A/N: I feel like everyone's making stories based on their favorite song. I have a few, so this would be part 1. (They're going to be in separate chapters)
This one is going to be based off of Belle from Beauty and the Beast :)
I may or may not have chosen Hermione to be the main character here because Emma Watson plays Belle in the 2017 version...
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July 20th, 1991
Hermione walked into the kitchen to see herself home alone again. Of course, her parents were at work. Every morning was just the same.
The banana-yellow Post-it note had her mother's cursive handwriting on it asking her to go to the grocery store for her and buy things. Hermione didn't even look at the list, anymore. It was always the same.
She pulled on a white T-shirt and a pale pink polka-dotted skirt, and slipped on her pink-and-purple flip flops. She grabbed her nearly-overdue library book and came outside.
Mr. Potsley, the neighborhood baker, drove by with his worn-down Ford with scratches so severe everyone on the block was surprised it still worked. He sold the best rolls and pastry in town, the menu was always the same. Why did everyone like it like that?
"Good morning, Hermione!" Mr. Odiosis called from his garden. "Off to get groceries again?"
"And return my library book on the way," she grinned.
"Anne of Green Gables? I loved that story! My mother read that to me and my siblings when we were the size of a table,"
Hermione wasn't hoping to have to run into another one of Mr. Odiosis' lectures again, so she waved and walked away.
She examined the leather cover of her book. They were nearly worn down… Miss LeFringe had said that many children had read and enjoyed that book before she was even born.
All of a sudden, as she was crossing the bridge over the creek, she dropped her book into the cold water. Panicking, she snatched it out of the water. She planned to leave it outside, and maybe return it tomorrow, but instead, the book was completely dry, as if she had never dropped it.
"How did you do that?" Amelie Andrews, who had happened to be right behind her, said.
"I… I don't know,"
Amelie made a face. "You've always been strange, Hermione. No question,"
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Well, just now you picked up a book out of the creek all dry. Yesterday, you stopped a stick that snapped off a tree from hitting your head. And the day before that, when Oliver Degreener was making fun of your outfit, you made a watermelon from the farmer's market roll off and land on his toe. How do you do it?"
"I don't know. Honest. I guess I'm just lucky," Hermione said quickly. She really didn't know, but she didn't want to talk about it with Amelie. Before the conversation could continue, she dashed off.
July 30, 1991
The doorbell rang, and Hermione's mother went to get the door, Hermione in tow. A dark-haired woman with a pointed hat and emerald green robes was standing there. She stared at Hermione more than she looked at her mother.
"Can I help you?" Hermione's mother asked.
"Oh, yes. Is this Hermione Granger?"
"How do you know me?" Hermione asked. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name is Professor McGonagall. I am here to explain to your parents about your scholarship to Hogwarts," she turned to her mother. "Is your husband here?"
"Er- I think so… Micheal? A woman's here and she wants to talk to us…"
"What's Hogwarts?" Hermione asked as her mother searched the house for her father.
"Hogwarts is a school of magic," Professor McGonagall answered. "Miss Granger, have you ever seen anything strange happening to you?"
"Well… I dropped a book into a creek yesterday. It came out dry. And the day before that, I stopped a stick from falling onto my head. I thought it was a coincidence?"
"Many Muggle-borns assume that at first," the professor nodded.
"What's a Mug… The muggy thing?"
"Muggles," she repeated clearly and firmly "It's what we like to call non-wizards. For example, your parents are Muggles. You and I aren't. If you're Muggle-born, then you're a witch or wizard with Muggle ancestry,"
"Does that mean there are wizards and such that are children of other magic people?"
"Oh, yes. There are many. But there are plenty of other Muggle-borns that are now learning about magic as we speak, like how you are right now. You won't have to worry about being behind. Other Muggle-borns catch up to typical wizarding standards rather quickly. It's possible one may pass the average grades of someone who has more wizards in their family tree compared to theirs,"
McGonagall handed her a folded piece of parchment.
"This is a list of school supplies you will need to get from Diagon Alley. It's a street full of shops where you can buy magical things, such as cauldrons and textbooks about magic and your wand,"
"Wand?" Hermione asked, intrigued.
"Yes. All students are required to get wands. No two are the same, so yours will likely be much different from, say, mine, or whoever you happen to sit next to during your classes," McGongagall withdrew her wand from her robes. "For example, my wand is made of fir, dragon heartstring, and is nine-and-three-quarters inches long. I bought it when I was your age. Yours might be completely different. Perhaps, thirteen inches, unicorn hair, and applewood,"
Hermione, with her jaw opened wide, nodded excitedly. Her parents happened to come at that exact moment.
"Okay, Ana here said something about a hog wart? Are you a doctor?," Hermione's father put her hands on his daughter's shoulders. "I am a dentist. I'm sure I'd know if my daughter had something as serious as a normal wart,"
"No warts involved," McGonagall reassured him. "And no hogs, either,"
And she proceeded to repeat the information she had told Hermione.
"No," Hermione's mother said firmly. "There's no way our daughter… our beautiful daughter, our only daughter, cannot be a witch. We would know,"
"Well, now you do," McGonagall said. "So there's that,"
Hermione grinned while her parents started arguing with McGonagall. It didn't matter whether or not her parents agreed to let her go to Hogwarts. She was different, complex. Her life wasn't quite as boring as she thought.