Strange Visitors
Chapter One : Strange Visitors
Thoughts || “Dialogue” || Letters
Hermione heard a car door slam, the sound floating up through her open bedroom window. Pausing, she closed the book she had been reading on her finger to mark her place and, taking a quick glance at the clock, she determined it was likely her mother. The jingle of her mother's keys hitting the kitchen counter confirmed her deduction; meaning it was only a matter of time until...
“HERMIONE JEAN! WHAT IS THIS FUCKING MESS?!” Hermione's mum shouted up the stairs.
What?? What mess? I cleaned practically the entire ground floor.
Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, sighing. She begrudgingly stuck a bit of paper to mark her place before climbing off her bed. Laying the book on her pillow, she slipped out of her bedroom and down the stairs.
“What mess, Mum?” Hermione asked as she reached the bottom step.
She looked around downstairs to see if she could see anything out of place. Upon finding nothing, Hermione turned her head towards the kitchen door where her mother stood with a pot in her hand. The pot she couldn’t pick up due to its weight.
“What is THIS?! I TOLD you to do the dishes! One simple fucking thing! And how many times do I have to tell you that doing the dishes means cleaning all of the kitchen as well!”
Seriously? That’s the mess? One fucking pot? I cleaned everything else - even the fucking countertops.
Despite her attempts at keeping her face expressionless, Hermione suspected her exasperation could be seen. If not by the quirk of her eyebrow, then by the pursing of her lips.
“Sorry, Mum. I did try, but it was too heavy for me to move from inside the sink to the dishwasher. I’ve done everything else though.” Hermione shrugged, disinterested.
Her mum, on the other hand, was furious. “So you can almost do what you’re told. Get upstairs. And don’t even think about coming down before dinner.”
Hermione scoffed and went right back up the stairs she’d only just descended.
Nothing I do is ever good enou-
“God, what did I ever do to earn such an ungrateful fucking brat. Not to mention that freakishness.” Her mum hadn’t spoken until after Hermione had been halfway up the stairs, obviously not caring that she would be overheard.
A lone tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek before she brushed it away, scowling.
Just a few more years, then I can find a job and start saving money to get the hell out of here.
Hermione closed her bedroom door behind her, not quite a slam but definitely harder than she normally would have. She paused for a moment, contemplating. The book she’d left discarded on her bed caught her eye. After a minute or two of concentration, the book slowly bobbed in the air. Satisfied, Hermione let it drop back down and made her way to her bed so she could resume reading.
She lay down on her bed and focused her energy on the book once again in her hands. Soon it was floating above her head open to the page she’d marked before she went downstairs. The book itself was a historical text based on ancient Greek mythology. Hermione had checked it out from the public library down the road, with a note from her teacher to give to the librarian if they questioned the high reading level of the book. They hadn’t.
Hermione sighed and let the book drop onto her stomach. She’d read the same paragraph four times over, not retaining anything.
I just wish there was somewhere I could go where they couldn’t. Somewhere they’d have no influence over me, and I’d be in charge of myself. I’d do anything to be somewhere else on my own.
“I wonder if she’s mad enough to cancel my birthday outing next weekend,” Hermione thought out loud.
That exact thing happened last year. The three Grangers were meant to have taken a family trip to explore France to celebrate Hermione’s 10th birthday. A week before their flight, however, Hermione had done something abnormal again in front of her mum. As a result, Hermione had been left at her grandmother’s house for the duration of the trip as a punishment.
As it were, Hermione’s 11th birthday fell on a Friday this year. Her parents (most likely her mother, in an attempt to guilt-trip Hermione for “costing them a fortune”) had made the decision to forgo traditional presents and instead take her to some tourist locations in London on the weekend. They were going to start the day at the London Zoo, have lunch in the cafe there, and then spend the rest of the day at the British Museum before having supper at a restaurant of Hermione’s choice.
That was the plan, or it would have been if it weren’t for the unexpected guest that had appeared on their doorstep on the evening of Hermione’s birthday, mere hours before the family of three were meant to begin the celebration.
19 September 1990
Hermione was in her normal position, reading a new book - this one about ancient Nordic culture - when she heard the doorbell ring. Quickly grabbing the book from the air, Hermione dashed downstairs to see who was at the door, only to see her parents staring at each other, bewildered.
“Daniel, are you expecting anybody?” Hermione’s mum asked her dad.
“No, are you?”
“No.”
The doorbell rang again, this time for a longer period of time.
Somebody open the fucking door, then.
“Hermione, go put the kettle on. They might want a cuppa,” Hermione’s dad instructed, having spotted his only daughter at the bottom of the stairs.
Why do I have to do it?
“Yes, Dad.”
Hermione made her way to the kitchen slowly, ears straining to hear who was at the door.
“Today, Hermione!” Hermione’s mum shouted, shooing her out of the living room. Hermione turned around and strode into the kitchen, rolling her eyes. Once the kitchen door had swung shut, she made a face that, should her mum see, would have earnt her at least a slap across the face. As soon as Hermione turned the tap on to fill the kettle, the front door opened.
“Good evening, are you Mr and Mrs Granger?” A feminine voice with a Scottish accent could be heard from inside the kitchen.
“We are. What’s this about?” Hermione’s mum had been the one to speak.
“Your daughter—”
Oh fuck off.
“HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER WHAT’VE YOU DONE THIS TIME!”
“No, that's not—”
“HERMIONE JEAN, YOU BETTER GET IN HERE!”
Hermione took a deep breath before pushing open the kitchen door.
God, help me.
“I was just putting the kettle o—”
“I. Don’t. Care. Why is this woman here asking about you? Hmm? What’ve you done this time?”
“I don’t know, mum. Has she said anything yet?” Hermione asked curiously, looking up at the woman.
“Don’t give me lip, you’ve had to have done something.” Hermione’s mum turned and sneered at the woman. “Well? What’s she done?”
“Your daughter hasn’t done anything. I’m here to offer your daughter her place at the school I teach.” School? What kind of school?
“What school? I haven’t tried to move her to a new school.”
“Well no, you wouldn’t have been able to, you see. The school I teach at is a school for… special children.”
Hermione couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “Special?”
“Yes, special. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a school for children with magic.”
THUD.
Hermione’s mum fainted where she’d been standing.
Huh. That’s new.
“She’s never fainted before,” Hermione commented, staring down at her. She watched her dad struggle to pick her mum up off the floor and pull her over to the sofa to lay her down.
“Can you tell me more about this school you teach at, Mrs…?” He asked, walking back to where Hermione and the woman stood.
“McGonagall. Like I said before, I teach at a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’m also the Deputy Headmistress. Hogwarts is… well, it’s a school of magic. Hermione, here, will be gone for roughly three quarters of the year starting on the first of September of next year, as Hogwarts is too far away and too populated for the staff to send everybody home at the end of each day.”
“Where exactly is Hogwarts, Miss McGonagall?” Hermione asked, tilting her head curiously.
“Call me Professor, dear. As for where? Its exact location is hidden from muggles,” Professor McGonagall motioned to Hermione’s parents, “but I can reveal that it’s in the Scottish highlands.”
Oh, hell yes.
“I beg your pardon? What, pray tell, is a muggle?” Hermione’s dad's tone was harsh and accusatory.
“It’s a term used in the Magical world to describe people without magic.”
“That’s what I can do then, is it? Magic?” Hermione asked quietly, not meeting her dad’s eyes.
They hate my abilities being spoken about, but if that’s what this woman is here for, I have to make sure…
“What is it that you can do, Miss Granger?”
Hermione took a deep breath and, ignoring the look her dad gave to her, began to recall all the magic that she’s done in the past six or seven years.
“Well… When I was younger, around three or four, it started out with just me being able to reach things on high shelves. Like books and toys and other small things. And I used to make my food and drink appear in front of me when they were inside the closed fridge because I couldn’t wait for Mum or Dad to get them, or at least that's what they’ve told me.” Hermione paused, before revealing the one thing that would surely have her kicked onto the streets.
“I’ve um… been practising it… once I figured out how I was doing it, and now I can lay on my back and read books in bed without holding them up with my arms, and turn the pages, and I can make light appear so I can read at night.” Hermione listed the things she could do on her fingers. She considered bringing up the snakes that had visited her before she started school but the knot that formed in her stomach at the thought of it, had her say otherwise. “I used to think I could speak to animals, too, but I can’t understand them anymore, so I guess I was mistaken.”
“That is quite impressive, Miss Granger. It seems you have an aptitude for Charms. Now, there is a letter you need to read, and some supplies you’ll need to buy before the term starts, but you do have almost a full year until you need them. Here is your letter, dear.”
Hermione was handed a thick, yellowish envelope that was sealed with wax and had green lettering. It read:
Ms H Granger
The Bedroom at the Top of the Stairs
8 Heathgate
Hampstead Garden Suburb
London
Inside the envelope were two sheets of the same paper, folded into thirds. The smaller of the two said this:
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 Granger,
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 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
It all seems real enough, but how can I be sure this isn’t a prank of some sort from somebody at school?
“So you’re… the Deputy Headmistress?” Hermione asked tentatively.
“Yes, I do believe I said that when I first arrived. I’m also the Transfiguration Professor, and Head of Gryffindor House.” McGonagall replied.
“How do I know this is real and not some prank from somebody at my school?” Hermione accused suddenly, her demeanour shifting to something more defensive. The Professor smiled, almost as if she had been waiting for Hermione to ask that.
“Is this real enough?” McGonagall walked to where Hermione’s mum was still passed out on the sofa and pointed a stick at her, “Ennervate.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped when her mother woke up, gasping for air.
That was too precise to be a coincidence, surely…
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME YOU FREAK?!” she screamed, realising that Professor McGonagall stood over her pointing her stick in her face.
Definitely not a coincidence.
“I woke you up from your faint spell, and I request that you not use that language again, especially not in front of your daughter.” Professor McGonagall sniffed, pursing her lips. Hermione took a deep breath after shaking those thoughts from her mind and deliberately changed the subject.
“That was brilliant, Professor.” Hermione praised. “How can I do that?”
“If you think you’re going to that school to learn things like that, then you can leave this house and not come back. I’m sure they’ll find you a home, with all the other miscreant freaks, that’s far away from us normal people.” Hermione’s mum hissed, glaring at Hermione as well as the Professor. Hermione tensed, staring at her mum straight in the eye yet maintaining an emotionless gaze, while her mind was in turmoil.
I knew there’d be a catch. There’s always a catch. Every single time something that could make me happy comes along, she finds a way to ruin it.
“Monica, love, calm down. If she goes to that school she’ll be gone for 10 months every year - only back during the summer months when we take our annual trip to France and have the dentistry conference down in Australia. It’s a boarding school up in Scotland, anyways. We’ll have nothing to do with her after the first of September of next year. Let’s just… indulge her, for the time being. Let her get the school books so she’ll stay out of our hair when she’s home, then she can get the rest of her supplies next summer without us before she leaves.”
“Fine. You win this time, Daniel. But you owe me a massage tonight. And you,” Hermione’s mum turned to glare at Hermione. “You can forget about our day trip to London for your birthday tomorrow. You’re getting to go to this boarding school instead.”
“Yes, Mum,” Hermione replied sullenly.
It was bound to happen eventually…
“I take it neither of you will be accompanying your daughter to get her supplies?”
“No the bloody hell we are not. You take her,” Hermione’s mum was the one who replied, unsurprisingly.
“Very well. If you’ll follow me, Miss Granger.”
“Hang on, I need to grab my coat. I’ll just be one moment.” Hermione said, dashing upstairs, to avoid the building tension.
I can’t believe this! I have a way out! And the Professor has seen how she treats me! Which has to mean they could be in trouble if I don’t turn up! This... has to be too good to be true…
In her excitement, Hermione couldn’t find her coat—until it literally smacked her in the face, along with a sudden fear. Would they kick her out for being anything less than a perfect student? After all, she wouldn’t know anybody or have any of the background knowledge that the students with magical parents would.
I have to learn everything I possibly can and make sure I can’t get kicked out of this new world. How much can I spare for extra books… Oh, never mind that, how much money will I have at all, mum and dad won’t pay for anything! Will they have funds for students with nothing?
Pulling herself from her thoughts, and herself into her coat, Hermione dashed back down the stairs, almost falling flat on her face when she missed the bottom step.
“Miss Granger! Are you alright?”
“Oh yes, I’m fine Professor. Are we leaving?”
“Y-yes… Yes, let us head out.”
Hermione followed the Professor onto the front step, making sure that the envelope containing both of her letters was safely tucked inside her zipped-up coat.
“Now, in a normal scenario, I’d be summoning the Knight Bus to bring the muggleborn students and their parents to Diagon Alley, but your parents have chosen not to join us. Would you like to experience the most common way witches and wizards travel, Miss Granger?”
I should be suspicious about this, shouldn’t I? Oh well, it isn’t every day something like this happens.
“Yes, please, Professor.”
“Excellent. Now, I’d also normally bring you to Diagon through the street entrance, but since we’re only making a few stops instead of the entirety of the trip, I’m going to apparate us outside the Wizarding Bank, Gringotts. It’s the only bank magicals have, and it’s run by goblins, so make sure to be very respectful. The history between goblins and wizards is long and bloody.”
What the fuck?
“Okay…” Hermione replied slowly, dragging out the word.
“Alright. Just grab onto my arm, Miss Granger, and I will side-along apparate you to Gringotts with me.”