The Tales of Hermione Jean Granger: Year One

Time has a habit of slowing down when you most want it to speed up, and with Hermione's twelfth birthday drawing closer, and her arrival at Hogwarts just before; she found that that was definitely the case.

Days felt like weeks, weeks like months, but thankfully she had something to distract her. She had been practicing spells non-stop, sneakily muttering under her breath with her wand under the dinner table, begging her dad to throw pillows at her to repel.

She had finally, after many hours of stress, managed to perfect the 'accio' spell that she had once found so impossible to perform, and now that she could use it, she did so at every opportunity. One night, her father had lost his car keys, so she had whipped out her wand before either of her parents had even looked at her, and she had yelled; "Accio Car Keys!” sending them straight into her outstretched hand.

Despite her father's disapproval of Hermione using spells for everything, even he couldn't hide how proud and awed he was at her new found skill. She had learned sixteen spells in total, most of them admittedly in the Standard Book of Spells Grade 1, but still spells nevertheless. She had aimed to learn much more upper level spells, as to impress her teachers when she arrived at her new school, but so far had only managed to perfect two from the Standard Book of Spells Grade 2.

"But that's wonderful, Hermione!" Encouraged her mother one evening; "I mean, this Grade 2 book of yours, you said that was for students in their second year. If you've already learnt two spells that you aren't even taught until next year, I'd say you're doing well."

But Hermione was not comforted by her mother's words, if anything they made her even more motivated to teach herself other spells. So, the next day she set out into the garden, her wand in hand and her books in the other. She gazed determinedly out at the small garden, only just acknowledging that her mother's seeds had now grown into beautiful lilies.

Right. She thought. Concentrate. Read, Revise, Release.

Hermione had made her own little catch phrase to remember, the three important 'r's. First, she would begin by reading over the theory, history, and examples of how the spell could be used. Then, she would proceed by re-reading this again, this time making her own notes on the spell and how she thought she might approach it. Finally, she would follow the instructions and 'release' the spell from her wand, hopefully gaining a good result. If not, then she would repeat the process.

Peering down at her book, she read the process to a spell that had recently caught her attention, ‘reparo’, a spell that could repair any broken object. She bent over the book in concentration, reading an article below a moving picture of a broken bowl breaking and then flying back together again.

‘The Mending Charm (Reparo) is a spell used to seamlessly mend broken objects. In most cases, a sufficiently cast Mending Charm can completely fix any broken object.’ Well, that seemed easy to remember, and she was sure the spell would be very straightforward once she attempted it.

However, she read on, she knew the theory was the most important information she would need before she could even consider picking up her wand. ‘Although snapped wands can be repaired physically by this spell, its magical capabilities cannot, leaving the wand to break once more when one attempts magic with it.’

Well, Hermione didn’t need to know that quite yet, but it was interesting to know. She hoped she’d never have to attempt to repair her wand; she was already quite fond of it.

After re-reading the whole paragraph, she straightened, wand firmly in her hand, and followed the instructions. She had to concentrate, really concentrate, on mending the object. She could let nothing else distract her thoughts. She had broken one of her mother’s vases, which she hoped she could repair before she got into trouble.

Her wand pointed directly at the vase. She remembered how Mr. Henrik had given her advice in a scribbled note carried by a clumsy brown owl. Her mother had been washing up the dishes in the kitchen, Hermione drying them for her, when a screech had interrupted them. The bird had flown straight at the window, dropping a small envelope on the ledge.

“It’s from Mr. Henrik!” She had cried, pulling the envelope open before her mother could say a word.

Hermione,

As you know, it is illegal for any witch or wizard to perform magic outside of school below the age of seventeen. This rule however, can be bent for those who wish to practice before attending school. Well, that is to say, I have convinced the Ministry to turn a blind eye to any magic you might perform in the weeks leading up to your departure.

However, I must warn you that the Ministry was not too pleased with my request, especially since you live with two muggles yourself. Therefore, I urge you to only practice spells whilst in the confinement of your home.

Kind regards,
Thomas Henrik

Hermione hesitated. Did the garden count as ‘the confinement of her home’? No one was around, and surely no one was peering from their windows. She looked up, inspecting the two houses beside her. No one seemed to be looking, but of course she couldn’t be sure.

Sighing, she picked up the vase and her books, and begun to take them inside the house. This small drawback was a little irritating to her, as only her father was home today, as her mother had gone shopping. Mr. Granger had been rather strict about the use of magic after Hermione had received the letter, as he didn’t ‘want the neighbors to become suspicious’.

It was with great care then, that Hermione drew her wand and pointed it at the now destroyed vase. Casting glances around her shoulder every now and then, she finally proceeded.

“Reparo!”

There was not even a flicker from the tip of her wand, and for a quick second Hermione thought it hadn’t worked. However, the broken pieces shot from the floor in an instant, and before she knew it, her mother’s vase was whole again.

Squealing with excitement, she bent over the book once more. She wondered why this spell had been so easy to master so fast. The other spells had taken her at least a week each, and yet it had taken her about five minutes with reparo. Perhaps the spell was simply an easy one that any witch or wizard might conquer so fast.

Not only was she putting extra time into her studying, if that were even possible, but Hermione had also decided to research into other wizarding schools as well as Hogwarts, although she tended to focus on the school she would spending the next seven years of her life at.

She had discovered from Hogwarts A History that the castle had magical enchantments put there by Dumbledore himself, which prevented any witch or wizard from disapporating in and out.

Disapporating had been an intriguing subject for Hermione, giving the wizard the ability to appear at a destination of their choice within a second as long as they knew how to do it. She had even wanted to attempt it, but after reading that only ‘wizards who have come of age’, which was the age of seventeen, she had to dismiss the idea.

“Hermione?”

She started; “Dad! I didn’t see you there.”

He frowned, peering at the vase at her feet. “What are you doing with that?”
“Oh, I was just practicing a spell.”

“Hermione, honey, don’t you think you’ve practiced enough?” He sat down on the sofa opposite. “Your mother tells me she’s seen you doing… doing magic.”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, looking eagerly at her father. Was he finally ready to watch her perform a spell? He had found it slightly harder than her mother to adjust to the news of Hermione being what she was, yet he had not been any less supportive. Occasionally he would get a little irritated if she was performing too much magic in front of him, but she had seen how proud he was when she had finally mastered the ‘accio’ charm.

“Do you think, only, would you like to perform something for me?” He seemed nervous, scratching his neck as he said it.

“Of course! I only know a few simple spells, but they seem to work for now,” she was thrilled. “What kind of spell would you like to see?”

Mr. Granger seemed taken aback by her eagerness. “Oh, why don’t you show me the one you were
just doing?”

Hermione hesitated. “Dad? You don’t… you don’t mind if I break the vase, do you?”

“What? Break the-?”

“-I wouldn’t ask unless it was essential to the spell.”

“Oh, well, alright. Just don’t tell your mother.”

Grinning, Hermione dropped the vase onto the hardwood floor. Her father gave an involuntary gasp, and looked very much tempted to shout at her out of sheer habit, but she pulled out her wand before he could.

“Reparo!”

The pieces shot from the floor a second time, earning another gasp from her dad, and flew across the room. One flew straight above Mr. Granger’s head, nearing cutting him, but narrowly missed and joined together with the rest. Before they knew it, the vase was whole once again.

“Hermione…” He began, his mouth gaping. “That was… incredible. Come here.”

She obeyed immediately, and ran straight into his arms. He smiled into her shoulder, patting her back gently. “I know I haven’t been as supportive as I could’ve been with all this, but it’s just so much to take in.” He pulled away, looking into her eyes. “You’re a clever girl, Hermione, your mother and I have always known that. Why, even as a baby you were using a calculator!”
Hermione giggled. “Oh, I don’t think that’s quite true.”

“Are you joking? You were probably reading in your mother’s womb!”

“That’s disgusting, Dad!” She laughed. “How would I book even get into her-?”

She stopped abruptly. Her father was in tears of laughter. “Always so serious, Hermione! I wasn’t suggesting your mother actually had a book in her stomach, I mean, could you imagine it?”

“Imagine what?” Her mother walked in carrying bags of shopping that looked rather heavy. “You wouldn’t mind helping me, would you dear?”

Mr. Granger rushed to help his wife, and Hermione hurried to hide the vase she had just repaired. Thankfully, Mrs. Granger was much too busy putting away the shopping to notice anything unusual, Hermione could only hope that her father wouldn’t mention anything.

He turned around, and seeing the look on his daughter’s face, he gave her a wink that told her he’d keep it quiet. Hermione grinned back, and her mother seemed to notice this small exchange.

She looked between them, scanning their faces suspiciously. “What have you two been up to today?”
“Oh, you know, just helping Hermione prepare for the journey,” Mr. Granger said nonchalantly, sitting down as he did so.

“Really?” Her tone was skeptical. “I’d have thought you’d be practicing more spells, Hermione. After all, the train does leave tomorrow.”

Hermione tried not to look surprised by this turn of questioning, so instead changed the subject. “Did you know that Hogwarts has ghosts living there?”

This did not have the desired effect. Hermione had been thrilled, even intrigued by this information, but it seemed her parents didn’t find this reassuring. Mrs. Granger choked on the drink she had just taken a sip of, and Mr. Granger had turned a sickly green.

“G-ghosts?” She nodded. “That’s… well, Ghosts aren’t real!”

“Neither was magic until Mr. Henrik came to visit.” She said matter-of-factly.

“B-but aren’t ghosts dangerous? What if they try to possess you? Or haunt you?”

“I’m sure you read wrong, Hermione.” Her mother said, taking hold of her husband’s shaking hand.
But even as she said it, Hermione could see that she realized her mistake at once. Hermione making a mistake, whilst reading a book as well, was not something that happened often.

“I didn’t read wrong, Mum. ‘The Ghosts of Hogwarts are seemingly harmless, although the Poltergeist, Peeves, has been known to throw heavy objects at passing students and teachers. Nevertheless, the most the ghosts can do is walk through you, sending an unpleasantly cold feeling through your body.’ See? They’re completely harmless.” Hermione had recited the passage without so much as glancing at a book.

“A Poltergeist that throws heavy objects at you?” Exclaimed Mr. Granger; “That’s an outrage! Does Hogwarts not have health and safety regulations?”

Now that Hermione though about it, she couldn’t recall reading any such thing. However, she wasn’t about to tell her parents this.

“You’re overreacting, really. This Peeves sounds more like a harmless prankster than anything really dangerous.”

But Hermione could see that her parents weren’t convinced. Hoping to avoid further questioning, she excused herself and headed once more to the books in her room.

She had left a book open on her bed, so she bent down to pick it up, but two words had caught her eye; ‘Killing Curse’. Curious, she sat down and began scanning the page for the start of the article. It wasn’t the fact that Hermione was interested in learning this curse, of course not, but just that she hadn’t been able to find much about dark magic from any of her books, and was surprised to find that she hadn’t come across this page sooner.

After a while of searching, Hermione found the start of the article.

‘A name feared among Wizards and Wizards alike all over the world, there is barely a Wizard alive that doesn’t know of the terrible crimes You-Know-Who committed in his time. Not only had You-Know-Who used every unforgivable curse repeatedly on his victims and followers, but he performed Dark Magic not even the most tainted mind could dream of. Extraordinary though his powers were, He Who Must Not Be Named only used them for his own twisted uses, man of which we are still not aware of today. However, we are aware of many of his victims, the most well-known being the Potters.

Lily and James Potter were killed in their home in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween by You-Know-Who himself, the reasons for the attack are unknown, but this is not the most discussed mystery of their murders. No, it is the fact that their one year old son survived the Killing Curse with nothing but a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, leaving You-Know-Who, the most powerful wizard of all time, crumpled and broken.

Expert Aurors have spoken of the case, and even they have no explanation as to how the boy could have survived, after so many more experienced and skills Wizards had fallen at the wand of He Who Must Not Be Named. James and Lily Potter died to protect their son, and evidently their sacrifice was not useless, and leaves us wondering what secret protection they held.’

Hermione looked at the page in wonder. How powerful could this ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ be, if a young baby had thwarted him? And why had the article avoided using his name directly? She scanned the page, trying to find his name. To no avail, although she did find a brief sentence that answered at least one of her questions.

‘We who cherish our lives do not speak his name, for to do so would be a great danger and most foolish, for even his own followers do not dare say it, and the only Wizard known to utter his name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.’

Hermione gasped. So Dumbledore felt it was safe to use his name? And hadn’t she read that Dumbledore himself had been incredibly powerful and achieved more than anyone else other than You-Know-Who? What if Dumbledore had had something to do with his downfall? But Hermione thought it unlikely. Others would have come to a similar conclusion she was sure, yet here it said clearly that no one knows how the boy had survived.

Speaking of the boy, Hermione looked at his date of birth, which was printed beneath a photo of a smiling baby, no scar on his forehead was visible, and a beautiful red-haired woman who stood next to a beaming man in round glasses. Hermione was shocked at how young they both looked, and felt sorry for the baby in the photo. He would never know his parents.

‘Harry Potter with his parents a month before the tragedy.’ It read, and Hermione was eager to read more about what had happened to the poor boy now. According to her calculations, he would be nearly her age now, a little younger, but nevertheless still old enough to attend Hogwarts.

Before Hermione could get her hopes up that he might attend the same school as her, she told herself that he would go to one of the more confined schools, considering his fame.

‘Harry Potter’s whereabouts is unknown, but rumors have it that Dumbledore himself sent the boy to live with relatives, most likely skilled Wizards for protection in case any of You-Know-Who’s followers decide to finish their master’s job.’

Disappointed that this was all she could find out about him, Hermione got ready for bed earlier than usual that following night, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.