Chapter 2 - A Short Visit

Hermione managed to call all of the numbers she'd collected at the library before her parents got home. The Department of Education and Science was the obvious first choice, but they claimed to have never heard of a school with 'Hogwarts' in the name (Hermione, slightly embarrassed, had omitted the remainder). The Land Register had just been opened to public inspection last year, and they hadn't fully staffed up in response, but a harried clerk assured her that there was no property in the UK by that name either.

Upon looking it up, Hermione had discovered to her surprise that the Witchcraft Act of 1735 had actually legalised witchcraft, sort of, by repealing all the laws in force at that time prohibiting it, and making it illegal instead to pretend to use witchcraft. These provisions had then been repealed in 1951 in favor of the Fraudlent Mediums Act, which narrowed the prohibitions even further, in that you had to be explicitly claiming it was genuine (as opposed to a form of entertainment), and faking it for material gain of some kind. A close reading of her invitation revealed that it didn't explicitly make any such claims, nor did it seem to be asking for any kind of tuition. Nevertheless, she called the Home Office to ask if there had been any prosecutions or investigations on the basis of a magical school - after several transfers, she was finally able to deliver a full explanation of the situation to a woman with an extremely patient phone manner. But she agreed with Hermione's assessment that under the circumstances she described, such a thing would probably not be illegal except under general "theft by deception" statutes, and only then if payment was exchanged and - after they had been given a reasonable opportunity to follow through - they failed to genuinely instruct. Nor was there any record of a past prosecution involving Hogwarts, or any other purported school of magic.

Last, Hermione called the Office of Population Censuses and Surveys, hoping they might know how many practicing witches or wizards there were, but after being put on hold for several minutes was informed that no question had been asked about religious affiliation, and no one had reported either 'witch' or 'wizard' as an occupation - 'fortune teller' was the closest they could find, and only 89 of those as of that year's census. Her parents had come home at that point and she'd reluctantly given up for the moment, though she didn't have an immediate idea for investigating further.

After dinner, Hermione showed the Letter (she realized by now she'd been capitalising it in her head, though she honestly couldn't say why) to her parents and asked them if they knew anything about it. Despite being somewhat more certain at this point that it was an oddly creative prank, she was surprised to find herself a bit disappointed at their reaction.

"It's obviously some sort of scam, though I can't imagine why they'd think anyone would believe such rubbish," opined Hermione's father.

"But they're not asking for money, it says they're sending someone around Saturday to explain," the girl pointed out.

"Ah, well it's likely these 'supplies', " he continued sagely. "'Dragon hide' gloves, spellbooks, a telescope...no doubt they have a preferred source, some second-hand store in the City. Whoever shows up will be a first-class hawker, mark me." Hermione's mother shook her head, though Hermione did note to herself that this might actually be a sufficient legal loophole to avoid prosecution on the basis of having been paid directly.

"You don't think they'd sink so low as to target children, would you?" she half-objected. "I'd think it quite more likely this was the work of one of Hermione's friends at school," she proposed, though she frowned a bit at the quality of the calligraphy on the envelope.

Hermione refrained from correcting her mother's standard delusion that she had friends at school. Classmates, yes. Friends, no. She just let them debate a while - if either of them offered an idea she hadn't already considered, she'd start paying attention. After excusing herself to the lounge, she resumed the book on apiology she'd been reading that morning, before any of this had started, though her thoughts kept drifting towards the Letter.

When the doorbell rang, she let her mother answer it as was their custom, though her heart skipped a beat for some reason. Don't be ridiculous, she told herself, it can't be about the Letter anyway, no one's due to come until the weekend. But she heard her mother's over-polite 'company voice', and sure enough, she led someone into the lounge. It was a white-haired man, wearing an unremarkable suit and looking very dignified and proper, if one overlooked the impossible-to-overlook fact that he was only about three feet tall. Hermione's father trailed after, shooting disapproving glances at his wife, but maintaining an air of polite objectivity.

"Ah, and this would be your daughter, Hermione?" he asked. His voice was a high tenor - it matched his stature, and made Hermione think of a Christmas Elf.

"Er, yes," said her mother. "Hermione, this is, ah…"

"Professor Filius Flitwick," said the tiny man, his eyes twinkling merrily. Hermione tried not to stare, but how could you have a conversation without looking at someone...it'd seem like you were looking away, otherwise, which was really just as bad, wasn't it? Part of her noted quietly that miniature people should be a point in favor towards wizardry, but another, louder part objected that his height was entirely within the range of human variation...if at the far, far left end of the curve.

"Professor...from Hogwarts?" she asked.

"Quite correct, Miss Granger," he responded brightly.

"Now look," interjected her father, "I understand everyone needs to make a living, but I have to say that involving my daughter in this sort of thing is really beyond the pale." He shot another glance at Hermione's mother, clearly displeased the man had been invited in, but she only shrugged back at him helplessly. Professor Flitwick did not look offended - more amused, if anything.

"I assure you, the offer extended to Miss Granger is entirely genuine, and important for her own safety besides. She has already begun to use magic instinctively, and without instruction, well...things have occasionally been known to get out of hand." The wizened figure winked at Hermione, and she felt her chest get tight.

Real. It was a pattern, it was real and he knows and…

"To attend a school for…" her father cleared his throat, "Witchcraft and Wizardry. Really." He was using the same dry tone he used on patients who - despite showing up with four new caries - insisted that they'd brushed thoroughly after every meal and twice before bed. The little man smiled gently.

"I understand, really I do. It's surprising how well a job the Ministry does keeping everything under wraps from non-magical humans," he stressed this phrase, as if it taking deliberate pains to use it in place of some other term, "but I suppose they've had a few hundred years to practice by now. If you've had enough satisfaction at thinking I'm some sort of charlatan or lunatic, I could just get on with demonstrating if you'd like?" Mr. Granger was somewhat taken aback by this response, and was clearly trying to decide whether or not to be offended.

"Please," said Hermione's mother. It was clear she was trying to communicate something to her husband with her eyes, but it came off mostly looking like her contact lens had come unseated. The little man withdrew what was quite obviously a wand from some sort of wrist holster, but merely held it, and regarded Hermione for a moment.

"Miss Granger. Your parents are relatively assured that magic, as such, does not exist, and you, I suspect, are...undecided. Is that accurate?" Hermione nodded, mutely. "Very well. Given this situation, how would you recommend I properly convince everyone?" The girl stared at him for a moment, then her mouth flew open as something in the core of her being realized that this was a professor, and he was giving her a test.

"Well, if I assume for the moment that you can do magic," she began, gaining confidence at an approving nod from Flitwick, "you'd want to do something that we can't just explain away as a stage magician's trick. Something obviously, blatantly impossible. But not too impossible, or threatening, so no one gets frightened and starts off with a bad impression." The professor grinned broadly.

"Just so, Miss Granger! I'd award you House points on the spot, if not for the minor difficulties of term not having begun and you having not yet been Sorted." He pondered for a moment, then brightened. "Ah, I think I have just the thing. Now, so as not to startle anyone overmuch, though I do hate to ruin a good surprise, I'll give everyone fair warning of what's going to happen. I will twist my wand, and say a couple of words, and everything - that is to say, everything non-living - in this room will change colors. Yellow with pink spots, I think." The elder Grangers looked doubtful, but it was obvious their certainty was diminished a bit by the man's apparent confidence. "Should I be successful, can we agree for the moment to accept my words as genuine and my intentions as honorable for the remainder of the discussion? And if not, you may ask me to leave on the spot, and I shan't darken your doorstep again." Flitwick smiled serenely, waiting.

Hermione's parents glanced at each other, then nodded. Her father crossed his arms, and adopted his most serious, skeptical expression. Hermione herself merely nodded, watching so intently she'd stopped blinking.

"Colovaria Cubiculum," Flitwick intoned, giving his wand a precise twist.

And in an instant, everything changed. Everything. The floor. The walls. The ceiling. The sofa, the chairs, the table. The fireplace, the wood in the fireplace. Everyone's clothes. It was all yellow with pink spots. Bright yellow, with bright pink spots.

Hermione's parents managed not to freak out, though their hands stole together and clutched with a certain mutual urgency. Hermione felt a very brief spot of irritation, as a great many things she'd been quite certain of were unequivocally thrown into doubt or flatly contradicted. But it was dwarfed by the vistas opening up inside her, whole categories of learning she hadn't even known existed. The girl wasn't merely excited, as any pre-adolescent child might be excited to discover they could learn to do real magic.

Hermione Granger hungered.

o-o-o-o-o

A/N: (edit) Thanks to AndrewWolfe for correcting a bad assumption on my part about what the Witchcraft Act meant, and that I'd failed to completely account for it being 1991 in terms of governmental organisation!