Disclaimer: I do not own the concept and characters of Harry Potter. I can now truly understand some of the ridiculous things people say in disclaimers… A/N: To all my readers: my sincere, heartfelt apologies for the extreme break between the last chapter and this. Thank you to all who continued to look out for this story and enjoy it.

Chapter Three

Expect The Unexpected

The large Elizabethan manor house set on the outskirts of Oxford had an air of peace and tranquility about it. It was the kind of place where what you don't expect is exactly what happens. One could imagine that inside a happy family dwelled; a mother, though busy, putting aside her appointments to sooth a scraped knee; a father taking a day off to play outside with his child; a small boy or girl living in love and contentment. But such was not the case in this home; in fact, just the opposite. Here the mother cared far more for her social standing among her friends than she did about the child she bore into the world; and the father was far more likely to take a day off for a round of golf with his co-workers than any child he had a hand in creating. And though there was a small girl-child living there, she lived in neither love or contentment. Indeed, to look at the beautiful home one would never suspect the occupants of being anything but kind and gentle, especially to their own child. However, as most would know, appearances are never the most conclusive evidence. Buried deep in her private wing of the large home was the only child of Andrew and Margaret Granger; she was, as always, alone.

So the unexpected was to be found in the large, coldly beautiful house – and in this case, the unexpected was an owl. Not that it was impossible for an owl to be there; but it was the middle of the day, the time when all sensible owls were perched somewhere quiet for a nap. The only person in this very clean-cut, proper place who was expecting an owl to land in her room (at any time, let alone in the middle of the day), was the eleven-year-old girl residing in the eastern wing. She had been expecting this particular owl ever since her birthday some three months before. One might ask what kind of normal person would be expecting an owl to land in their room; but Hermione Madison Granger was not, despite appearances, a normal girl. Hermione was a witch. She had been waiting for this day ever since she was eight years old, and discovered the truth.

Hermione looked up as the owl swept into her bedroom, and after a moment realized what it was doing there. She put down her book and sprung up from her bed in excitement, and headed towards the creature. Very gently, she removed the letter the owl had been carrying and then looked at the addressee.

"Miss H. Granger

The Lilac Room, Eastern Wing

Wrenglade Hall

Oxford; Oxfordshire"

Eyes sparkling in a manner that anyone who knew her would know was unusual, she quickly opened the letter and started reading. Nothing unexpected, but still exciting! Because she was born to two un-magical people, or muggles, she would be escorted around Diagon Alley, the wizarding business district in London, by a professor of the school. Hermione smiled, and sighed in happiness. Her plans could now move forward.

The girl's first step was to write back to the school, immediately accepting the position offered to her. Once the owl was out of sight, she sought out her parents. She first came across her father.

"Excuse me, sir," she started, frigidly formal as usual.

"Yes, Hermione?" Andrew Granger answered his only child absently. "What is it?"

"I've been offered a place at a very prestigious school. I've decided to accept. It's a boarding school, so I'll leave on the first of September and return sometime in June. It's a wonderful opportunity for me, advanced courses – "

The man interrupted her, not overly interested. "Yes, yes, sounds fine. I'll add another five hundred pounds per quarter for your allowance. I'm sure that should cover everything. I'll leave the arrangements up to you; have the school take the money directly from your own accounts. Send word if anything else crops up. Was that all?"

Hermione swallowed the disappointment she had prepared herself to feel, just as she always did; though somehow, it was always just as sharp. "Yes, sir. That's all. I shall inform mother myself…" she trailed off as her father nodded absently and turned his attention back to his work. Hermione walked quietly from the room. She paused at the door, looking back at the man behind the desk. "Goodbye father," she whispered, suddenly sure she'd not see him again for a very long time.

Hermione next found her mother. She knew, beyond setting up the automatic transfer to her accounts – because money was something her father never forgot about – her parent would forget the entire conversation they'd just had. If you could call it a conversation. In any case, informing her mother would be left up to her. When she located the vivacious woman, and informed her of her imminent departure from the house – she wasn't really in her parent's lives, after all – the woman looked pleased. "I'm so happy for you, darling. Of course, I knew you'd get in somewhere brilliant. So glad you got all the brains your father and I had to give you…" she absently took out her personal cheque book. "Here, darling. Get yourself something nice from me. A new dress or something. Congratulations," the woman handed her a cheque for three hundred pounds, patted her hand, and swept away, already dialing her hair dresser to discuss her next hair appointment for the party she was planning.

Hermione was waiting in the entrance hall of her mother and father's grand home. She sat, perfectly still, dressed in a burnished gold dress that brought out the highlights in her hair and eyes. At her feet was a satchel-type bag with everything she was sure she'd need to complete the day's activities she had planned. At precisely 8:15am the door bell rang. Hermione picked up her satchel, draped it over her shoulder and casually opened the door. On the other side was a rather stern looking woman, her long black hair pulled back into a severe bun, dark eyes hidden behind square spectacles, and wearing a long dark green tartan plaid skirt with an old-fashioned formal white blouse under a matching jacket. Her feet were encased in sensible-looking, black, low-heeled boots. The woman smiled tightly at her; an expression that – sincere as it was – was obviously rarely used. Hermione gave a polite nod back. "Professor McGonagall? I'm Hermione Granger. My parents were unable to meet you, I'm afraid. Shall we be going?"

The teacher looked momentarily confused; most parents were travelling with them. However she covered her uncertainty and asked the girl to join the group congregating on the porch. They still had three families to pick up. "Please hold onto the rope, dear," the professor spoke with a faint Scottish accent, "this will take us to where we're going next."

Hermione did so, and, with a rather uncomfortable pulling sensation at her middle, the group disappeared…

When they had picked up the last families on the list, they were dropped at an abandoned alley in London. The teacher then guided them to a place called the Leaky Cauldron. None of the parents could see it, it seemed, and Hermione decided there must be muggle repelling charms on the whole establishment. She remembered well the first time she had seen the pub, following her nurse at eight, desperate for an answer to the mystery the woman represented…

Hermione, Age 8

Imelda Reynolds nee Filch was furious. It wasn't as if she liked the little fungus of course; but heaven knew it was far better here than her brothers position as caretaker in that ruddy school, and it had paid well with little personal expense. Of course the brat had to be even more special, and be so smart she needed personal instruction, which – ofcourse – necessitated that she lose her position as caregiver of the little menace. A few years ago, she'd felt guilty for the way she'd treated what was, in essence, an innocent child for something that was hardly her fault; it wasn't as though the child was maliciously magical just to rub it in her face that she wasn't. But such feelings only lasted until the next time she traversed to Diagon Alley – she couldn't stay away – and then the feelings turned back to resentment – that she would be a part of this, that she would one day walk here without stigma, that she could make her feel bad for her – to her mind – justifiable feelings…

The woman stormed towards what had been her personal rooms, thoughts furiously churning and heaven help that child if she saw before she left, because right now she was in the mood to do some serious damage. As she packed away eight years of her life – didn't these muggles care how much she'd given up to stay here? She conveniently forgot that she'd been paid handsomely for her services – Imelda reflected on the child who'd been the centre of her life for that time. She could remember the moment she'd realized the baby was magical, and the feelings of inadequacy and jealousy she'd had. She had tried, at first, to suppress those feelings; knowing it was hardly the fault of the child but unable to stop feeling that way. She remembered taking off every single birthday, knowing that the girl would be condemned to spend the day alone, as it was unlikely her parents would be bothered to be concerned about the child they'd brought into the world; and always – always, like rubbing salt into an open wound – going to Diagon Alley on those days and seeing everything that she could see but not touch. She remembered when the child had gone to school and kept coming home increasingly depressed, but hadn't been able to move herself to care whenever the child was in her presence. She remembered feelings of guilt that she could treat an innocent this way, and considering giving up her position both for the good of herself and of the child. Whatever had happened to those thoughts? She'd always been too afraid, she admitted to herself; to scared to strike out alone in a world where she was just as un-special as everyone else. It had taken a lot for her to work here, for muggles, in the first place, and to leave and try to find another position had frightened her down to her core. But as she looked at what she had become – really looked, for the first time in years – Imelda realized she should have gone. She didn't like what she'd become. It was time for a change.

Lost in memories, Imelda didn't notice the sense that she was being watched; that someone was intruding on her thoughts. If she had, she'd most likely shrug it off; the only magical being in the house was the brat and she was only eight, not old enough for mind magics. Hermione, accustomed to constantly being aware of her nurses turbulent emotions – lest she be on the receiving end of them – had, as usual reached out to the woman's mind and feelings to get a reading when she found out she'd been to see Hermione's parents. She'd been swept away by the strength of the feelings, thoughts and memories the moment she'd touched the nurse's mind with her magic, forced to watch the last eight years of her life with all the emotions and prejudices the squib had hidden away. And so Hermione learnt of the world hidden away just beyond our own, out of reach for any who didn't possess the special gift of magic…

…End Memory…

Hermione looked around the busy magical market place with the detached awe she always felt when she shopped here – it hadn't yet been often enough to insulate her to the wonder most felt the first time they went from the mundane to the magical world. She ignored the looks of pity she was receiving from the parents of the other muggle-born children and looked at her new classmates. She couldn't help but be disappointed. Not one of them seemed to be someone she could connect with; and her experience with her nurse told her it would be very unlikely for her to be accepted by the rather uptight pureblood community.

They were escorted around very efficiently by Professor McGonagall and by lunch time they had finished all their shopping. Starting at Gringotts to exchange muggle money for wizarding – Hermione had brought extra money for some… additional items she wanted – then moving onto Flourish and Blotts for books, Madam Malkin's for robes, the local apothecary for potions ingredients and implements, various other stores for bits and pieces they'd need, and, of course, Ollivanders for their wands.

Hermione considered Ollivander for a moment. She'd sensed something otherworldly about the old man; as though he didn't really belong here… though Hermione had no idea what that meant, it was simply what she had felt, and it almost distracted her from the strange reaction she'd observed from the man – if he was a man – when her wand – vine wood with dragon heartstring core – had chosen her. She knew it unlikely she'd get an answer for the reaction any time soon, though; so she pushed the question to the back of her mind for later consideration.

Having already obtained much of what she'd need for her first year, Hermione had, of course, gotten things that were a lot different from her peers, but no-one needed to know about it, she decided. They expected her to know nothing about her new environment, she wouldn't disappoint. Before they left for home they ate lunch in the pub that was the entrance to the Alley's – the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't too bad, Hermione thought, although a bit old fashioned for her tastes. Her parents enjoyed far more exotic fare at their table; reminding them of all the different journeys they had taken around the world. Sometimes Hermione wished that she could go with them to new places, but they had always claimed that they needed time to themselves away from their daughter. Considering that that was how they lived their lives – away from her – Hermione thought this rather dramatic statement was quite over the top. Still, the food wasn't too bad, and she supposed she could look forward to the old-fashioned dishes at school, as the wizarding world seemed to be very traditional. Maybe she could take a few cookbooks and learn to cook outside of class time.

The whole day had been a mixture of disappointment – as she hadn't met any friends – and excitement – she was finally going to Hogwarts! Finally somewhere her parents had never been; now she was the one leaving them behind – and by the time she arrived back on her front porch, she was exhausted. And all the time a question was echoing in the back of her mind. Was she destined to be alone forever?

When Hermione arrived back home, she walked in the front door to find her tutor, Mister R.J. Lupin, standing in the front hall waiting for her, bags around him.

R.J. Lupin – she'd never learnt what his initials stood for – had been hired by her parents when Hermione was eight, and her school had contacted them about her being too bored with the school curriculum. They'd recommended a tutor for her and her parents had promptly fired her nurse – deciding her to be too old for one anyway – and Hermione had met him in the same afternoon. She'd never gone back to school, and had flourished under the gentle man's tutelage.

The first time she'd sensed him with her magic – she had known by then what it was – she'd felt something within him respond. It had been incredible, scanning someone else who had magic; and though she'd sensed his gentle nature, there was, underlying it, something savage and wild; something that stopped her from ever reaching out to him on any magical level ever again. She'd considered asking him about it; but had in the end decided against it. While it would have been nice to go to someone with her magical questions, she decided that it would bring her attention she really didn't want. So he remained largely a mystery to her, but he was probably the only dependable adult she'd ever known, and it made her sad that they would now part ways.

Hermione frowned. "What's going on here?" she asked him softly.

The man – somewhere in his thirties, Hermione knew – smiled at her tightly. "Your parents have informed me that you've chosen a boarding school to attend. They've given me quite a handsome severance pay; but I need to leave soon."

"I'm sorry… do you have to go today?"

"No, I don't; and don't be sorry. They gave me a month to get settled. But I had a feeling you'd be starting on a… different path soon, so I have something else lined up. I wanted to say goodbye to you though," Mr. Lupin spoke softly and sincerely, as he usually did; though this time there was a mysterious smile present.

He looked, for a moment, like he was arguing with himself about something, then he seemed to make up his mind in an instant, and spoke to her with an intensity and emotion he never had before.

"Hermione, you're very brilliant. But more than that, you're smart; and that's very different. You can go anywhere in this world. Don't let anything hold you back – including them. They don't deserve you, and I want you to remember that. I also want you to know that there is somewhere out there that does. Don't give up hope. Ever. Now, good luck with your new school. I know you'll do well." He gave that mysterious smile again, and he was gone. Hermione, though she knew it was unlikely, had a sudden and strange feeling they would meet again... soon. She knew with equal certainty that – even if they never met again – she'd remember his words for a long time to come…

When Hermione had turned six, her parents had presented her with her first personal account and taught her how to use the card attached to it, then promptly turned her loose in the local shopping district with a watch and instructions to meet the car in precisely four hours. Reflecting back on that day, Hermione knew she was lucky she wasn't kidnapped or worse, as her nurse had refused to give up her day off – she always took Hermione's birthday off – and her parents had what they considered to be "something more important to do".

In any case, that was the day Hermione also came across Madam Tare's dance studio. She'd ended up staying there the full four hours, had the best time of her short life and used some of her birthday money to join.

Madam Tare was a thirty-something, French, previous professional dancer and dance champion – and daughter to a professional ballerina – who'd been forced to give up her career when she'd become pregnant; and had to find some way to support them and her mother when she'd fallen on hard times. Now the two elder ladies ran the dance school and Nadine, soon to turn nine, looked to join them in the business as soon as she was old enough; she already tutored the younger beginner dancers for her mum. Although they'd met when Hermione was six, she and Nadine had never really become close – the Tare family all too aware of the social barriers Hermione's parents lived by – but the two girls worked well together.

Matron Tare – as Nadine's grandmother went by – was a strict teacher in her late fifties, but no-one would ever make the mistake of labeling her old or frail; especially not in her hearing (extremely good hearing, at that), as it was quite possible they'd walk away missing body parts. She taught ballet to the clients of the school, and easily kept the discipline her students needed to learn their craft.

Madam Tare – who primarily went by that name to keep the richer students parents impressed and was far more fun than her title implied – taught other forms of dancing. She'd designed a program for beginner dancers that started them out easily and allowed them to work their way towards the more complex forms; and specialized in ballroom dancing herself. As the studio became more successful, she had hired other teachers to take classes in both traditional dances of other countries and cultures, but also the more contemporary, modern styles like hip-hop, which were enormously popular.

Hermione had started out in the beginners classes and added ballet after the first year. She'd competed in competitions and done very well; winning quite a few titles – luckily she received a healthy allowance so she didn't need to rely on the relatively small monetary prizes also awarded – and once those classes were no longer overly challenging she'd started adding other classes for fun. Over the years her body had developed to be deceptively slight, masking the strength of which she was capable, and allowed her to cultivate a grace many her age took years to develop.

Hermione exited the car and entered the building; immediately seeking out Madam Tare. It was one thing she liked about the head teacher – she was always available to her students, and knew each of them by name. Once she was free, Hermione spoke to her.

"May I have a moment, Madam Tare?"

The lady – for she was, most defiantly a lady, despite what anyone said – smiled at her, and drew her to the side with an arm about the shoulder and a soft, "of course, Hermione, what's on your mind?"

"Well… you might know I turned eleven this year. My parents are sending me to a boarding school in Scotland," Hermione told her teacher. "I'll have to… well, withdraw from your school, once the summer is over."

Madam Tare looked at her student in surprise. She knew that the last few years Hermione hadn't gone to a normal school, rather had been tutored at home, and wondered about the change in plans.

"Are you… ok with that?" she asked uncertainly, wondering if the child had any say at all.

"Oh, yes. It will mean giving up some things that I love, but it's a wonderful opportunity. Very exclusive, and the classes are supposed to be very challenging," Hermione couldn't have faked that much enthusiasm if her life depended on it.

Madam Tare looked over the longest student to have ever stayed with her studio, and smiled. She was so happy about everything that Hermione had accomplished under her instruction. She didn't think she'd ever been prouder as a teacher – except of her own daughter of course, but that was another matter and quite natural.

"Well, I can only hope we'll see you back next summer. Keep up your dancing, Hermione. You have a natural talent that can't be learnt. Don't let it go to waste," she advised.

"I'll have to see what happens, of course, but I'd love to come back for summer classes next year; and I will. I love dancing. Thanks for everything Madam," Hermione said sincerely. She smiled once more for her teacher; then went to find her other instructors to inform them of her imminent departure.

The day had come. Hermione took a deep breath as she left her parents car behind and walked into the station. She'd awoken that morning with the sun, too excited to sleep anymore, and had double-checked everything packed into her designer trunk. She'd had it made in a store run by a muggle-born wizard, and it was worth every knut she'd paid. Light weight no matter how much was put into it, crafted from beautiful butter-soft, honey coloured leather with her initials artistically tooled on top. While it had a few magical conveniences – such as a magical-signature lock, a secret compartment hidden by magic and a "library function" witch allowed her to call out any book she wanted by title, author or subject – it also was made to look like it had been created by modern muggles, with a handle and wheel system to role along the ground, and a few matching accessories.

She'd found, on her bedside table, a note from her parents, about having a good journey and not getting into trouble, and that if she needed anything they'd wire her money straight away. She'd gotten it today because they were leaving themselves on a trip to Paris, but they'd written in their letter for her to enjoy her last week of freedom before school. She was lucky to have gotten the letter at all.

Once she'd had her luggage taken down to the car, she'd eaten a hasty breakfast, coaxed her owl Isabella into her cage and left, almost an hour ahead of schedule. A good thing too, as traffic was horrendous that morning. They'd arrived at the station in time though, and Hermione was now leaving behind all that was familiar to her.

She walked straight to platforms nine and ten, trunk being pushed on a trolley in front of her, and found a moment to be grateful that Hogwarts, A History was so informative.

Hermione hid her nerves behind apathetic chocolate eyes as she made her way to the seemingly solid brick wall between platforms nine and ten. This was it. Hogwarts. She took a deep, fortifying breath and stepped through.

It was like passing through a wall of cool, calming water on a hot summers' day. The magic in the wall calmed her completely. She left her nerves on the other side of the wall and walked towards her future. It was embodied in a bright red steam engine – and it was beautiful. She made her way on board at the middle, her trunk pulled along behind her.

The first compartment she passed was full of loud, gossiping, giggly girls – mostly older than her – and she shied away. She passed many like them, recognizing a few of the muggleborn, and almost despaired until she came to the last compartment. It was like an island of calm in the middle of a stormy sea. Inside were two boys about her age – one looked a little younger – and she immediately sent her magic towards them. She blinked. They were just like her. She smiled in relief. "Hi. I'm Hermione Granger. Do you mind if I join you?"

The boys looked at each other; neither seemed to object.

"That would be fine," the dark-haired boy agreed quietly, and the two boys helped the girl bring in her trunk and familiar and settle into the compartment.

TBC…

A/N: Again, my apologies. And so, in this chapter, Hermione is introduced.

In case anyone is wondering "500 pounds per quarter" would translate into 2000 pounds per year. Nice dad, huh? Would this be enough for an exclusive boarding school? I wouldn't know… and in case no-one noticed, I've never been to England myself, so I'm hoping that having a rather large house on some extensive (but not overly so) grounds on the outskirts of Oxford isn't something that's very far-fetched. My most humble and abject apologies if it isn't – or if you happen to live in Oxford and really didn't like this chapter.

Also, in regards to Hermione's parents – obviously I made up their names, I checked the Harry Potter Lexicon and they are simply called "unnamed Muggles" so I did my best for naming them.

Umm… I really don't know how Remus managed to sneak in here. I was going to name him "Gabriel Shepherd" and have him be a random muggle; but he was turning out to be so much like Remus that I changed it. Stroke of brilliance or insanity? I always thought Remus had been a teacher of some sort, considering what his luggage says in PoA. Suddenly the thought 'what was Remus doing all those years? Wouldn't it be interesting to see?' came upon me, and this was the answer.

Madam Tare (Tar – ri).

Next chapter will be the story proper getting started. Hope you enjoyed!