Hermione Granger wouldn't admit this to anyone, not even herself, but she was absolutely, completely terrified. How else was she supposed to feel? Plucked out of her world and placed into another, with no context, and, most egregiously, no apparent logic to guide her. But, despite her fear upon her arrival in this exciting new 'Wizarding World', there was also a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could belong in this world in a way she never had in her old.

She'd always known she was different from the other kids at her primary school. When they went and played in the sun, she sat in the shade with a book. When the weekend came around, other people went on playdates and sleepovers, relishing the break from school. Hermione stayed at home and learnt. Whilst at first she had tried to share her knowledge with others, trying so desperately to fit in, she had quickly learnt that the other kids didn't want her there. They thought she was a stuck-up know-it-all who thought she was better than everyone else. Hermione had tried to ignore the taunts and glares sent her way whenever she answered in class, she really had, but in the end she wasn't allowed to. Wherever she went, at school, in the park, in the mall, somebody would find her and she would know that they were making fun of her. So, after particularly painful day, she had given up trying to fit in. She made a point of being turning her nose up at their stupid schoolyard games, of answering every question she could. She didn't bother talking to people her own age anymore, forsaking their company for that of her teacher's. It was her own, small way of defying them, of showing them that they would never break her down, and that she would never, ever give in. So, when she got home, and when the tears had all dried up, she spent her time soaking up all the information she could, learning anything and everything that would help her go back tomorrow and do it all again. It had been like that for years.

Then, one day, things changed. A particularly loathsome boy called Ernie Smith had started pulling her hair and stealing her books, throwing them up into the big tree in the middle of the playground, and calling her beaver-girl as she climbed to get them back down. One day, Ernie was feeling particularly athletic, and threw Return of the King all the way to the top of the highest branch, where it nestled in a crook of the tree. Hermione had tried to climb it, but fell down. Everybody laughed. She tried to climb again, her soft hands cutting themselves on the hard branches of the tree. Then, the recess bell had sounded, and people had gone back inside. But Hermione couldn't. She was too high up, and she wouldn't just let Ernie win. She was so angry, and hurt, and scared, and then-then, she was on the ground, her book flying down from the top of the tree right into her waiting hands. Nobody else had seen it, nobody else knew. But she knew. She knew something had changed. In the next year, after she turned 11, other strange things happened. Her jumper, which the other kids had stolen and thrown in mud, was clean when she got home. When her hat was stolen and torn in half when she wrestled to get it back, she had clutched it to her chest, and suddenly it was whole again. She never said a word of it to anyone, not even her parents. Instead, she pored over her books, trying to understand what was happening. She didn't think that she was being possessed by a demon, so it had to be magic, surely? But there was nothing in her books about real magic, so for months on end she was left to ponder.

Then, a letter had come. A simple, wonderful letter, embossed with a wax seal that simply told her that magic was real, that she was a witch, and that they wanted her. They wanted to teach her. Because she was special. Her parents had nearly thrown it out, convinced that it was a stupid prank, but when Hermione had told them about all the strange goings on, they relented, and assented to let a strange visitor prove that they were telling the truth, that magic was, in fact, real.

Then, Professor McGonagall had come, telling her that not only was she magical, but there was a whole world of people like her, living right under their noses. That night, Hermione cried. Not from sadness, or loneliness like she normally did. No, these tears were tears of joy. Tears of hope, that maybe, just maybe, she could find a place to belong. And, more than anything, she just wanted to belong.

She wanted to belong so badly, in fact, that when her parents went to Diagon Alley, she had insisted on buying just about every book on history, culture, and magic she could get her hands on. Each night, she stayed up late, devouring this whole new world of information. She practised the movements for spells for hours on end, waving her wand around in the background, to the bemusement of her parents, who had never seen her go outside that much in the past ten years combined. As she learnt about her new world, Hermione Granger learnt about somebody particularly interesting. Harry Potter. She learnt how he had defeated Wizard Hitler when he was only a baby, how his childhood was filled with adventures, as he wandered into old castles, talking to ghosts, solved mysteries. She learnt so much about the boy-who-lived that she had already come to regard him as a friend when she had discovered his birthday. July 31st, 1980. She herself had been born on September 12, 1979. The squeal she had made when she learnt that the Boy-Who-Lived might be in her year had sent her parents running up to her bedroom, thinking that she had either hurt herself or was suffering from some kind of psychological break. Instead, they had just found her clutching a book happily, with the broadest smile on their daughter's face that they had ever seen.

But now, she was at the station, and nothing was going as she'd planned. She wasn't naïve enough to hope that somebody would come up and start talking to her about Lord of the Rings or how excited they were for classes to start, of course, but she had hoped that somebody would at least start talking to her. But it was not to be, and as she lost herself in the chattering crowd, the courage and hope she'd felt started to drain away, bit by bit. Still, she resolved, she wasn't going to let a small setback get her down. She had a whole year to make some friends, after all.

"It's these filthy new mudbloods Bumblebore insists on taking in of course. No sense of tradition or pride. My father says the school's gone to the dogs with him in charge." A aristocratic, sneering voice said loudly.

Hermione froze for a second, searching for the voice, which seemed to be moving towards the train.

"I do hope they get the hint and go back to where they came from." The voice said again, slowly fading out into the background of the crowd.

Hermione, looked down sadly for a moment. She knew that some people had issues with people like her coming into Hogwarts, but she had never dreamt for a moment they would be so brazen about it. What really got her, however, was the youth of the voice. This wasn't some old guard aristocrat that had fought for You-Know-Who. This was just a kid, like her. Sighing heavily, she trudged through the madding crowd, her trunk in hand, passing through group after group of people, who seemed to know each other so very well. She felt a little like a stranger intruding on a family gathering, everybody seemed to know each other, or at least know of each other. It was only her and a few other muggleborn witches and wizards who weren't part of the carnival atmosphere, and who knows where they were? She sighed, and climbed up the stairs, looking for a compartment. She didn't want an empty one. She told herself it was because she wanted to be social, but, secretly, she knew it was because she was worried that nobody would come and join her. She walked down the corridor, looking for an open compartment with somebody her age. Preferably somebody who, like her, was alone. However, the longer she walked down the train, the less likely it seemed her hope would come true. Cabin after cabin was either full of her peers, were from another year, or were reserved for others. But, determined, she steeled herself and carried on. She was towards the back of the train now, and was tempted to give up and go back the way she came. Just a few more, she thought, as she turned her head from left to right, searching for an opening she could grab onto, something that would pull her into this world for good. At that moment, she found it. A boy, about her age, staring forlornly out the window at the crammed platform. His raven black, scruffy hair seemed vaguely familiar, although she didn't know why. What she did know, however, was that look, and she knew it better than she cared to admit. Tentatively, she opened the door slowly. The boy didn't turn around, presumably lost in his thoughts. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Excuse me?" She squeaked out, internally kicking herself at her meekness as the boy turned around to look at her, with big, emerald-green eyes.

Author's Notes

Heya, it's me! I know it's probably been a bit slow getting into the meat of the story, where Harry can actually do something useful, but we're nearing the end of the start now! Just though I'd update on what I'm planning – There will be NO bashing of any kind, Ron will become part of the story and a little later into the term, but he's going to be a little less insecure, and a little more grown-up than most fanfic versions of him are(although he will retain his somewhat lazy attitude for some time yet). Dumbledore will of course be flawed, but he's a fundamentally good and reasonable character in this. Since I'll be starting holidays soon, I'm planning to proceed at about a 1000 words per day for the next few weeks, but I recognise that's a little (read:very) ambitious so that can and probably will change. Please review to help me improve my writing, I know I'm not exactly C.S. Lewis or anything but every little bit of advice helps.