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.

Jean Granger appeared in the doorway, attracted by the noise. "Good, you brought the mail. Breakfast is on the table." Then, she noticed the way her daughter's small frame was trembling, slightly. "Are you well, Hermione? You're shivering as if you have a cold." She stepped closer and felt her daughter's temple with the back of her hand. "You don't seem like you have a fever, but maybe you should skip the school orientation on Monday."

That brought back Hermione, who then swatted away her mom's hand. "I'm fine, it's just a little cold outside and these night clothes are clearly not meant for that." School wasn't paradise, but it was a place where she could go and not be judged, even if she was a loner at lunch, and had no friends. The teachers appreciated her, and the kids respected her in their own ways, though many of them enjoyed pranking her. There was also no way she was missing the orientation of school... Despite everything, Hermione still harbored a hope of getting a new friend, preferably one who just moved here and didn't know about her past.

Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes at her, clearly not believing her, but instead simply stated, Breakfast is on the table."

Hermione simply nodded, the envelope at her side itching for her to open, but she sat at the dining table, and quickly ate her breakfast, which consisted of pancakes, since at her mother's look, she decided it was safer to not take her breakfast up to her room. She nibbled through the soft and sweet dough as fast as possible, once again annoyed by her beaver like front teeth. For someone with dentist parents, she sure couldn't model for their profession. As soon as she finished, she sat up, pushed her chair back, announced she was going to her room, and bolted out the hallways before her mom could intersect.

Locking the door behind her, Hermione gave a small sigh of relief, and sat on her plush lime green bed embroidered with delicate bronze designs. Her normally steady hands shook as she extracted the envelope from her pockets, and held it up in front of her. Holding her breath, she opened the envelope nimbly, careful not to rip the beautiful seal or the pristine envelope. Pulling out the equally crisp paper with green handwriting in an elegant font, Hermione had to take a few deep breaths to steady the paper which her trembling hands were shaking far too much.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Hermione Granger,

Hermione shook, seeing her name on paper, written by someone who knew her, but to whom she couldn't return the courtesy. And what was Hogwarts, such a silly name? It certainly did not fit a school, let alone a magic one. In fact, the only image it brought to the young girl's mind was a troll of sorts.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. An informant will arrive at your house in approximately three hours after opening this letter to explain in further detail.

Hermione simply stared. What on earth was this letter? And were they calling her a witch? People called her that at school due to incidents, but this was too much!

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

P.S. The book attached will explain more about the school in further detail.

The curved writing stopped far too early, no date, leaving most of the paper blank, as blank as Hermione's mind.

After a few minutes of simply sitting and staring, Hermione decided it was probably a prank, from someone at school more likely, someone who somehow knew the spot of her bedroom. Suspicious, but definitely far more believable than... this. The only problem was that Hermione knew most of the knuckleheads at school wouldn't be able to write this well, let alone be able to spell her name. And what name was McGonagall? Hermione could only tie William Topaz McGonagall to it, a poet who was known only for his horrible poetry. Minerva was the virgin Roman goddess of crafts and brains, certainly smarter than that man. Whoever thought this alias up was surely playing a joke...Or they didn't even recognize the irony of it all.

Hermione shook her head, disgusted with the idea of someone to try so hard and write professionally, in nice handwriting, just to prank her. What fools, not only for trying something so outlandish, but for getting her hopes up that she could be somewhere away from all of this, and crushing them mercilessly. She didn't even bother opening the package, which was probably just a stink bomb. And what was the use of even looking at the second letter? She brushed the letter and package under her bed, deciding to dispose of it later.

"Hermione?" Her mother called just as she was about to pick up her book. Groaning, she said. "What is it, mother?"

Hermione's mom walked into the room after the annoyed girl unlocked it, her light blonde hair pulled hastily into a bun. "I have to go to the clinic. Will you be ok at home by yourself?"

Hermione gave herself whiplash as she turned to stare at her mom, rubbing her neck, as she asked, "You are? But it's a Saturday." On Saturdays and Sundays, her father went to the dentist clinic, but her mother stayed at home. In fact, he went so early, that seeing him before lunch on the weekends was practically impossible.

She looked apologetic as she explained. "Quite few people took the day off today and your father and whoever is left can't handle everyone there. This could also merit a promotion, so I have to go, sweetie. I'll be back at 12 with your father for our lunch break." She added, as if to make Hermione feel better. Hermione glanced at the clock on her wall: It was 8:47 a.m., so that was a little more than 3 hours.

Hermione forced a smile. "I'll be fine. I'm not a little kid anymore." She wasn't; far from it really in mind, but the neighbor kids enjoyed pranking her far too much when her parents weren't around. Not that she stated that. She'd be fine if she closed the shutters so it looked as if no one was home.

Hermione's mom shot her a grateful smile. "I'll be leaving now. If you want a snack, I believe there are some cookies in the jar."

Hermione smiled back. "Thank you." She picked up her book, pretending to be affixed in it, until her mother's footsteps resided down the halls and she heard the front door close, leaving a hostile silence in the Granger's home. As soon as she could see her mother walk out of sight (They only did have one car, and the clinic was 20 minutes away walking), she sprang into action, closing first her window, then running to get the others.

Before she could close the final window, the kitchen window, a boy named Justin Finch - Fletchely, one of her many tormentors, saw her. As the shutters finally fell, she saw a mischievous grin creep up on his face. Hermione felt like punching a wall; He knew that she was home alone. She wasn't worried about him exactly since they had once been friends and she knew him to be a coward, but more of the other neighbors of whom he oh so desperately wanted the friendship of.

Hermione ran up to her room, grabbed her book, and then ran down to their basement where no one would look for her, careful to avoid the second to last step on the way down which had a rotten plank. Sure enough, just five minutes after her departure, she heard the sound of hinges squeaking as the kitchen window peeked open, the sound of footsteps and voices echoing through the sandalwood planks.

Hermione stuffed her fist in her mouth, careful to not make a sound. However strong she may be in mind, she was not exactly good at anything physical besides lifting countless heavy books, and she was no match against Justin and his "friends".

After about 30 minutes, the footsteps stopped right above her head, and she prayed they did not see the basement door.

"You must have imagined it, Fletchley." A voice spoke out above, which Hermione recognized to be Leo Flint, the worst bully in her school.

"Yeah, Fletchley. We don't appreciate you wasting our time." Another voice, Vernon Dudley (A/N *Smirk*), sneered.

"Sorry guys." The third voice, which was quite obviously Justin's high pitched and hesitant one muttered. "I thought I saw her, that witch. How about we trash this place instead?"

"Uh, no way. Remember last time we did that? We literally had to sneak out of our houses because we got grounded for a month." Abraham Flint said, and Hermione could imagine him rolling his stupid squinty eyes.

Hermione waited until the footsteps receded and the window closed once more before heading upstairs. She bounced on her bed and sighed in relief. But the package caught her eye again. Hesitantly, Hermione picked it up and examined the corners, feeling along the spine. It did seem like a book, so she opened it slowly, peeking inside before tearing the wrapping apart. And behold, a large book with gold lettering for the title.

Hermione plopped on her bed stomach-down as she began to read.

"'Hogwarts a History' By Bathilda Bagshot."