Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's Stone

Diagon Alley Part 1

Tick, tock. Hermione immediately shot upright and turned her head to the general direction of the sound. There was a muddy brown owl perched behind the glass of her room's window. Swallowing the bile she had been fighting all day, she stood up. She made her way to the glass and placed her hand on the window's latch. Taking a moment to steady herself, she took a deep breath. Then she slowly opened the window and hesitantly took the brown envelop out of the bird's beak. 

Truth be told, Hermione felt like she could jump out of her skin at any moment; she was that nervous. Even though the decision was long made, there was a sense of finality to writing it down that made Hermione anxious. As she sat down in front of her desk though anticipation started overtaking her nerves. Making the decision hadn't been nearly as hard as she had previously thought. The promise of people like her, people that would understand her and maybe even like her, was simply irresistible. When compared to her other prospects, a moronic school full of idiots and bullies, teachers included, it became abundantly clear that it wasn't much of a choice. 

As much as Hermione loved them, not even her parents could change make her want to stay. Explaining that to them however, had been rather hard. After all, they had had no idea of just how much she despised her previous school. They had been hesitant at first: giving up their little girl wasn't easy no matter how much they respected her decision, but eventually they had come around. They understood that not exploring this power, this part of her, simply wasn't a possibility. 

So that is why, after she had read the letter, Hermione wrote down that she would in fact be going to Hogwarts and that the date the professor proposed to get all the requirements to go to the school, this date being tomorrow on 2 o'clock, was acceptable. She also agreed to meet the professor in the pub, the Leaky Cauldron with her parents. Hermione kept her answer curt but polite, seeing as she doubted the professor was the sort to appreciate long, flowery letters. When everything was written down, she neatly folded the paper back into the envelop and returned to the window where the professor's brown owl was still waiting. 

Hermione stopped right in front of the window, fidgeting slightly. How was she supposed to give a letter to an owl? Was she supposed to just hold it out so it could grab it or would it open its beak so she could? Hermione could kick herself. She knew she should've continued asking about the owls. That way she wouldn't just be standing there. The bird cocked it's head inquisitively to the side as if asking her 'What the bloody hell are you waiting for?' and enforced the sentiment by screeching impatiently. Hermione huffed; none of this owl's attitude was helping her figure out how to actually do this. She supposed she could – 

Hermione jumped back, letting out a high-pitched scream as the owl dove for her hand and ripped the envelop out of it before flying out of the window. By the time she had finally caught her breath the owl was long gone. Still, she couldn't help but place her hands on her hip. Her wide eyes narrowed and she blew a lone curl out of her face. Then she indignantly bit out: "How rude!"

The bird's attack left her rather ticked off for a while, but as the hours went by her annoyance slowly seeped out. Before she knew it a days had passed and it was time to meet the professor. Thus Hermione found herself in the back seat of her parents' car, twiddling her thumbs as she endured the awkward silence that had been suffocating her since she walked out of her room. Every so often one of her parents would attempt to break this silence, at least temporarily. Her father would, for example, ask her mother whether they were going the right way. To which her mom would promptly respond: "Yes, dear. In fact, I'm fairly certain we'll be at least 10 minutes early. Isn't that wonderful, Hermione?"

This was then her cue to plaster a smile on her face so they could finally go back to their silence. God knows awkward silence is better than awkward small talk. Truthfully, Hermione didn't think she had ever been so grateful to get out of a car. She literally jumped out, desperate for some fresh air. 

She didn't allow herself much time to enjoy it though. After two minutes tops, her brows furrowed again. Hermione realized she knew little to nothing about magic, but she simply could not phantom why professor McGonagall had sent them to a pub of all places. Was she even allowed in here?

"Honey, are you sure we have the right address?" her father echoed her thoughts.

"Well this is the address the professor gave us," her mother said, though she sounded unsure.

Hermione could not help but crunch her nose up as she looked the old pub over. An old, rusting metal sign was attached to a rather small and dark building. The sign displayed the name of the – Hermione had to mentally clear her throat before she could even think the term – establishment, namely 'The Leaky Cauldron', and appropriately also a black cauldron. Hermione couldn't blame her father for doubting whether this dingy, old place was where they had to be or not; she did it herself for a good two minutes as well. That is until the door swung open, revealing one haughtily looking professor. 

"I see you're early," she said sternly peering down at Hermione through her glasses, "Well, then I suppose we'll start a bit sooner than expected. Please, follow me."

Then she turned around without waiting for anyone's reaction and one majestic swipe of coat later she had disappeared into the building. 

"Oh well - " Hermione's mother tried to answer, but ended up simply talking to the door. Clearing her throat, she then followed the witch into the grubby-looking pub. Hermione immediately started to follow her, but was held back by a familiar, firm hand on her shoulder pulling her back. Looking up, she met her father's gentle eyes just as he subtly murmured: "Give me your hand, sweetheart."

Hermione suppressed the urge to huff as she offered her hand up; she couldn't truly blame him for wanting to keep her close in this unknown place, but it was hardly as if she couldn't take care of herself. 'Besides she was a witch now,' she thought with no small amount of pride. Nevertheless, she let her father steer her into the pub. She let him set the pace as they hurried to catch up with her mom and the professor and she did it all without emitting a single whine – she was too dignified for that anyway. 

When they were finally inside though, Hermione began to appreciate the soothing warmth her father's hand in hers gave her. The pub was even filthier inside than outside and it was filled with people just as strangely dressed as the professor. Hermione couldn't help but throw slightly panicked glances in every direction. Nothing she saw comforted her. It seemed as if everywhere she looked there was a strange, old man or woman staring at her. Hermione felt herself squeeze her daddy's hand and press herself closer against him as his pace quickened. 

It wasn't that she was scared per se. She felt more unpleasant than anything else, like she wasn't entirely safe. Considering she doubted that all those stares were friendly, she thought this feeling was quite warranted. Nevertheless, despite these feelings of unease, Hermione still had the horrible urge to turn around and scream 'What are you all looking at!', an urge she quickly stifled seeing as she doubted it would be appreciated.

As it was Hermione simply let out a relieved sigh when they finally found the professor and her mom by the bar. 

"Ah, another muggleborn, I see!" the barman yelled jovially, peering down at her while he cleaned some glasses. The man didn't seem unkind necessarily, but Hermione still longed to make a sarcastic remark: 'Muggleborn? What are you talking about? Can't you see I'm a duck?' for example would've done quite nicely. As she thought this Hermione considered that maybe the stares had annoyed her more then she previously thought.

"Yes, Tom," – Really? A wizard named Tom? Somehow Hermione had expected more – "we will be using your portal, of course," the professor coldly informed him.

"Of course," the bartender responded with another kind smile, apparently unbothered by the professor's behavior.

Hey you guys!

We have just started on chapter 3 and I'm really excited! As you can probably tell by all the explanation marks. Anyway I hope you liked it and that if you did you'll give it a vote or who knows maybe a comment, huh, huh. *She said jumping up like a puppy*. I mean it's just a suggestion, you know.