

Hermione was still looking at the cup in her hand. After one last glance at her counterpart, she took heart and took a sip, which ran warmly down her throat. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, this is the best tea I've ever had!" exclaimed Hermione, taking another sip.

"I'm glad to hear that the tea was good for something more besides the demonstration. You can let go of the cup in the meantime if you like," Professor Snape said, setting his cup down in mid-air.

"Turning now to the purpose of my visit. Firstly, I regret that Mrs. Granger cannot be present while you Miss Granger experience your first contact with the wizarding world. I am sure Professor Dumbledore will set up an appointment to meet the entire family before picking you up to go shopping in Diagon Alley. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You, Miss Granger are a witch and have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as mentioned in your letter. The school year begins on the first of September. In order to best develop the magical abilities of our students, you will be staying at Hogwarts beyond school hours. During several holiday periods, you are free to leave the school in order to visit your relatives," Professor Snape said.

Hermione had listened to him spellbound. The wizard's words seemed prefabricated and official, but he delivered them with such elegance and eloquence that Hermione, who by now believed what was being said 100 per cent, found her mouth slightly agape.

"I see that you are both slightly in shock, a perfectly normal behaviour in Muggles and Muggle-borns when you first come into contact with wizards," Professor Snape said, the corners of his mouth moving upwards almost imperceptibly.

"You call non-magic people 'muggles'?" asked Hermione and Professor Snape instantly interpreted her frown.

"That's not meant as an insult at all, it's more of a regional shorthand for the non-magic population. The word has evolved over the centuries and is used exclusively in Britain," Professor Snape explained.

"So Hogwarts is a boarding school for wizards? When is she supposed to have time to learn the non-magic subject matter?" asked Mr Granger.

Professor Snape seemed prepared for such a question, for he answered without thinking.

"Miss Granger and you too, as her parents, are now part of magical society if you so wish. Of course, you are free to ignore that fact and continue living your lives just as if today had never happened. However, if you wish to join the magical community, the teachings of the Muggles are no longer of concern to you, Miss Granger. Of course, if you wish, you can catch up on Muggle teachings after your time at Hogwarts," he said, glancing alternately at Hermione and her father.

"So I - I really do have magical powers? There's no mistake about that?" asked Hermione after she had finished the wonderful tea.

Professor Snape now smiled properly for the first time.

"Have you never had anything unusual happen? Let objects fly into your hand?" he asked.

"Not that I know of," said the brooding Hermione, but it was her father who let out a surprised sound.

"You did, Hermione, as a baby there were times when we couldn't get your dummy out of your mouth with any force in the world, even though Martha and I both pulled on it. And as a toddler you filled your favourite cup seemingly by yourself when we weren't looking. We always blamed it on our tiredness, we were still students and about to graduate. We haven't noticed anything since primary school though," Mr Granger said, scratching his chin restrainedly at the last sentence.

Hermione, who had lowered her eyes at her father's last sentence, now looked up at Professor Snape. He appraised her with his black eyes and a few moments passed in silence. Then, for a moment, a look of understanding and concern entered Professor Snape's face before his expression became neutral again.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, you are a witch," he said firmly and Hermione nodded.

"What subject do you teach at Hogwarts, Professor?" asked Hermione, finally believing her counterpart.

"I teach the art of potions," he replied and Hermione could detect a certain pride in his words.

"You are very young to be a professor, you must really know your subject! At my university the youngest professors were in their early forties," Mr Granger said.

"Professor, unlike in most Muggle schools, is the official title for any teacher at Hogwarts, but does not reflect their degree," he said, nodding at Mr Granger as a sign that he had understood his compliment and was not offended.

"If you have any further questions, I would ask you to wait for Professor Dumbledore's arrival, as I have another appointment with a family of a Muggle-born student," Professor Snape said, waving his wand, whereupon the empty cups and teapot disappeared, and rose gracefully from the couch.

Hermione beamed at the renewed use of magic and swallowed the thousand questions she could ask Professor Snape. Hermione and Mr Granger escorted Professor Snape to the door.

"I'll see you at the Start-of-Term Feast," he said, nodding to the two Grangers standing in the doorway. He turned gracefully and walked away towards the Thames. Hermione and her father looked at each other with wide eyes and closed the door.

Author's Note: Dear friends and Harry Potter fans, I would like to make my first attempt at writing a story in the Harry Potter universe that takes a different path from the story by J.K. Rowling which I adore. There will be minor and major deviations from the plot of the Harry Potter series over the years, but the basic storyline of the books will remain intact and the destruction of Lord Voldemort will remain the motif of this story. As it is already evident from the rating, there will be descriptions of sexual interactions in the story. As English is not my mother tongue, I have translated the story and since my knowledge of Great Britain is that of a foreigner, I apologise for any deviations from British muggle reality ;) I have begun to publish this story at AO3 and will now update here as well, if any of you is interested in the german original chapters (or the english chapters over there), you will find me and the story there with the same names. I hope you enjoy the story and would be delighted to receive your reviews.