Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter; although if there was a free give-away of such rights I might line up for it… maybe… A/N: And here is the first of Hermione's story. Hope you enjoy!

Interlude

Hermione, Age 3 ¾

The girl-child was small, and quite clever for her age; able to burrow herself into a convenient nook in a way no-one would be able to see her – especially her nurse with her acid tongue. Hermione didn't know what she'd done wrong; but there had to be something. The change from sweet and gentle caregiver to insulting, harsh taskmaster had been far too abrupt. At almost four, she was now an expert at avoidance, much like her parents. Had they been the type of people to shout and scream, Hermione might have found herself protesting her treatment at the hands of the woman hired to care for her – since her parents couldn't be bothered – but they weren't, and so neither was she.

Hermione sighed, and opened the book in her lap. Her parents library didn't have any children's books, and her nurse had gotten rid of hers, stating harshly that there was no way she was going to waste time reading them to her (never mind that she could read them herself) and that Hermione was too old for them anyway. She wasn't allowed to watch the television her parents had placed in her play-room (so she didn't need theirs) or play her music because it was childish and nurse couldn't stand it; the only sounds to come from the expensive system and fill her wing of the large house was classical. Hermione didn't mind so much, although she had cried about her favourite book being thrown away – something she learned quickly not to do in nurses' presence again; the tongue lashing she'd received was worse than a sharp slap across the face.

So one day, with nothing else to do – other than be caught playing with the ornate doll house in her play-room by nurse, who would pitch a fit about something so expensive and antique being played with by a careless child and couldn't she grow up already? – she had snuck into her parents library to find something to entertain her sharp mind. It had been rather difficult, because Hermione wasn't supposed to leave the wing of the house she lived in without her nurse; and that hadn't occurred in a long time (other than to walk sedately in the private courtyard attached to her side of the house, under the watchful eye of nurse, who claimed she needed the exercise and should be lady-like about it); but she had loved the challenge it presented. She knew where the books lived, and for someone with the kind of mind she had, it hadn't been difficult to devise her escape.

Hermione could now access the library whenever she wanted, and her mind was fed by medical journals, health guides, classical readings, poetry and a myriad of other things no-one her age should find the least bit interesting. Still, at least she could say she knew why it was that she was forced to eat her vegetables.

Her gaze dropped to the book in her lap the collected works of Charles Dickens. Soon she was immersed in a world without neglectful, emotionally distant parents or callous supervisor; where problems were far bigger than her own, but where happily-ever-afters were guaranteed.

TBC...

A/N: So very much with the apologies, I have very little excuse, other that Christmas… which the work for seems to get longer and longer every year… anyway, hope you all had a good one and a great New Year!