Chapter Text
Hermione was a fairly normal 10-year-old girl who lived with her two parents. She had long brown frizzy hair which she had not yet learned how to tame, and slightly crooked teeth. Both her parents were psychologists by profession, they both had multiple degrees and a Doctorate in Clinical Psychology. Furthermore, they both worked in the NHS to diagnose and treat various forms of mental health conditions, and occasionally lectured at the local university from time to time. While they loved their only daughter very much, they had raised Hermione with the hopes that one day, she too would go to university and study psychology, before following themselves down the path towards the Doctorate in Clinical Psychology, something that they held in the highest of esteem.
Hermione had always known she was different, in more ways than one. She had been able to read well before even starting school, because of this, she had skipped ahead who years, and finished primary school early. Hermione had then began studying for her GCSE’s, with some help of private tutors which her parents had hired. At age 11, Hermione had already sat most of the exams she needed for her GCSE’s, which would prepare her nicely for her A-Levels in the incoming year. However, these plans had all come crashing to a halt when the incident happened.
It was a month ago now, it had been the middle of exam season. And today’s exam had happened to be physics. Hermione had not slept all night as she had been awake studying. She had started to answer the questions when things started to go wrong. Something didn’t feel right inside, her stomach felt tight and her throat clenched. The air around her felt static. When Hermione blinked, the paper had begun to shake violently in her hands, before shooting away from her and hitting the adjacent wall with a crash that sounded like glass breaking. Before Hermione could wonder about whether this had defied the laws of physics in any way, her table then launched itself to the other side of the room as well. The exam invigilator looked up from staring at the floor and looked at Hermione with a look of shock, who was now sitting desk-less in the middle of the hall. Hermione then panicked, she jumped out of her chair and ran as quickly as her legs could take her towards the nearest exit. She heard voices shouting in the distance but continued to run. She ran all the way home and locked herself in her room.
Later that day, she heard her parents coming home from work. She heard their concerned voices echoing through the hall. A few moments later, she heard a knock at the door. Dr Amanda Granger and Dr Quentin Granger entered her room and sat on the end of her bed.
“Hermione, we heard what happened today,” Her mother said, calmly, “We just wanted to say that we understand if you were stressed by the exam.” Her mother looked at her carefully, “Do you want to talk about it with us?”
Hermione swallowed, did they think she had done that on purpose? She wanted to say that the table and paper had thrown itself against the wall, but knew they wouldn’t believe her.
“I… I don’t know what happened,” Hermione said, which was an honest answer, really.
Her mother looked at her father, and then her father said “We think you may have had a little panic attack, Hermione. And sometimes, when we feel panic, we throw things.”
“But I didn’t…” Hermione said, getting upset, “Look, I can’t explain it… all I know is that I felt very, very strange.”
Her mother looked at her and said, “Hermione, we think we’ve been putting too much pressure on you. There aren’t many 10-year-olds sitting GCSE’s after all.”
Her father continued, “So we’re going to have a holiday, just the three of us. No more exams, no more books. Just us three.”
“No books?” Hermione said, looking shocked, “That’s hardly fair.” She couldn’t believe she was being punished for something she hadn’t even done.
“It’s not a punishment,” they said, “We just want what’s best for your emotional well-being.”
The next day the family began to pack for their holiday, the rest of Hermione’s exams had been canceled and they were packed and ready for their camping holiday in the forest of Dean.
The holiday had been uneventful. Her parents had tried and failed to get Hermione to open up, treating her extremely delicately, as if she could break down at any moment. But Hermione had stayed silent and pretended everything was okay, knowing that there was nothing she could say that wouldn’t make her sound delusional.
They had returned home in time for Hermione’s 11th birthday. Her parents had relaxed their book ban a little, just in time for her birthday. In the morning of her birthday, Hermione had received quite a few new books, including the Tiffany Aching series by Terry Pratchett. She was already halfway into the Wee Free Men when Hermione noticed an owl sitting on the garden fence holding what looked to be an envelope. Hermione blinked, and the owl was still there. She carefully closed her book and walked towards the window. She watched as the owl made eye contact with her, hop towards the windowsill, before looking expectantly at the window frame. Hermione opened the window and the owl handed her the letter. Hermione took it, speechless, and then watched the owl fly away.
The letter was addressed to her. She opened it and read it, and then re-read it. Her heart started racing, If this is true… it means I’m not crazy… everything makes sense! She then ran to find her parents, who were both drinking tea and chatting in the kitchen.
“Mum! Dad!” Hermione said, flapping the letter around in the air, “I’m a witch!”
“Hermione, what on earth…”
Her parents looked worried. They both read the letter several times. They exchanged worried looks.
“Hermione,” her mum said gently, “you know this must be some kind of prank right?”
“Mum-“ Hermione said indignantly.
“There’s no such thing as magic dear. Please tell me you know that.”
“Mum, an owl gave it to me. Just now. How else do you explain that?”
“We didn’t see anything darling.” Her mother said, exchanging another look with her dad.
Hermione’s heart sank, “You think I’m crazy don’t you?”
Her father shook his head, “Now dear, we don’t say that word, it’s stigmatising for those with mental health difficulties.”
Hermione put her hands to her head, “You think I have mental health difficulties?!”
Her mother watched her daughter carefully, “Well dear, as you know, we all have mental health, just like physical health, sometimes it’s good, sometimes not so good. But there’s no shame in it. That’s why we try to avoid stigmatising words like that. Because otherwise-“
“Otherwise it just makes things worse and people don’t get treated,” Hermione said, finishing her mums sentence impatiently, “I know. But this isn’t like that mum. Honest.”
“Darling, sometimes we might feel something so strongly that we think it’s real. But that doesn’t always make it real.” Her father said, “So, maybe you feel a bit magic, that’s fine. But you can’t be an actual witch.”
“I don’t just feel magic!” Hermione exclaimed, “I can make things move with my mind. That’s what happened last month, by accident. I tried to tell you but… I knew you wouldn’t believe me!”
“Darling, you were stressed… we put too much pressure on you… you were sleep deprived. You’d be surprised how much a lack of sleep can mess with your perception of reality, in fact-“ Her father continued talking but Hermione stopped listening. She took the letter back off her parents and went to her room. She hated when her parents did this, treating her like a mental patient. She was their daughter; couldn’t they just give the psycho-babble a rest?
She tucked the letter away in her room inside her desk and made a mental note never to share anything with her parents ever again.