hermione granger tales: 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫?

chapter one

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The sound of running children was a typical thing to hear during a school afternoon. Yard time was essential for the growth of a child. It helped them improve on their social skills, play with friends and get some much-needed space; being kept in a classroom can get very claustrophobic at times.

Yard was every student's dream. Every student except Hermione Granger, who huddled up in the school library, a worn book laid in her hands.

This was Hermione's usual spot, tucked right into the corner. Hermione didn't have any friends at school and much preferred to stay inside and read massive novels, much to the dismay of the teachers. This had a big effect on her social and physical skills in the school, but she made up for it with her intelligence.

She was the top of her class, got excellent report cards home and wasn't a bother to the people who taught her.

The usual cycle of excellent report cards continued when Hermione finished primary school with excellent results. Her teachers praised her for her brilliant mind and behavior.

However, as usual, they complained about Hermione's lack of friends and inability to perform in group projects. Her parents, Thomas and Helen Granger, were proud of their daughter but couldn't help feeling worried. Their daughter was going to be in secondary school in less than two months and they didn't want her to have a harder time there.

They wanted their daughter to feel as normal as possible, and to have a good time and make friends. That was the opposite of what Hermione wanted to do. She didn't mind reading in the sun, watching other kids playing football on the green. She didn't admit to herself, however, the envy she sometimes felt when she saw girls smiling and laughing together.

Hermione had been dreading secondary school, and it loomed over her. Days became weeks and school seemed to be just around the corner. That stopped when she heard that fateful knock on the door.

It was a typical Sunday morning and Hermione was, once again, upstairs in her room, a book lying on her pillow. Her hands were resting on her chin, bushy brown locks constantly blocking her vision.

Hermione hated her hair and she never knew what to do with it. It was like a pet sometimes. The book she was reading was so beautiful, telling of stories about magical lands far away that nobody knew about and only special people could find. She was in the middle of a tense fight scene when the doorbell rang, and she shot up from her bed quickly. Her parents were downstairs making lunch and she didn't want the door to disturb them from it.

She went to open the door, holding onto the wooden railing as she ran down the stairs. "I got it Mum!" Hermione exclaimed before unlocking the door, pulling it open.

The first thing Hermione noticed was the green cloak the elderly woman was wearing, wrapped around her. The woman had glasses and piercing eyes and to top it off she had a black hat. She looked important; Hermione had that feeling she was important.

"Hello," the woman greeted, and Hermione closed her mouth to be polite. "Hello," Hermione replied. "Hermione! Who's at the door?" Her father's voice rang through the hall, followed by hurried footsteps and soon her parents were standing behind Hermione, looking in awe at the woman's peculiar outfit.

"Who're you?" Her dad questioned bluntly, earning a glare from her mother. "I am Professor McGonagall. May I come in?" Hermione glanced back at her parents to see how they'd react: her father looked wary and distrusting and her mother welcoming. "Yes, come in," her mom said, and they all shuffled towards the living room. "Here, take a seat," Hermione said politely and as Professor McGonagall sat down on the loveseat, Hermione squeezed in with her parents on the couch.

After a moment's silence, McGonagall spoke up. "I'm here to talk to you about the details of your daughter's education." Hermione shared a confused look with her parents; she had already applied and been accepted to a secondary school nearby. Maybe it was something important, like an extra schoolbook or subject being added to the curriculum? But if so, why come all the way to her house to tell her?

"What do you mean? Hermione has already been accepted to a secondary school. Is something wrong?" Her dad breathed out worriedly. McGonagall shook her head and spoke slowly and for good reason. "In our world, there a things that can't be explained. Shooting stars, sightings of owls... Strange people wearing cloaks. Hermione has been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She is a witch."

The atmosphere in the room dropped ten degrees. Hermione's mouth opened in shock. Her? A witch? It was impossible. It was a fairy tale like the one she had been reading previously. 

"Are you having a laugh? This isn't funny," Hermione's dad exclaimed again, standing up outrageously. Hermione looked to her mom for advice, but her mother was staring at McGonagall, a scowl forming on her usually kind features. "What kind of sick prank," her dad muttered to himself, running a hand through his brown hair in disbelief. McGonagall kept her cool, her face as neutral as it had been two minutes ago. Hermione could tell she wasn't fazed.

"This is a normal response for parents with a Muggleborn child-" "A WHAT?" Hermione's dad exclaimed, as if it was a bad word. Hermione had never heard a word so unusual and weird sounding. Muggleborn. "A Muggleborn is a child born from two non-magical folk, or Muggles, like yourselves. It is not a rude term to be called so don't be offended," McGonagall assured. Hermione wondered if it could be true. McGonagall didn't look like she told lies or pranked people in her spare time.

"Where is this Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned only to be scolded by her dad. "Hermione! Don't tell me you're believing this rubbish?" 

It happened so quickly Hermione could've missed it if she had blinked. Professor McGonagall whipped out a stick and muttered something that sounded like the Latin language. The couch Hermione and her parents were sitting on slowly began to rise upwards. They were hovering. On her couch. In the living room. "What the!" Her parents exclaimed, eyes wide as they spotted the difference between the couch and the floor. Hermione bit her lip, already a steady believer of the whole magic thing.

She was a bit materialistic but now that she had seen it with her own two eyes there was no reason not to believe it.