Chapter Text
'My heart is beating in anticipation,
of this, solely of this!
I sing, I cry,
for I have finally arrived.'
Hermione was sandwiched between two men on the tube, who were the perfect dictionary definition of the word manspreading. It was so bad, that Hermione clutched her knees to her chest. On a normal day, she would've been in a sour mood.
But today was not a normal day. Nothing could dispirit Hermione: she was in a joyous, euphoric mood and her thoughts baltered wildly with the ever-increasing possibilities of what was to come. For Hermione Granger was going to Diagon Alley. She was going to see people like her, witches and wizards like her! She was going to somewhere where people wouldn't look at her oddly, and 'oh!' the very thought made her giddy.
This was the start of everything.
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"Darren Tate, what's he got to do with anything," asked Mr Granger, his guilty face darkening as he recalled the many times Hermione had come home sobbing because of him.
"No-nothing dad, it doesn't matter," Hermione tried to clutch onto the remaining dignity she had left and immediately attempted to show some sort of control on this flabbergasting situation. She crossed her legs and stared dead into Professor McGonagall's eyes- both which were actions that were supposed to show control- according to her dad at least.
Speaking of, Mr Granger was standing near the doorway with Mrs Granger, who were both observing the two rather worriedly. A pang of anxiety struck through her; her parents weren't afraid of her, were they? 'That's ridiculous,' she thought and shook the idea from her mind. Still unfailingly staring Professor McGonagall softly, she asked, "What's your proof?"
"Have you ever had unexplainable, odd things happen to you? Things, that your laws of science can't possibly explain?"
Hermione remained silent. "It was magic. Accidental magic that awoke when you felt particularly intense emotions- especially when you feel some sort of danger," It made sense. It was laughable really, all these years that she spent desperately trying to convince herself that her ballet teacher was plain bonkers, or that Aisha Omar must be having a bad hair day when it puffed up the second she made fun of Hermione. It was magic.
And it was liberating.
She proceeded to ask Professor McGonagall every question possible.
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Hermione held her parent's hands tightly as they walked to this pub, the 'Leaky Cauldron' which served as a portal to Diagon Alley. Since her parents were Muggles, 'non-magical' people, they wouldn't be able to see the bar, so Hermione was on a stern lookout. But Hermione didn't see anything remotely magical. At all. She saw hamburger bars and Nandos, and cinemas and Muggles, but nobody who wore clothing similar to Professor McGonagall. For a moment, her thoughts began to spiral downwards, when she briefly began to contemplate if Professor McGonagall had been a sort of paid comedic act.
Hermione was so immersed in the possibilities that she really stopped looking at the streets properly at all, and would have completely missed the Leaky Cauldron if not for a sudden warm, tingly feeling that spread throughout her body. 'Magic,' she smiled. She stopped abruptly and looked sideways. Mr and Mrs Granger were looking in that direction eagerly.
"Darling, it's just two shops," muttered Mr Granger baffled.
Mrs Granger rolled her eyes amusedly, "Remember, McGonagall told us that we Muggles couldn't see it," she said good-naturedly but looking slightly crestfallen as well. Hermione was disappointed as well, but for other reasons. It was a dingy, dirty-looking place, and looked completely unremarkable and unmagical.
Hermione paused for a second and looked at the passersby, knowing full well it would not do to make split-second judgements. The way that people's eyes seemed to almost slide over it was most peculiar. More importantly, it was confirmation. She took a deep breath, rolled back her shoulders and took her hands out her parents. She wasn't a baby, after all.
Hermione pulled open the door.
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"Remember to keep an eye out for the Leaky Cauldron. Your parents won't be able to see it, it's enchanted, you see because they're Muggles." declared Professor McGonagall sternly, looking slightly distrustingly at Hermione. “It's incredibly important that you pay attention, it's a grubby place, that you could easily miss,”
Mrs Granger frowned and took a slightly guarded stance, "Sorry, Muggles? What does that mean?" she asked with her arms crossed defensively.
"It's the Wizarding term for those who don't have magic," replied Professor McGonagall, slightly rushedly. She continued, "Once you enter the Leaky Cauldron, you'll be greeted by a man called Tom. He'll open up the pathway to Diagon Alley for you,"
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The bar was gloomy and wretched. Yet, there seemed to be many people, who were all dressed in an odd combination of Wizarding and Muggle clothing. There were a few old ladies in the corner and an old, wrinkly barman who was serving a drink to an abnormally large-looking man who had a very shaggy, beard and looked slightly ill. Hermione walked up to the barman, fully prepared to introduce herself, but Mr Granger placed a precautionary hand on her shoulder. This was an odd world, after all, one none of the family had experienced first-hand. Mr Granger walked up to the barman, who looked up from his conversation and offered his hand.
"Hullo! Muggles are you? I'm Tom, the barman." Tom had a friendly-looking face and a big toothy smile.
Mr Granger shook his hand and smiled hesitantly. 'Yes, we are. I was told that you could help us get to-" he paused, unsure.
"Diagon Alley? Well of course, just follow me over here." Tom walked out of the bar and looked back at the family. He winked at Hermione. "And you must be the Muggle-born. Ah, what an experience this must be,"
Hermione chuckled. "It certainly is, sir," thinking about how surreal everything seemed.
Tom had led them to a small courtyard, that only had a couple of dustbins, and dear god, was that vomit at the side? Hermione shuddered and looked up at the barman "Now lookie here dearie, you'll certainly won't wanna miss this. Good day to you all,"
Tom pressed his wand onto a brick, which then wriggled! Inexplicably, the wall seemed to divide in the middle, and Hermione and her parents stepped absentmindedly through the entrance. Hermione looked back at Tom, to see that the archway had closed.
She heard a gasp. 'Darling, look at this!" Mrs Granger exclaimed excitedly. Hermione turned around and gaped. There seemed to be no words to describe the scenes in front of her. Diagon Alley was infinitely better than she could have ever dreamed of it being. Oh, it was glorious! There were shops and shops of extraordinary things.
A lanky, balding man was muttering, "Ridiculous, really the prices, my son needs a bloody wand, for god's sake," There were shops selling cauldrons and pets and brooms!
Had they walked into Narnia instead?
People walked around in pointy hats, and cloaks and held wands. It was like they had walked into an alternate reality.
It was remarkable. It was beautiful.
Mrs Granger was the first to shake herself out of the trance. "I promise you'll be able to look around at everything, dears, but we need to get the money first, that is what Professor McGonagall said,"
Mr Granger and Hermione both followed her absentmindedly, whilst staring at their surroundings. Mrs Granger murmured to herself, "Gringotts, was it? Ah, here it is,"
The Granger family stopped in front of a big, snowy-white building that was situated at the end of Diagon Alley. It was considerably larger than the buildings next to it, and goblins were standing at the door. They had long fingers, toes and knobbly noses.
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"Before you'll be able to get anything, you'll need to exchange some of your Muggle money for Wizarding Galleons,"
Mr Granger shook his head and chuckled slightly breathlessly, "Of course there's a different currency,"
Professor McGonagall's jaw clenched, probably at the annoyance of being constantly interrupted. "Yes, there are Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. 29 bronze Knuts in a silver sickle, and 17 sickles in a gold Galleon."
Hermione's brow furrowed. That would certainly take a little bit of time to get used to. "I would advise you to convert any savings accounts that you have for your daughter into a Vault at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, which is run by goblins-"
"Wha- goblins!" interjected Hermione astoundingly.
"Ah, yes goblins. They are incredibly proud creatures and powerful as well. Goblins have been running Gringotts for centuries. Do not anger them," Professor McGonagall said sharply, raising an eyebrow. "Goblins are seen as inferior by the Ministry, but under no circumstances are to be underestimated."
Mrs Granger looked worriedly at Hermione. "Professor, are there any other strong prejudices held within the community itself?" Mrs Granger's parents were Kenyan immigrants and she had faced slurs and discrimination all her life. She did not want Hermione to face even more discrimination aside form what she already got because of the colour of her skin.
She closed her eyes and deflated disappointedly, when Professor McGonagall looked the other way, before replying a soft, "Yes," Hermione looked up from her lap and stared at the professor. Hermione assumed that if it didn't affect her personally, Professor McGonagall wouldn't look so uncomfortable. "There are some people, you see, who are what we call pureblood. And th-they, tend to look down slightly on those who come from Muggle backgrounds, but either way, Hermione wouldn't have to interact with them, because they'll all be in Slytherin anyway,"
Hermione immediately paid more attention. She was so fascinated by the idea of getting sorted and how each house possessed different qualities. "Why do you say that," Professor McGonagall looked slightly sheepish, "Well, it's just that purebloods tend to aspire to get in Slytherin, and there hasn't been a muggle-born Slytherin in decades."
Well then. Slytherin was out, but it didn't matter much to Hermione, because if it was full of blood supremacists, good riddance! she'd say.
"But anyway, you needn't worry about the security of Gringotts, it's the safest pl-"
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Hermione and her parents came out of Flourish and Blotts, with a lot more than just the standard amount of books needed for a first-year. Hermione had grabbed every book on the magical history and magical theory she could find. She had even managed to get a book on Curses, though she had to sneak away from the sight of her parents.
They had spent roughly an hour in that bookstore, both Mr and Mrs Granger oohing and aahing at all of the books. Although Hermione was incredibly pleased with the books that she had gotten, she was dissatisfied with the amount of literature they had- sorely lacking in comparison to some Muggle works.
But Hermione didn't allow herself to ponder on those thoughts any longer. Because they were going to Ollivanders and she was getting a real-life wand! As they reached nearer the shop, Hermione looked slightly distastefully at it. It was small and shabby, and its sign was made up of peeling gold letters. Shaking her head, and practically shaking with excitement.
That smile turned into a frown though, as she was almost pushed to the floor, by and angry moving girl, who hissed, "Move, you filthy Muggles,"
Hermione turned around ready to bristle an angry retort, but when she looked back the girl was nowhere to be found.
Ah. That prejudice.
An old man, with pale silver eyes, stepped out wearily. "Sorry about that," he murmured, "Why don't you come in," Hermione and her parents awkwardly stepped in. There were several tall, long boxes in Ollivanders, which all looked rather dusty.
BANG
Hermione jumped as fireworks seem to start exploding from nowhere. Funnily enough, the air around her felt crackly and explosive. The fireworks were beautiful, in vibrant greens and blues and reds. Hermione circled them and watched as they seemed to rotate around her. Mr Ollivander looked incredibly surprised and Mr and Mrs Granger were looking at the sight astounded.
The fireworks died down and then something shot through the air and landed in Hermione's right hand. It was a wand, elegant and supple. Hermione marvelled at it and felt it, entranced at the smooth wood. Her right hand felt tingly and her whole body felt like it was filled with newfound energy.Hermione suddenly felt capable of doing the scariest things in the world, like jump off a mountain, or hex Aisha Omar.
Mr Oliivander walked towards her and picked up the wand. Immediately, Hermione felt a surge of irrational protectiveness and the urge to grab it out of his hands. Silvery eyes were fixed on the wand. "What a phenomenon," He said as he started boxing the wand, "Never thought I'd see in my lifetime-"
Hermione looked at him confusedly, "Sorry, see what?
Mr Ollivander looked up as if he had just remembered that she was in the room. "You see, my dear girl- sorry what's your name?" "Hermione Granger," "Well, then my dear Miss Granger, your wand is an 11 inch, relatively supple, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core."
Mr Granger coughed nervously from the corner of the room. "That's all ve-very good, but wha-what was that explosion?" "
Apologies, Mr Granger. Miss Granger, dear, vine wands are often attracted to those of ambition and are very sensitive in detecting their match. I've only ever seen such a reaction when a person walks into a room twice before, and none even remotely as powerful."
"But-but what does that mean?" Hermione asked worriedly. She wasn't an odd person even here, was she?
Mr Oliivander looked at her intently and his pale eyes seemed to slightly examine her wearily. "Combined with a dragon heartstring core, arguably one of the most powerful cores, I think we can expect great things from you, Miss Granger,
Mr Ollivander's voice then lighted considerably, and he looked towards them. "Now, would you be interested in a wand holster,"
Hermione mutely nodded, and Mr Ollivander flicked his hand, and a tape-measure came up to promptly measure her arm. So, even the oddest man she'd ever met thought her odd.
But she’d achieve great things. Well, wasn't that merry? Wasn't that good news indeed?