by Potter47 Year One
The Rest of Me "The magical world of Hogwarts is like the real world only distorted. We're not going off to a different planet.
It's a fantastic world which has to exist shoulder to shoulder with the real world." —J. K. Rowling Chapter One
Silence is Golden
I was a perfectly ordinary going-to-be-twelve-in-September girl. I sat on my frilly pink bed, talking to my best friend on the telephone, while watching a cartoon on the television.
"Yes, of course I'm going to invite you to my birthday party, Jessica!" I said into the receiver. "You're the most popular girl in primary school, my best friend, and it would be just…dumb for me not to! Besides, my birthday's not till September!"
I went on watching the cartoon while my friend chatted away about nonsensical things that had no real importance whatsoever. I didn't really care about anything serious. I just liked to hang out with my friends, talk on the telephone, and of course none of this is even remotely true.
I was not a perfectly ordinary going-to-be-twelve-in-September girl. My bed was not frilly, nor was it pink. I didn't really have a best friend, and there was no television within thirty metres of my room. And if there were, it would most definitely not be showing such things as cartoons.
No, I never had real birthday parties, and most definitely would never even have wanted to invite the most popular girl in primary school, had I participated in such frivolous activities.
I would never use the word "dumb" to indicate "unintelligent."
I had never been a perfectly ordinary going-to-be-twelve-in-September girl, even when I was going to be ten in September, or eight, or six. I had never had any close friends, and I never talked on the telephone. I did not often spare a glance towards a television set, preferring to spend my time with my nose deep within a large book.
Now, for instance, I was reading Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre, which I had started the day before and was nearly half-way through with. I remember that I predicted that I would finish before daybreak the next day (though I was never good at predicting things).
"Hermione, tangy!" called my mother from the entrance hallway. Now, I'm sure that any other parents—yours included, likely—would have used the term "sweetie" or something like it to address their daughter. But no. My parents were dentists. As such, I was tangy.
I sometimes figured that the nickname suited me well. After all "tangy" can—other than its obvious food-related definition—also mean "pungent" which can also mean "pithy" which can also mean "acerbic," which is another word for "cutting," "sharp," or "prickly." I prefer the formers.
Bit of a stretch, yes.
"What is it, Mum?" I called back, marking my page in Jane Eyre with a bookmark that had a Robert Frost quote on it.
"The mailman has just arrived. It seems you have a letter."
A letter? I thought bewilderedly. You see, I never got letters. Ever. The last letter that had come to our house addressed to me had been a university form letter. For some strange reason, they seemed to think I was eighteen, not eleven, and they kept on sending them every summer.
"I got a letter?" I asked softly, far too quietly for Mum to actually hear. I walked out into the hallway and down the main stairs. We had a big house, you see. Dentists make a lot of money. This meant two things: one, we went on lots of trips; two, there were lots of stairs.
Breaking the seal on the green-inked envelope, I pulled out the letter inside. I quickly scanned through it, wondering who in all of England would send a letter to me.
Now, looking back, I'm sure you'd assume that this was when I got my Hogwarts letter. It would be quite obvious, I suppose, from someone else's point of view, that that was what the green-inked letter was that Mum handed me. But, of course, I never would have thought in a million years that a magical school in northern Scotland also happened to send green-inked letters to new students, and I would have called you mad to even suggest it.
This letter read,
Miss Granger,
Your may just be hour lucky winner in this months Million Pound Sweepstakes!
All you have to do is answer the accompanying questions and send them in the accompanying envelope with the address all ready printed, and you're a shoe-in!
Of course, you have to be eighteen or older, have verifiable identification, and liver with in a kilometre radius of prise head quarters to be eligible, but that's no a problem, is it!? This is a MILION POUNDS!!!!!!!
Regards, and best of luck!
Rich Crook
President of "The Million Pound Sweepstakes," Inc.
I hate those types of sweepstakes. Seriously, though: I was not eighteen or older, I did not "liver" within a kilometre radius of "prise" headquarters, and anything signed by "Rich Crook" sounds quite shady to me.
Tossing the letter into the dustbin, (along with all accompanying questions and envelopes) I made to return to my room. However, my mum then decided that now was the perfect time to brush my teeth, so she shooed me into the nearest loo (all of them were fully equipped with brushes, toothpaste, floss, and, well, water).
Returning to my room after another load of stairs, I sat down on my bed and returned to my reading of Jane Eyre. Alas, it seemed I would never find out what would happen to dear Jane, as soon after retuning to the book, my mother called me once again. This time, however, it was about something much more important than a ridiculous sweepstakes entry form.
"Tangy, there's a...um, there's a lady here to see you!" called Mum, in a baffled voice.
"A lady?" I called back, setting down Jane Eyre once again, bookmark only a page away from where it had rested before.
What lady would see me I wondered as I once again made my way down to the entrance hallway.
I now understood why my mother had hesitated with disbelief. This wasn't just a lady standing stern-faced in our front room, but a lady with dark-green robes. She had a pointed hat on, along with the strictest eyes I had ever seen (to that point).
I remember thinking, If I didn't know better, I'd say that she was a witchBut, of course, I knew better.
"Who are you?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
"Tangy, this is…um, she said her name was...?" Mum looked questioningly at the woman.
"I am Professor Minerva McGonagall," she said in a very stern voice that suited her well.
"Yes, that was it," said Mum, nodding.
The name "Minerva" sent my mind straight into a book I'd read on mythology, but I tried to keep my focus on Professor McGonagall herself.
"Professor?" I asked. "At what school?"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the professor said matter-of-factly.
"Hogwarts? I've never heard of…" I began, but stopped myself. "Did you say witchcraft and wizardry?"
"Yes," said the professor, nodding.
"Ah," said Mum, eyes rather disorientated, nodding. "If you don't need me, I'll be…somewhere else."
Mum left through a French door that led to the dining room. I saw her, through the glass, collapse on a nearby couch.
"There's no such thing as witchcraft and wizardry," I said automatically, shaking my head.
"Yes, that's what everyone says," said Professor McGonagall, nodding wistfully. "I do wish at least one of the Muggle-borns, sometime, would know about magic, but that just never seems to happen…"
"Muggle?" I repeated. "That's not a word," I said confidently, having read the dictionary when I was seven. I'd been sick in bed, and Mum and Dad were both at their office. It was the only book unread left near my bed, and I had been dreadfully bored.
"Yes, it is," said Professor McGonagall. "It means—"
"No, it isn't," I said again. I am usually polite to those older than me, but this was something I was sure of. "Muggle" was not in the dictionary. "I am sure of it."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "I assure you, Miss Granger, it is. It means 'a non-magic person.'"
"Oh, so we're all 'Muggles'?" I asked. "After all, none of us are magical."
"Yes, we are," she said, with a dull tone that showed me she had gone through this many, many times before. "I am the Transfiguration Professor, at Hogwarts. And you, young lady, are a Muggle-born witch."
I was silent for a long, long time. She didn't really seem impatient, but I could tell that she wanted to move on. It wasn't as if I was special; she must have done this all the time, and I was just one grape of the bunch. But the news that I was a witch was a bit difficult to comprehend. However, after a while, I began to see that it was logical.
"Well, that's logical," I said. The professor looked at me oddly, as if she had not expected me to say that. "It explains that time I…"
And I went into the many different times, during my childhood, that I had done something physically impossible. I didn't tend to fly very much; I've always hated flying, even before I knew it was possible. But I frequently found myself in a different room from where I had been a moment before, and certain other students at primary school did tend to get into rather embarrassing situations…
"And this one time I turned my classmate's hair purple, with white polka dots, and all the rest of us laughed all day long..."
I went on, and on, and Professor McGonagall seemed to be getting very tired of listening. However, I've always seemed to be able to talk for a very, very long time, if I set my mind to it, without even breaking for air. By the time I finally finished the final story, there was not a doubt in my mind that I was indeed a witch, and that there was a school called Hogwarts, and that I would be going to it when summer came to an end.
"Are you finished?" asked Professor McGonagall hesitantly.
"Yes," I said. "When do I go to Hogwarts?"
"The first of September," said Professor McGonagall. "But first we must buy your supplies, in Diagon Alley.
"Diagonally?" I asked, bewildered. "How would we go in diagonally? That doesn't make any—"
"Sense?" asked Professor McGonagall. "Well, you'd be surprised. It does make a certain amount of sense, but only given context. Ask the Headmaster about it sometime. However, you misheard me. Diagon Alley. Two words."
"Diagon Alley?" I repeated. I realised this must have been a place, a street, an alley.
Maybe, I thought wryly, it runs diagonally.
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "Diagon Alley."
"Where is that? How do we get there?"
"Diagon Alley is in London," she said. "But we are not going today. Tomorrow, I will return, after informing the Headmaster of your acceptance. Oh, and..." she said, pulling a letter out of her pocket, "here."
I accepted it, and she pulled her wand from within her robes, and you can imagine what I thought when I saw it. I swallowed.
"Is that a...magic wand?"
She furrowed her brow at me. "What other kind of wand would it be?"
"Oh," I said. She raised her wand, and I know now that she was about to Apparate, but I couldn't imagine that then. "How much does Hogwarts cost?" I asked. I knew Mum and Dad undoubtedly had enough to pay for it, but I just wanted to know.
"Don't worry about it," she said, with a slight smile that almost looked out of place on her face. With a pop! she disappeared, and I was left to wonder about what had just occurred.
What had just occurred?
"What just happened?" I heard a small voice ask, from the door to the dining room. I remembered Mum then, and I walked over to her.
"I'm not exactly sure," I said. She opened the door further and I joined her in the dining room.
I then remembered the letter in my hand. I broke the seal, and opened the letter. It read,
Dear Miss Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted
at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find
enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. As you are Muggle-born, a
teacher will accompany you to Diagon Alley for your supplies,
and help you onto the Hogwarts Express when term begins.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
This is real, I thought, the idea just sinking in.
"What was that all about?" said Mum, nodding toward my letter.
"I—I've been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Witchcraft and wizardry..." repeated Mum, still a bit dazed. "You're a witch? I suppose that would explain..."
And now she went into a detailed description of the many times that I had performed accidental magic. I snuck away, and up to my room, and she never even noticed.
On my bed once again, I stared at the letter in my hands. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hmm. What's a mugwump?
As I pondered this, another piece of parchment—Parchment!—fell out of the envelope. I read it quickly:
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black).
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear.
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following"
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)
by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi
by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection
by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set of glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED TO OWN BROOMSTICKS
Now, I am absolutely positive that you will never guess what my first thought was when I read this list.
Books! I thought excitedly.
My second thought, however, was about the book "Magical Drafts and Potions." You see, I had finally let it sink in; I am a witch. However, I did not realise just what that meant. I figured that I would get a magic wand, that I would learn spells, and that I'd probably learn about magic itself. However, I hadn't even thought about potions.
I hope the teachers are nice, I thought. Professor McGonagall seemed okay. I wonder if the rest will be like her? What are wizards like? Will any of my teachers be wizards? The Headmaster seems to be... I hope the Potions professor's nice... that seems so interesting
Looking back, I have one thought to add: Ha.
I did not read a single page of Jane Eyre the rest of the day. I sat there, on my bed, reading and re-reading those two pieces of parchment. There may have been only two-hundred-fifty-eight words on them, but I read them at least two-hundred-fifty-eight-thousand times each.
I am a witch. I am a witch. I am a witch.
I suppose, in different context, those would have been unhappy thoughts. But in context, it was the happiest I'd ever felt in my life.
I am a witch. I am a witch. I am a witch.
Eventually, these thoughts turned into sleep and sleep turned into dreams. I dreamt of broomsticks, pointed hats, and flying monkeys, among other things. The image in my brain labelled "WITCH" bore a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West, from The Wizard of Oz, and I was rather ashamed of that fact. After all, it was just a dreadful stereotype. Witches weren't actually green, and they did not actually train flying monkeys. Well, those that I've met, anyway.
When I woke up in the morning I was sure that I had dreamt it all; after all, whenever something special happens, isn't that the first thing they always think? In films, and books, and life and everything?
But no, I hadn't dreamt it all. I saw the crumpled letters, still clutched in my hand, and I knew it was real. I thought it was rather odd that they had not fallen to the floor during my slumber. But who cares, anyway?
I am a witch! I am a witch! I am a witch!
I had, at some point, started screaming the words inside my head, so that they were ended with exclamation points now.
I am a witch! I am a witch! I am a witch!
I repeated this mantra as I made my way down the many stairs that led to the Breakfast Nook, as Dad had dubbed the smallest non-lavatory room in the house. Sometimes it's a wonder I never got lost in that house, for all those years.
As I sat down at the breakfast table, Dad was already seated as well, and Mum was cooking something that was obviously good for teeth. I could see it sparkle from my chair.
"So," said Dad oddly, looking over his morning paper. "Jo tells me you've been accepted at—"
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," I finished, smiling.
"Right," said Dad, nodding. "Erm...what exactly did that lady tell you, tangy? To get you to believe...this."
"Come now," said Mum, flipping some unknown food in a fry pan. "You've seen some of the things she's done over the years. I think it's a perfectly logical explanation."
Apparently, Mum had gotten a bit used to the idea since I had last spoken to her. She almost seemed happy that I was a witch.
I am a witch!
"Logical?" repeated Dad incredulously. "Magic is not logical. It is a scientific impossibility."
"So you think this is some sort of hoax?"
"A hoax is the only logical explanation..."
Pop!
With the sound, Mum looked worriedly into her fry pan, worried that her precious sugar-free substance had made the noise. However, it was not a Muggle noise at all, but—
"This is not a hoax," said Professor McGonagall, making all three of us jump off our seats in surprise (except Mum, of course, who was standing). "Your daughter is a witch."
"Uh—wuh—wooo!" said Dad, before collapsing in his chair, unconscious.
"How did you do that?" I asked in wonder.
"What, knock out your father?"
"No, the...pop!" I said, making a popping gesture with my hands.
"It is called Apparating," explained Professor McGonagall. "It is a method of instant transportation."
"Will I be able to do that?" I asked, obviously not knowing that—
"You cannot Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds. Once you're older, and leave school, you'll be able to get a licence."
"Wow."
"Are you ready to purchase your supplies?" asked Professor McGonagall, quirking an eyebrow.
"Yes," I said instantly, forgetting that—
"Breakfast is almost ready!" cried Mum, hurt. "And you're not even dressed!"
"Oh," I said, realising I only had a nightdress and dressing gown on. "Right."
"I will wait until you are finished," said McGonagall, nodding. She cracked! out of existence once again, and I ate my sugarless breakfast faster than I could have said "Quidditch." Not that I would, as I did not have the faintest clue what that was.
After breakfast, I dashed back up to my room and put on a pair of grey jeans and an old, light green summer t-shirt. Dashing back down the stairs, I wondered how I was supposed to let Professor McGonagall know I was ready. However, I did not seem to need to.
"There you are," she said, as I walked into the kitchen. Apparently, she had popped back into the room and Mum had offered her a cup of something that contained less sugar than that of a pinch of salt. "Your mother and I have been discussing financial matters."
Which meant, of course, that they were talking about money, the subject McGonagall had told me not to worry about.
"You know," said Mum, "Witch school is surprisingly inexpensive. I would have thought it would be outrageous, but..."
"It's probably the transfer rates," said McGonagall confidently.
"Transfer rates?" I asked. "Hogwarts is in a different country?"
"No, I mean from Muggle money to wizard money," she said, shaking her head. "Galleons to...pounds."
"Oh," I said softly, while thinking, Wizards have their own money? Well, that makes sense, I guess...
"So you are ready?" asked Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," I said. "How are we going to...?"
"Get there?" finished McGonagall.
"Well...yes," I said.
"We will be travelling by Portkey," she said. "I have already explained the basic principle to your mother, and she is all right with it."
As you likely know, though I didn't, a Portkey is an object that has been charmed to transport whoever touches it to a certain place. There are two types of Portkey, really; the first transports whoever touches it at a prearranged time; the second transports as soon as the person touches it.
I, however, had heard wrong. I had been perfectly sure that Professor McGonagall had said 'porky' and I was waiting with bated breath for the poor little piggy we were undoubtedly going to fly to London.
I was relieved to see not a piggy but an ashtray. This was the first time—and only time, so far—that I had ever been relieved to see an ashtray. Smoking is a terrible habit, and I believe anyone who smokes in the first place is a bit daft, as there is absolutely nothing beneficial about it whatsoever. However, I was not thinking of the actual smoking at that moment, only interested in the ashtray.
"How are we going to ride an ashtray to London?" I asked. Surely, I thought, she's not going to SHRINK us or something like that, so we can fit on the ashtray, so we can fly to—
"We do not ride it, Miss Granger," she said, and explained exactly what a Portkey was. I was more than a little relieved—once again—though a bit frightened...well, quite frankly I was terrified, but...well. It just didn't seem logical to me, that people could touch an object and have it take them somewhere else. It surely did not obey the laws of physics, at least.
I touched it.
Once the pull behind my navel faded, I found myself on the floor of...a pub, of all places. I was sure something had gone wrong. After all, who goes to a pub to buy school supplies? And why was I on the floor?
Standing up, I brushed off my light green shirt which now was not nearly as light green as it had been. The patrons of the pub made no note of us, but I certainly made note of them. The people—witches and wizards, I knew—were doing all sorts of peculiar things, such as playing magical darts—in which the darts throw themselves at you, rather than vice versa, and you must try not to be poked—and wizard chess—the pieces talked!—and there was one very large...thing at the bar of which I had the strong suspicion was a hag, even though I didn't know for sure that hags were real.
However, McGonagall did not seem perturbed by any of these things. She simply walked silently to one end and out into a small courtyard; and, I noticed, she had not fallen over to begin with.
The small space was unremarkable; nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. But this too McGonagall ignored. She walked to the wall opposite and pulled out her wand. She tapped a seemingly random brick three times, and the strangest thing happened...
The brick she had touched shook slightly—It looks like it's quivering in fear, I noted mentally. In the middle of said hole a small brick appeared. Wait—scratch that, reverse it. The hole grew wider and wider and a few moments later we were standing in front of an archway large enough that I thought even a giant could fit through, and behind the archway was a cobbled street.
"Wow," I said softly.
"Wow?" asked McGonagall. "You say 'wow' at that? Goodness, you certainly are impressed easily."
I gazed around the street—Diagon Alley—in wonder. It was...well, I imagined it quite likely that it ran diagonally, though it is a bit difficult to tell when you are standing in the middle of it. If I looked at it from the sky, I could tell, but I also doubted it was visible from the sky.
McGonagall took me to a three-story white coloured building—she called it Gringotts. It's the wizard bank, and (if I 'overheard' correctly) the professor was exchanging my parents' money—Muggle money—for wizarding money.
Afterwards, she took me to a place called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where I was fitted for the aforementioned "Three sets of plain work robes (black)." I had never had clothes fitted like that before, and it really was quite peculiar.
It was nothing—nothing—compared to the peculiarity of Ollivanders. I noticed something was funny with that place right outside the door; the sign read "Ollivanders: Maker's of Fine Wands since 382 B.C," and I automatically thought it should have been "Ollivander's" with an apostrophe. Yes, something was most definitely funny with that place.
A bell tinkled as the two of us stepped inside the shop, having just purchased a cauldron and scales before finishing up at the Apothecary. I was beginning to like Professor McGonagall, but I knew it would do no good to show it. She did not seem the type to allow for favouritism among colleagues, let alone show it herself.
McGonagall sat on the single spindly chair while I walked toward the counter. No person was behind it, but I did notice what was behind it; thousands and thousands of little narrow boxes, which could only possibly hold one thing.
Wands. Magic wands.
I am a witch, I am a witch, I am a witch, I am a WITCH!
My mantra returned suddenly, and I once again realised how unexpected this whole thing had been. Sure, I'd done all those impossible things for the past eleven-years-and-ten-months, but I had reasoned that off to my being simply unique among my classmates. At least that's what Dad told me to reason it off as.
"Good morning," said a small voice.
I looked round suddenly to see an ancient man with moon-like eyes standing directly behind me. He paused, considering.
"Or perhaps it would be good afternoon. I haven't checked the clock recently."
I could understand this. Every square inch of the shop was covered in magic wand boxes and there did not seem to be a bit of wall space to spare. I assumed that the clock was in the back room, or perhaps behind several wands.
"Hello," I said, taking a slight step backwards from the man—Ollivander, I presumed.
"Is she Muggle-born?" Ollivander asked McGonagall curiously, looking at my eyes in an discomforting way, and I felt as if I was under a microscope.
"Yes, Oliver," said McGonagall tersely. Oliver? I thought. What a name, Oliver Ollivander.
"Yes, I thought as much," said Ollivander, nodding slightly, never taking his silvery gaze from my face. "Yes, yes, it is quite obvious. Not-so-calm face, 'fearless' stature. Yes, you are frightened, aren't you Miss..."
"Granger," I said, and I was thankful that my voice had sounded normal.
"Don't scare her, Oliver," scolded Professor McGonagall. "This is her first day in our world, surely you don't want to scare the magic out of her?"
That can happen? I thought, panicked. You can scare the magic out of someone?
Suddenly, Ollivander let out a loud, harsh laugh. "I was just playing young lady," he said, and I wasn't exactly positive which one of us he was addressing. Surely he couldn't mean McGonagall, who wasn't a day younger than sixty-five? But he had finally taken his eyes off of me, walking to the back of the shop, towards a wall of wands, and it did not seem as though he was speaking to me. How old could he beI wondered.
After Ollivander's little 'joke' the visit was much less tense, though not what you would call comfortable. Ollivander had me 'try on' what seemed like hundreds of different wands, but not before measuring every bit of me with hundreds of different measuring tapes, all of which moved freely of the old man's hands, which were busy taking down boxes. I then realised that it was, indeed, one tape measure, which was moving at such a speed that it only seemed like hundreds.
"Muggle-born, Muggle-born..." muttered Ollivander under his breath, scanning a shelf and tapping his chin. "Which wand for which witch?" he said idly, and I gathered that this was a bit of a catchphrase or something. Something he simply liked to say, as there was obviously only one witch in need of a wand there, myself.
"You should know, of course," he said, opening a box at last, placing it carefully within its own cover, and extracting the wand, "that the wand chooses the wizard—witch, in your case—not the other way around. This process may take a very, very long time. Or it may be done on your first try. Which is your wand arm?"
I held up my left arm surely, as I was right handed, and of course everything was backwards in the wizarding world.
"You are left-armed?" said Ollivander curiously. "We don't get many of those these days…"
McGonagall cleared her throat abruptly from her spindly chair. I looked round to see her shaking her head.
"Oh," I said, and switched arms.
"Ambidextrous, are we?" asked Ollivander, in an amused tone. "Or simply confused?"
I did not answer, but simply held my right hand out for the wand.
"Here you are," he said, as I took the wand from him, and stared at the shiny wood.
What do I do now? I wondered.
"What do I do now?" I said aloud.
"Give it a wave," Ollivander said, nodding at the wand. "Maple and unicorn hair, nine inches, by the way," he added.
I awkwardly waved the wand, doing my best to impersonate the witches I had seen in films, along with Professor McGonagall. I knew for sure I must have looked like a fool.
However, Ollivander snatched the wand away before I could make a proper fool of myself, and handed me another. The process went on and on, and I came to wonder just
how long it might take to find the perfect wand.
Finally, it found me. Ollivander handed me the wand—vine wood, dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches—and I could tell at once that something was different. The wood felt warm beneath my fingers, and when I waved it—still, no doubt, looking like a fool—scarlet and silver sparks shot out from the end. I jumped back at the sight of them.
"Finally!" said Ollivander. "That'll be seven galleons. Move along, please. I have no more doubts that it is, indeed, after noon..."
McGonagall paid him the galleons and we quickly left the shop, happy for sunlight.
"All that's left," I said excitedly, reading from the list, "is the books."
"Of course," said McGonagall. "For that we'll go to Flourish and Blotts."
I already liked the sound of Flourish and Blotts. I mean, what was there not to like? It was a bookshop, after all.
We got my schoolbooks rather quickly, and I was especially delighted to see that they were all very thick books. I decided that I'd read A History of Magic first, because it would give me a bit of background on the whole world, this new thing I was about to experience.
We were about to leave the shop, and I felt excited yet pained at the same time. Excited because I would have lots of new reading material; pained because I was leaving this wonderful place so soon. By 'wonderful place' I mean Diagon Alley in general, but even more so leaving Flourish and Blotts. I hoped there was a satisfactory library at Hogwarts.
Just as we made for the exit, my eyes fell upon a very, very large book. It was one of the biggest I'd ever seen and believe me, I've seen big books. On it was a beautiful picture of a castle and in an elegant script was written the words, Hogwarts: a History.
I practically bounced over to this book, nearly bowling over Professor McGonagall in the process.
"You like big books," said the manager unnecessarily. My eyes had widened to the size of saucers and my fingers itched to touch this beautiful book...
"How much is this?" I asked.
He gave a price, but I did not listen. My eyes had spotted another book, on another display table, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.
Dark Arts? I thought. That doesn't sound too good. But look at that cover...
The manager still was saying something but I walked right away from him to this new book which had the handsomest cover I had ever seen, with the possible exception of Hogwarts: a History.
Before long, I had a stack of a dozen or so very large, extra-curricular (as McGonagall called them) books. I lugged them out in a very large bag, the professor holding my course books. I did not want to hand them over to anyone, but McGonagall insisted when we took the Portkey, and I realised I may have dropped them and ruined those beautiful covers...
For the rest of the summer I hardly ever left my room. I came out only to eat, use the loo, and brush my teeth. And I didn't like it one bit when Mum and Dad decided to put a stop to this:
"Tangy?" Mum said, opening my bedroom door and then knocking. I didn't answer; I was far too absorbed in the twenty-seventh chapter of Modern Magical History to notice even if a rampaging dark wizard flew right through my room on a Comet Two-Sixty. Well, maybe I'd notice that, but...
"Tangy, you really should get out sometime! Look!" She gestured to the row of three windows on the only out-facing wall of my room, which I had drawn the curtains over. "It's a beautiful day outside! Summer's nearly over and you've holed yourself up in this room for nearly a month! Don't you think your father and I miss you?"
I made a non-committal sound and continued reading.
"Honestly, you'd think you couldn't even hear me!" I could, of course, or I would be having a bit of difficulty relaying this story, but I wish I couldn't. Silence, I've long known, is golden.
"Listen, young lady," said Dad, marching into the room from wherever he had been hiding before, "you come out of this room this instant or you don't go to Pigmoles!"
"Hogwarts, dear," hissed Mum.
"Right! Hogwarts!"
"Fine," I said begrudgingly and carefully marked my place in Modern Magical History, down to the line of text. I closed the book and hopped dejectedly off my bed.
"Fine?" repeated Dad in disbelief. "You mean you're not going to argue?"
"I could if you want me to—"
"No, no, it's fine..."
I followed them out of the room and they didn't notice I grabbed my new wand on the way out. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do, but I wanted to try it out.
"First of all," said Mum as we entered the Breakfast Nook, "you're going to eat a proper breakfast. No more of these snacks you've been taking up to your room. Where did you get those, anyway?"
I didn't answer; truth was, I'd bought the snacks myself on the way home from primary school, months before. Blame my grandmother; if it weren't for her, I wouldn't even have tasted snack foods.
Now, after finishing A History of Magic, I then read The Standard Book of Spells—grades one through three, as the latter two had been among the stack of a 'dozen or so' non-mandatory books. I hadn't tried any of the spells yet, however. So I decided now would be the perfect time to practice one of the spells from grade one. After all, McGonagall had never told me not to use magic outside of school...
"Wingardium Leviosa!" I muttered, holding my wand out of sight, swishing and flicking and pointing it at Dad's spoon—now left alone in his sugar-free cereal bowl as he got up to do something else. Said spoon turned over in place, but did not lift up the slightest bit.
I stared at it for a moment, wondering why it hadn't worked correctly. Thinking back to the Standard Book of Spells, I recalled: "With the proper wrist movement—discussed in the previous chapter—be sure to say the word properly. The correct pronunciation of the spell is Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa! Be sure to especially enunciate the 'gar' and 'o'."
That was the last time that a spell did not work for me.
I cast the spell once again, and the spoon jumped right up, and over Dad's head. He had returned, but was turned round in his seat, talking to Mum about some sugar-free subject.
He turned back around to his bowl and put his fist straight into the milk. His face looked...well, confused, at the least, but the expression was priceless. I flicked my wand and the spoon fell with a plop! onto his head.
He never really knew what exactly had happened. I reckon he hadn't expected me to already know how to use magic, so he hadn't thought of the possibility.
"Must have been the wind," he reasoned illogically.
I may have had a bit of fun that day out of my room, but I still didn't like it one bit that they practically kicked me out of my own bed. So, for a bit of poetic justice, I learned the Colloportus charm.
This wasn't in any of the three Standard Books that I got, but I did find it in another one of the Extra Twelve, as I'd begun thinking of them as. It was the Door Locking charm, and I put it to very good use...
Anyway, for the rest of the summer I was basically holed up in my room, reading my new books. When reading The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, I didn't exactly like the sound of Lord Voldemort, but who would? And he'd been defeated by a baby named Harry Potter, years ago, so there was nothing to worry about, right?
Finally, the first day of term was upon me. I had a bit of trouble fitting all my books into my new trunk, but I accomplished it eventually. Professor McGonagall had said to board the Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross station.
Unfortunately, she did not specify how.
You see I checked with all the maps and information guides and leaflets and they all said the same thing: there is no Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross station. Or, likely, anywhere else.
I decided to look at the problem logically. If there was to be a platform between platforms nine and ten, it would be located somewhere between platforms nine and ten, presumably. Of course, there was a wall directly between the two, not a doorway to another world, labelled "FOR WITCHES AND WIZARDS" as I may have hoped.
Persistent, I imperceptibly removed my wand from my pocket and lugged my trunk over to the wall in question. Positioning myself about three-quarters of the way along, I tapped harshly with my wand, only to feel the wall give way.
My hand went through the wall itself, and I'm not sure you can imagine what such a thing would feel like. It was odd, that was for sure...like when you think there's one more step on a staircase, and your foot falls through the empty air (I did that a lot, with all the staircases in my home). Lugging the trunk, I eventually went through all the way so that I emerged onto a platform. Above my head, unfortunately, was not a sign "FOR WITCHES AND WIZARDS" but a sign "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters" which was just as good.
I was met at once with the sight of a brilliant scarlet steam engine, people packed all round it. I witnessed a bit of a scene involving a little redheaded girl shrieking about Harry Potter—which I reckoned must have been common—on my way to the train.
Eventually I found a compartment with a round-faced boy who was struggling to keep hold of a toad, and two girls who giggled every time they looked at said toad. Apparently, toads were not in. I sat next to the boy and the two girls looked at me as if I had sprouted another head. They just stared for a long, long time, not making a sound, apart from the occasional giggle. Perhaps they thought it odd that I already had my robes on? I noticed that no one else did.
It must have been ten or twenty minutes by the time I couldn't take any more of the silence.
"What?" I asked impatiently.
"Who are you?" they asked simultaneously, and if it were not for the obvious physical differences, I would have thought them twins. Also, that would have excluded the third girl, whom I had not noticed, reading a book; she looked like she was the first girl's twin. They were all about my age, as was the toad boy, though probably a bit younger.
"Who are you?" I replied evenly.
"Lavender Brown," said the second girl.
"Parvati Patil," said the first girl. She nudged the girl with the book, "This is my sister Padma, who may well end up in Ravenclaw if she doesn't stop with this book nonsense..."
"I want to be in Ravenclaw," said Padma, not looking up from her book.
"That's what you think," said Parvati, shaking her head regretfully.
I personally wanted to be in Gryffindor; it sounded by far the best to me. But Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, and I reckoned Slytherin wouldn't either, despite the reputation. After all, ambition is a usually good thing. (I'd read all about the Houses in Hogwarts: a History).
"I-I'm Neville Longbottom," piped up the toad boy, before losing grip on his pet altogether and letting him hop out the slightly-open compartment door.
"Trevor!" he cried, lunging after the toad and banging his head on the compartment door. "Ow!"
Parvati and Lavender giggled once again and even Padma chuckled.
"I'll help you look for him," I volunteered, standing up once again and following Neville the now-toad-less boy out the door.
He went down the train one way and I went the other. I checked in all the compartments, asking everyone if they had seen a nondescript toad of normal stature. No one had.
Once I had reached the front of the train I doubled back and checked the compartments Neville had already checked. I didn't know why; I just wanted to.
I met up with Neville once again near the very end of the train and we entered a compartment in which two boys and a rat sat.
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," I said. They seemed to stare at me too.
"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said the red-haired boy, who I noticed had been with the little girl on the platform. Probably her brother, I thought.
I wasn't listening to him, however, as I had noticed that he had taken his wand out—a really old one with the unicorn hair visible at the end.
"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then," I said, sitting down across from him.
"Er — all right." He cleared his throat.
He proceeded to speak a very peculiar rhyme about sunshine, daisies, and butter mellow, which did not seem to turn his fat rat yellow.
"Are you sure that's a real spell?" I asked. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me." I didn't count, of course, my first attempt at levitating, because... well, I didn't.
Continuing on, I gave a fast, rudimentary — very rudimentary — synopsis of myself and my history. It was then that I realised I had forgotten to tell them my name.
"I'm Hermione Granger by the way, who are you?"
"I'm Ron Weasley," the red-haired boy muttered.
"Harry Potter," said the other boy.
"Are you really?" I said. I knew all about him; he was in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. I told him as much.
"Am I?" he said, sounding dazed.
"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," I said, which is of course true, as I find out everything I can about everything I can.
We talked — well, mostly I talked — about the Houses for a few moments before Neville and I left, heading back to our compartment; apparently, the Trevor-Trek had been fruitless.
"I hope Trevor shows up soon," said Neville dejectedly. He looked at me questioningly. "Why'd you say all that stuff to them? You didn't say anything to me and...well, the others."
"I—I don't know," I said, realising that this was true. It puzzled me for quite a while, too. In fact, it was getting quite dark by the time I stopped puzzling over it and decided to ask the conductor when we'd arrive.
"Soon," was all the mysterious figure at the front of the train said. I couldn't quite tell if it was a witch or a wizard, and its speech hadn't helped one bit.
I heard noise, thuds, screams, from the end of the train and went to investigate. People out in the corridor were running back and forth, and basically acting very childish in general. Turns out Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had gotten into a fight with three soon-to-be-Slytherins; just the kind that give the House a bad reputation.
"You'd better hurry up and get your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there." I use the word 'he' sparingly here. "You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"
A few moments later I realised that both of them were still staring at me as if I had two heads. I wondered if I had sprouted another head, and looked round slightly to check. Nope, still one. Perhaps something was on my face?
Speaking of...
"And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" I pointed out to Ron, and he glared at me as I left. I heard bustling behind me so I gathered they were putting their robes on as I'd said. I smirked unbecomingly, and I don't know why I did it.
Soon, the train was slowing down and we pulled into a station. Everyone flowed out of the train as smoothly as...well, as smoothly as water out of a tap if you cover it with your hand.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?" came a loud voice and I wondered why this person was singling out Harry Potter and then I realised how stupid that thought would have sounded aloud.
The voice belonged to a giant of a man, holding a lamp, "C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"
The giant led the first years along a narrow path that led, ultimately, to a lake. We could then see the castle for the first time, though I'd seen lots of pictures so I already knew what to expect, and it really wasn't all that great for me —
Oh, who am I kidding? It was the most magnificent sight my eyes had ever beheld, with the tapestry of stars crowding around the many towers of the castle, of Hogwarts, of my new home.
"Oooooh!" said Parvati and Lavender and Padma and (though quieter) myself.
"No more'n four to a boat!" said the giant, pointing to a bunch of boats floating just off shore. I ended up in a boat with Harry, Ron, and Neville.
I didn't pay much attention to the boat ride as I was still gazing, mesmerised, at Hogwarts. The sight was, no doubt about it, enchanting.
We reached the other side eventually, and the giant knocked three times on the castle's massive door.
Said door swung open at once to reveal Professor McGonagall; the group of first years followed her across the entrance hall and into a small side chamber.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the great hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."
I knew all this already, of course, but I listened attentively nonetheless. Professor McGonagall tends to have that sort of reaction, with me at least.
"The four houses include Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards."
It was painfully obvious to me that she was only saying this so that the future Hufflepuffs would not feel bad.
"While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you is a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."
I noticed her eyes dart to Neville and Ron, both of whom did not exactly look 'smartened up' in the least.
"I shall return when we are ready for you," said McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."
She left the room, back out into the entrance hall.
"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" asked Harry Potter.
"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."
Test? I thought anxiously. You see, Hogwarts: a History had purposefully avoided explaining how students were sorted into the houses, so that no one's surprise would be spoiled. It even said, and I quote, "I will purposefully avoid explaining how students are sorted into the houses, so that no one's surprise will be spoiled." I think this is a bit silly, seeing as though most people who had read the book would probably be out of Hogwarts already, or at least in Hogwarts, and they'd already know.
But I didn't.
I don't like not knowing something. It's like an itch inside my brain, annoying me and irritating me until I finally find out whatever it is that's been plaguing my subconscious. And to think that there would be a test and I wasn't prepared for it...well, it felt somewhat like someone was scribbling on the inside of my skull with a quill.
I went over all the spells I'd learned in my head and I'm pretty sure I said some of them aloud by mistake, in my franticness. Did I mention I don't like not knowing things?
I didn't even notice as twenty or so ghosts streamed in through the back wall, I was so lost in my thoughts. Wingardium Leviosa! Alohomora! Colloportus! Impervious!
"Move along now," said a sharp voice I recognised immediately as McGonagall. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start. Now, form a line, and follow me."
We did form a line, and we did follow her, out the door, into the entrance hall, across the entrance hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
I immediately looked up to see the ceiling, which was velvety black, the same tapestry of stars I'd seen from across the lake.
"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside," I whispered to the boy in front of me, who did not seem very interested. "I read about it in Hogwarts: a History."
"Like a window?" replied the boy scathingly. His name was Theodore Nott, though I didn't know that then. He didn't seem very mesmerised by the ceiling.
I looked away from the back of his head towards Professor McGonagall, who was silently placing a four-legged stool in front of us. On top of it she placed a wizard's hat, which had clearly seen better times.
Suddenly, this hat began to do something entirely unexpected. It began to sing. It sang a long song, describing the four houses, and their characteristics. The entire room broke into applause when it concluded, and so did the first years, though they were a bit more stunned than the rest.
"When I call your name," said McGonagall, holding a long roll of parchment, "you will put on the hat and sit on the school to be sorted.
"Abbot, Hannah!"
The hat was far too big for this girl, who sat on the chair as she had been told, and it came down over her eyes.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.
The hat did this again for numerous other students, and then McGonagall finally said —
"Granger, Hermione!"
I practically ran to the stool and jammed the hat over my head. As it fell over my eyes, the hat began to speak:
"My gut, if I had one, would tell me you belong in Ravenclaw," said the hat in her ear. "But I don't have a gut, so it's not that simple, is it?"
I guess not, I thought
"An excellent mind, finest I've seen in years...but you've got quite a bit of bravery as well, haven't you? And nerve. Well, you were plenty nervous, that's for sure. And look at all that ambition..."
Least it's not Hufflepuff, I thought relieved, wondering which of the three remaining houses I'd be in.
"Why don't you want to be in Hufflepuff?" asked the hat, though I didn't answer, I didn't have to. I could feel it scanning my thoughts, my memories, my fears.
"You don't like flying much, I see," it said. "Well, that's not very helpful, is it? No, it's not."
It seemed to take forever for the hat to decide, but it probably was only a few minutes, the whole time, at most.
"What do you think?" it said at last. "Out of your three preferred houses, which do you think you belong in?"
My first thought was Gryffindor, as that had been the one I wanted most. And before I could even doubt myself and think 'Ravenclaw', because surely I wasn't brave enough, or even 'Slytherin' because surely I had more ambition than nerve, the hat shouted:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
I stood, dazed, and made my way to the Gryffindor table. I practically collapsed and didn't notice the applause, which really wasn't all that great, but it still existed. I was relieved to have something firm beneath me, so that I didn't fall over.
The feast passed in a blur. From Dumbledore's opening words — "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" — to his closing announcements and the school song, all I honestly remembered doing was asking Percy Weasley about lessons. I knew that both Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were made Gryffindors, but I didn't really think much of it, and I don't remember them being sorted.
Coincidences of all coincidences, Padma Patil was made a Ravenclaw, I heard vaguely from her sister, who was sitting next to Lavender Brown once again and sounded angry.
After the feast had ended, Percy Weasley led us up to the Gryffindor common room and instructed us to our dormitories. I saw that my trunk was already in front of my comfortable-looking, four-poster bed, and Parvati and Lavender were also in the room. Luckily, I could draw the curtains round my bed and hardly even hear their incessant chatter.
Taking out a large book, I realised just how much everything was different than I thought it would be. I had never expected to be at a wizarding institution come the first of September, I had expected to be at whatever private school my parents had picked out for me. I hadn't expected to be in a warm, four-poster bed, I had expected to be in...whatever bed they had at whatever private school my parents had picked for me. But most of all, I hadn't expected to be a witch.
I am a witch...I am a witch...I am a witch...
Drifting off to sleep, I realised that this place was perfect. The best place I could have asked for, without any drawbacks. Everything was all right here.
It was paradise.
This may seem to you as though it is just another retelling of the canon from a different point of view, but I assure you it is not. Not only is it the most well-researched fic of its kind, but it is also the most original. After all, every alternate point of view has to branch off of canon eventually. I assure you, it is worth the wait.
Also, speaking of wait, chapters in this fic are likely to take a bit longer than, say, chapters in my Yesterday Sequence. For one thing, it takes a great deal of research to write a fic like this one, and for another, I am working on other things at the same time. My Yesterday Sequence is still going to be updated regularly, don't worry, and my parody "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" will as well, though not quite as regularly. Just remember that it takes time to write, and if you would like to read some stories that are fast-produced, I'll introduce you to the horribly-written section of (if only they separated it like that...).
So stay tuned. As I've said before, I'm not your typical fanfiction writer, and this is not your typical fanfiction. Review, and tell me what you think of this new...perspective on the series. Again, it's been done before, but never like this. I guarantee it.
Also, this fic would literally not exist without my sister, HJSnapePM, who is almost a co-writer but not because, basically, she didn't even know I started writing this. (And she didn't write any of it.) But she did practically all the planning. Well, not all of it. Not nearly. But she made these really nice papers with her nice, readable handwriting that helped a whole lot. So thank her. And you know how you can do that? Review. Not just this fic, either. She's also a fic writer (or did you think HJSnapePM was her real name?) and archives her stuff on under the penname RaajmdTMP. As of this very moment that I'm typing this, she does not have any HP fics online, but she has, like, forty-seven planned. Whatever you do, don't let her near the plot bunnies section of Fiction Alley!
So click the 'review' link, whatever it looks like, post your thoughts, and, if you have a question, I'll try to answer it. But I doubt that you'd really have any questions at this stage of the game. After all, what is there to question, Hermione's parents' names?
Stick around.
—Potter47