A/N: Thank you for your time!
Mr Granger reached out and grasped Hermione's wrist, watching carefully as a dingy looking pub appeared out of nowhere on the opposite side of the street.
"Incredible," he murmured.
The Grangers had spent the last few months debating back and forth the merits of their daughter attending a boarding school for magic, finally agreeing to Professor McGonagall's request that they accompany her to the central wizarding shopping district, Diagon Alley. It was a cold Tuesday morning in February, the date so chosen so the streets of the Alley wouldn't be too crowded, and Hermione had never been so excited in her life.
Professor McGonagall led them across the street and instructed Mr and Mrs Granger to keep hold of Hermione until they crossed the threshold of the pub. After a brief greeting to the bartender Tom the group found themselves outside once again, this time through the back door, facing a nondescript brick wall. After few taps with the professor's wand, which Hermione carefully memorised, the Grangers stood open-mouthed as the bricks rearranged themselves to form an archway.
Professor McGonagall turned and smiled at the rapturous expression on Hermione's face.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley."
Hermione felt like she was coming home.
Magic tickled against her skin and pricked at the fine hairs on the back of her neck and with each breath she thought she could taste it against her tongue.
There were almost too many things to see. Shopfronts displayed the most incredible things for sale - was that an actual cauldron? - and owls flew over their heads with letters clutched in their talons. Snow banks had piled up against the doors and Hermione watched in astonishment as a broomstick swept the threshold of a shop without anyone so much as touching it. Professor McGonagall kindly slowed her pace to allow the Grangers to take in as much as they could.
Witches and wizards were scurrying from shop to shop, cloaks pulled tightly against the cold weather. The snippets of conversation that reached their ears almost sounded like a foreign language.
"Can you believe the price of ground bicorn horn these days-"
"- almost lost myself in the Floo this morning-"
"- I should bloody well think so! It's about time they started regulating cauldron bottom thickness!"
Hermione had to be physically dragged from the front of a shop with a small sign proclaiming it as 'Obscurus Books'. Though she had memorised the list of which books were required for her first year - she had read her Hogwarts acceptance letter at least once daily since receiving it - it had not become apparent to her up until now that there was a whole new world of books just waiting for her. Books about magic.
Professor McGonagall ushered them into a cozy tea shop and shucked her heavy cloak as she took a seat at a polished round table. The Grangers removed their winter coats and scarves and sat, staring at the clean white cloth polishing the silver by itself at the counter. A young woman with a hastily tied apron took their order and disappeared into the back of the shop.
"Have you thought much further about your decision?"
The waitress returned and set their order on the table. Hermione watched the her father add a dash of cream to his tea.
"What would happen if we didn't want Hermione to go to Hogwarts? Or any magical school for that matter?"
Professor McGonagall shifted and Hermione stared down at her trembling fingers.
"Wizarding Law would mandate that Hermione's magic be bound. There would be very little risk of further accidental magic. An Unbinding is possible in the future, however once unbound her magic will be unstable and untrained. She would be required to be placed in a program, that is if she ever wanted to join magical society. It is much harder to learn to control magic as an adult than it is as a child."
Mrs Granger nodded and reached a soothing hand to brush Hermione's curls away from her face.
"And if she should attend your school, would would become of her 'Muggle' education?"
Hermione's head snapped up, eyes round and hopeful.
"As you can imagine Hogwarts classes do not translate well to Muggle ones so we cannot offer transcripts post graduation that would be accepted by a Muggle University. However, some Muggleborn children choose to continue their Muggle education through postal courses and summer schools. Many of our Muggleborn graduates go on to study at Muggle University and find a line of work that sits midway between Muggle and magical, for example within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
Mr Granger looked at his wife, then at their child.
"Is this what you want, Hermione?"
"Very much, dad," she whispered, clutching at the scarf in her lap. Her father reached out to grasp her mother's hand and seemed to steel himself for what he was about to say.
"My wife and I have thought long and hard about this decision. We cannot justify preventing Hermione accessing her magic - it would be like telling her she could never read a book again. If she can still maintain her 'Muggle' education, we accept."
There was a clatter as Hermione leapt at her parents with a stream of thankyouthankyouthankyous that had her mother laughing. Professor McGonagall sipped her tea, smiling.
"Very well then, Miss Granger. Congratulations on your decision to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I think it is time we had a look at your list of necessary books and equipment, don't you think?"
The wand store was dark and cluttered. Dust motes caught in the meagre sunlight filtering from the windows between stacked boxes and Hermione shivered as magic pressed up against her. Professor McGonagall looked down at her, a small frown creasing her forehead.
"Can you feel that, child?"
Hermione looked up and nodded and the professor's frown deepened.
There was a rustle from the back of the store and between narrow aisles appeared a wizened man with a puff of cloudy white hair. Hermione could feel her parents at her shoulders as Professor McGonagall stepped forward and introduced them.
"Ah, Miss Granger," he began in a tremulous voice, shuffling around the counter to greet his customers.
"This is a momentous occasion for a magical child and their family. Hold up your wand arm, dear! The hand you use to write will do!"
Hermione blinked and raised her right hand and with a flick of his wrist Mr Ollivander summoned a tape measure which began measuring the distance between the tip of her thumb and her elbow.
"Now," Ollivander began, tottering back towards the towering aisles and sliding boxes from the shelves seemingly at random.
"The wand chooses the witch, of course."
Hermione nodded distractedly, cross-eyed as she tried to focus on the tape which was now measuring the length of her nose.
"That's enough," Ollivander said, and the tape dropped to the floor and lay unmoving. Ollivander opened a dusty box to reveal a polished dark wand and offered it to Hermione.
"Ebony with unicorn tail. Nice and springy."
With a hesitant hand, Hermione picked up the wand and held it in front of her. Mr and Mrs Granger, like their daughter, were staring at the wand and all three jumped when Ollivander chuckled.
"Well, give it a wave!"
Hermione did, feeling foolish, and then gasped when a precariously balanced pile of wand boxes toppled to the floor. Ollivander plucked the wand from her hand and replaced it with a deep red wand.
"Cypress, unicorn tail. Rigid - oh, no. Definitely not!"
The wand was snatched from her fingers as the windows rattled and the glass in a nearby picture frame shattered.
"Gracious, did you say unicorn tail?"
"Why yes, Mrs Granger. Unicorn tail hair is a common wand core - freely given, of course. Now, Miss Granger, this particular core does not seem to agree with you. Shall we try something else?"
The pile of unmatched wands grew to Hermione's left and contrary to what she expected Ollivander seemed to get more excited with each failure. Hermione though grew more and more despondent.
"Is it possible that there has been a mistake and there's no wand that fits me?"
Ollivander chuckled and shook his head.
"The magic in you is so bright it's almost blinding," he laughed delightedly, shuffling further into the back of his shop. Professor McGonagall, who was perched on a stool to the side reading through a newspaper with moving pictures frowned again.
There was splutter of coughing and Ollivander reappeared, brushing a thick layer of dust from a pale wooden box carved with an intricate design of tangled vines. He placed the box on the counter almost reverently in front of Hermione and stepped back with a calculating look in his eye.
At the impatient flutter of his hands, Hermione stepped forward and placed her hand on the box. There was a click from within it and a crackle of electricity in the air.
"That's the one," said Mr Granger, and then shrugged at the look of surprise from everyone in the room but Ollivander himself.
"Can't you smell it? It's like standing in the woods during a thunderstorm."
Hermione opened the box and stared at the pale wand nestled within it, brushing a finger over what looked like a faded crest on the inside of the lid - she could almost make out some kind of animal if she squinted. At another impatient fidget from Ollivander she turned her attention to the wand nestled in a crushed velvet of a blue so dark it was almost black. Her eyes traced the design of interwoven vines at the hilt and reached forward to touch the tip of her finger to the base. Her hair stood on end.
She picked it up and warmth rushed from her arm to the tips of her toes. The length of wood felt like an extension of her body and she suddenly couldn't remember what it felt like to be without it. Hermione waved it gently and from the tip of the wand poured a riot of sparks.
They were gold, blue, purple and white.
A/N: Please do leave a review.