A/N: This is a non-canon story. Hermione is called Jean in this story, though that will change as the story progresses.
Woohoo, lots of reviews for Chapter 3 So much happiness!
Thank you SmolderingJade, NA, Thirst4light, nikyta and the many flavors of Guest ;)
Chapter 4: Magic makes all the Difference
June 1991
It wasn't just her intelligence or studious nature that made Jean Different.
If you asked anyone from teachers to her parents, even fellow students, what set Jean apart was her mind. Her professors would point out her ability to remember and call to mind obscure information of seemingly unrelated context and combine it to arrive at a brilliant conclusion. Her classmates would ruefully acknowledge she always had the correct answer. Her own dad knew he could ask her anything, from the balance of the checking account, which she knew to the penny, to her mum's medical status and she could recite her vitals and meds all from memory.
They would be mostly right, but what truly made Jean Different was...
Magic.
Jean did not know the name for this feeling she had, this knowledge that she was different, even from other 'academics'. Her self-control seemed something she had developed from an early age, thus she very rarely suffered from accidental use of magic as many other magical children experienced. In fact, other than 'incidents' such as getting dressed in seconds when she was running late, causing a stubborn bee to vanish or summoning a forgotten paper from home... she didn't do magic at all.
In her early years at home with her mum, they both explained away anything odd that happened, making a game of coming up with the most practical and logical explanation. While Dad had blamed Brownies for the suddenly found car keys or Elves for the mysteriously chipped-then-repaired china tea cup; she and her dad also made a game of it, attributing the incidents to different fantasy creatures each time.
On her own, when she experienced those few rare losses of control, Jean did what most every rational person did in the face of the unexplainable: she made an excuse for it; 'I wasn't as late as I thought, the bee finally flew away, I forgot I had grabbed the paper'... and moved on.
She had no recollection of her more recent outbursts, from when her emotions were raw and she felt close to exploding from the strain. Then again she had no reason to recall those events... 'Hazardous Hermione' was well known by now.
Thus on an early summer day, just after Jean had cleaned up from tea with her mum, the arrival of a strangely attired woman was unforeseen. Jean's mum was having one of her 'good days', where the balance of drugs seemed to counter the pain without knocking her out. She could not rise to greet their odd guest, but she was lucid enough to hear the woman's offer to enroll Jean in a private school in Scotland.
She insisted that there would have been a letter, a parchment charmed to find it's way to Hermione. Jean didn't bother correcting the name. She remembered her dad mentioning putting a strange envelope on her desk - it was likely still there, buried under Netter's Atlas of Neurology. These thoughts quickly ceased to matter as the woman had just proclaimed that Hermione was a witch.
Her announcement caught the normally sharp-witted girl unawares. At first her mum replied that such a thing was ridiculous. A demonstration of spell craft by the stern older woman, turning their coffee table into a 300 pound pig, stopped both mother and daughter cold. The woman then went on to discuss a place called Hogwarts as the two Grangers sat dumbfounded. The 'premier wizarding school in Britain' she called it, and gave assurances that it's headmaster was none other than some ridiculous sounding too-many-named fellow, really the Grangers were too busy staring at the pig to care about names or titles.
When talk of a boarding school was raised Jean considered that once again she would be taken away from her classmates. She mused that this time it would be without any regret. Jean sat speechless, her impressive mind somehow just catching up with the whole idea of "Magic". She reviewed what she had heard. She considered carefully the demonstration right there as the coffee table-pig looked back at her and grunted.
Suddenly she found herself trying to drive down the urge to jump up and shout! I Knew It! I Knew I was Different! The pig-table began to squeal and... dance? The woman's demonstration of magical powers had resonated with something deep inside the girl, something that made sense out the many strange events in her life. Something deep inside the young witch finally snapped into place. She sat back into the plush couch and closed her eyes, the barest hint of a smile playing at her lips.
Then her brain caught up to her emotions. Thoughts of magic and far away schools were ruthlessly tossed aside as her practical mind seemed to clamp down, snuffing her emotions; she began to think of this logically.
"How much?" Jean bit out. Her emotional surge was gone, in it's place was carefully logical reasoning. "For tuition, room, board, the lot - how much?"
Minerva wondered at the dynamic between this mother and child. Clearly the elder was sick, a glance around the room showed many more strange - but somewhat identifiable medical paraphernalia to the more-than-normally muggle savvy witch. But why was the child asking the questions?
"The cost is approximately five thousand pounds*," the elder witch was prevented from continuing by the loud gasp of the young woman. She'd never seen such a range of emotions play over a face so quickly. The newly 'discovered' witch was obviously undergoing a considerable struggle. "The variables are dependent on the quality of the supplies you purchase of course, and there are some financial aid options..." Minerva continued, but she could see from the look upon the young one's slowly shaking head that something was wrong.
Jean immediately knew that they could not afford it. It simply wasn't economically feasible and she couldn't leave her mum. One glance at her mum and she knew she would have to exercise every bit of self control she had, she could not do magic. She was not a witch... looking back down, she confirmed that the coffee table was no longer a pig. Their visitor was staring at Jean wide-eyed.
Her mother took this hesitation to keep her daughter by her side… 'Witchcraft is Evil!' dominated her panicked and somewhat medicated mind. Jean had never shown any of the signs that this "Witch" had asked about. Not that she would admit to them, or even could with her mind full of drug-cobwebs and pain. Instead she focused on that nervous voice, the one that insisted on keeping her Hermione close. 'This woman may have demonic powers but that didn't mean her little girl had them!' Such were the thoughts that dominated the mind of Jean's' mum as she started screaming at their guest to leave immediately.
The older woman was quickly sent packing… and the Granger women returned to their amusing chat about how hopeless the man of the house was with numbers, a vague memory of a salesman turned away some time before at the back of their minds. Well, one of their minds.
.o0o.
Shaking her head, the deputy headmistress stood over the two Grangers. She felt wrong leaving the girl to be denied her place in the magical world because of an obviously sick and emotionally backwards mother. Of course the Assistant Headmistress had left her hosts oblivious to her visit, a complex spell that she loathed and yet had perfected through necessity. She had other candidates to visit after all and sadly these muggles reactions to the announcement of a magical world weren't at all uncommon.
It was a pity, as Albus had agreed with her assessment of the young witch; if she could be taught to harness the control she had admirably demonstrated thus far she would be a fine witch. Conversations with her friend in the Unspeakables had convinced her that this girl would have to be monitored. If she did not change her mind by the end of the summer, an additional magic restricting spell would be cast upon her.
Minerva hated the Ministry's policy which required all muggleborn magical children to have a damper put upon their magic as soon as they had an 'incident'. She also realized that without it, some muggles would be seriously hurt, not to mention the obvious threat to the Statute of Secrecy.
It was a no-win situation which left most muggleborns caught completely by surprise on her first visit. Only a few had had accidents with the magical restrictions upon them, and a very few had been as... eventful, as Hermione Jean Granger's. Then there was the truly sad part of the law. Muggleborns who still refused to enter the magical world by their twelfth birthday were not just obliviated, not just dampened, they were magically blocked - essentially turning them into squibs.
With a nod to herself the witch cast another intricate spell, leaving the young witch a Token. Placing a memory trigger beneath the obliviation.
Looking into the girl's mind, she spoke directly to her subconscious. "Should you change your mind, you will think of this little statue," the older woman said into Jean's mind as she handed her a small gray statue of a cat. "It will appear in your hand and you only need to rub it awhile and I'll come straight away."
Minerva hoped the girl would never have need of it and promised herself to return in July for another try. She had to respect the wishes of the parent, but she didn't have to ignore the child.
...
She had found the little cat figurine in her hand several times in the last few years, but she had never rubbed it.
Sitting on the bench, the young woman once again shook herself out of her recollections. She didn't intend to share the memory of the 'witch'; not then with her parents and not now. Even though her mum hadn't remembered the meeting at all, Jean had, right up to the woman's parting words.
Jean had carefully tucked away the experience of that morning and closed it in it's own locked box in her mind.
.o0o.
The summer had ended with another visit from the old woman. This time she spoke to Jean and her dad, but the results were similar: her dad seemed to shut down at the thought of magic. Though he wasn't as orderly-minded as the Granger females, he was under tremendous emotional strain. Instead of leading to wonder and questions, the conjured butterflies and transfigured tea-cup led her dad to stand abruptly and ask their visitor to "leave, and take your fancy illusions with you." His forced polite tone brooked no argument and the woman had once again weaved her 'obliviate' nonsense. Well - nonsense to Jean, since once again her parent was indeed oblivious to the woman's visit. The old witch left Jean with the same promise and reminder of the cat she could use to contact her.
Jean had never done so. She could still recall the strange sense of detachment as she allowed the red-robed fellows cast spells upon her the day after she turned twelve. The strange pressure she used to feel when she was upset seemed to fade to a dull ache from that point forward. More to the point, any time her mind drifted towards these strange events she found something else much more interesting. Yet Jean could remember the words of the old 'witch' clearly, especially when she held her little cat figurine.
Looking at the encouraging face of her confidant beside her, Jean knew she only had one direction to go with her story.
"I threw myself into my studies that spring and through the summer. Mum wasn't improving, but she wasn't getting worse. We fell into a routine and I looked forward to my Secondary testing. All I wanted to do was avoid going to another school with the same class as those children who hated me."
.o0o.
Year six was her last year of Primary school and she was glad it was behind her. She resolved to look forward to a new school and a fresh start. With good enough scores she could go to a better school. She could only consider this option since her mum had stabilized enough that she didn't need a full-time nurse. What's more, Dad had a second, part-time, dental position and things had finally settled down financially.
It was no surprise when Jean tested for Secondary that she had once again set the bar. She declined the invitations to the private schools, knowing that money was still very tight. Instead she took all the coursework she could from scholarship programs. She spent her seventh year of schooling almost entirely studying for and taking tests. She passed exam after exam, climbing through the years of secondary education. Jean easily finished her secondary work and testing within the year. She didn't even really remember any of her classmates, but then again she was rarely in any standard classrooms longer than it took to test out of them.
Jean sat her college entrance exams at age thirteen. She was accepted to the University of Cambridge with full scholarship. She chose Cambridge's Wolfson College as it had an excellent independent studies program with an emphasis on progressive students such as herself.
She had given a rare genuine smile as she accepted the offer from the pleased looking entrance-board members, stepping forward to sign the various forms under her dad's signature. Jean enrolled as a Literature and Political Sciences double major; she would be their youngest student and promised to bring much prestige to their lesser known college. She left wrapped in the blue and bronze striped scarf of her new academic home. Her joy was such that the scarf seemed to glow as she wrapped it around herself. The few that saw the strange event believed it must have been a trick of the light.
Looking up she studied her dad's face as he held out his arms to hug her. It was a good hug, but the look was a mixture of pride and sadness. She'd be home for a few more weeks and would then begin living in the dorms with other Foreign Exchange, Gifted and Special Needs students. She'd have a mentor as well as be living in a secure facility but she knew his thoughts: his little girl was leaving, again.
.o0o.
"I spent my first year of college much the same as my first year at the Academy. Head buried in a book, avoiding other people, going home on weekends while mum was doing good. We had good talks sometimes, and..." Jean wiped furiously at her eyes, clenched her jaw once (the flicker of the overhead lights seemed commonplace to them both by now) and forced her mind and her voice to return to the story she now felt compelled to complete.
"After Easter I met some people talking in olde English out on the commons. They were talking to people as they passed by, getting various reactions and having a bit of fun. When I responded in proper form and diction I thought I'd broken them, they were all stunned." Jean's first genuine grin of their talk lit her face and Sarah smiled in response. She could see the beauty that Jean would be someday - if she could smile more and dwell on her tragedies less.
"Somehow I started spending some time with this group of misfits and - well, as a misfit myself - I fit." Another grin, another answering smile. "We were only able to get together a few times a month, our schedules were all crazy since we were, well are, independent studies kids. But it was nice." Jean sat quietly for a moment, as if gathering her courage for what came next.
"Over the course of that spring I spent less time at home. Mum's condition had taken a downturn and she was mostly unable to stay ahead of the pain. She wasn't aware much of the time when I was home. Dad said he understood, truthfully he was working himself too hard and he wouldn't hear a word about it from me. Between his increased income paying for a part-time nurse and aunt Jane's visits, 'I wasn't truly needed at home'. He put his foot down and all that." Jean's eyes seem to glaze over for a moment and Sarah barely heard the whispered "I think mum made him promise."
A grimace flit over the girl's features, but was quickly discarded with a shake of her bushy head.
Jean looked up into Sarah's face. The conversation was turning more serious, Sarah could feel a tension mounting. It almost felt like the bench was vibrating with it. The lights had taken to pulsing in an agitated rhythm, both females actively ignored the lights. The station's only other occupant was thoughtfully considering the implications of the low level magical events.
"I went back to Wolfson after last summer's long, sad break and felt like I belonged someplace at last. Though I felt guilty at the relief I experienced when I got to hang out with my friends, it was also a balm to my frayed nerves."
.o0o.
September saw Jean fully immersed in her college life. In what was the best weekend she could recall since she was just a little girl, Jean had celebrated her fourteenth birthday twice. She went home from school that weekend and spent all day Saturday and Sunday, even going to church (he'd stopped going, but made an exception for her) with her dad. Mum was back to full time sedation and they left unspoken what they knew in their hearts.
They wandered through a series of old London book stores he had plotted out. Her dad even assured Jean that he would take her to those stores they didn't make it to the next time she came home; taking away the pressure to get them all visited and replacing it with the promise of a fun time together in the future. They each had a cupcake at their favorite French restaurant to finish the day and he drove her back to the dorms. She knew that her dad missed her, still he was also aware that he had to sign her in before nine pm or the school would alert the authorities of her absence. He was somewhat assured by their diligence.
That night her friends threw her a surprise party, with games and punch and even a cake. They settled in and watched "The Princess Bride" which someone had managed to figure out was her favorite story. Perhaps the fact she had three worn out copies among her otherwise pristine books was a clue.
While she sat with her friends, Jean felt she belonged for the first time. She looked around at the motley crew surrounding her. They ranged in age from Thomas, the group's unofficial 'mentor' at seventeen, to Jean at fourteen. Thomas was the too-tall fellow who adored Star Wars and planned to be an Astrophysicist. Aerin was the Scotch-Irish lass with a penchant for acting and love of movies (her four VHS copies of The Princess Bride were a testament to her contribution) yet who was studying politics so she could 'change the world'. Next was Megan, another Irish girl with long flowing red locks, who was the soft-spoken one of the group – until she let loose her laugh – who was deep into her psychiatry studies. Lastly James was the 'undecided genius', having done coursework in political science, criminal justice, physical science, theoretical science... and theatre.
...
Jean's birthday party was also special because the students rarely spent much time together as a full group. Most of their schedules clashed and even when they had free time their studies kept them bound to a desk somewhere, in Jean's case usually the campus library.
Still, the five of them had managed to eek out time together about a dozen times as October came to a close and they were easily the best friendships Jean could recall ever having. School continued to challenge her, she had begun running in the morning with James, and she felt more at peace with her life than she could remember.
With a little more help from her 'unspoken friends' in addition to her new friends she had pushed magic to the back of her mind. Sometimes she still found a small gray cat figurine on her desk or in her pocket, but she didn't let it bother her.
The only thing she was concerned about was her mum. She was powerless to change what was coming, but knowing it didn't make the end any easier.
.o0o.
Sarah Combs considered the girl whom she had only known for roughly an hour. She had never heard so many miserable experiences short of a few wartime-stories from the lads. This was no veteran in her presence, and yet she was just as scarred by trauma. She'd had a few bright spots in her story, which once coaxed, had flowed like water through a broken dam.
This latest term of college seemed to be going well for her. It was the first time the girl had mentioned other people before talking of coursework. The first time she had used the word 'friend'. Probably the first time she had experienced friendship. Sarah shook her head sadly. What a sorrowful tale, and yet she knew by instinct that there were things left untold. More to the point, there was something important to be told, something hanging over the girl like a dark cloak.
Sarah waited patiently, almost dreading Jean's continued tale. She had no idea why she had pushed the girl into talking, why she had taken a stranger into her arms. The young woman obviously needed comfort and that seemed to be good enough at the time. It seemed odd now, but - Jean had started speaking again, and her tone told everything.
...
"Things have been going well at school, it's just." Jean shrugged again, this time listlessly. Tears silently tracked down her face once again as her mind failed to find a way to express the helplessness she felt.
Sarah had known that the girl was building towards something. Given how long her mother had been sick, it wasn't hard to guess at the source of these latest tears. "Is it your mum, Jean?"
The nod was almost too slow to catch, if not watched for. Sarah moved once again to take the young woman into her embrace, this time with slow deliberation. Jean didn't respond awkwardly like the first hug, instead melting into the arms of this woman she felt like she could trust with anything.
Running her hand over the fly-away curls, Sarah held Jean as the tears turned to choked sobs which shook her small frame. The two sat that way for a long while. Jean cried and Sarah consoled her, while a man dressed in a dark duster stood back in the shadows and watched in silence.
"My, uhh, my Mum was so sick for so long." Jean sniffled, glad for the embroidered kerchief still clutched in her hand. "So I went back to school. And I wasn't there for her - or my dad. She passed away this morning."
Sarah barely heard the words, yet she clutched the girl ready for fresh sobs.
Jean stayed steady though, having cried herself out. She sat up a bit, leaning back against the bench and speaking aloud her immediate plans as though reminding herself. "I, I have to take the bus because dad's car won't start. He's going to meet me at the change-over and we're", the young woman sighed quietly, "we're going home. The funeral is tomorrow and then..." Jean gave a helpless little shrug as she ended her story the same way she felt: lost and unsure.
The pair sat like that, Sarah holding the young girl's hand comfortingly in silence. Hermione seemed to have talked herself out and Sarah could not find words now that her young friend was silent.
The London-Paddington bus came along five minutes later, and Jean squeezed the woman again as she let go to stand.
"Oh, this is yours?" Sarah asked, her voice obviously disappointed.
Jean glanced quickly at the still-seated matron. "Yes," she replied hesitantly. She had memorized the schedules and knew that if she missed this bus she would have another hour wait – and her dad was waiting. "I have to go." Jean stated the obvious, but the regret was thick in her voice.
Sarah stood and took Jean in her arms. "Your dad will need you and you need him. Don't close yourself off again, do you hear me?" The authority in Sarah's voice took Jean by surprise, but she nodded acceptance, knowing it was true and she needed to hear it.
A few others had gathered unnoticed by the pair over the last hour and now moved from other benches, boarding the bus. Jean gathered her case, tucked her book into her pocket and then realized she still had the kerchief.
"Keep it." Sarah's voice held laughter as Jean looked at the sodden cloth helplessly. "Remember me, and my 'wisdom'." Sarah mocked herself with a smile. "And remember everyone needs to let go sometimes."
Jean nodded, unable to find words, and got on the bus. A large, dark haired man got on behind her, his face concealed behind the upturned collar of a dark duster.
.o0o.
A/N: Seriously, I expected by now that we'd get to Hermione and Jean just took off talking. I apologize, but I hope the background will be helpful in explaining what our heroine experienced as it impacts who she will become.
I know this is a long chapter, sorry if that's not good for some readers. As mentioned Jean had a lot to say before she fades away. She will have some more time next chapter, but I promise Hermione will emerge either then or the chapter after. Sometimes characters really do have more control than you would think!
Just so you know, any time her mum thinks of her it's always as Hermione. McGonagall also calls her by her given name, having no idea about this 'Jean' business.
*The sum 5,000 pounds was a guesstimate based on averaging the surveys done by a few websites. Does this amount seem high to you? Me too! Still, the figures do add up.
Also I never used anything other than mum or dad and that's on purpose. Mildly irritating I know, but it is how I see them. Unlike our dear Jean they just never got a voice so far - we'll see what happens in the future.
As two private messages mentioned it, I tried to add a few Magical 'incidents' in earlier chapter edits. If you read CH 1-3 before Wednesday, November 21st you may want to go back. You could also leave a review while you're there :)
I respond to all registered reviewers by PM, so I will respond to a few guest reviews here one last time:
Re: public health care: I understand it is available and yet Jean's mum had something very unusual. Something that the doctors couldn't figure out. Add in that the Grangers are fairly well off and likely had private insurance, they would have spared no expense bringing in specialists. Even that didn't help as this malady struck her nervous system rapidly, leaving her almost incapacitated. I added a line to hopefully clarify things. I'm sure Britain's health care is excellent, I'm sorry I didn't make the details more clear for their motivation for private care.
Re: poor cook: Canon Hermione is an excellent potions student. Jean is a frazzled thirteen year old who spends most of her time compulsively cleaning, reading medical journals (revised that section to add more detail) and generally worrying. She can start a single-minded project (such as doing research) but cooking has too much down time for her and her mind wanders. Again, she's was a mess, and that was her first real foray into the kitchen, and it's completely un-coached. Perhaps she'll be better once the pressure comes down. Perhaps she's scarred for life as a cook :p
Re: emailed: not emails but reviews are what I crave! Now that you've sent yours, here is chapter four, just like magic! =D
Re: SmolderingJade: Thanks for those editing catches, and the praise. Perhaps, if you would consider getting an account, I could send you a PM since A/N responses are going to have to stop as I've been informed that policy is against it :(
Recommended reading is Her Story: Philosopher's Stone by HPGunshot
Blessings to all, and remember: Reviews feed the muse!
M