Jeanie Ingersoll had always been a determined girl. Ever since she was eight years old, she knew she wanted to be a veterinarian. She recalled it was a very specific incident that gave her the resolve to study veterinary medicine, an incident that was simultaneously traumatizing and miraculous.
It was a cold, rainy afternoon in late March 1988. At the time, Jeanie was living with her dentist parents in upper-middle class suburbia not far from London. Both of Jeanie's parents came from lower-middle class households, and both of them swore that their only child would have every advantage they never had when they were her age. They were some of the most reputable dentists in all of Greater London; some of their clients were life peers and pop musicians. They were certainly well-enough off to enroll little Jeanie in one of the most exclusive primary schools in the country; they also wanted to have a cultured daughter, so they enrolled her in ballet and tap dancing classes, and once Jeanie was used to the routine, they added piano and classical guitar lessons to her load.
But it was that fateful rainy early spring afternoon that strengthened Jeanie's resolve. She had just gotten back from school, and as she opened up her family's mailbox to retrieve any mail that might have come that day, a tiny black and white ball of fur caught her eye. It was a kitten, probably not more than eight weeks old. It was shivering, and soaked to the bone. She quickly removed the scarf from her neck and carefully made her way down the porch steps and across the street, taking care not to get her dark tights or penny loafers too wet.
The kitten seemed to actually be ambling toward Jeanie, or at least in her direction, as there was a storm gutter on the side of the street right in front of her house. It probably would at least give the little guy a modest amount of shelter from the cold drizzle. However, before Jeanie could venture onto the street to pick up the freezing cat and dry it off, a massive lorry careened through the neighborhood and struck the helpless little cat right where it stood.
Jeanie was distraught - her eyes quickly welled with tears. There was nothing more she could do for the kitten, except maybe convince her parents to give it a proper burial. Once she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she daintily ventured onto the middle of the street, and scooped the lifeless little kitten up with her scarf. Tears were leaking from her liquid amber eyes as she cradled the kitten and made her way back into the house. Her parents weren't home quite yet, but their housekeeper, Justine, was inside, washing vegetables in preparation for that evening's dinner.
"Well, hello love," purred Justine as she heard the front door open and close. "How was your day? Your parents should be home in about an hour."
"It was okay, until a few minutes ago," moaned Jeanie in despair as she approached the kitchen.
"What's the matter, love?" Justine inquired. "That little brat Olivia didn't call you names again today, did she?"
Jeanie shook her head 'no'. "It's not anything like that... I just saw a poor defenseless kitten get struck by a lorry a few minutes ago. I wish there was something I could have done to save the wretched thing." Still cradling the kitten's lifeless body with her tartan scarf, she plopped down on a wooden chair at the kitchen table and tried loving on the seemingly-dead cat. She ran her warm fingertips over its still-wet fur in small, gentle figure-eight patterns. She then gently stroked the kitten's chin, and then between its ears. She was helpless to control her tears. "I s'pose all we can do for the poor little guy is to give it a proper funeral." Her sobs increased in intensity, and Justine temporarily put a pause to her carrot peeling to console the sobbing little girl.
"I'm so sorry, love," cooed Justine. "I'm sure your parents will allow you to say good-bye to it properly."
Jeanie nodded at Justine, forcing a small smile. Suddenly, a high-pitched mewling sound came from under Jeanie's left hand. One of the kitten's eyes was wide open, and the other eyelid was fluttering. Again, it emitted a pitiful cry.
"Dead kittens don't go 'mew'," said Justine in shock. She looked down at the black and white bundle of fluff inside Jeanie's scarf - it slowly flexed one of its front paws, and then raised its other paw in the air. Justine then chuckled. "Well, would you look at that, love? By some miracle, that little bundle of fur somehow made it! What do you think you're going to call him?"
Jeanie gave Justine a knowing look. "It's a her, and her name's going to be Mira... short for Mirabilis, which is Latin for miracle."
Justine smiled at the overjoyed little girl. "That's a good name, love. She's your little miracle."
"I don't know what just happened, Justine," confessed Jeanie. "But I do know this... when I'm older, I want to save animals' lives for a living. I want to be a veterinarian."
Justine beamed at the precocious child. "And I'm sure you'll be a very, very good one, my dear."
Fast forward two and a half years...
September 14th 1990
It was nearly six in the evening, and the Granger family was enjoying their dinner when they heard a sharp rapping at their front door. "Now, who could that be?" Mrs. Granger wondered aloud.
"It must be really important if they're interrupting dinner," groaned Mister Granger.
"I'll get it," sighed almost-eleven year old Hermione, as she got up from her seat to answer the door. When she opened the door, she gasped audibly when she saw the unmistakable visage of a middle-aged woman wearing a witch's costume! She looked rather like the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz, thought Hermione, except her clothes were green instead of her skin. She arched an eyebrow at the strangely-clad visitor. "Halloween's not for a month and a half, and you're probably a good forty years too old for trick or treating!"
Although the green-clad lady winced internally at the jab regarding her age, she still smiled at the girl. "Now, now, young lady, I'm sure your parents have taught you not to speak like that to your elders," she admonished gently. "In fact, my visit pertains to you specifically, Miss Granger."
Hermione's jaw dropped. How did this strange woman know her name? Although she really just wanted this crazy old kook to go away, she got the feeling that no matter what she said or did, she just wasn't going to leave until she spoke her piece. Hermione nodded at the lady, and invited her inside. "Thank you, my dear," purred the lady in green. "You might want to fetch your parents... I feel they should want to listen to what I have to say as well."
Hermione made her way to the kitchen and mentioned something about a "creepy old witch" that wanted to see them in the living room. Mister Granger was about to blow Hermione off altogether, but Mrs. Granger literally fainted as she exited the kitchen and saw for herself that everything that Hermione had said was true!
"Margot! Are you all right?" Mister Granger shrieked as he saw his wife fall limp to the floor. He knelt down on the floor next to his wife, and waved some smelling salts under her nose. "T-Tom... what happened?" Mrs. Granger asked.
"You blacked out for a moment, honey," Mister Granger said softly. He then gently helped his wife up. "Well, I guess we need to get in that living room and get this over with."
A couple of minutes later, the Grangers were all seated on the same sofa across from the strange lady in green. "Good, it looks like everyone's here, finally," she murmured. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I represent an elite institution that your daughter qualifies for... she will be eligible to attend next fall, effective the first of September."
Mrs. Granger shook her head in confusion. "Madam, I'm afraid I don't understand. Hermione already attends one of the most selective schools in all of Great Britain, what could this... Hoodwinks or whatever you call that school of yours possibly offer that Farnham Prep does not?"
"Hogwarts, Mrs. Granger," Minerva corrected. "Hogwarts is not just any institution... you see, Hermione has gifts in addition to high intelligence..." She then wrinkled her nose ever so slightly. "And sass. You see, she has a gift to manipulate magic." At that moment, Mira - by then, a fully-grown, slightly overfed cat, came in the room, purring like a chainsaw. Minerva smirked at the cat, who approached her. Minerva gently stroked the cat for a moment, before returning her attention to the Grangers. "Ah yes, this reminds me." She smiled knowingly at Hermione. "Your feline friend... she was a bit of lost cause when you found her, was she not?"
Hermione's jaw dropped once again. "How in the world do you know these things?" she asked incredulously.
Minerva chuckled. "My dear, when you unknowingly brought that cat back to life, you also unknowingly left your magical trace on it, which trained wizards and witches can detect. And we must take it upon ourselves to train you as a witch... again, it will be nearly a year before the next term starts, but I highly recommend you accept our offer. Untrained witches and wizards could potentially be a danger to themselves... and others." She then handed Hermione a rather official-looking envelope with the Hogwarts crest on it. Inside was an official acceptance letter, along with a list of necessary materials for the upcoming term.
Mrs. Granger waved a stern finger at Minerva. "I don't know who you think you are, but Hermione is not going to Hoodwinks, and she definitely is going to be a veterinarian - not a witch. That's been her dream for several years, and we're doing all we can to encourage her. You seem to know too much about our daughter for our liking... tell you what. I'm giving you fifteen seconds to get out of our house, or I'll... I'll..."
Minerva was not fazed. "You'll do what, Mrs. Granger?" she asked with a straight face.
Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes. "I'll throw a bucket of water on you, and watch you melt. My daughter is not Dorothy, and she is not 'your pretty'!" Hermione was unable to stifle a giggle.
Minerva sighed as she stood up. She looked at Hermione with a rather sad expression. "I cannot force you to attend Hogwarts, but please think it over, child." She curtly nodded toward her parents. "Good evening," she said, and she then left the house.
Once Mister and Mrs. Granger were convinced that Minerva was far enough away that she couldn't possibly be eavesdropping on them, Mister Granger made a startling announcement.
"This is madness," he grumbled. "I get the feeling that Hoodwinks isn't going to just take no for an answer..."
"What are we going to do, Tom?" Mrs. Granger asked.
Mister Granger sighed. "I think we may have to sell our practice, Margot. How does Australia sound? The further away we are from Hoodwinks, the better!"