—Chapter One—

Hermione set her copy of Hogwarts: A History on her bedside table and lay down on her bed, hugging her cushion tightly. She had written to Harry several times over the past few weeks, and was yet to receive a single reply. Had something happened to him? Did he not want to talk to her anymore?

All of a sudden, something smacked into her window with a great bang. She got up off her bed, opened the window and looked below her – it was an owl. Not Hedwig, so Harry hadn't written back again. It looked rather old and was a grey-ish colour, and recognised it as Errol, the Weasley's owl. Almost immediately, she ran down the stairs to pick up the letter the owl was still holding in its beak. She went inside, carrying the letter in her right hand, and the owl in her other (just to make sure it was OK). She returned to her bedroom, and set the owl beside her on the bed. She began unrolling the parchment. It read:

"Dear Hermione,

I don't know what, but something is wrong with Harry. He hasn't been replying to any of the messages we have sent him! Fred, George and I are thinking of going to his aunt's house to rescue him from whatever stupid Muggle punishment they've put Harry under. Just look at all Harry has told us about them! They sound like the worst sort of Muggle family.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,


Hermione was glad that she wasn't the only one who Harry wasn't replying to. She rolled up the parchment again, and began to wonder what ridiculous plan Ronald Weasley was going to carry out. "One of these days," she thought out loud, "he's going to get one of us killed." Hermione then motioned towards her desk, grabbed a quill, and started writing a reply.

After several drafts and re-writes, Hermione was finally satisfied with her reply to Ron. She looked over towards Errol, who was still out cold, and sighed. She was fed up with how she was always perceived as 'the good girl' and 'know-it-all,' but she couldn't just quite bring herself to become like Ron, carefree and laidback. She admired Ron for that; although, she would never admit it in a million years. He would just tease her about it.

"Hermione," her mum called, "dinner's ready!"

"Be right down!" she replied.

She slowly walked towards her bedroom door. Her bedroom was extremely tidy and everything was organised. She had a bookshelf sitting adjacent to her desk, which was organised by the author's surname. Not a space in that shelf was empty. Her desk was neat and orderly, with her school files leaning along the wall the desk was against. Her schoolbooks sat beside her bed, just in case she felt like doing a little late-night reading to prepare herself for school – she didn't need to behind her work the first week back!

She exited her room and walked down the stairs. Pictures of Hermione, starting from when she was just a few days old, to the pictures she got taken at Hogwarts last term, lined the walls along the stairwell. Clearly, her parents were proud of her. When she got her admittance letter to Hogwarts, they nearly died with shock. Well, of course, after the initial laughter phase. They thought someone had been playing a joke on them! They were a little nervous for her. That night, they sat down and talked to her. They made perfectly sure that she wanted to go. Hermione, of course, was ecstatic! She couldn't wait to go out and buy her school supplies. Her letter told Hermione and her parents not to tell anyone else about the school, or that she was a witch.

"Hermione! Now!" her mum called, as soon as her foot reached the bottom step. She didn't even bother replying.

She walked into her kitchen, which was separated into two parts: a cooking area, and a dining area. The floor in the cooking area was lined in tiles, so her feet echoed as she went to reach her place at the table. She sat between her parents, who sat at either ends of the table. Her mother and father had prepared a stew, one of her favourites.

"Mum, I expect the Hogwarts letters to be arriving soon enough," said Hermione. "Oh, Hermione, your dad and I are still so proud at how well you did last year," beamed her mother.

"Thanks, Mum," Hermione grinned, humbly.

"I mean, to get a special letter from the Headmaster to tell us how gifted you are!" Her father exclaimed. "If only we could tell your gran. She would be so delighted."

"Dad, you know we can't tell her. We could get in serious trouble," she explained.

"Really, Hermione. If we could just ask to tell one person. Everyone has been wondering why you didn't go to Huntington," her mother said.

"Mum, no. We can't tell anyone. You read the letter last year! If our world gets out, people will be hunting us down to do spells for them!" Hermione shouted, getting angry.

Hermione got up and left the room, her parents shaken from Hermione shouting at them. She rushed up the stairs and shut her door behind her. She looked towards her bed, to find Errol had finally regained consciousness. She reached over onto her desk, grabbed the parchment, and Errol flew threw her window. She climbed under lilac-coloured bed covers and returned to reading Hogwarts: A History.