Hermione's Letter
Chapter 1
Revised 31 July 2003
Hermione's Letter copyright © 2003
Steven Gilks. All rights reserved. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and all
related scenarios and everything else Harry Potter copyright © J.K. Rowling. No
copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
OK, now to all the readers: When
you've read each chapter, please review my work. Whether you think it's good,
bad or you're not really sure either way, please let me know.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1
Hermione
Granger, Gryffindor genius and Muggle-born witch, friend of Harry Potter and
Ronald Weasley, and seriously beautiful young girl, walked slowly and perhaps a
little timidly along a dirt path which wound its way through the huge green
fields that surrounded her home. The emerald leaves of the trees present there
fluttered about in the cold winds brushing themselves up against the colossal
trees. Hermione shuddered as she made her way through this expanse of greens
and browns, as she had often done, as she had always done. The lowering sun
projected a radiance of orange across the land and Hermione's face was bathed
in it; the light made her seem to glow and to any outsider she would have
seemed as beautiful as crystal clear waters washing up on a golden beach. Hermione
often came to these woods to contemplate her life and to think about her
friends. She'd not seen Harry or Ron all summer, but she had kept in touch by
owl. But she missed them dearly, and wanted, even needed to see them.
She
walked on down the track, heading towards the massive gate in front of her
house. The house itself was as big as a national monument; there was a huge
garden with fountains and bushes, a swimming pool, a small car park, and at the
very front, large metal gates and a similar fence surrounding the structure,
which in itself took much ground, and extended back and up quite a distance
too. There was a smaller structure to the side, which although well maintained,
was usually deserted.
Hermione
quickened her pace, and unaware of her actions, walked straight into the closed
gate, knocking herself back and down onto the dirt track. She had been
distracted, and for the same reason she always was lately – her friend Harry,
The Boy Who Lived.
She
picked herself up, brushing the dirt off of her long summer dress, and entering
a keypad sequence on a control panel on the gates to open them. As they were
electronically sealed, the doors took a moment to open, but eventually they
parted, and she passed through, the gates swinging shut behind her. As she
walked up the drive, she continued her quiet contemplation.
Her
feelings of joy at seeing him once again following her long recovery from being
petrified by an ancient Basilisk, a snake-like creature that had previously
been living inside the long-hidden Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry, had bordered on ecstasy, and she had been somewhat
overwhelmed by the level of emotion she had experienced then. It was most
unusual, she thought. Her logical mind could not dismiss this most illogical
thing, and she had had plenty of time to consider it over the summer; the
feelings of transient energy that passed through her body when she took Harry
in her arms and clung on to him; the powerful sentiments that she now
experienced when she simply spoke to him; these things were indicative of the
new connection that existed between the two young magic folk.
She had
come up with only one conclusion. Her feelings were demonstrative of only one
thing – love. But how could she feel that way for him? How could she be
attracted to her best friend? Why was her heart telling her to risk it all just
to hold him in her arms, as her own? Could she risk losing the wonderful
friendship they shared? How far would she go to satisfy her feelings, her need for this boy?
She
couldn't expel these ideas from her mind, no matter how much she told herself
to. Hermione was academically very brilliant, but her powers of
thought-stopping were not as immense. But then, she thought, no-one was
perfect. Besides, what sane girl could
resist Harry? He was attractive, a great Seeker, the only person to have ever
survived an attack by the feared Lord Voldemort, and a master of insulting the
constant niggle that was Draco Malfoy. Hermione felt
she'd be mad not to like him. But
then, with so many girls swooning at the mention of his name, perhaps what he
really needed was someone who didn't do that. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps
I shouldn't go after him. He really needs a friend, and maybe I will be better
for him in that capacity. Maybe I should sweep these feelings aside. But
there was no conviction to her thoughts, and really she knew that if it wasn't
just lust, but in fact was the powerful sentiment commonly known as love,
no-one, not she, Harry, or anyone else, would be able to resist it.
It gave
her something nice to think about as she reached the front door and entered her
house with the use of another security code. For Hermione, something else that
was nice to think about was her school work. She had of course done her
homework at the start of summer, but she had felt that the cancellation of
exams that had been declared by Professor Dumbledore as a school treat at the
end of the previous term and school year obliged her to do additional work to
maintain her standard. There was no doubt that Hermione did her absolute best
when it came to academics. She maintained a massive standard and was truly
someone to be measured by in that regard.
She
glanced into the living room, which was indeed a huge room, as big as a hall,
and saw her father there, watching television and drinking tea from a
flagon-sized cup. He saw her and gave her a smile, and she returned the
gesture, although not entering the room. She was still deep in thought. She
reached the staircase and ascended to the first floor, then rounding the
corners she utilised a further set of stairs to get to the second floor – her
floor. The entire floor was decorated in a deep purple tone, which Hermione was
very proud of – she loved this colour, and it was a calming influence on her.
Her
bedroom, by comparison, although of a similarly large size to the other rooms
in the house, held a stark contrast on its walls to those of the corridor it
was adjoined to. The bright yellow shades emitted by the Sun were reflected here;
the walls were the colour of sunflowers, and the bright tones reflected
Hermione's good-heartedness.
Hermione entered the room, and closed the heavy wooden door, locking it with a
long, brass key so as not to be disturbed by her parents. She liked to work
undisturbed, although of course tonight, she knew, she did not want to be alone
solely so she could work. She also wanted to think without interruption. Fortunately, Hermione's mother and
father were very aware of her moods, and were able to tell when she wanted to
be comforted, to be left alone, or just to be chatted with. She could rely on
them not to disrupt her quiet contemplation. It was relieving to Hermione that
she was able to do this, and that they respected her privacy. She valued this
treatment greatly, and she loved her Muggle parents immensely, for this and
many other wonderful qualities that they possessed. They were magical in their
own way.
She
flopped onto her bed, which was an ancient, but charming, double bed with four
posts and curtains surrounding it, and lay back, simply thinking. Thoughts she
had previously had of doing further academic assignments faded away, as did the
hours since she had landed there on her bed. Before long, she found her eyes
closing, and drifted off into sleep, early on this summer night.
Towards
the end of her sleep cycle, she had a strange and memorable dream, which was
extremely odd for Hermione as she rarely recalled her sleeping thoughts. This
night they consisted of a cold place, and of an odd figure; undefined, but very
real. The figure stood in front of her, a mist surrounding it, making it
impossible for Hermione to determine its identity. She approached it, and in
response it turned and ran away through the snowy landscape. Hermione could not
see any of her surroundings except the ground, owing to the massive levels of
mist present, but she could feel the cold of the snow there. She pursued the
figure, and called out to it as she did so, but it continued to accelerate and
soon it was out of the range of the girl's sight. She tried to trace it by
footprints, but on looking down to the ground she found the figure had left
none…
The rest
of her sleep cycle was uninterrupted by strange imagery, and she awoke the next
morning to a sharp banging on the door of her bright bedroom. The big bay
windows opposite her revealed that it was early morning; a warm light
penetrated the room through the same viewpoint.
Hermione
slipped off of the bed, and walked over to the door, rubbing sleep from her
eyes as she did so, and unlocked the door, opening to find the face of the
family butler smiling at her.
"Good
morning Miss Hermione. How are we this morning?" He addressed Hermione with the
utmost respect.
Hermione
flashed her warm smile at him with all of her usual charm. "I'm ok, thank you.
Yourself?"
"I am
very well, Miss, and thank you for asking. You will, of course, have remembered
that you have to catch the Hogwarts Express at eleven, and your parents have
asked that you be ready well in advance, in order that I may drive you all to
the station. Additionally, this morning I have a letter for you. I was of the
impression that all your letters came on the leg of an owl, so I was quite
surprised to find this in the post box this morning." The butler handed the young
Gryffindor the letter, and left the room, heading back down the stairs to the
ground floor.
Hermione
took the letter and placed it on her desk, deciding she wanted to get changed
first. She found a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from her wardrobe, which stood
along the left wall of her expansive room, as well as some undergarments, and
proceeded to the shower room.
After
cleaning herself and putting on her choice of apparel for the journey, she was
graced by another visit from the butler. He came up to her room with a rack of
toast and a cup of tea of a similar size to that which her father had had the
previous night. Hermione, too, was a fan of the 'flagon of tea'. She thanked
the butler and he once again disappeared to serve Hermione's parents.
She consumed
the toast rapidly, fighting the hunger in her belly until it was as miniscule
as a millipede, and then, remembering the letter, wandered over to her rustic
desk and picked up the envelope, which possessed a slight brown tinge, as if it
were very old. She examined the writing and almost instantly recognized it,
with no doubt in her mind as to the creator of the script.
She
proceeded with trepidation to the task of opening the envelope. Doing so carefully
so as not to damage the note that would undoubtedly be inside, she quivered in
both the early-morning breeze, which permeated her room via the open window,
and her uncertainty of what the letter might contain.
Finally,
the envelope was opened, and Hermione pulled out the letter, which was written
by hand on old, fragile paper which too possessed a light brown colouring and
the same unmistakable handwriting.
With her
heart pumping a little more than usual, she began to scan the text.
And it
read:
Dear
Hermione…