This is just the first chapter of a story that will not continue to be updated here, being postsed to see how works. Yes, I realize that Hermione's parents should be referred to as 'Dr Granger,' not Mr and Mrs, but two people with the same name would get rather confusing.

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Alfred and Emily Granger of London, England always thought of themselves as perfectly normal. They had never been involved in anything strange or mysterious, though they secretly wondered to themselves if there could be more to see if one simply knew how and where to look.

The Grangers worked together in a private dental office. Mr Granger preferred paediatric dentistry, as he believed individuals that barely knew how to speak tended to argue less about modes of treatment. He was a tall, thin man with straight black hair and rimless spectacles. Mrs Granger was a petite woman with thick, curly (and at times unruly) brown hair and a perfect smile indicative of years in a brace. She chose to work with adults, as she laboured under the sometimes false assumption that they cried less. However, for over a year now, Mr Granger had been seeing both sets of patients while his wife stayed home with their new daughter, Hermione.

The Grangers had nearly everything they wanted, but if they were honest with themselves, they had to admit that their lives were rather boring. Many a mealtime conversation centred on the possibility that there was more to life than scraping this morning's breakfast from some old dear's teeth, but they always came to the same conclusion: dentistry was a fine profession and they both took pleasure in the shining smiles of their patients, so there was no reason to go about changing things. Additionally, there was good money in dentistry and they had Hermione's education to think of.

When Mr Granger woke up on the dull, grey morning our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Tuesday was the office's early day, when he went in before business hours to see patients that needed work done prior to going off to their own jobs. Mr Granger tiptoed quietly about the bedroom as he dressed, so as not to wake his wife, before sneaking in to visit Hermione who was asleep amongst a pile of squashy baby books in her crib. He carefully brushed the baby's thick brown curls out of her face and gently kissed her forehead before leaving the house.

It was on his way to work that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a sign on the southwest motorway that said Surrey - 65 km. Mr Granger quickly removed his glasses and rubbed them on the freshly laundered lab coat in the passenger's seat before putting them back on. Once he could see again, he made two decisions. One was that the cat obviously was not reading the sign, but looking at it. The other was that Emily would have to take care of Hermione if she woke up on Monday nights from now on because he clearly was not getting enough rest. Mr Granger drove on toward his office, completely absorbed in contemplating the possible consequences of having a similar lapse while working with a patient.

While stuck in the usual morning traffic jam in the heart of the city, lawsuits were driven from Mr Granger's mind when he noticed that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about, wearing cloaks and oddly shaped hats. Naturally, having spent most of his life in London, Mr Granger was accustomed to young people experimenting with new fashions and usually found them interesting and creative, but he couldn't help noticing many of the cloak-wearing individuals appeared to be his age or older. He wondered if they were dressed to put on a new play in town and made a mental note to ask his receptionist if she had heard anything new about the local theatre lately. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr Granger pulled into the driveway on the side of his office, wondering about treating Emily to an evening of theatre.

Mr Granger's morning was booked solid and he spent what felt like hours at a time bent over his patients' mouths. He took a quick glance out the window while a mould was setting and could have sworn he saw an owl swoop past. Again, he cleaned his glasses on his white coat and decided a good night's sleep would have to become one of his priorities.

He left for his lunch break with the distinct impression that something odd (and possibly exciting) was going on. Mr Granger passed several cloaked individuals on his way to the shop for some new books for Hermione. He considered asking why they were all dressed up, but they were whispering excitedly to one another and it didn't seem appropriate to interrupt.

'He just disappeared –'

'You-Know-Who! Gone!'

Mr Granger made his way back to his office, half wishing he knew who too, because whoever it was seemed to be causing quite a stir. He abandoned the theory that these people were involved in a dramatic presentation as well; he hadn't seen a script anywhere.

The afternoon went without incident; no more than the usual teeth, flossing and fillings, yet part of Mr Granger's mind was still on those people in cloaks. He left his office at five o'clock and drove home paying almost as much attention to the sky as to the road. He could not be certain, but he was fairly sure he saw several more owls on his way.

As he pulled into his driveway, Mr Granger considered whether or not he should tell his wife about what he had seen today. While it would certainly garner her sympathy and ensure that she would look after Hermione on Monday nights, might she also think he was losing it? He doubted it but decided to see if she had noticed anything odd during the day first.

With Hermione's help, Mrs Granger shared their day with her husband over dinner. They had gone grocery shopping ('Cauliflower!' the baby interjected) and Hermione had learnt a new word ('Encyclopaedia!'). They had had a nice, normal day, but the mother noted that Hermione had seemed oddly preoccupied during the day.

'Birds fly high!' Hermione insisted.

Mr Granger started, 'Birds? What birds?'

Looking slightly put out that she was unable to express herself more clearly; the baby flapped her arms, nearly tipping her high chair and replied 'Hooooot!'

Mrs Granger sighed and shook her head. 'She's been going on about birds all day. I honestly don't know what's gotten into her. Birds and -'

'Magic people!' exclaimed Hermione, obviously thinking she was being quite helpful.

Her father understood right away, but Mrs Granger explained anyway, 'We saw some very oddly dressed people today, Alfred – cloaks and whatnot – Hermione has been insisting that these people are "magic." I didn't even know she knew what magic was, did you?'

Mr Granger shook his head, but it was just an automatic response. He was considering what his daughter had said. Could those people have been magical? Of course not. He was an adult and knew there was no such thing as magic.

They finished dinner, gave the baby a bath and tucked her in for the night before catching the end of the evening news.

'And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.' The news reader grinned. 'Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?'

'Well, Ted,' said the weatherman, 'I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.'

Mr and Mrs Granger started at each other in perplexed silence.

'Owls?' Mrs Granger finally asked.

Mr Granger nodded and mimicked Hermione's 'Hooooot.'

His wife chuckled, 'So she wasn't just playing about. She really did see something. Imagine that. And what's this about shooting stars?'

Mr Granger shrugged, 'I haven't the slightest idea,' then added, 'I could do with some tea though. Care to join me on the porch? See what there is to see?'

Mrs Granger went into the kitchen to make the tea while her husband went to look in on the baby. She had long since fallen asleep, so he turned off the mobile she loved to watch as she dozed before kissing her gently on her soft, chubby cheek. Mr Granger met his wife in the hall a short while later and they took their tea outside to watch the stars.

They sat quietly, sipping their tea and thinking on the news, Mrs Granger slowly rocking in her chair. They were not disappointed. Every few moments, a jet of light shot across the sky. Mr Granger wasn't sure what shooting stars looked like exactly, but he was fairly certain that they were never purple. He was about to ask his wife about this when a low rumbling broke the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as he looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight. Mr Granger saw nothing until his wife's gasp drew his attention.

'Alfred! Look!'

She was pointing up at the sky at something that certainly had no business being there. But there was no doubt about it; a huge motorbike had just flown over their house, heading southwest.

'I – I want to go back inside now, Alfred,' Mrs Granger stammered.

Mr Granger agreed that that was an excellent idea. He held his wife around her waist, leading her into the house.

'We should check on Hermione,' Mrs Granger tugged her husband toward the baby's room. She knew that whatever was happening outside could not impact what happened in her daughter's bedroom, but it never hurt just to check.

Mrs Granger sighed with relief when she entered the room and saw her daughter was all right. As she bent down to kiss Hermione, her husband sighed as well, but it sounded more exasperated than relieved.

'Emily,' he whispered, 'we've been over this before. Once Hermione is asleep, there is no need to leave the mobile on. You needn't have turned it back on.'

'But I didn't turn it on, Alfred,' Mrs Granger whispered as she flicked it off. 'I thought you did.'

Husband and wife looked at each other in perplexity and silently agreed to discuss the matter further outside. They kissed the baby good night once more and retired to their bedroom to attempt to make some sense of the evening.

Moments after her door closed, Hermione stirred in her crib, opening her eyes slightly. Instantly, the mobile started back up again. Smiling contentedly, the baby fell back to sleep.

At that precise moment, many miles away, a quill, seeming to have come to a decision it had been considering for quite some time, raised itself up off of a small table and wrote a name in a large, leather and parchment book: Hermione Granger.