Chapter Text
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
Friday, 30 August 1991
Hermione stared at her clothes, folded on the bed, without really seeing them; outside, she could hear birds chirping, a few distant voices, and the occasional sound of a car passing by on the street. She thought back to the familiar background noise of Parisian traffic and how she’d grown so used to it that she no longer noticed it; indeed, now she missed it more than ever. There was something profoundly wrong with the ‘lack of noise’ in Oxford.
Not that she’d had a choice. She didn’t blame her mother for accepting a job at such a prestigious university; on the contrary, she understood perfectly well. But finding herself, at the age of 11, transplanted from a world she knew so well into a completely new one, created a subtle sense of loneliness that she struggled to shake off.
The clatter of crockery from downstairs, where Jean Granger was evidently putting the dishes away in the spacious cupboards of their new kitchen, roused her from her thoughts. Her mother was finishing tidying the house, while her father had gone to sort out his new dental practice in the town centre. She had to get on with things, too. There was nothing better than focusing on a task to chase away melancholy thoughts.
So she went back to her clothes and began arranging them in the wardrobe and chest of drawers, perfectly folded and meticulously organised. She worked efficiently for nearly an hour, until her gaze fell on the blue dress she was holding. It had been a parting gift from Fleur. She missed Fleur. With her father busy at his practice and her mother a senior researcher at INSERM, Hermione had spent much of her time at their neighbours’ house. They had two daughters: Fleur, two years her senior, and Gabrielle, two years her junior. The three of them had become like sisters. Fleur was the older sister she’d never had, and Gabrielle the little sister she’d always wanted.
Hermione wasn’t interested in fashion, clothes, or the other girly nonsense that Fleur liked, but the older girl was just as keen a reader as she was and had always got excellent grades. Their shared love of books and school had brought them together. Besides, the French girl was a good listener, knew how to give advice, and was always ready to encourage and support Hermione just as if she were her own sister.
She hung the dress on a hanger and sat down at her desk. She still had to organise her books, but first she needed to write to Fleur. She took out some paper and a couple of pens from one of the drawers and began the letter to her distant friend.
Chère Fleur,
How are you? Are you getting ready for school? Here in Oxford, Hogwarts Comprehensive Secondary School – the school I’ll be attending – starts in a week. On Monday, Dad will take me to speak to Headteacher Dumbledore and attend the orientation assembly. Apparently, here in England, many schools sort pupils into Houses, and Hogwarts is one of them. Next week I’ll have to choose which one to join. Mum won’t be there because she has to set up her department in Oxford before the university reopens. Dad’s dental practice, on the other hand, won’t open until October, so in the meantime, I’ll mainly be with him.
I’ll miss the École Bilingue Franco-Anglaise… I didn’t have any friends there, of course, but at Hogwarts I’ll have to start all over again, and everything will be different. Besides, I won’t even have you to help me with the social dynamics of teenagers, which remain incomprehensible to me.
Hermione stopped writing, drawn by shouts coming from outside. She got up from her desk and looked out of the window.
In the garden of the house to her left, she saw a chubby, fair-haired boy calling out: “Trevor! Trevor, where are you?” He seemed to have lost someone, and Hermione’s first instinct was to go down and ask if he needed help, but then she hesitated. What if he laughed at her unusual name, her curly hair, or worse, her braces? He didn’t look like that sort of boy, but she didn’t feel ready to take the risk with all the changes happening in her life, which were already causing her enough stress.
“What’s going on, Neville?” Hermione heard a woman’s voice, and looking towards the house to her right, she saw a beautiful red-haired woman standing in the doorway.
“Good evening, Mrs Potter, have you seen Trevor by any chance?” asked the boy, who she now knew was called Neville.
“Your cat?” asked the woman.
Neville nodded and added in a distressed voice, “I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Would you like me to help you look for him?” Mrs Potter said in a gentle tone.
Neville looked torn; he blushed violently and began to shift from one foot to the other. Meanwhile, Mrs Potter had left her garden and was walking along the pavement towards the boy’s house, passing directly beneath the window from which Hermione was watching. But just as the woman reached Neville, another woman—this time an elderly one—came out of the boy’s house and shouted, “Neville, what are you doing?”
The boy jumped, turned to the elderly woman and said in a hesitant voice, “I’m looking for Trevor, Gran!”
“Hello, Mrs Longbottom!” said Mrs Potter.
“Oh, hello, Lily!” replied the elderly woman with genuine warmth.
“I was just about to help Neville look for Trevor,” added the younger woman.
“Oh, nonsense!” replied Mrs Longbottom with a wave of her hand. “That silly cat’s always running off, but when his tummy’s empty, he always comes home. He’ll be here right on time for his dinner, just like every evening. But thank you all the same, dear!” she concluded, her tone affectionate once more.
A tone that changed completely when she turned to Neville: “Come on, Neville, I need you to help me in the greenhouse.”
“But Gran…” Neville tried to protest.
“Now!” the elderly woman added in an authoritative tone.
Neville flinched, then shrugged and headed towards the door where his grandmother was waiting for him. He turned briefly just to say: “Goodbye, Mrs Potter, and thank you!”
“You’re welcome, Neville!” the woman said gently. “Give my love to your parents,” she added. Then, turning to the elderly woman, she said, “Goodbye, Mrs Longbottom!”
“Goodbye, dear!” replied Mrs Longbottom, who had by now been joined by Neville. Then, placing a hand on her grandson’s shoulder, she accompanied him inside, closing the door behind her.
As Mrs Potter was walking back towards her house, a taxi pulled up and stopped in front of the driveway just as the red-haired woman stepped back into the garden. A man with dark, tousled hair and glasses got out of the car, and Hermione heard Mrs Potter shout, “James, you’re here!” before rushing over to hug and kiss him.
Hermione blushed at the sight of them kissing and moved away from the window. She stood in the middle of the room; she could hear them talking, but couldn’t make out the words. Then she heard a door close, and the voices faded away.
She looked at the unfinished letter on her desk and realised she’d lost her concentration. She’d finish it later.
She turned to the boxes and decided to put her books in the large bookcase next to the desk. The task was engrossing enough to take her mind off the knot of tension in her stomach at the thought of the new school. By the time she’d finished, she felt she had put her anxiety aside and regained her determination: this time it would be different, this time she wouldn’t be alone, she’d make friends and have a proper social life, just like any other teenager. Without neglecting her studies, of course.
Choosing which House to join would be the first step; she would select her House carefully to increase her chances of making friends.
She had a plan, and nothing made her feel more confident than having a plan.
The sun was setting, and Hermione walked over to the desk lamp to switch it on. She wanted to finish her letter to Fleur and tell her about her idea while waiting for dinner.
She went over to the window and looked out. She saw her father’s car pull up and park in the driveway. She saw him get out and walk whistling towards the front door. Everything would be all right. Her parents were happy, and she would be happy too.
She was just about to sit down at her desk when a movement caught her eye: a big, plump grey cat with long fur and a flat face was crossing the road, heading towards the house to the left of hers.
Hermione smiled. Mrs Longbottom was right: Trevor had come back just in time for dinner.