Chapter Three
Summer 1991
Just after my eighth birthday, I saw something I did not fully understand. After Physical Education class one day, I went into the changing room to retrieve some personal items I'd left in a locker. The room was not empty, however; there were girls much older than I, probably fifteen or sixteen, getting ready for their own class. Many of them were in varying states of undress, and it was something that I had never encountered before.
I knew that my mother had breasts, and that I would eventually have them, but that didn't mean I knew what they actually looked like, how rounded they were and how large the nipples seemed to be. But that wasn't all: these girls had hair between their legs, which was a completely foreign concept to me. Standing there dumbfounded for several seconds, I noticed that several of the girls didn't have hair there, and what I saw looked a little different than what I'd seen between my own legs. After that, I had quickly picked up my belongings and left the changing area.
I had wanted to ask my mom questions about what I'd seen, but I was just a little too embarrassed at the time to bring those issues to her. So instead, I attacked the bookshelves in our house looking for the answers. Since my parents are dentists, medical textbooks were not hard to come by, and soon enough, I found three human physiology books that held all the answers I could ever want.
After reading for hours on the subjects of puberty, menstruation, sexual intercourse, and childbirth, I realized that I had been ignorant of so much involving my own body. So that very day I sat myself down in front of the full-length mirror in my parents' bedroom, after removing my clothes, and inspected something I had never looked at too closely. I can only imagine what that must have looked like-an eight year old sitting on the floor, legs spread, viewing herself in a mirror.
All of that information served me well the day of my Diagon Alley trip, because when I reached my room to change into lighter clothing, something on the outside of my knickers stopped me in my tracks. I bent over myself to get a better look, and eventually I realized it was a red blotch.
An instant of panic washed over me, and I almost called out to my mum, but it passed as my rational side took over. I closed my bedroom door and stripped down to just my knickers. I paid no heed to my still-flat chest; instead, I carefully removed my knickers and confirmed that the red blotch was indeed blood.
Vaguely, I realized that something significant had happened to me. `Menarche' wasn't a term I would know until much later, but the fact that the event had happened was enough to impart some sense of womanhood on me, and although I was a little embarrassed I was also proud. Conscious of my parents' desire to leave within ten minutes, I slipped my clothes back on quickly and exited my room. I took a sanitary napkin from the main bathroom and went back to my room.
After spending a minute or so working out the logistics, I was redressed and the bloody knickers were in the hamper. It was a little weird, having something extra between my skin and my knickers, but it was not uncomfortable. I had read that menstruation was painful for some women, but I had not even known it was happening until I had seen the blood. So far, so good. I decided that I would tell my mum after we got back from Diagon Alley-I was sure it existed-so as to not distract them further from discovering what I knew to be true.
"Hermione, are you ready?" dad called up the stairs.
"Yeah, I'll be right down!" I yelled back, and then did a sort of pirouette to make sure everything was in order. Twenty seconds later, I met my parents at the front door. They were dressed in light summer clothing as well.
"This Leaky Cauldron place was where?" mum asked, as we exited the front door.
"Charing Cross," I said. We piled into the car. "I think McGonagall said I would be the only one able to see it." Even though I was sitting in the back seat, I saw a look pass between my parents in the rear view mirror. It was almost like they weren't even trying to believe, or they didn't want to. I said nothing more and just stared out the window.
Not long thereafter, we reached Charing Cross, and dad found a car park for the auto. It was a steep toll, but he paid it without a word; I didn't feel bad at all. When we reached the pavement, we looked in both directions for several moments.
"Which way?" dad asked, archly.
"I dunno," I said. "Why don't we just walk and try to find it?" He shrugged and, with another sidelong look at mum, started off to the left. Mum and I followed behind him a short distance.
"If you're only able to see it, pay attention," mum said. I didn't even bother saying that I was paying the closest attention to anything I ever had in my life. In fact, at some point I stopped heeding my parents altogether, because I was singularly focused on the unseen mythical entrance to another world.
For several minutes, we walked along the pavement in one direction, until we came to the end of what ostensibly is the commercial and commuter district. Dad stopped and turned around, raising his eyebrows at us. I hadn't seen anything on this side of the road out of place, so I shrugged and indicated that we should cross the road and try the other side. He said nothing and we followed him across to the other pavement.
Time dragged on as we strolled by more and more shops and bistros that, on any other day, may have been interesting, but as each passed on this day, my frustration began to mount. Surely I hadn't been too sure about this Leaky Cauldron?
Right about then was when I noticed something odd-a man dressed in similar fashion to McGonagall, though without the triangular hat, stopped about twenty meters in fronts of us, looked around quickly, and walked directly into what appeared like a wall. I stopped for a moment, bewildered at what I had just seen. Where had the man come from? Why hadn't I seen him before that instant? And where had he just gone?
Dad and mum stopped and looked at me. "What?" they asked.
"Did you see that?"
They looked around for a moment. "See what?"
"That…that man, in front of us? He just kind of disappeared." I swept my thick curls out of my face to get a better look.
Mum shrugged. "No, Hermione. I don't think we have any idea what you're talking about."
I pursed my lips and strode forward. It looked like I would have to do the leading, today at least. "Follow me," I said, unconscious of the curt way I addressed my parents, and uncaring of their slightly put-off faces. As I approached the location where the man had simply walked out of existence, a curious thing happened. All those around me, even my parents, seemed to avoid the spot where I was standing. I looked back at mum and dad, and they were looking in the opposite direction, almost as if they had forgotten what they were doing.
"Mum! Dad!" I called, and they turned back to me, with stunned looks on their faces. They shook their heads briefly and continued toward me. I turned my attention to the brick wall, and to my surprise it was not a wall at all, but a small doorway with the words "The Leaky Cauldron" crudely painted above the frame. It appeared to be located directly between a big book shop and a record shop.
"What are you looking at?" mum asked, and I looked back at them. They were staring at the door, very confusedly, almost as if they couldn't see it…
"The door to the Leaky Cauldron," I said, and suddenly realized, with a jolt that could only have been magic-or was it something else?-through my veins that, in my confusion, I had not realized I just confirmed the Leaky Cauldron's existence. Here it was, right in front of my eyes.
"You mean this brick wall?" dad asked, motioning with his hand toward the door.
"Uh…you can't see the door?" I asked. What was going on here?
"No…"
I frowned and faced it fully once again, furrowing my brow in thought. McGonagall had said only I would be able to find it, but I had assumed once I had, my parents would have been able to see it, too. How else could they go through the door? Surely they weren't expected to walk straight through what appeared as a solid wall. So, I did the only thing I could think of: I reached for the doorknob. As soon as my fingers closed around the warm metal, I heard a noise and looked around at my parents. Mum was staring wide-eyed at the door/wall and dad had his eyebrows raised again.
"Wh-where did that come from?" she asked, looking from dad to me.
"You mean the door?" She nodded. "It was here all along."
"But it just popped out!"
"You couldn't see it, mum," I explained, as patiently as I could. Truth be told, I was getting antsy. The Leaky Cauldron existed and so must Diagon Alley…and everything McGonagall had been talking about. "Remember what McGonagall said? Only I would be able to find it; but now that I have my hand on the door, it makes sense you would be able to. Let's go inside and have a look around."
Before they could protest or say anything further, I opened the door and stepped inside. Charing Cross hushed immediately behind me, as if I had walked through some thick, soundproof glass. I barely noticed my parents crowding through the doorway behind me.
Whatever I had been expecting, the rather drab and unremarkable bar was quite underwhelming. It was nearly empty, with only three patrons spread across the booths, one at the tables, and short, hunch-backed, bald man behind the counter. No one except the bartender looked up at our entrance.
"Can I help you?" he asked, eyeing us strangely for some reason. But it hit me soon enough that it had to be our appearance, because we were dressed dissimilar to the four others in the room.
Since my apparently speechless parents were no use, I said, "How do we get to Diagon Alley?"
A look of comprehension passed over the bartender's face and he shuffled out from behind the counter. His face crinkled into a warm, benevolent smile and he beckoned us toward the back of the room.
"Starting at Hogwarts this year?" he asked.
"Yes; how did you know?" I responded with a question of my own, surprised at the man's insight.
I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. "It's not hard to distinguish the new Muggleborns that come through here every year. You all ask the same thing: `where is Diagon Alley?'"
"Oh," I responded, looking around once to make sure my parents were still with me. We came to a shallow, walled courtyard through the back door of the pub and the man turned toward us.
"Pardon me for forgetting, but my name is Tom. I own and keep the Leaky Cauldron." He stuck out his hand.
"Hermione Granger," I responded, taking his hand and shaking it a few times. There was something about this man, no matter how old and hunched he appeared, which charmed me. I turned to my parents and raised my eyebrows.
"Ah," my dad started, holding out his hand. "Of course. I'm Paul Granger, Hermione's father."
"And I'm Jane, her mother." After pleasantries and handshakes had sufficiently passed, Tom turned once again to me.
"Now, watch closely Hermione-beautiful name, by the way-because each time you come to Diagon, until you can Apparate, you will have to enter through this wall here." I ignored the unfamiliar word, sure that I would encounter it again when I could focus on it, and watched what Tom did to the wall. It turned out to be uncomplicated, really, just three taps on a certain brick. I suppose the hard part is remembering where the brick is.
But then I was simply mesmerized by how, brick by brick, the wall seemed to split down the middle and widen into a tall archway. I heard my parents gasp again, at what I assumed was a display of magic, and stared through the archway. Therein lay a cobbled street, twisting out of sight around a building. A second archway had the words "Diagon Alley" artfully etched across its curve.
"Welcome," Tom said, "to Diagon Alley."
I took a step forward, one foot through the arch and the other still in the courtyard, and stopped. I looked back at mum and dad, expecting them to say something, but they did not. So I stepped through into the other world. Tom, smiling, shooed my parents on through behind me.
As we watched the wall reassemble itself, Tom said, "Good luck!"
"Now do you believe?" I asked, and I knew I sounded petulant, but that did not matter to me just then. They had not wanted to believe, but they had seen with their own eyes things that were supposed to be impossible. Even they couldn't explain it away.
Mum tilted her head to the side, staring at something, and then kneeled in front of me. She looked into my eyes for a moment, and then leaned forward to embrace me.
"Yes, Hermione," she whispered, and when she let go of me, I saw a few tears on her cheeks.
"Mum, don't cry!" I exclaimed, alarmed, but she was smiling.
"It's ok, honey. Don't mind me," she reassured, and stood up.
Instead of kneeling in front of me, dad just picked me up. His arms were strong and comfortable, and it had been a long time since he'd done this. I was too old now. But here I was, settled into his arms once again.
"I'm…sorry for ever doubting you, baby," he said, and lightly embraced me. I could not keep the winning smile from spreading across my features. My parents were stubborn, but even they knew when they were beat. And now they were accepting it all very well.
He set me down and I looked once again down the cobbled road that twisted out of sight. I set my shoulders and started walking, hearing my parents following a step behind. As we came close to the curve, I could hear the sounds of activity beyond-voices, squawks, rattles, swishes and everything else associated with a large number of people; when I rounded the corner, I stopped once again as the new and wonderful images cascaded into my brain.
There were people-witches and wizards, I guess-everywhere, some dressed more like us though most were dressed like the other magical people I'd seen. They were talking in the middle of the wide cobbled street (Diagon Alley wasn't much of an alley, really), bustling from shop to shop, haggling over prices, and some were even performing what looked like magic. It was hard to process all of this at once; there was just so much going on and I only had two eyes with which to see it all.
And the shops! There were so many of them, from items I recognized like clothing, telescopes, and writing utensils, and many others I didn't. Suddenly, there was crash nearby and then a tinkling of glass; I looked over there and saw that a young woman had dropped a glass container and whatever had been inside was now smoking on the street.
"Aw, bloody `ell!" she exclaimed, obviously frustrated with herself. Then she took out that stick thing, which upon further observation I noticed many of the people had in their hands, and pointed it at the mess.
"Evanesco," she said, and the smoking liquid disappeared. "Reparo," she continued, and the glass pieces flew back into a solid container, just like that. I widened my eyes: would I be able to do that some day?
"Wow," mum said. She had just watched the same thing.
"Yeah," dad agreed. "Anyways," he said, turning to me, "we came here for supplies, so why don't you read us what you need from the list?"
I tore my eyes away from the sights of the Alley and nodded, digging in my pocket for the folded pieces of parchment. I went to the second page and began reading: "Uniform. First-year students will require: 1. Three sets of plain work robes (black), 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear, 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar), 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings). Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.
"Course books. All students should have a copy of each of the following: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk; A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot; Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling; A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch; One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore; Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger; Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander; and The Dark Forces; A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble.
"Other equipment. 1 wand, 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), 1 set glass or crystal phials, 1 telescope, 1 set brass scales. Students may also bring an owl or a cat or a toad. Parents are reminded that first-years are not allowed their own broomsticks."
"Right…" dad said, and we all were trying to process all of these items, some of which were unfamiliar. Broomsticks? Toads?
"The…cauldron…shop, I guess, is right over here," mum said, pointing to a storefront where stacks of cauldrons sparkled in the sunlight. The sign detailed just how many different types of cauldrons there were, though my list said I only needed pewter.
We entered the shop and immediately the shopkeeper moved toward us. Somehow, in every shop we went into that day, the proprietor's seemed to sense this would be my first year at Hogwarts. Most were very helpful, but one or two seemed oddly distant, as if they were detached from everything. I could not fathom why at the time, but now I understand it as an early manifestation of the blood prejudice that would haunt me for years, and still does occasionally to this day.
Anyway, after the cauldron shop, we visited Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, where my parents purchased the necessary clothing for my uniform; an astronomy shop where we bought the required telescope; and the Apothecary where we purchased the set of scales, the glass phials, and a set of basic potion ingredients at the proprietor's urging. The Apothecary was dark and dank, and there were all sorts of disgusting items in labeled jars, like newt tongues and black beetle eyes, so I was more than happy to leave that place.
Next, we went to the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, and I would have spent all day there if my parents had not eventually dragged me out. There were just so many new things to learn about the magical world that I was a little overwhelmed. I had to immediately get started so I was not behind other magically-bred kids when I went to school, so I convinced my parents to inquire after and then buy second and third year books, as well. I would read all three years' before school started, and whether or not I fully understood them was not important. I just wanted to have a solid base for when I went to Hogwarts. I wanted to excel right away.
The various shops had prices listed in galleons, the magical currency, but the ease with which they accepted and gave change for pounds suggested it was a common enough occurrence. My parents did not once comment on the amount of money they spent that day. We were fairly affluent, but the prices were quite steep.
We went into Eeylops Owl Emporium, but my parents would not let me have an owl yet. They wanted to wait at least a year. So instead, we sent confirmation of my attendance to Hogwarts via a delivery owl, and left the shop.
The last item I needed was a wand, and I grew almost more excited than I had been in the bookstore as we approached the wand shop. The sign read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C." We opened the door, hearing a tiny bell tinkle somewhere, and a musty quietness settled over us. The place was narrow but very deep, with shelves and shelves full of long, low boxes.
"Good afternoon," a soft voice called, and the three of us jumped. We turned toward the counter, and there was a very old man, with large pale eyes. He simply stared at us.
"Er, hi," I said, awkwardly. I felt goose bumps prickling my arms, even though the air in the shop was quite warm.
"What can I do for you today?" he asked, still with a very soft voice, and moving out from behind the counter.
"Well," I said, "I'm going to be starting at Hogwarts this year, and I need a wand."
"Ah, a Muggleborn?" he asked. I nodded, familiar with the term because McGonagall had used it.
"Hermione Granger," I said, holding out my hand. The old man smiled slowly at me, then took my hand in his own.
"Charmed," he said. "Mr. Ollivander," he stated, and then turned toward my parents. After further introductions, we started in on the process of finding a wand, which was a lot of waving a stick around and hoping for something to happen. Finally, after thirty or forty tries, red and gold sparks flew from a wand as I waved it around.
"Here we are!" Ollivander exclaimed, though his voice had not risen at all. "Vine wood, dragon heartstring core, twelve and a half inches. An interesting combination, Ms. Granger."
"Why is that?" I asked, staring at this piece of wood through which my magic would apparently flow. It tingled in my hand, and felt slightly warm. I couldn't stop from imagining all the new and exciting things I would do with it…
"Both vine wood and dragon heartstring are very unyielding, but put together, they cancel each other out. What you have there is a wand suited for fine spell work. You will be a very talented witch, I think."
After paying for the wand-it was very expensive-and leaving the shop, we all kind of shrugged off the mustiness. Something about Ollivander was creepy, but I could not quite put my finger on it. Suffice it to say, I was glad to be out of there with my new wand. His last words of warning still rang in my head, though: "Remember, Ms. Granger. You cannot perform magic with your wand until you arrive at Hogwarts. Our Wizarding government does not permit underage magic use, and they will know if you attempt any spells."
Though I was slightly disappointed, I had all those books to read and think about, so I had more than enough to occupy the month between now and school. We must have looked a sight, carrying packages of various magical items back through the Leaky Cauldron and out onto Charing Cross, but we valiantly ignored any strange looks sent our way.
Once in the car, my dad turned to me and asked, "You sure we have everything?"
I checked the list again. "Yes, looks like it."
"Hermione," mum started, "we're sorry-"
"It doesn't matter anymore," I said, over her apology. "We all needed to see it, anyway. I'm just so excited!" I gushed, and mum's chuckles greeted my ears. Though I didn't realize it then, they were probably slightly bittersweet, because she was probably realizing for the first time her daughter was going somewhere she couldn't follow.
---
Later that night, after dinner and after dad had gone upstairs to read, I found my mum sitting in the living room, watching the telly. I sat next to her and curled into her side, and we just watched some silly program for a little while. She was stroking my hair, running her fingers through the rivulets of my curls, and I sighed contentedly.
"Hermione, we're very proud of you."
I nodded into her side. "I know, mum."
"It's just hard for us to send you away like this…"
I sat up and looked at her. She turned the telly off and faced me. "But you do think it's a good idea I do this, right?"
She gave me a half-smile. "I'm not sure what I think, honestly, but I'm certainly not going to stop you from discovering this new world you apparently belong to."
Not exactly a ringing endorsement. "Oh…"
"It's difficult not knowing, Hermione. Do you understand that?"
"I think so."
"You're going to a place where we can't protect you, or help you through your problems, or anything else we'd do with you at home."
If she started to cry again, I would to. "But mum, it's just school. I'll be back for hols and summers."
She drew me into her warm embrace. "I know, honey. It's going to take some getting used to, though."
Silence settled for several minutes. There was something else I wanted to say to mum, but I was almost too embarrassed to bring it up.
"Mum…" I started, but then my faced heated up and I ducked my head.
"Hmm?" she intoned, looking at my reaction. "What is it?"
"Well," I said, steeling my resolve and looking her in the eyes. "This morning…I saw I'd started my period."
Perhaps that wasn't what she was expecting, because she looked blankly at me for a few seconds. Then a smile and a kind of maternal look spread across her face. "Oh, really?"
I nodded. "I took care of it," I told her. "But I thought you would want to know."
"Thank you for telling me, Hermione. It's not something you should be embarrassed about, either. All woman experience it, and it just means you're coming closer and closer to womanhood every day. Oh, my baby's growing up!" she said, and embraced me again.
"Mum!"
She giggled in a way I couldn't remember hearing, and looked conspiratorially at me. "Shall we get you some starter bras before you go off to that school?"
I immediately giggled and reddened, and then indicated my flat chest with my hand. "For what?" I asked, self-deprecatingly.
"Things can change quickly, oh daughter of mine," she sing-songed, then looked down at her own ample bosom. "And if your genes are any indication…"
"Oh, ok," I said, and then looked toward the stairs. "But dad can't know!"
"Of course not!" she laughed, and we snuggled into each other again. She turned the telly back on and we settled in for an evening of girl talk.
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