Harry Potter Rewritten - Through Anothers' Eyes

Ms. Hermione Granger...

Hermione flipped the page, engrossed in the book. A strand of her bushy brown hair came in front of her honey - brown eyes, and she swept them away impatiently with her nimble fingers which sported one too many paper cuts from the various books she holds and reads, many of them fresh.

"Hermione!" Her mother's voice rang through the halls and into Hermione's small, but cozy bedroom. "Collect the mail, will you?"

Hermione sighed, not wanting to get up from her comfortable spot on the bed, and that too, in such an exciting part of the story, but nevertheless, sat up, and dusted the front of her light green night clothes, noting the page number, 100. Quite easy to remember, Hermione thought, as she made her way through the dusty blue walled hallway, and out the front door. It also symbolizes new beginnings and the start of a new reality - Hermione didn't believe in that rubbish, of course, but looking up random facts and memorizing them was just her way of keeping busy, as much as one can be without any friends or siblings.

Why did she have no friends? Weird things always happened to her; A dry and withered rose blooming during the hottest days of summer at her touch, her staying dry in a sudden and unexpected downpour, a boy lying about her doing something catching his pants on fire... the list goes on. At first, Hermione had friends, she wasn't popular, just likeable with some friends. But they began noticing what was happening, and slowly, drifted away, some even turning against her. They called her a witch. One boy in grade school actually attempted to burn her by creating a fire with two sticks he was rubbing together. Instead of burning her, the practically minuscule spark of fire exploded, and while he wasn't burnt, the explosion threw him about ten feet away, breaking his ribs, and his dignity. He got punished because he took out a half wall of the school; Thankfully, no one was inside, so he got his lesson. Not much later, he and his family moved to France, where they apparently had family.

She shivered in the brisk wind that was unusual for the summer timing, folding her arms across her chest, blowing on her hands, as she slowly walked towards their old, tattered mailbox, the black and white door (Which also symbolized new beginnings, though every time Hermione walked in and out of that door, her life never seemed to change) of her small, cozy cottage that she called home, swinging shut behind her.

She opened the front of the box, and peered inside. There were three letters. Pulling them out, she sifted through each one. The first one had a boring brown font, stating tax returns. The second, equally boring for bills. It was the third one that caught her attention.

Pristine white, with elegant emerald green writing, it stood out amongst the dusty boringness that was everything else, including Hermione, an equally pristine package attached.

To: Ms. H. Granger

The Small Bedroom

314 Maple Tree Drive

It was a letter... addressed to her. And whoever had sent it knew where she lived, and that too, very specifically. Before Hermione could even register what she had found out, her mother's voice called out. "Are you coming with the mail or not?"

"Coming mother!" Hermione said. "One minute." She tucked the white envelope and package in one of the big pockets of her pajama pants (She refuses to wear ANYTHING without pockets) , tugging the thin fabric of her shirt lower to conceal any corners that could peek through and tried to hide the bulge, deciding to keep it hidden, to read it in secret. It could be a prank for all she knew, but for some reason, she didn't want to show her parents - at least for now.

Hurrying back to the weathered door of her small house, she made sure the letter and package were still tucked out of view, before opening the painted wooden door. It made a creak as it opened and Hermione winced from the loud sound.