Chapter 2: You're a Witch, Hermione

After what felt like a quiet dinner, a restless sleep, and an even quieter breakfast, the time was drawing near for this McGonagall person to call. Papa had spent the morning sprucing up the house—dusting already spotless shelves and straightening cushions as if the Queen herself were visiting. Mama, to my surprise, had baked biscuits for tea.

Mama hardly ever baked; she said the kneading and mixing made her hands ache. Yet here she was, pulling golden biscuits from the oven like it was second nature. I knew then, as if I hadn't already, that this visit wasn't going to be ordinary.

After helping them tidy up, I headed upstairs to freshen up. I wanted to look professional. If this McGonagall person was coming to discuss something important, I needed to make the best impression possible. I decided my primary school uniform was the right choice: a crisp button-up blouse, my blue, black, and white plaid skirt, tights, polished school shoes, and my favorite cardigan.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. There I was, a petite eleven-year-old, neat and presentable—or almost. My face stared back at me, ready to tackle the biggest challenge of all: my hair.

It was a battle I fought daily. My hair, a mix of Mama's coily curls and Papa's softer waves, was thick, wild, and, to me, untamable. Straightening combs and flat irons were no match for it. It wasn't coily enough to braid easily, nor silky enough to fall in smooth waves. Instead, it stood out everywhere, defying every attempt to keep it in place.

Mama always told me my hair was a crown. "Your beautiful crown, Jeanie," she'd say, smiling as she brushed her own curls into perfect spirals. I wanted to believe her—I really did. But sometimes, it felt like anything but beautiful.

I worked it into a ponytail, tugging at the strands until they behaved. As I smoothed the edges, I thought about the kids at school, their snickers and whispered comments that followed me everywhere. Some days, I could shake it off, but today, with McGonagall coming, it felt heavier. Would she notice my hair? Would she judge me for it?

I shook the thought away. "She's not coming to look at your hair, Hermione," I muttered to myself. "She's coming to talk about... whatever this is."

Still, as I pulled on my cardigan and smoothed it down, I couldn't help but feel like everything about today had to be perfect. Even if I didn't know why.

"Jeanie, dear?" Mama's voice was soft as she stepped into my room. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and I knew she could see the nervousness I was trying so hard to hide.

I turned to face her, smoothing the front of my cardigan. "How do I look?" I asked, giving a small turn to show off my outfit. "I thought about making a bun like yours, but...well…" My voice trailed off as I gestured to my hair.

Mama smiled, leaning down to kiss my forehead. "I'm sure this woman won't be concerned about your hair. But if you'd like, I can do it for you."

I lit up at her offer and rushed to my vanity, gathering my hairbrush, pins, and products. Mama chuckled, clearly expecting this. She'd always done my hair for school, at least until I decided I was "too old" for her help. I'd insisted I could manage it myself, but on days like today—when it had to be perfect—I knew she would make it better than I ever could.

Her hands worked deftly, brushing and pinning until every strand was in place. When she finished, I stared at the reflection in the mirror. My hair looked smooth, neat, and polished—a far cry from the unruly mess I'd battled earlier.

"Perfect," I whispered, smiling up at her.

I didn't have time to admire it for long. A glance at the clock made me gasp. "It's nearly noon!" I exclaimed, rushing out of my room and down the stairs.

Mama and Papa were waiting in the foyer, their expressions calm but their posture just a little too stiff. They'd taken the day off for this visit at the last minute, something they rarely did. I knew they were as anxious as I was, though they were better at hiding it.

"Do you think she'll be late?" I asked, fidgeting with the hem of my skirt. Should we wait here, or try to appear busy?

"With a name like McGonagall, I would think not," Papa said with a chuckle, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "The name practically shouts 'punctual and no-nonsense.'"

As if summoned by his words, the clock struck twelve. The chime hadn't even faded before a knock echoed through the house. It wasn't an ordinary knock—it was deliberate, firm, and yet somehow... whimsical, like the knock itself carried a hint of magic.

My parents exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Neither moved to answer. I frowned, puzzled by their hesitation. Why were they so nervous?

"Honestly," I muttered, stepping forward. My heart was pounding, but I didn't let it stop me. I gripped the handle and opened the door myself.

When I opened the door, I thought for a moment that the wind had arrived before her. Her long green cloak swept behind her as if it had a mind of its own, and for a moment, I almost expected her to float right inside. She stood tall—taller than Mama, though not as tall as Papa—and everything about her was impossibly neat, from the sharp line of her lips to the precise angle of her square-shaped hat.

Her face was serious, but not in the way people look when they're cross. It was more like she was studying me, as if I were a particularly tricky puzzle she was already halfway to solving. Her blue eyes were bright and sharp, like freshly polished glass, and they seemed to catch every detail about me in a single glance—my messy ponytail, my polished shoes, and the way my cardigan didn't quite sit flat on one side.

I felt as though she could see all my secrets, even the ones I hadn't told Mama or Papa. But even though her gaze was a little intimidating, there was something about her that didn't feel scary. Maybe it was the way her cloak moved softly around her or the faint scent of lavender that followed her inside. Whatever it was, I couldn't look away.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" she said, her voice crisp and precise, like the tick of the Cornwall's grandfather clock next door.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yes, ma'am."

She nodded back, just once, and I got the oddest sense that she approved of me somehow. My heart felt lighter, though I wasn't entirely sure why.

"I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall," she said, her voice crisp and commanding. "Am I to be invited in?"

I blinked, startled. "Oh! Yes, of course," I stammered, realizing I'd been so caught up in staring at her that I hadn't actually moved to let her inside. Quickly, I opened the door wider, stepping aside to make room.

My parents exchanged glances, then looked her up and down—not with judgment, but with curiosity. I caught myself doing the same. Professor McGonagall looked as if she'd stepped straight out of one of my storybooks, with her sweeping green cloak, neat bun, and sharp, intelligent gaze. She exuded authority, yet there was a faint warmth in the curve of her lips, like she could be kind if she wanted to.

She extended her hand, first to Papa and then to Mama, shaking theirs firmly as they introduced themselves.

"May I show you to our sitting room, Professor?" Mama asked politely. "We've prepared a light tea, and you're welcome to join us for lunch, if you wish."

"You may call me Minerva, if you'd like," she said with a faint smile. "Being surrounded by children so often, I don't hear my first name as much as I'd like. Tea will suffice, thank you. I don't believe I'll be staying for lunch."

Her manner reminded me of Mrs. Banner, my third-grade teacher. Strict, yes, but not unkind. Mrs. Banner had made learning fun while making it clear she didn't tolerate any nonsense. There was a similar no-nonsense air about Professor McGonagall, but something about her felt... grander.

We led her to our sitting room. Mama always kept it beautifully decorated—deep royal blue walls accented by pristine white furniture. It was more for show than for use; we usually spent time in the cozier family room. But today was special, and Mama wanted everything to be perfect.

Papa gestured to a white armchair facing the table, where a platter of finger sandwiches and Mama's finest teapot waited. Professor McGonagall sat gracefully, and we took our seats on the adjacent couch.

Mama poured tea carefully, her hands steady. I could tell she was trying to mask her nerves, but the precise way she handled the teapot gave her away. For my part, I was practically squirming. The formality of it all was nice, but it felt like a delay. I wanted answers.

Apparently, so did Professor McGonagall. After her first sip of tea, she set her cup down and got straight to the point.

"So," she began, her gaze steady on my parents, "I trust you're wondering why I'm here and what I need to explain about the letter your daughter received yesterday."

All three of us nodded. I fidgeted with the hem of my cardigan, twisting it around my fingers.

"I'll start by asking you this, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. As Hermione has grown, have you observed any... odd or unexplainable occurrences surrounding her?"

Her words sent a jolt of curiosity through me. Odd occurrences? What was she talking about? I looked at Mama and Papa, who exchanged a hesitant glance.

"Well," Mama began, her voice measured, "I do recall something from when she was four. I remember Hermione playing in her room with her dolls. They were... dancing." She paused, looking faintly embarrassed. "And when I say dancing, I mean they were moving on their own. They didn't have batteries, nor were they designed to move like that. It frightened me so much that I locked the dolls away and told Hermione they'd gone back to live in their Barbie world."

My jaw dropped. Dolls dancing? I had no memory of this. And Mama lied to me about where they'd gone? I glanced at her in shock, but she avoided my gaze, focusing on her teacup instead.

I turned to Papa, expecting him to share my disbelief, but he nodded as if this was old news.

"I—I don't remember that," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I tucked the thought away, making a mental note to ask about it later.

"Anything else?" Professor McGonagall prompted.

A memory surfaced, unbidden, and I raised my hand slowly, hesitating. "There's something from third grade," I admitted. "A boy named Travis Stubbs was picking on me. He pushed me down at recess, and then... well, he just flew backward. He ended up pinned to the jungle gym. I didn't touch him, but it felt like... like something inside me had pushed him. Like I had powers or something."

Papa chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. I remembered he hadn't taken the incident very seriously at the time, though Mama certainly had. Her disapproving look now mirrored how she'd reacted back then.

Professor McGonagall's lips curved into a small, mischievous smile. "Well," she said, "I believe it's time to explain these incidents." Her gaze swept over all three of us, pausing on me. "You, Miss Granger, are a witch."

The room fell silent.

"A... a what?" I managed to stammer. Surely she was joking. Or mad. I wasn't green, I didn't ride a broomstick, and I certainly didn't have a wart on my nose!

My jaw had dropped, and I turned to my parents. Mama looked stunned, his mouth slightly open, while Papa frowned, his brow furrowing as though trying to process the words.

I stared at Professor McGonagall. A witch? Me?

"A witch," Professor McGonagall repeated, her tone calm but resolute. "To be specific, a Muggle-born witch. That means neither of your parents possess magical abilities, but you do."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

I stared at her, my thoughts racing. Magic? Witches? Me? It sounded impossible, like something from one of my books, and yet... hadn't strange things always seemed to happen around me? Dancing dolls. Travis Stubbs. My heart pounded as pieces of my life shifted into place, forming a picture I hadn't dared to imagine before.

"What exactly does that mean?" Mama asked, leaning forward, her curiosity evident.

Professor McGonagall folded her hands in her lap, her expression softening slightly. "It means, Mrs. Granger, that your daughter possesses an innate magical ability. This ability is rare among those we refer to as Muggles—non-magical people. Hermione's talent is extraordinary, though it may have manifested in ways you didn't recognize as magic." She glanced at me. "The incidents you've described are evidence of her powers, which tend to surface during moments of strong emotion or need in young witches and wizards."

"Like when Travis Stubbs flew back?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Precisely. Though untrained, your magic instinctively protected you. This is common in children your age. However, as you grow older, this magic must be nurtured and refined. Left unchecked, it could become unpredictable."

I blinked, my chest tightening. Magic? Unpredictable? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, but before I could dwell on it, she continued.

"That is where Hogwarts comes in," she said, her voice gaining an air of authority. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is the foremost institution for magical education in Britain. There, Hermione would be taught not only how to control her powers but how to use them responsibly. She would study subjects such as Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and even the care of magical creatures."

"Magical creatures?" I echoed, a flicker of excitement breaking through my disbelief.

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Yes, Miss Granger. The magical world is vast and full of wonders. At Hogwarts, you would learn about its history, its practices, and your place within it."

Mama placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mix of awe and wonder. "It sounds incredible," she murmured. "Hermione, can you imagine? A world like this—hidden right alongside ours?"

I could only nod, my mind spinning with images of castles, potions, and spells. It sounded like something from a dream, and yet... it felt real.

I couldn't take my eyes off Professor McGonagall. Every word she spoke seemed to unravel a secret world I'd never known existed, and yet, deep down, it felt like something I'd always been waiting for.

"A school for witches and wizards," I murmured to myself, as though saying it aloud would help me believe it. "Hogwarts."

"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, her gaze sharp but kind. "Hogwarts is a place where you will not only learn to control your magic but also gain a deeper understanding of who you are and the world to which you belong."

I nodded slowly, her words sending a shiver down my spine. A world I belonged to? I had never considered that there could be more than this—more than books, rainy afternoons, and the feeling of being... different.

"But," Papa interrupted, his tone laced with worry, "this isn't just about learning, is it? This is about sending her away for most of the year. She's only eleven."

Professor McGonagall folded her hands in her lap. "I understand your hesitation, Mr. Granger. It is no small thing to send your child away. However, I assure you, Hogwarts is a safe and nurturing environment. Your daughter will be surrounded by peers her own age who share her unique abilities, as well as highly trained staff who are dedicated to her growth and well-being."

"And what about... the risks?" he pressed. "You said untrained magic could be unpredictable. What if she gets hurt—or hurts someone else?"

"That is precisely why she needs to attend," McGonagall said firmly. "Untrained magic is far more dangerous than any controlled spell she would learn at Hogwarts. With proper guidance, Hermione will be able to channel her abilities responsibly."

Mama placed a hand on Papa's arm, her voice soft but resolute. "Michael, she's extraordinary. We've always known that. And this is a chance for her to thrive in ways we can't provide here."

"She's brilliant because of her mind, Ava," Papa argued, his voice low but steady. "She doesn't need magic to prove that."

"But maybe magic is part of what makes her brilliant," Mama countered gently, looking at me with a smile. "Hermione, what do you think?"

My heart raced as their eyes turned to me. I twisted the hem of my cardigan between my fingers, my thoughts a jumble of excitement and nerves. "I... I've always wanted to do something extraordinary," I said slowly. "And if this is part of who I am... I want to understand it. I don't want to be afraid of it."

Papa sighed, running a hand through his hair. His expression softened, though his worry didn't fade entirely. "This is a lot to take in," he admitted. "We're talking about an entirely different world, Ava. A world we know nothing about."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "That is why I am here—to guide you through this process and answer any questions you may have. Hermione will not be stepping into this alone. I can assure you, Mr. Granger, many Muggle-born students and their families have felt the same uncertainty you do now. But I can also assure you that Hermione is more than capable of navigating this transition."

Mama reached for the teapot, her hands steady as she poured another cup of tea. "Tell us more, Professor. About how this will work. What will Hermione need to prepare for?"

"Ah, yes," McGonagall said, her lips curving into a faint smile. "The first step will be a visit to Diagon Alley, a hidden shopping district in London where witches and wizards acquire their school supplies. There, Hermione will find everything she needs for her first year, from textbooks and robes to a wand, which she will use to channel her magic."

"A wand," I whispered, my excitement bubbling up again.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Every witch and wizard is uniquely paired with a wand, a process which you'll find quite memorable," McGonagall said. "You'll also need a pet, should you wish to bring one. Hogwarts allows owls, cats, or toads."

"Can I get a cat?" I asked eagerly, turning to Mama and Papa.

Mama chuckled. "We'll see, darling."

McGonagall continued, "In Diagon Alley, you'll also visit Gringotts Wizarding Bank to exchange your Muggle money for wizarding currency. Goblins operate the bank, and it is considered one of the most secure institutions in the wizarding world."

"Goblins?" Papa asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Yes, goblins," McGonagall replied matter-of-factly. "They are highly skilled in financial matters and craftsmanship. You'll find them to be quite capable."

"And how do we get to this... Diagon Alley?" Mama asked, her curiosity evident.

"You'll be escorted by one of our staff members to ensure you find it easily. The entrance is hidden, of course, but it is accessible through the Leaky Cauldron, a wizarding pub located in central London."

"A pub?" Papa muttered, his skepticism creeping back.

"Rest assured, Mr. Granger, it is perfectly safe," McGonagall said, her tone reassuring. "Once you have everything you need, Hermione will board the Hogwarts Express from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station on September 1st. The platform is hidden, but I will ensure you understand how to access it."

I sat back, my mind spinning. Diagon Alley. Wands. Goblins. Hogwarts Express. It was all so much, and yet, I wanted to know more. "What's the train like?" I asked.

McGonagall's expression softened. "It's a magnificent scarlet steam engine that takes students to Hogwarts at the start of each term. The journey is often considered a rite of passage for young witches and wizards."

A thrill of anticipation coursed through me, tempered only slightly by the nervous flutter in my stomach.

"This is incredible," Mama said, her eyes shining. "Hermione, you're going to have the most amazing experience."

Papa sighed again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's not that I don't want this for her," he said quietly. "I just... worry about what it means. For her safety. For her future."

"Your concerns are understandable, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said gently. "But I assure you, Hogwarts is not only a place of education but also a place where Hermione will be protected and supported. Her talents deserve to be nurtured, and I believe she will excel in ways you cannot yet imagine."

Papa met my gaze, his expression softening further. "Are you sure about this, Hermione? It's a big step."

I nodded, my hands tightening around my teacup. "I'm sure, Papa. I'm nervous, but... I think I'm ready."

He exhaled deeply, then finally nodded. "All right. If this is what you want, we'll support you."

A smile spread across my face, my heart swelling with excitement and gratitude. I hugged my father tightly.

"Oh, thank you, Papa! Thank you!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him. A bubble of joy rose in my chest, spilling out in a wide grin. "I'm so excited!"

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this elated—probably not since my parents surprised me with my built-in library two years ago. I had begged for more space for my growing collection of books, and they'd insisted it wasn't possible. But then, one day, they led me upstairs to find my room transformed.

I could still picture the rows of shelves, perfectly lined along one wall, and the cozy reading nook they'd added by the window. I had cried happy tears then, throwing my arms around both of them, just as I was hugging Papa now. I'd had to stay in the guestroom for weeks while it was being built, and even though the wait had been unbearable, it had been worth every second.

This felt a bit like that—like stepping into something new and magical, something just for me.

Mama laughed softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "Well, now we'll have to start preparing. There's a lot to do before September 1st."

"Yes," Professor McGonagall agreed, standing with a decisive nod. "I will make arrangements for someone to accompany you to Diagon Alley. Expect to receive instructions within the week."

"Thank you, Professor," Mama said warmly. "This all feels... surreal, but I think Hermione will be very happy."

"I believe she will, Mrs. Granger," McGonagall replied. She glanced at me, her sharp blue eyes softening ever so slightly. "Hogwarts is lucky to have her."

I beamed, feeling a warmth in my chest that was almost overwhelming. There was so much to think about, so much to prepare for, but for now, all I could focus on was the thrill of it all. Magic. Hogwarts. A world waiting just for me.