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Weaver of Dawn by The computer is an enigma

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1. Hermione Takes Her Leave
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The summer after fifth year came almost unnoticeably. The elated buzz at finished O.W.L. examinations and the sacking of Dolores Umbridge was overshadowed by news of the battle at the Department of Mysteries, which became the hot topic of conversation as the students boarded the Hogwarts Express. Fortunately, for all that the Ministry had done to discredit Harry and Dumbledore, they finally ended up admitting the truth in their stories, which had immediately turned Harry into an object of interest.

Hermione spent the train ride home in a compartment with her friends, reading excerpts from the Daily Prophet.The newspaper was now avidly recounting what had happened in the Ministry's underground floors. Hermione had been knocked out in the middle of the battle by a curse from Dolohov, so she hadn't seen how the prophecy had shattered or how Bellatrix had defeated Sirius. But the paper talked about what had happened afterwards, and included pages of defensive tips and witnesses' recollections of the previous wizarding war. About an hour into the ride, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had tried to ambush Harry in the walkway and had been hexed by several D.A. members from a neighboring compartment. Hermione grimaced when she caught a glimpse of the three boys hours later, swollen and green-skinned and staggering to the Slytherin section.

She could guess the reason for Malfoy's spite. All of the Death Eaters that had been part of the Department of Mysteries attack had been imprisoned, including Malfoy's father. Their names were being printed everywhere now, unmasking them as Death Eaters once and for all, though by now it made no difference. With the Dementors gone from Azkaban, it was only a matter of time before they would be broken out too. And then the real trouble would begin.

With all of that leftover commotion swimming in her mind, coming back home seemed surreal. Minutes after she, Harry, and Ron had met up with the group of Order members on the Muggle side of the platform, and had said goodbye to Harry as he left with the Dursleys, Hermione's own parents had arrived to pick her up. She had climbed into the backseat of their car, waited for her father to put her school trunk into the trunk of their Ford Fiesta, and peered out at the streets of Muggle London on the drive home.

The Grangers lived in a quiet neighborhood in the borough of Bromley, south of the lively London City. It was the place Hermione had lived for her entire life, and she knew the area like a mental map. Being in her family's house had always been reassuring, and in her first summer after Hogwarts, there had been moments where she could almost forget that she went to a school of magic.

But now, that was no longer true. Now, Hermione knew about wizarding wars, about the Hall of Prophecy, and the Order of the Phoenix. When the unusual spell of mists and cold weather descended over London a few weeks later, Hermione often caught glimpses of a Dementor's black cloak flitting behind the clouds. She saw the signs of Dark magic in the two murders that were reported later in the month, and from footage of the damage, she could guess the curses that the wizards had used in their duels. And she knew, long before Cornelius Fudge had made his statement in the Daily Prophet, that Lord Voldemort had returned.

Hermione had told this to her parents the very evening she had come home from school. Simply saying it gave her a feeling of dread, but what had unexpectedly made her feel worse were the puzzled looks of Drs. Herman and Hattie Granger, the London dentists, who hardly remembered the name.

Had she been raised by wizards, and been surrounded by people who were ready and planning to fight, Hermione figured she wouldn't have been as afraid. But it was here in Muggle London that the true nature of the crisis hit home for her. Voldemort's return meant darkness and uncertainty. It meant that the people she saw fiddling with their umbrellas and holding out their hands for taxis were being confronted with a danger they were powerless against. And it meant that she, as soon as she left the house, would leave her parents defenseless.

One week into July, the mists that the Dementors had brought on began to condense, causing occasional storms of showers that pattered on the windows. Hermione spent most of her time inside, helping her mother around the house and reading. One day, news suddenly came that the Brockdale Bridge had snapped in half, dropping dozens of cars into the Thames River. It had been a brand-new bridge, one that the papers had been praising only months before, and when Hermione turned on the television, she found everyone baffled.

Over the next few days, the streets became crowded with barricades and news reporters. Finally, that Saturday evening, the Prime Minister appeared before the press to make a public statement, and Hermione sat in the living room to watch it. Hattie was making dinner, and Herman had gone to buy some whiskey. Hermione was switching her attention from the Minister's speech to a letter she had received from Mrs. Weasley. Ron's family had taken to inviting her to the Burrow every summer holiday, which usually filled her with joy and anticipation. But today, those feelings seemed out-of-place to her. Hermione had her quill and parchment ready on her lap, but she couldn't think of what to write. Should she mention the bridge? Should she stay at home for a few more days, at least until everything calmed down?

Minutes into her pondering, the front door to the house fell closed and Herman stepped inside. "I'm home!" he called. He entered the kitchen, placing down a paper bag, and entered the living room. "Hermione. That thing you gave me… a Pocket Seekerscope, was it?"

"A Pocket Sneakoscope," she said.

"Yes, that... Well, it started buzzing when I left the store. I wasn't doing anything to it; it was just sitting in my pocket. It stopped by the time I got to the car. Does that mean something?"

Hermione winced. "You must have met a Death Eater in disguise. That means they're walking on the streets now... they must be planning the next attack." She ran her fingers through her hair and frowned down at her blank parchment.

Herman approached the sofa and sat down beside her. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. It only happened once. Mine never goes off when I'm at work, and I don't think Hattie's ever has on her shift either."

"That's right," came Hattie's voice from the kitchen.

Hermione sighed. "Still, the Sneakoscope only goes off if someone nearby is up to something. You won't always have time to react to it." She looked at the television, which was showing footage of metal scraps being salvaged from the water.

Herman frowned. "Has the Prime Minister been on yet?"

"He just finished. He blamed the failure on cheap materials and he's promised to do a thorough inquiry of the engineers. But he probably knows that the Death Eaters are behind it. You see, each time a new Prime Minister is elected, the Minister of Magic introduces themselves. So he knows that there's a wizarding world."

Herman lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, so, the wizards are telling him what to say?"

"They're probably helping him. The Ministry of Magic has an Office of Misinformation that steps in when Muggles see something to do with wizards. They make sure Muggle authorities know what to say, and they modify witnesses' memories to make them recall things differently."

Herman whistled. "Sounds like a thorough job. But it must be hard for them, doing all that work to stay secret and having to fight dark wizards on top of it."

Hermione smiled. "They've had to keep secrecy for a long time, though. I suppose they're used to it."

Herman nodded slowly. He leaned back in the couch, putting his hands behind his head and gazed off at the curtained windows. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we still knew about wizards. Our whole history could have been different. We might've never needed cars, if we could use brooms. We could have gone to space early, or invented more efficient energy sources. And we definitely would have perfected medicine. Wizards with their herbs and potions, us with our X-rays and surgeons..."

Hermione smiled. "We'd be unstoppable."

"Exactly!" said Herman. "It's just the fanatics on both sides who ruin everything."

Hermione twirled her quill in thought. Minutes later, Hattie called for dinner, and the two of them rose and went to the kitchen. It was a cozy space, with wooden cabinets, framed pictures on the walls, and window above the sink. Their dining table only seated four, for the Grangers had never needed room for many guests.

Hermione and her parents ate for some time in silence, then Hattie looked up. "So, Hermione. Are you leaving for that Burrow place again?"

Hermione nodded. "I got Mrs. Weasley's letter today, but I'm not sure when I'll leave. It doesn't seem like now is a good time."

"You'll be safe there, though, won't you?" asked Hattie.

"Of course. The Order of the Phoenix put up protections all around the house, so we'll be fine."

Hattie frowned. "Order of the Phoenix, that's…"

"That's the group our headmaster Dumbledore created. They're people who stage attacks against the Death Eaters independent of the Ministry."

"The anti-Death Eaters," Herman put in cheerfully.

"Ah. And the Weasleys are a part of it?" asked Hattie.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, then you probably won't have anything to worry about. They must all be very experienced."

"And the Weasleys a good lot," Herman said. "I like them. That Arthur is a bit odd, but they always look out for each other, don't they?"

Hermione lowered her gaze. "Still... I'm worried about you two. If the Death Eaters are ready to take down a bridge to hurt innocent bystanders, they're bound to do something even worse next. And I don't want that to happen to you."

Hattie gave a smile. "Don't worry about us. We'll be all right."

Herman nodded his agreement. "Yeah. With all the gadgetry you've given us, I'd say we'd be able to hold off a few of those Death Eaters on our own, won't we?" He looked over to Hattie, who rolled her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Hermione said. "I'm thinking I should at least put up a Caterwauling Charm. That way, at least, if someone tries to break in, you'll know about it."

"If it makes you feel better, I suppose, then have at it," Herman said. "But what would the Death Eaters want from us? Aren't we Muggles? We don't pose a threat to them because we can't do magic, and we can't give them any information because we don't know anything."

Hermione gave a somber smile. "But that's it. You're Muggles. The Death Eaters aren't doing all these things just to take over the Ministry of Magic. They're deliberately after Muggles and wizards who respect them."

Herman frowned. "But at the very least, that's manners. Surely there's nothing wrong with being cordial to each other, especially since we're practically neighbors."

"The Death Eaters don't see Muggles as equals," Hermione said. "They have this theory called blood purity, which says that the more magical ancestry you have, the more of a wizard you are. It's complete rubbish, of course, but that doesn't stop them from coming to the conclusion that Muggles are inferior and need to be eliminated. And if Voldemort takes over, that's what they'll start doing."

Herman and Hattie exchanged glances. But moments later, Herman's face spread into a wide smile and he began to chuckle. "After centuries of religious prosecution, the wizards strike back? It's almost like a bad spell of karma..."

Hattie pursed her lips. "It's a shame they're not in touch with our history. We'd be able to teach them what these kinds of things lead to."

"Nah, I think it's something they just have to learn for themselves," Herman said. "Besides, if the Death Eaters hate Muggles already, they probably won't be open to taking wisdom from us."

"Still, do they really not remember anything about what happened in this past century?"

"Their world moves at completely different pace than ours. What might be defining of us at one point might not apply for wizards until a century later."

Hattie shook her head. "I find it hard to believe that conflicts in our world and the wizarding world don't have the slightest effect on each other. Wizards have schools like we do, they have a ministry almost like ours, and they have entire buildings and gathering places that are right in the middle of our cities. We're connected. And until people learn to appreciate that connection, we'll be stuck creating problems instead of solving them."

Herman shrugged. "I understand, but I'll say it again, wizards don't have a use for our solutions anymore. They're in their own world, and if we tried mixing it together with ours again, it would make a mess that people would never get over. If wizards and Muggles had never separated from the beginning, now that's another question. I certainly think the world would have been better. But now, it is how it is. Wizards don't need what our society offers. Do you think after Hermione finishes Hogwarts she'll go on to be a bank intern?"

"No, but I wouldn't want her to completely forget everything she's experienced here."

"Hermione is a witch."

"She's a girl who has an understanding of two worlds. And it's people like her who have the power to inspire both sides to be open-minded."

Hermione quietly listened to her parents' exchange, gazing around the room. There were magnets on the refrigerator, some of which she remembered had been there since her childhood. But most of the space was now crowded with unfamiliar papers and sticky notes -- Robertson to confirm appointment, work late on Tuesday…

Finally, Hermione finished eating and excused herself. She went to collect her things from the sofa and approached the stairs. As she walked up to her bedroom, she heard her parents' laughter rise up from the kitchen.

"Imagine if someone knocked on the door right now and heard us talking about this..." Herman muttered.

Hermione lingered at the top of the stairs, wondering if they would say anything else. But they switched the subject, and finally, Hermione left.

Her bedroom was a clash of two worlds. Spellbooks and classic novels stood beside each other on the shelves, a wall clock ticked away above a moving photograph, and a faded Gryffindor tapestry came into view when she closed the door.

Hermione looked around for a moment, feeling a calm settle over her, and sat down on the carpet. She finished writing her acceptance to Mrs. Weasley and folded up the letter, then began to read an issue of Transfiguration Today that she had left on her desk.

"Hermione's a witch."

"She's a
girl who has an understanding of two worlds."

Hermione leaned back against her bed and flipped through the pages of diagrams and incantations. And for some reason, she found herself wondering which of her parents were right.

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To say that nothing strange had ever happened to Hermione Granger before she got her Hogwarts letter would be a lie. Despite her rational, down-to-earth nature, the girl had a knack for getting into odd predicaments that she could never explain to anyone else. When she visited the city with her parents, Hermione would eagerly point to glimmering signs and shop doors that neither of them ever seemed to see. At school, when she eagerly reached for her pencil, it would move itself a few inches closer to meet her hand. And when she turned on the radio at home, she often caught strange conversations, advertising things like self-soaping dishcloths and potions to heal bothersome ailments. She had stopped believing in magic and fairytales as a young child, but now, it seemed as if those things had been transplanted into her very life.

As Hermione grew older, she gained enough sense to stop mentioning these incidents to people around her, though secretly she wondered whether she was going mad. Then, on the morning of her tenth birthday, Hermione finally got her letter. It had happened at breakfast, when the three Grangers were sitting in their dining room. The day had been fresh and breezy, and her mother had opened the window to let in some air. A few minutes into their meal, Hermione heard a loud screech, and looked up to see a gray barn owl soar into the room. Herman's hand jumped, spilling coffee over his sleeve, and Hattie jerked back in her chair. Hermione sat still, frozen with shock, as the owl landed at the center of the table. It ruffled its feathers and walked up to her tamely, depositing an envelope beside her plate. Then it fluttered off and perched itself onto the refrigerator.

After a long pause, Herman looked at his daughter, attempting a smile. "What's this, some sort of pigeon post project for school?"

Hermione shrugged mutely. She turned the envelope over in her hands. The address on the back, written with a green calligraphy pen, read:

Miss H. Granger
The Kitchen
36 Oakwood Drive
London Borough of Bromley
Greater London


A chill gripped her from inside, but nevertheless, she opened the envelope and took out the letter.

"Dear Miss Granger," she read aloud. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please be available on Saturday, September 23rd at 12:00 p.m. to discuss your admission. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."

She looked back up at her parents, and saw that they were staring back at her with identical expressions of incredulous humor. Slowly, Hermione shrugged and gave a sheepish smile.

"Well… it's got the room right. See?" She pointed to the back of the envelope.

Herman chuckled. "Witchcraft and wizardry, eh? Sounds awful dodgy. Are you sure you didn't fill out any forms in school?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then why would they send you an acceptance if you never applied?"

Hermione shrugged.

"It could just be an advertisement," Hattie said. "By the sound of it, it seems like they're training people for the circus."

"Let's find out." Herman gestured for Hermione to continue. "Do open that supply list, let's see what it says."

Hermione took out the second paper and read the list of items. When she got to the list of textbooks, which bore strange titles like The Standard Book of Spells and A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, her parents' eyebrows perked. When she got to the classroom equipment, which included cauldrons, a telescope, and a wand, Hattie nearly spit out her tea. And when she read the very last line, which informed the reader that first-years were not allowed their own broomsticks, the laughter that had been breaking through Herman's composure finally burst out, and he buried his forehead in his hand.

"Blimey, they've got everything covered! No broomsticks, one wand, a couple of pointed hats…"

"That doesn't seem like a school for the circus," Hermione pointed out.

"And they want us to be available Saturday at twelve, do they?" Herman checked his watch. "Pretty specific, these people…"

"Maybe… maybe this could be real," Hermione said. "The letter seems authentic."

"Well, whoever these people are, they certainly don't seem to understand the school system," said Hattie. "They can't just interrupt an eleven-year-old in the middle of her primary education and pull her off to learn magic."

"We don't even know if they're state or private," said Herman. "But from the sound of it, it looks like they're private…"

"Then it must cost a lot of money," Hattie said.

"And money for what? Learning some so-called spells instead of mathematics and science?"

Hattie restrained a chuckle. "Maybe they have a curriculum for those too."

Herman lifted his hands. "You know what? There's no point in even arguing about this. We can get everything straight with a phone call." He looked at Hermione. "Did they give a telephone number of any sort?"

Hermione searched both papers. "No, it doesn't look like it."

Herman cracked another smile. "So they say they'll contact us, but they don't give us a number to answer to. That's strike two for Hogwarts."

"Maybe we're supposed to send our questions by owl," Hermione said. "They sent an owl here, so maybe they only do physical mail."

Herman shrugged. "If you'd like to try, then be my guest."

Hermione looked at the refrigerator, where the owl was preening its feathers. She stood up and held up her arms, but Hattie slapped Herman's shoulder. "Herman, what are you thinking? That bird's come from God-knows-where! It could have diseases!"

"Then we've been infected a thousand times over, because it landed right on our table."

Hattie pursed her lips. "All right. Fine. But wash your hands after, Hermione!"

Hermione nodded. "I will, don't worry." She stood up on her toes and bent her wrist to make a perch. "Here, birdy-bird. Come here… to me, little fellow..."

The owl looked down at her and let out a long, deep hoot. After a moment of deliberation, it fluttered down and settled onto her hand. Hermione brought it down and approached her parents. "What should we write?"

Herman rubbed his chin. "First of all, I want to know about their curriculum. I want to know what their core subjects are, what their advanced program is, if they offer A-levels, and where their graduates move on to. Then, I want to know how exactly, they got our address and got it into their heads to invite you. Finally, I want to know their location and their cost. In fact, I'll write the letter myself." He got up and left the kitchen.

Hattie and Hermione cleared the table, after which Hermione went to the owl again and began to observe it in more detail. The bird was surprisingly tame, and did not flinch when she stroked its feathers.

"I'll name you Ernest," she said. The owl clicked its beak, and Hermione giggled.

After a few minutes, Herman emerged from his study with an envelope in hand. "I have no idea what their address is, so I'll leave you to decide what to write on the back of this." He handed the envelope to Hermione. "But if they respond to this letter, then I'll be willing to give them a chance."

Hermione tenderly held the envelope up to the owl's beak, and the owl snatched it with a firm, practiced grip. She walked over to the window and held him out to the open air, and with a screech, the owl took off. It soared high over the rooftops, slowly shrinking into a tiny dot, before finally vanishing into the clouds.

She waited for the owl all week, but it didn't come back. Nevertheless, Hermione hung on to her letter, and that Saturday, she pulled her parents into the living room at the designated time and waited for someone to knock on the front door. Herman kept an eye on his watch throughout. At the exact moment that it struck twelve, there came a loud bang, and smoke began to puff out from the fireplace. Though the gray cloud, Hermione saw a figure step out of the opening, and when the smoke cleared, she saw it was a tall slender woman, dressed in an elegant green robe and a pointed black hat. She stepped down from the fireplace and straightened herself, calmly dusting off the cinders.

"Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. I do hope I haven't frightened you, but I find that when one enters the water quickly, it is an easy matter of getting accustomed to it."

Herman and Hattie rose, and one by one, shook hands with the puzzling woman. Hermione, who was left for last, approached her, doing her best not to gape. The woman had a stern face, which nevertheless softened when she smiled.

"You must be Hermione. Splendid. I must say, you and your parents are one of the few I've encountered who prepared such a quick, diligent response to our letter. Usually, we prefer to have someone from the school deliver it by hand, but your birthday falls right on the third week of term, and I had to make special arrangements for my absence. Another option was to send someone from the Muggle Liaison Office, since they usually deal with the matter very quickly, though I confess that being confronted by a squad of Ministry workers during tea-time isn't the most pleasant introduction to the wizarding world. I prefer long talks, quiet afternoons, and a slow, bracing introduction into your new state of affairs."

McGonagall looked to Herman and Hattie, who did not respond. But it seemed that her snappy, professional manner reassured them.

After a moment, Herman spoke. "And what, if you don't mind me asking, is this new state of affairs?"

McGonagall folded her hands in front of her. "That your daughter has magical abilities and has therefore been accepted to Great Britain's only school of magic, which if I may add is one of the finest in Europe. She is invited to begin her education there so that she may master her abilities and become a part of wizarding society."

Hattie blinked her startled eyes. "Magical abilities?"

"The only magic we've ever seen from our daughter is her finishing several days' worth of homework in a single weekend and still having time for chores," Herman said, with a chuckle.

McGonagall smiled. "Yes, your daughter definitely seems like a bright young lady. But no, Mr. Granger, I am talking about a different sort of magic." With that, she reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a long wooden stick. Her expression turning businesslike again, she flicked it at a nearby lamp, which immediately shrunk and contorted until it became a wine glass.

Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth. "That's incredible!"

Herman and Hattie were equally befuddled. McGonagall flicked the stick again, and the lamp returned to its original state. "That is a branch of magic called Transfiguration, which as you have seen, involves transforming one object into another. There are other branches of course, such as Charms, Potionmaking, and Herbology. All of these subjects are taught at Hogwarts, and are within the reach of your daughter just as they are for any witch or wizard."

"But… how can I be magical?" Hermione said. "I've never done anything like that before!"

"My dear child, no one is born knowing how to turn lamps into goblets! The abilities of magical children always manifest themselves in simple, subtle ways. Have you ever made a book budge on a table by just thinking about it? Have you ever caused lights to flicker when you were upset, or gained unusual speed and strength when you were frightened?"

Hermione stared at the woman in amazement. All of those things had happened to her. As if reading her expression, McGonagall nodded. "Then you have shown all the typical signs of a wizard becoming aware of their powers. And at any rate, even if you had dismissed those experiences as insignificant and didn't care to remember them, there cannot be a doubt that you are indeed a witch. There is an enchanted quill at Hogwarts that records the names and birthdates of each magical child born in Great Britain. The quill does not make mistakes. Each of those children, when they turn eleven years old, are sent letters from Hogwarts inviting them to begin their magical education. This is a crucial step taken by Britain's Ministry of Magic, which ensures that magical children do not grow up without knowing how to control their abilities. There is nothing more dangerous than letting an inexperienced wizard walk free, especially in a Muggle society. They may set things on fire without meaning to. They could injure people and themselves if their temper gets out of control. A magical education will teach you to channel your powers into doing productive things and will prevent them ever escaping you without your command."

Herman nodded slowly. "All right, then. So if our daughter is magical… then how did she get her powers? You said that this quill records the names of magical children the very minute they're born. Would follow that magic is hereditary?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Then does that mean we're wizards too?" Herman waved his hand at the lamp, but nothing happened.

McGonagall smiled kindly. "It would appear that you are not, considering that you are now adults and have hitherto lived completely normal lives. In the case of Muggle-born wizards, whose parents are both non-magical, it is almost certain that a relative -- perhaps even a distant ancestor -- possessed magical abilities which failed to show up in later generations until now. Whether you have magical abilities or not, one of you, perhaps both, possess an unexpressed magical gene that though a gift of fate has resulted in magical abilities finally being expressed in your daughter."

Hattie looked at Herman, exchanging proud smiles. "Well, what do you know?"

"We're not completely useless after all," said Herman.

Hermione burst into giggles, covering her face with her hands. When she looked up, McGonagall met her gaze. "The letter guarantees your place for the autumn of next year. The reason we have sent it one year early is because you come from a Muggle family, and will therefore need time to adjust to the wizarding world and settle your affairs in the Muggle one before you leave for school. If you choose to accept, that is."

Hermione looked at her parents, then back to McGonagall. Her smile faded for an inquisitive expression. "What happens if I don't?"

"Then there might very well be a problem. In the Ministry's eyes, you are a registered witch, and if you decline a magical education, then you are at risk for reasons I mentioned before. If you still choose to decline, then the Ministry will nevertheless send you special textbooks that will teach you basic methods of controlling your powers, to make sure that you don't accidentally harm anyone. Without proper development, your abilities will never manifest themselves beyond what you have already performed, but in this case you will at least know how to control when you want to use them, which will hopefully never be in front of Muggles again. Bear in mind that the Muggle Liaisons Office keeps watch over all magical incidents and catastrophes, and that using magic in front of Muggles is a violation of wizarding law - which, being magical, you are automatically subject to."

Hermione swallowed. McGonagall pursed her lips.

"Now I must ask you. Do you wish to accept your place at Hogwarts, or decline?"

Hermione was silent. She thought of her school - of the kids who whispered behind her back, the tough-looking girls who never dared to approach her, of Mrs. Woolbright, whose eyes twinkled whenever Hermione asked a question… the ringing bells, the bustling cafeteria…

"Don't pay them any mind, Hermione. Twenty years from now, you'll be on top of the world, and they'll be watching you on television from their apartments. And I'll remember the golden girl who sat in front of every class, who took all the opportunities she could get her hands on, and never settled for anything less than her potential. Keep that inside of you, love, and never tell yourself you can't do something."

It was a while before Hermione looked up. When she did, she found McGonagall's face as patient as ever, and gave a smile. "I accept."

McGonagall bowed her head. "Very good."

Hattie stepped forward. "But… surely there has to be some compensation for Hermione to abandon her school here. From what I've gathered, she won't be learning any mathematics, any sciences, or anything else that children her age are. Or is there some sort of supplementary curriculum at Hogwarts that teaches Muggle-born children these things?"

"No, Mrs. Granger, the curriculum at Hogwarts deals entirely with magic. Wizards have no need for Muggle technology and therefore do not need to learn Muggle science, while the principles of logic and mathematics are already woven into many Hogwarts subjects, such as Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Accepting one's place at Hogwarts means that one has resolved to integrate themselves into the wizarding community for the rest of their lives."

Hattie frowned. "Is that so?" She looked at Herman and gave a nervous laugh. "Who knew, when we woke up in the morning we'd be forced to make a life-changing decision."

"If it helps in any way, I'll point out that we will not be kidnapping your daughter," said McGonagall. "She will still return home for the summer, and for the Christmas and Easter holidays if you wish, and will be able to write to you as often as she pleases. She will not be any dumber than a Muggle child; she will only be trained to think in a different way. The knowledge imparted by the Muggle school system is, after all, meant for people who live in the Muggle world. In entering Hogwarts, Hermione will discover a completely different society, founded upon principles and customs that are entirely different from what she is used to, and will therefore have opportunities that a Muggle will never know."

After a period of pursed-lipped deliberation, Hermione's parents looked down at her in unison. "Well, Hermione?" said Herman. "It's your choice. Do you really want to be a witch?"

Hermione was silent. After a moment, McGonagall spoke up. "I recognize that such a decision is difficult to make from one's sitting room. If you wish, I can take the three of you on a walk through Diagon Alley, and you will get a glimpse for yourselves what wizards are like."

Hermione nodded. "That would be brilliant."

McGonagall stepped back towards the fireplace, removing a small leather sack from an inner pocket of her robes. "Then come with me. We will be traveling by Floo Powder, the same way I arrived." She beckoned towards them, and the three Grangers hesitantly approached the fireplace.

"I would prefer it if the three of you went first," McGonagall said. "Since only one of you is magical, you will all need to travel together, because the incantation won't work if a Muggle says it." McGonagall withdrew the wooden stick again and pointed it at the pile of logs. She muttered something, and instantly they burst into flames. Hermione and Hattie yelped. The woman turned and proffered the leather pouch to Hermione. "Now just take a handful of this, drop it into the flames, and wait until they turn green. When they do, they won't be of any danger to you. Just step into them and state very clearly: 'Leaky Cauldron.' Don't worry about where that is or what it looks like. You will arrive in a small hotel room. When you do, stay in place until I arrive."

Hermione peered into the pouch, which was filled with dark black powder, and scooped some into her hand. It felt cool and silky. "How does this work, exactly?"

McGonagall steered her forward. "There will be time for questions later. Off you go."

Hermione waited for her parents to come up beside her and looped her arms through theirs. She approached the flames, wincing at the heat, and dropped the Floo Powder into the rack of logs. Instantly, the flames turned a bright emerald green. The heat vanished, though the fire still gave off the smell of smoke. Fanning her face, Hermione stepped inside, tugging her parents along, and the three of them ducked their heads to fit into the fireplace.

"Now!" said McGonagall.

"Leaky Cauldron!" Hermione shouted. Instantly, her surroundings vanished. An invisible force pulled her upwards through the chimney, bouncing her around the walls like a ping-pong ball. The low hiss of the flames rose to a deafening roar, and the world around her became a senseless mess of whirling color. At last, the spinning stopped, and Hermione felt herself fall vertically down a dark, narrow tube, and land on a hard stone floor. Her parents landed beside her moments later, coughing.

"My God, what a day…" Hattie fanned her face. She and Herman looked windblown, but upbeat.

Together, the Grangers rose to their feet. This fireplace was larger, and tall enough for even Herman to stand upright. Hermione was the first to step out, emerging into a sunny guestroom. There was a bed, a drawer, and a mirror, but other than that, the space was bare.

Moments later, there came a loud bang, and McGonagall landed on her feet in the fireplace. She emerged, tucking the Floo Powder pouch back into its pocket. "Now then. Follow me and I will show you downstairs. The Leaky Cauldron is a famous pub, but it also doubles as a hotel for people who are passing through town. It's right in the middle of Diagon Alley."

McGonagall led them out of the room and down a short flight of stairs, where they came upon a dim, lively pub. Some people seemed to recognize McGonagall and greeted her, but McGonagall cut all conversations short. They stepped out into the daylight, and Hermione was confronted by the most unusual shopping street she had ever seen. A curvy cobbled road snaked through a medley of buildings, which had funny tilted roofs and windows that displayed assortments of strange objects. The people that populated the street were dressed in similar variations of McGonagall's outfit, with colorful robes, some hats, and baskets dangling from their arms. It was as if she had stepped into a children's storybook.

McGonagall led the way through Diagon Alley, keeping Hermione at her side to point things out to her. "Thia is a robe store, where you'll get your school uniform... That store sells Quidditch supplies... That stand over there sells the Daily Prophet..." McGonagall somehow managed to explain what all of those things were before their shops vanished from view. "And here is Ollivander's wand store," she said, pointing to a square black building. "This is where you will get your wand. We won't do it today, since ideally you should wait until a reasonably short time before you learn how to use it. Wands are dangerous in careless hands. But if you wish, we may stop at Flourish and Blott's to buy your textbooks."

Hermione beamed. "Yes, please! That would be wonderful!"

She turned towards the bookstore, whose windows showed a tempting interior of shelves, but McGonagall pulled her back. "Not just yet, Miss Granger. We have to convert your currency first."

"You mean wizard use a different money system?" said Herman.

"Yes, but the conversion is quite simple. If you have enough money on hand, then I can show you today, but if not, then we can simply come back another time."

"How much do the books cost?" ask Herman.

"Each one is about ten to twenty pounds."

Herman looked through his wallet. "I have forty."

Hattie looked through hers. "I have thirty."

"Do you wish to buy some today?"

Hermione looked eagerly up at her parents, who gave in. "All right," said Herman. "But textbooks only."

McGonagall led them to Gringotts, the wizard bank, where Hermione learned about Knuts, Sickles, Galleons, and goblins. Then they proceeded to Flourish and Blott's, where Hermione took out her supply list and searched for the books that seemed most intriguing. If Diagon Alley made the wizarding world seem surreal, then the book shop brought it down to earth. Hermione was elated to learn that there was a real theory of magic, that there were encyclopedias cataloging magical plants, and manuals outlining the principles of spells. Simply holding the books in her hands and sweeping her palm across the pages gave her a rush of excitement.

On their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, McGonagall took the three of them out for lunch and bought Hermione the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. By the time the Grangers got back to their living room, their minds were spinning. McGonagall promised she would be back in one year, close to the start of Hermione's term, and left them an address to which they could write if they ever needed anything. And then, with her final best wishes, McGonagall departed.

For the rest of that day, Herman sat on the telephone, cancelling Hermione's enrollment in school and withdrawing her from the clubs and programs she had partaken in. Hermione thought about calling some of her classmates to let them know she was leaving, but decided that the situation would be too complicated to explain. She wasn't particularly close to any of them, and she figured that keeping quiet would be better than lying.

The rest of the Muggle school year passed by, and Hermione spent it with her parents, accompanying them to work and playing games with them in the evenings. She felt nervous and excited to be unhinged from her usual routine, but the net that had caught her was loving and comforting. She enjoyed being with her parents in the hours she usually wasn't, as if the extraneous parts of her life had been snipped away to leave only the two people she cared about most. Finally, summer came, and Hermione received another letter from Professor McGonagall offering to take her to Diagon Alley for the rest of her school supplies.

Hermione read the letter aloud in the living room, and once she finished, Herman clapped his hands. "That's it! Next stop -- the wizarding world!" He stood up from the couch, brandishing an ink pen in the air.

"Oooh, Herman, watch out!" Hattie jumped out from behind a table, lifting a pencil with one hand and a spellbook with the other. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Herman spread out his arms and pretended to drift away into the air. "Aaah!" He walked around the room, making whooshing noises, then turned around to face Hattie. "I haven't been vanquished yet... Lumos!"

Hattie leaned back as if struck by a brilliant beam of light and began to spin around. Hermione doubled over, laughing till her face grew red.

That night, she went up to her room and stacked her textbooks into a pile on her desk. She thought about what core her wand would have, what kind of sky the enchanted ceiling of the Hogwarts castle would show, and how soon she could get a real moving photograph with her parents. She turned on the radio and turned the dial to a wizarding program, letting the announcer's words wash over the room.

"Gilbert's Wonderful Self-Stirring Cauldron! Just mix the ingredients and watch your potion brew! It's a breeze!"

+ + + +


Throughout her years at Hogwarts, Herman and Hattie continued educating themselves about wizards, not wanting to be unsavvy in the world their daughter was entering. In several comical instances, Hermione walked in on the pair of them sitting on the couch with her spellbooks, following the text with their fingers and trying to pronounce the words.

"A Blast-Ended… what now?" Hattie squinted, leaning in closer. "Oh, Herman, this looks dangerous." But she kept flipping through the pages, too interested to put it down.

Herman, who was busy studying Hermione's third-year Potions textbook, lifted his eyebrows. "It says here they'll be making sleeping potions this year. That sure might come in handy with some of the lot we get at the practice, don't you think?"

Hermione, who was then almost thirteen, had been watching from the doorway. When her parents noticed her, they looked up at her with innocent smiles, and she giggled.

But as much as Hermione liked living with her parents, the Muggle world soon began to seem limiting. After spending months in school doing magic and learning about wizarding culture, she would come home feeling awkward and out-of-place. Her hand would fall to her pocket in search of her wand roughly a dozen times a day, and she had to make a conscious effort not to let slip any wizarding terminology when she was talking in public. With her parents, at least, she didn't have to worry about hiding anything, but as she grew older, and they saw her hard at work on an intricate essay or organizing boxes full of squeaking, flashing, moving objects, Hermione felt a slight sheepishness wash over her. They could do little more than ask her what she was up to, or whether it was comfortable writing with a quill instead of a pen. Sometimes, if they were feeling adventurous, they would help her unpack or ask her about what she was learning. But every year that took Hermione deeper into a witch's life took her a little bit further away from them.

+ + + +


The day after her dinnertime conversation with her parents, Hermione owled her letter to Mrs. Weasley and prepared to leave for the Burrow. After breakfast, she finished packing her trunk and went to the fireplace. Her parents came to see her off, watching as she scooped up some Floo Powder from a drawstring pouch.

"Bye, pumpkin," said Hattie.

Herman smiled. "We'll miss you."

Hermione managed to smile in return. "I'll miss you too. Goodbye!" She leaned down and backed into the fireplace. When she straightened to full height, the darkness of the chimney dropped around her, and the low opening of the entrance blocked her view of her parents.

There was so much she hadn't told them. She had never explained how she had helped Hagrid with his Buckbeak case or how she had watched Veelas and leprechauns dance in the air at the Quidditch World Cup. How elated she had been when Vikor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball in her fourth year, and how heartbroken at the fact that Ron hadn't. How proud she had felt during Dumbledore's Army meetings, how difficult it had been to produce her first Patronus, and how terrifying it had felt to see Lucius Malfoy appear in front of Harry in the Department of Mysteries, explaining the existence of a prophecy between him and the Dark Lord. Other people had been with her during those times, and she hadn't even been thinking about her parents in half of them. Much less did it seem possible to share all of those little details during her dwindling time with them.

But now, Hermione wished she could.