Chapter 4: Reminders

The end of term passed without incident for Hermione. Well, without any incident that was more unusual than those that did follow her on a regular basis. She had never quite forgotten the impact left on her by Violet Peekins. She never stopped thinking about the large-boned Scandinavian-featured spiritualist and that shade of deep, dark blue that had seemed to envelop her.

She had never stopped thinking about it, but she had stopped giving it any credit for her behaviours and talents. She had bigger fish to fry, idiomatically speaking, of course. She had prepared a working experiment in light refraction for her physics A-levels, complete with findings to her hypotheses. It promised to be the project that pushed her into the Upper Sixth Form for certain the following September. And it was apt that she should refer to it in the past tense, because the morning of the judging she confidently entered the science building, prepared to put the finishing touches on her setup, only to find her project... missing.

It wasn't vandalized, for that she thanked whatever deity happened to be listening at the moment. But it was simply gone. Her table was empty. No professionally prepared poster (or at least it looked professional–in reality Hermione had done it entirely on her own). No interactive portion. No prisms, no light source. Just an empty table.

Hermione tried to calm her pounding heart and take some deep breaths. There was something logical. Cleaning staff had moved it. Or the teachers had locked her fragile light source and prism combination away for fear of having it broken. Yet solidly clenched to the back of her mind was the idea of sabotage. She had no proof, no suspects, yet plenty of people with motive. That had to be it. There was no way her project could simply disappear except this way.

There was no sense in looking about anymore, and no sense staying; it was the last scheduled day of the school year and people would be congratulating one another on a good year, or hugging their friends and wishing each other well on their summer holidays. Hermione was the last person people would congratulate; she was a pariah among her classmates, and even her teachers. No one cared what she was doing over the summer holidays; in fact they probably wished she'd disappear as quietly, and without any trace, the way her project had. She was probably reading far too much into it, but that was the tacit message Hermione read from all of this. Her project, which she'd put so much work into, was gone without any clues. You can do the same, faceless, disembodied voices seemed to say to her.

Fighting back tears Hermione spun and ran out of the building. It was at least two kilometers home, but she didn't care. She ran the whole way, trying desperately not to cry, and hoping desperately her parents had already gone to the practice for a day of cleaning and drilling and filling, and cleaning all over again.

"Mum! Da! I'm home!" she yelled, breathless and defiant, when she got home. She hunched over, hand still on the doorknob. She listened, but heard only silence in response. She was alone.

For once Hermione was glad to be alone, truly alone. She was always an island, surrounded by people, reminded that she was alone. Even at home her parents banded together to form a strong, supportive mainland against the unstable island that was Hermione. They had one another. Her peers and teachers, they had one another. Hermione was alone. Only this time she was truly alone, with no one to question, or judge or sneer. So she let herself cry.

She sank to the green plush hall carpeting, door still open, a light June breeze rifling through the papers on the hall table and sending them fluttering to the ground. Hermione automatically reached out and shuffled them back into a pile, but one envelope caught her eye.

It was a heavy cream parchment, addressed in emerald ink, and sealed on the back with an old-fashioned wax seal bearing the letter H. It was addressed to her. The address was precise and written in flowing emerald green script. There was no stamp, and no return address. It looked as if the postman had simply forgotten to check for proper postage when he delivered it. Or perhaps the postman hadn't delivered it...

Violet Peekins's words came back to her with all the force of a hurricane. "Something will happen in just a few short weeks, something that you won't expect, and probably won't understand, but need to accept and allow Hermione to decide upon."

Was this that something?

Hermione thought perhaps she should wait until her parents came home to open the letter, discuss whatever the contents were, proceed from there. But somehow she felt possessive and protective of the letter. It was addressed, after all, to Hermione J. Granger, not to the parents of Hermione J. Granger, as so many letters and other pieces of post were. What would be the harm in opening a letter addressed to her and left where she was bound to find it?

Furtively, though no one else was home, Hermione clicked the front door shut and stole up the stairs with her pilfered letter. She felt her heart pounding again, but now it was from the excitement of the quest, rather than dismay at her project. In fact the notice of the letter had made her altogether forget about the project.

She sat down on the edge of her neatly made bed and carefully broke the wax seal. She held her breath as she opened the flap and shook out two sheets of heavy, creamy parchment, very similar to the envelope in make and weight. They too were covered with flowing emerald script. Her trembling hands picked up the cover sheet and her eyes began reading.

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 Miss Hermione Jane Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September (or when you happen to register). We await your owl after registration.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Hermione stared and stared, once again unsure of how she should feel. Part of her wanted to believe this, that this Hogwarts school did exist and was a reality, and was a place for her to go to get away from project saboteurs. But most of her felt cold and shaky. She felt anger growing within herparticularly when she scanned the list of 'necessary books and equipment':

Uniform
First year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags!

Set 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 Beginners' 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 glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS!

Hermione was furious! Who would dare send her something like this? What school in its right mind would tell her to buy a cauldron and a telescope as part of her schooling supplies? What school would allow her to bring an owl, cat, or toad, and moreover, why would she want to bring one?

"Whose idea of a joke is this?" she shouted at the empty house. "I'm a genius! I know better than this!" she screamed, grabbing the letter and list and preparing to tear them in half, but something, she knew not what, stopped her. As absurd as the letter and list appeared to be, they were far too detailed to be the work of anyone she knew, or who knew her. Plus, her family had kept it very quiet that they'd gone to a New Age specialist, so no one could possibly really know any of this. She couldn't show her parents, who would think it an elaborate scheme she'd cooked up to get out of punishment for the project incident. They'd just smile nervously at one another, as they were so good at doing, and ask her to go to her room.

No, there was only one person who would really understand all of this. Hermione knew that going to see this person entailed taking the tube from the outlying neighbourhoods where she and her family lived, into the central part of London where Violet Peekins's shop was. She didn't know how she'd managed it, but in moments she was down at the tube station not far from her house, staring at the map of the London Underground.

It would be a fairly easy venture, if she remembered what exchanges she needed to get off at, but memory had never been an issue for Hermione Granger. She peered at the map. It looked like she'd need to take the Central Line into the city, then exchange at Tottenham Court Road for the Northern Line, and she could either disembark at Tottenham Court Road, or go down to Leicester Square. Either way, from there, she was sure she could recall the twisting streets and alleyways to Violet Peekins's. She confidently purchased her tickets with the money her parents had given her for lunch and an after school treat, then sat down, alone, and stared out the window at the rushing countryside, then cityscape, rather than at the letter folded in her pocket.

It was raining when she disembarked at Tottenham Court Road, emerging from darkness of the Underground into the gray of mid-afternoon London life. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, as well as trying not to look like a child with no clue about what she was doing. How many times had she been told she was an adult in a child's body? Now was one time she had to truly feel that. With a feeling of resolution she set off along the bustling sidewalks, ignoring the chilly, early June rain that started to soak through her clothes. She headed east, dodging the quizzical looks of passersby, holding her head high and looking like she was on a mission.

It seemed like forever, though she'd barely gone half a kilometer, when she arrived at the intersection for Charing Cross Road. She remembered taking this road only a few weeks ago. She passed a theatre called the Phoenix, and then Foyle's Bookshop. And then she spotted something she'd not spotted before, probably because she'd been too focused on remaining skeptical. Between a record store and a bookshop, larger than Foyle's, which she'd just passed, was a tavern. It looked shabby and unkept. The windows were cobwebby and she thought she saw shadows within. And she felt the sensation of eyes again, eyes watching her and appraising her.

She turned and ran quickly. There was a small alleyway she ducked into, just around the corner from the mysterious pub, where she caught her breath. By now the rain was coming down more steadily, and she wondered if it would make the green ink in her letter blur and run and become illegible, and her clandestine trip to Violet Peekins would have been in vain. She closed her eyes and tried to fight the warmth growing there. She felt like a lost eleven-year-old again. Once again she felt like she didn't belong here. She sniffled and looked up, torn between continuing the search and giving up and going home.

Where once had been a brick wall was now the entrance to New Age Solutions by Violet Peekins. And Hermione still saw the line about servicing Muggles and Wizards. Now, with the letter in her pocket, the concept of wizards did not seem so far-fetched. Teeth chattering she approached the door and opened the latch. The tinkling of the doorbells was somehow comforting, as was the odd mix of scents from Violet's incense. For the first time on this adventure Hermione felt she'd done the right thing.

"Ms. Peekins! Violet!" she called, wincing at just how loud her voice sounded in Violet's delicate shop. She pulled out her letter and list, glad to see the ink hadn't smudged, and waited.

Violet came out in no time, wearing a robe in a different shade of purple, but no less embellished. Her hair was immaculately plaited once again. "Hermione Granger. I didn't expect to see you here so soon. Crystal ball or none," she added with a wink. Hermione's face told her quickly that the girl was in no joking mood. "Come in and tell me what's troubling you."

Hermione did not wait to go in. As the started for the back she shoved the letter in Violet's face. "What's this? Is this your idea of a joke? It's not funny! We came to you for help!"

Violet turned around. "Calm down, Hermione. Are your parents here? No? You're here alone?" She suddenly looked quite worried. "Do they know you're here? Probably not. What's got you upset, love, we'll try to put a fix to it." She led Hermione to the back and sat her down at the table before taking a seat herself. "Come now, what's bothering you?"

Hermione slammed the letter on the table in front of Violet and waited, her teeth chattering and gooseflesh forming on her arms. Violet's shop was pleasantly warm, but she still felt cold and knew it was from more than the rain. She watched Violet as her deep blue eyes scanned the green-scripted letter. She watched for any sign of concern, or anything that would give away fraud on the spiritualist's part, but the only thing Hermione saw was a wide, proud smile forming. "What?" she asked impatiently. "What is it?"

"You, dear, have been accepted at Hogwarts!"

"Yes, that's what the letter says," Hermione said crossly. "Are you saying it's not a fraud?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." Violet leaned in closer and met Hermione's eyes. "Remember last month when I told you that school isn't always exactly what you think it is? Well, this is the case here. Hogwarts is a very real school for very real children who have very special abilities."

"It's a school for people like me?"

"Well, not necessarily, Hermione. Did you see my sign, outside?" Hermione nodded slowly. "I figured you would have. You have the predisposition for magical abilities. You can see things that aren't there. Well, aren't there to regular people—Muggles. Non-magic folk."

"But I'm not magical," Hermione said. "I'm a prodigy who sees deep blue before passing out because I'm so smart I forgot to breathe," she spat out. "And now I'm seeing things? Sounds more like I may be going crazy."

"No, you're not, trust me," Violet said quickly. "I know you don't want to believe this, but you must. This is it, Hermione. Your chance. What you were waiting for. Hogwarts is a school to train young witches and wizards. You have the aptitude already. Hogwarts will teach you how to use it."

"Are you telling me that being a genius is just because I have magic? That I magicked up my marks?" Hermione asked dully.

"Not at all. That part of you is what it is, and will carry you far in life, both in this world and the Wizarding world. But there's another part to you and your abilities, which I saw when I did your aura that day. You have the abilities. This letter is very real."

"My parents will never believe it," she said glumly.

"They don't have to believe it, at least not right away. They just have to accept it. What's important is that you believe it, and are willing to go for it," Violet said, forcing Hermione to meet her steady indigo gaze. "Are you?"

Hermione thought of the events of just that day that had brought her to this point. Her missing, probably destroyed final science project... the feelings of loneliness at home... the strange tavern and the concept of wizards and Muggles... "Yes," she said softly, even surprising herself. "I do. I do believe it."

Violet smiled kindly and reached over to pat Hermione's hand. "Good. Now, I'll take you over to the Leaky Cauldron for something hot to drink and chase that chill. While you're there I'll pop over to Diagon Alley and pick up a book I think you'll like, that will help you to understand everything a bit more."

They started out the door, when Hermione realized something. "Violet... if you're a witch, how does Dr. Briar's wife know you?"

"Always the observant one. Yes, you'll do well in the wizarding world," Violet said, almost more to herself than to Hermione. "Rita came to see me for some help balancing her auras and calming her restless spirit. Apparently her husband was slowly driving her crazy," she said with a twinkle in her deep blue eyes. "We just slowly became good friends over the course of her visits."

"Does she know you're a–a–witch?" Hermione asked, finding it hard to equate this kind and helpful woman with her preconceived notion of a witch.

"No, she's a Muggle... about as Muggle as they come, really, though she's got some interesting points things with her purple coloured chakra... silly me," she said. "Mumbling. Rita's a Muggle and so's the quack husband of hers, though he did to the right thing sending you my way." She locked the door of her shop behind her. "This way, dear."

Hermione nearly had to jog to keep up with the larger woman. "What about you? Were your parents magic, too?"

"Nope. Completely in the dark, I was, when my letter came. I had to find things out the hard way. So I'm happy to try and make this a bit easier for you. Here we are, The Leaky Cauldron. Tom will get you something warm to drink, and I'll get you something I think will be of interest to you."

An hour later Hermione was warm, sleepy, and in possession of a thick tome titled Hogwarts: A History, which Violet had bought for her. It was an old text, seeming to come from a different time and place than any history book Hermione had ever studied out of. And it smelled like an old book, a scent she didn't realize she'd love so much. She sat in the passenger seat of Violet's small car. "I had to learn to drive for Muggle Studies," she explained, shifting, and wincing at the slight grinding of the gears. "I don't drive that often," she apologized. Hermione only smiled lazily.

It was a bit late when they finally pulled up to the Granger's house, and Violet sat a moment, trying to figure out how to proceed. "Just tell them the truth," Hermione said simply, around a yawn. "I came to London to see you, you helped me, and brought me home because it was too late for me to ride the trains alone."

"That works well enough," Violet said. "And Hermione... I'm going to need to show them the letter. To remind them of what they wanted for you, and that it is possible for them to get that. Are you alright with that?"

Hermione yawned again and hauled Hogwarts: A History out of the car. "I suppose I'll have to be," she said. She pulled the letter out, spying the green coloured ink. Only this time instead of feeling angry or uncertain, she felt a reminder that there was some place out there that wanted her. And that was a good reminder to have.