Summary: Not your normal HP fanfic. This is the story of Hermione's
discovery of the wizarding world and her witchcrafting abilities. And
*gasp* there's NO Harry Potter in this one, except for mentionings of him.
How odd! I hope you like it. And remember to review!
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Anything that belongs to J.K. Rowling is not mine. That sentence makes way too much sense.
ATTENTION: I had to make up several things in this story, including the Muggle school, Mr. And Mrs. Granger's first names, etc. I hope you don't mind.
~*~
"Could you tell me what room Dr. Granger is in?" Hermione twisted a strand of her curly hair impatiently, scowling.
"Which one, dear?" The secretary, subbing in for Mrs. Progi, obviously didn't know who Hermione was. Hermione hoped that the young woman didn't think that Hermione was angry with her.
"Either one, it doesn't matter," Hermione sighed.
"Er, alright, Dr. Phillip Granger is in Room 103." Said the secretary, somewhat puzzled. Nodding, Hermione started off down the hallway.
"Thank you," she called over her shoulder indifferently, having remembered her manners. She walked, or rather stomped, down the narrow corridor. One hand clenched an envelope, the seal broken. Hermione glanced down at it and only narrowly avoided walking into a wall as her eyes filled with angry tears. She wiped them away furiously with her free hand, and turned a corner to face a door with a simple black "103" printed on the wood. She listened for a moment, and after hearing voices behind the door, knocked twice.
"Dad?" The door opened and a tall man in scrubs and a doctor's mask stood before Hermione. His eyes looked at her incredulously from behind thick eyeglasses.
"Hermione!" came his voice from behind the plastic mask. "What are you doing here?"
"I. I have to talk to you," said Hermione, her voice wavering as tears threatened to spill again. Behind Dr. Granger was a nurse, standing by a teenage boy in the dentist's chair, prevented from moving by a large machine of some sort connected to his mouth. The nurse approached the door.
"Doctor, I can continue if you need a few minutes," offered the nurse. Phillip nodded and pulled down his mask to his neck. Then he turned to the boy.
"Michael, Nurse Emily is going to finish up and then your parents will come to take you home." The boy nodded as much as he was able, and Dr. Granger stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Noticing Hermione's tearstained face, his puzzled look changed to one of sympathy.
"Honey, what's wrong?" He asked. Silently, Hermione handed the envelope to her father. He withdrew a paper from it.
"Dear applicant," he read, "we at Kensington Academy must regret to inform you that." he trailed off, reading silently. "Oh dear."
"I didn't get in," Hermione summarized the lengthy letter with four simple words.
~*~
(Author's Note: I added this last part because I thought, and so did other people, that this first chapter was too short. So here's a little bit of length to add to it.)
Hermione sat glumly on a plastic seat on the train headed home. Holding her head in a hand, she thought about her summer. She'd spent the entire two months fantasizing about Kensington Academy, about how well she'd fit in there and about leaving her old school behind her. And the stuffy, snobby officials had rejected her, for "undisclosed reasons!" Hermione decided that when she got home she would burn all the files, essays and information that she was going to bring to Kensington. For the remainder of the train ride, she was slightly cheered.
She signaled a taxi-cab after getting off the train. The driver, a middle- aged man with slightly graying hair, looked at her curiously but didn't query about the reasons for an eleven-year-old alone in the city. As they drove through Hermione's neighborhood, she couldn't help but groan at the pubic school they were passing - the one Hermione would inevitably have to go to.
The cabby must have heard her, because he asked lightly, "Don't want to go back to school, huh?"
Hermione looked up, surprised. "Actually, it's not school that bothers me, it's just." she trailed off.
"It's just you don't fit in. Nothing seems to feel right for you." the cabby answered her statement for her.
"That's exactly it! Are you a psychic or something?" Hermione asked, amazed. The cabby laughed.
"Something like that," he replied.
The taxi arrived at Hermione's house. She got out and handed a twenty-pound note to the driver through the passenger's seat window. As the cabby opened a drawer to get her change, Hermione noticed several strange coins, a few bronze, two silver and one that looked like it was made of gold. She looked away, shrugging mentally, and put it out of her mind.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Anything that belongs to J.K. Rowling is not mine. That sentence makes way too much sense.
ATTENTION: I had to make up several things in this story, including the Muggle school, Mr. And Mrs. Granger's first names, etc. I hope you don't mind.
~*~
"Could you tell me what room Dr. Granger is in?" Hermione twisted a strand of her curly hair impatiently, scowling.
"Which one, dear?" The secretary, subbing in for Mrs. Progi, obviously didn't know who Hermione was. Hermione hoped that the young woman didn't think that Hermione was angry with her.
"Either one, it doesn't matter," Hermione sighed.
"Er, alright, Dr. Phillip Granger is in Room 103." Said the secretary, somewhat puzzled. Nodding, Hermione started off down the hallway.
"Thank you," she called over her shoulder indifferently, having remembered her manners. She walked, or rather stomped, down the narrow corridor. One hand clenched an envelope, the seal broken. Hermione glanced down at it and only narrowly avoided walking into a wall as her eyes filled with angry tears. She wiped them away furiously with her free hand, and turned a corner to face a door with a simple black "103" printed on the wood. She listened for a moment, and after hearing voices behind the door, knocked twice.
"Dad?" The door opened and a tall man in scrubs and a doctor's mask stood before Hermione. His eyes looked at her incredulously from behind thick eyeglasses.
"Hermione!" came his voice from behind the plastic mask. "What are you doing here?"
"I. I have to talk to you," said Hermione, her voice wavering as tears threatened to spill again. Behind Dr. Granger was a nurse, standing by a teenage boy in the dentist's chair, prevented from moving by a large machine of some sort connected to his mouth. The nurse approached the door.
"Doctor, I can continue if you need a few minutes," offered the nurse. Phillip nodded and pulled down his mask to his neck. Then he turned to the boy.
"Michael, Nurse Emily is going to finish up and then your parents will come to take you home." The boy nodded as much as he was able, and Dr. Granger stepped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Noticing Hermione's tearstained face, his puzzled look changed to one of sympathy.
"Honey, what's wrong?" He asked. Silently, Hermione handed the envelope to her father. He withdrew a paper from it.
"Dear applicant," he read, "we at Kensington Academy must regret to inform you that." he trailed off, reading silently. "Oh dear."
"I didn't get in," Hermione summarized the lengthy letter with four simple words.
~*~
(Author's Note: I added this last part because I thought, and so did other people, that this first chapter was too short. So here's a little bit of length to add to it.)
Hermione sat glumly on a plastic seat on the train headed home. Holding her head in a hand, she thought about her summer. She'd spent the entire two months fantasizing about Kensington Academy, about how well she'd fit in there and about leaving her old school behind her. And the stuffy, snobby officials had rejected her, for "undisclosed reasons!" Hermione decided that when she got home she would burn all the files, essays and information that she was going to bring to Kensington. For the remainder of the train ride, she was slightly cheered.
She signaled a taxi-cab after getting off the train. The driver, a middle- aged man with slightly graying hair, looked at her curiously but didn't query about the reasons for an eleven-year-old alone in the city. As they drove through Hermione's neighborhood, she couldn't help but groan at the pubic school they were passing - the one Hermione would inevitably have to go to.
The cabby must have heard her, because he asked lightly, "Don't want to go back to school, huh?"
Hermione looked up, surprised. "Actually, it's not school that bothers me, it's just." she trailed off.
"It's just you don't fit in. Nothing seems to feel right for you." the cabby answered her statement for her.
"That's exactly it! Are you a psychic or something?" Hermione asked, amazed. The cabby laughed.
"Something like that," he replied.
The taxi arrived at Hermione's house. She got out and handed a twenty-pound note to the driver through the passenger's seat window. As the cabby opened a drawer to get her change, Hermione noticed several strange coins, a few bronze, two silver and one that looked like it was made of gold. She looked away, shrugging mentally, and put it out of her mind.