Love of magic
People don't believe in magic because they can't see it. They scorn it because they can't understand it. Most of all, they hate it because they don't have it.
Hermione is different. She knows it exists because she feels it, hears it, breathes it.
And even though magic is not hers to use, hers to control, she believes in it just as surely as she believes the sun will rise.
Hermione is different. She believes with her heart while others believe with their eyes.
She was 1 ½ years old when she first started to walk: Her parents were proud beyond belief.
She was 2 when she first spoke: Her parents beamed because they knew their child was special.
She was 5 when she brought home her first perfect score: her parents immediately tacked it up in its rightful place-the front of the refrigerator.
She was 11 when she first believed in magic: her parents laughed and said it was just a phase.
Her father got transferred unexpectedly just right before her eleventh birthday. The family had to move to France. They almost missed her flight because of her. Somehow, she had caught an owl and wanted to keep it as a pet. Her parents chased it off, of course. What parent in their right mind would let a child keep something as dangerous and unnatural as an owl?
The people who moved in afterwards found at least 5 letters addressed to a 'Miss Hermione Granger'. They tried to find the recipient but the previous owners had left no forwarding address. One day, they opened one of the envelopes and found it was full of nonsense: something about a wizarding school and magic supplies. They tossed the rest of the letters, when they found that it was only the same nonsense, thinking that it was the product of a lonely child with a large imagination.
Ever since she can remember, Hermione has been fascinated with the wind. She loves how wild it is, untamable. How it roars and hisses, and reminds her of something ancient and powerful.
She loves the feel of the breeze, the gentle sound, and most of all, she loves that it is invisible.
You can't see it, she thinks, but it is undeniably there.
Wind is magic for her. She only needs to feel it to believe it's there.
It isn't until Hermione turns 18 that she moves back to London. She's moving back, she explains to her worried mother, because she needs to go to college and she's already been accepted to Oxford. Her mother tearfully agrees that college is important and that she should go; but they both know there's another reason Hermione's leaving.
Like the wind, Hermione's untamable; and her parents have caged her for too long.
Oxford is as wonderful as she had imagined, but something is missing. Even now, when she has freedom from her parents, she still feels that something is missing.
Once, when she was about 15, her family took a trip to Paris. For the most part, they only went to the usual tourist spots, so she was incredibly bored-after all, her school had already visited these exact spots when they were here on the class trip.
Hermione wanted to walk the streets and see what Paris was really like for the people who lived here.
Of course, her parents would have none of that. They insisted on seeing the Eiffel Tower. But they did humor her by walking there from the hotel and not taking a cab. On the walk, as they were going past a small, rundown pub, Hermione felt the strangest thing. It was as if something was tugging her in that direction. Just a gentle nudge, as if someone was saying: Go ahead, go in.
She knew something interesting was beyond that door, something big. But her parents looked at her like she was crazy when she asked if they could take a peek.
All they saw was an alley.
She was walking aimlessly down the streets of London. School was out, for winter break, but she had decided to stay in London anyways. She didn't want to go back to France and she didn't want to see her parents. So Hermione told them she had to stay because she was positively buried with work.
This was partly true, except for the work bit.
That seemed like a good idea at the time, but now she was wondering if she had made a mistake in staying after all. Every single one of her friends had left, making her the sole person in her dorm. But before she could be completely lost in her doubt, she passed a door. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary about it, really. It was just the door to an old pub-the leaky cauldron.
That made up her mind. The name was so unusual that she knew she had to go inside.
The first thing you saw, when you entered Hermione's room was a photo, one that she took herself. It was a normal photo, blown up to about the size of a notebook. The only strange thing about it was that it didn't show her. Or anything else, really.
Her friends often asked about the photo-why all it showed was someone's hair, blowing in the wind-until they realized it was just something she had to have.
When they asked, her answer was always: "It's my proof."
The pub was unusual, to say the least. If she wasn't mistaken, some of the customers weren't...well, human. And all the people who looked like humans were wearing strange clothes-robes and cloaks.
She wasn't scared though. None of the patrons looked particularly fierce. And the place had a welcoming aura, much like that place in Paris. She decided to ask two young men who looked slightly older than her.
"Um...excuse me, but could you tell me where I am? It doesn't feel like London anymore."
"Shut up for a minute, Ron!" The black haired boy-now that she saw his face she realized he was much younger than he looked before-turned towards her and smiled, a bit awkwardly. She smiled back, much in the same way.
"What is it now, Harry?" The red headed boy, whose name was Ron apparently, turned towards Harry.
Hermione blushed. She felt bad about interrupting now since they seemed rather focused on their conversation. Something about Quidditch.
"Er, hi."
"Hi."
"Hello."
The rest, they say, is history. After all, no matter what happens, some things never change.
Standard Disclaimers apply. (Don't you hate those? I always forget.)
AN: AU, obviously. This fic was centered around the idea of destiny, hence the last line. And before anyone points out that Harry was constantly sent letters until he finally read one (Book one), let me say that Hermione is not Harry Potter. She is not famous, and she is not particularly important to the wizarding community. So, I think it's safe to say, for this fic's sake, that they wouldn't have bothered to hunt her down and hand her the letter.