How I became a witch

By Aldarwen

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters and places you recognize on this fic. They belong to J. K. Rowling, and I do not want to make any profit or harm from it.

Chapter 1, Weird mail

The sun lurks from the window of my bedroom, warming my face with its comforting light. Lazily, I open one eye, and the other, but they are feeling heavy and soon I'm obliged to close them again. Mentally, I blame myself for having left the persiennes open yesterday at night. My mother is constantly reminding me of it, and still, I had made the fantastic achievement of forgetting it all the same. Moreover, I hate to be woken up by the sunlight. It is a habit that I'll only acquire on my late Hogwarts days, from my roommates Parvati and Lavender.

Soon, I realize I haven't woken up as early as I'd thought – though it still feels like – as my alarm clock also shows its first signs of wanting to get me out of bed. If I could barely sleep with the brightness of the room, it is obvious I cannot bear the sound of the clock ringing. I jump to the floor in a minute and feel a sudden urge to hit the alarm clock very badly. However, I refrain from it as my mother enters the room right away.

"Hello, sweetheart," she greets me with the usual sweet Saturday morning smile. "Waken up already?"

I nod as I politely turn off the alarm. It comes as a bit of a relief to my ears. My mother walks through the room to the window, pushing down the persiennes a little, with the usual reprimand.

"Did you leave this open all night?"

As she's not looking at me, I avoid answering. This is almost a rhetorical question between us. My mother knows me well enough to see that if it's still open, that's a sign that I slept with it open, I woke up with the sunlight... and I'm not in a good mood.

"Come on," she says, before closing the door and leaving the room, "I've prepared hot chocolate and toast for your breakfast."

My mood lifts up a bit. If anyone likes to please me at the beginning of the day, it is by preparing hot chocolate. Yum. My stomach seems to have understood the message and starts making those weird noises, asking for food. Hurriedly, I look for my slippers, who are usually beside my bed but might have been placed somewhere else by my cat. When I finally find the pair, she comes running through the door and jumps to my bed, curling in the middle of the sheets.

"Good morning, Greymalkin," I say, stroking her on her elegant and smooth grey back. Soon, however, I hear my mother's call downstairs which reminds me again of breakfast. I leave the room hurriedly. Greymalkin jumps down to the floor again, in her lazy, catlike insinuating way and follows me to the kitchen. It seems as though I'm not the only one eagerly awaiting the first meal of the day.

My mother's already set the table with all the delicious things I wanted. I sit at my chair and I take a long, deep breath. The air of the morning with its refreshing breeze comforts me. It's a sunny but not too hot day, one of those I really love, and soon the mood I've woken up with is replaced by a fairly happy disposition.

"What do you want your toast with?" my mother asks, as she comes through the door and sits in front of me. She already has a toast in her hands. She's fairly efficient in everything she does... sometimes I even think she has some kind of obsession with perfection, mainly in her work. I'm glad she is that way though, or she wouldn't have become a dentist and married my father! But I think I've inherited these characteristics from her, so I can't criticize her. It's not a bad thing at all, although some people may find it annoying at times...

"Marmalade," I say, after my eyes scan the variety of flavours displayed in front of me. My mother swiftly picks the knife and spreads the marmalade on my toast, handing it to me promptly.

I take a bite of it and then sip on the hot chocolate. Mmmmm. Although it's summer, I cannot help but like it, as it is one of my favourite drinks. My mother still finds it weird, though she never really complained about it; she prefers her cool lemonade.

"So how was the party yesterday?" my mother asks, obviously trying to get some conversation going on between us. I'm still watching the coming and going of the cars beyond the window, the monotony of the traffic in our streets. I moan something close to a response.

"It was okay." I shrug. I'm not a party person myself, but when it comes to end of the year parties, I cannot come up with an excuse as easily – chiefly because my mother does not encourage me to. I ended up sitting with Ashley, my best friend, in a corner, and we talked about many things, including the latest history exhibition we went to with school, the Star Wars movie we had both seen on the weekend, and our projects for the future... Ashley told me she'd like to become a scientist. I know how she likes to do research and she's incredibly good at math, so it makes sense. I told her I'd like to become a writer, but in fact, I've never really thought about it. I feel it's so far away, and my life could turn upside down until I have to choose... I guess I could become a writer, like I told my friend, because I have a thing for books and reading. I get lost in those tales of fiction and fantasy, romance and drama, and I wish I could become a part of them someday. And as it is not possible, maybe I could just fulfil part of that dream by bringing that world of my own to life through words.

"You're so quiet," my mother says, startling me from my thoughts. I had become so involved on them that I had become unaware of what happened around me. "Did anything go wrong? Didn't you meet new people?"

I shake my head. Apart from that horrible kid from our class who is teasing everyone every single second and came to annoy us, the party hadn't been boring at all. "I told you, it was okay."

My mother sighs and shrugs. Despite her best efforts, I'm not too good at socializing; and I can't say my parents are the best example, either. But I'm just fine this way. I guess I just cannot stand those mindless conversations about nothing, just silly stuff, or the last episode of the soap opera. Every girl in my class is like that; except me and Ashley, of course, and Holly, who hangs out with the boys and spends most of her time playing football with them.

Just about in time to break the silence, my father enters the room. He brings, as usual, the mail on his hands, and is already prepared to go to work. He sits with us at the table, and my mother starts preparing his breakfast as he distributes the mail. As usual, nothing arrived for me. Or nothing seems to have arrived.

"There's a letter for you, Hermione," my father says, and I look at him, eager to know what surprises might have come. But he does not put the letter on the table, in front of me, immediately. He looks at my mother with a grave expression on his face, and finally turns to me. "Have any of your friends been playing jokes on you?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Why do you say that?" I had never received a prank or a joke through mail, and I couldn't see why someone would try doing it at this time of year, when classes had already ended and I was going to change to High School. My father, looking a bit fearful and confused, drops the mysterious envelope right beside my mug on the table.

It is definitely a rather unusual letter. The envelope is thick, of a material that resembles old parchment, and the address is written in emerald green ink. Oddly enough, it is directed to "Ms. H. Granger, Bedroom upstairs," with the correct address below – otherwise it wouldn't make it through the mail, I guess – and behind, there's a stamp of a symbol that reminds me of an ancient coat-of-arms, with a big "H" in the middle. I wonder what it means.

"Someone's been really creative about their joke," my father remarks, while I slowly open the envelope, almost carefully as if I were afraid of tearing or damaging something. "The material seems almost authentic."

My mother chuckles, but nervously. She isn't pleased at the fact that this mysterious letter arrived but she can't help but laugh at the calm way my father deals with things.  As soon as she notices I'm opening the envelope, she holds her breath, almost anxiously. "Do you really think it's a good idea to open it?"

"Let her see what it's about," my father says right after, as if comforting or convincing her. "You'll see it's just Ashley, knowing how she loves these fantasy things, and the letter on the inside will explain it. Who else knows that our daughter sleeps upstairs anyway?"

My mother shrugs and nods. After all, my father makes a point, and it would seem a quite plausible one had the letter on the inside corresponded to his expectations. But it is very much different that what my father had predicted; it talks about a new school, about wizards and witchcraft, and about owls; it is even more confusing than the arrival of the envelope itself.

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 Ms Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

What is this? The confusion in my head is growing quite large.  I recognize some names – Merlin for one – as I have read many authors' takes on Arthurian legends, but I cannot understand what they are doing in there. I move for the next page, the supplies' list, and as my eyes wade through the names, I notice materials such as 'cauldron' and 'wand'. I wonder if this is real. If it is, then it's the passport I needed for that fantasy world I had always dreamt about; it's that life-changing experience I wanted.

"This is crazy," my mother moans as she reads the first page of the letter. "What do you think, Jon?" She hands my father the piece of parchment – it certainly does not look like paper – and my father comments after a quick glance.

"I just think that the people who sent this should dedicate themselves to writing fantasy books," he says, sighing. "This type of thing works really well with the kids. Very imaginative." He then nods sarcastically, as if approving of it, when clearly he disagrees with the 'joke' he thinks this is.

I look up from the supplies' list parchment, which I was reading, to look at my parents. My mother is biting her lip, looking quite bewildered, not sure in what to believe; it seems as though no explanation has yet satisfied her. My father looks as if nothing had really happened. But I'm still not convinced. Everything in this mysterious envelope, from the supplies to the books' names, to the content of the letter itself, seems quite coherent between them, too flawless for a kid's joke.

"May- Maybe this is not a joke, dad." My suggestion, instead of making my parents jump on their seats as I had expected, has the opposite effect. My mother looks anxiously at my father, waiting for his reaction; but he seems just as calm as ever.

"You mustn't believe in fantasy tales so easily, sweetheart," he says, looking at me almost pitifully, with a comforting smile. "This is silly in all its content. You do not really believe someone could have a wand, do you?"

I shake my head. Maybe he's right. I've only seen someone hold a wand in the Disney movies, when I was five, six years old. Those tales have always fascinated me, but I've never imagined they could be true. And they weren't true. Usually, my father is the one who has the reason, while I keep dreaming, dreams which are usually crushed when confronted with reality.

But I do not give up hope while I still don't know the truth. And while my father can build many plausible theories, they're not necessarily true. "Then...why did someone send this to me?" I ask.

My father shrugs. "That I do not know. Maybe you should ask your friend Ashley?"

I shake my head. Ashley would never send such a letter to me without telling me about it, for she knew what my reaction would be. "There you have it... Why would someone send this to me? The only explanation is, because this is true!" I shoot at my father, raising my voice. "Why don't you believe a magical world away from this boring, modern life could be true? Why?"

My mother bites her lip, while my father shows signs of doing an extreme effort controlling himself not to yell at me in return. "Maybe you should go change yourself, Ashley should be arriving soon; don't forget you were supposed to meet today at 11," she says almost in a whisper, urging me to leave the kitchen. Maybe I had gone too far now, but my father had provoked my reaction through his indifferent comments.

"I will," I reassure my mother. I grab the letter on the table hurriedly and leave the kitchen, heading straight to my room.

A/N: I hope you liked! Please review; constructive criticism is welcome, blatant flames will be ignored. Thanks in advance!