The Knock on the Door

Glad you could come. Yes - it is quite an affair, isn't it? We're Muggles, of course, as you can probably guess. And if you don't mind me saying, it looks as though you are too. Your boy was a year below Hermione, you say? Right. Oh, of course, he's the one taking the photos? Thought so.

When did it happen? When we first found out, so to speak? Well, it was probably one January - in the school holidays, certainly. I don't remember the exact date now, but Hermione wasn't at school that week. It was certainly a foul night: it had been raining all day, and at that time of year it gets dark so early.

Hermione was up in her room, and Helen and I were relaxing downstairs. I'd finished the paper; there wasn't anything worth watching on the television, and we were sittiing with a glass of wine. Then there was this knock on the door.

Which was odd enough in itself. Most people use the doorbell. Anyway, it was quite a determined knock, and I said to Helen that I'd see who it was. We weren't expecting any visitors.

I went into the porch and opened the door: it was very dark and still pouring with rain, and there was this woman on the doorstep.

"Mr Granger?"

"That's right."

"It's rather wet out here - do you mind if I come in for a moment."

"Of course." And I held the door open wider.

I'd not really wanted to do that, since I'd no idea who she was, and the last thing we needed at that time of night was some religious nutter, or someone trying to sell us something, or whatever. But she came in, muttering, "Thank you," and began taking her cloak off. It didn't strike me at the time - it wasn't a coat, but a cloak. And I hadn't intended for her to stay. Another odd thing - the cloak seemed barely damp. But she was in the hall without my really noticing, and I hung the cloak up.

"Mrs Granger is in?"

I blinked slightly. "Er, yes. Do we know you?"

"No. But I know something about you."

"Oh?"

But before I could pursue that, she had made a beeline for the front room. Slightly irritated, I followed her.

"Helen, this is ...?" and I looked at the woman enquiringly.

"McGonagall."

There was a trace of Scots accent there, and she hadn't said Miss or Mrs. Just 'McGonagall'. Not elderly, but certainly well into middle age. A rather severe woman.

Helen smiled and nodded, and there was a slightly uncomfortable moment's silence while McGonagall looked at the two of us.

"Do have a seat," I offered.

I wasn't quite sure why I was going to all this trouble for a woman who came knocking at our door this late at night. Mind you, there was something about her - a presence, if you like. Not a woman to argue with. Having said that, I'm probably influenced in retrospect by what we've been told about her since. But she took the spare armchair, perched on it, and again fixed us with that look.

"Er - what can we do for you?" I asked.

She said nothing, but glanced round the room, fixed her eye on the newspaper I'd just been reading, reached for it, then pulled out this piece of wood. We both watched, curious. She tapped the paper with the stick, muttering something. The paper became a rather nice lamp. She put the lamp down and looked at us expectantly.

Well, as you can imagine, neither of us said anything, but instead blinked. McGonagall tapped the lamp again with her stick, and it turned back in the newspaper, which she put back onto the carpet. I picked it up: same paper, same date, same headlines.

It was Helen who came in with: "How did you do that?"

Her tone was more curious than anything else. As for me, I was more taken with how surreal this was all becoming. This women comes into our house on a night like this, sits down, and then starts doing conjuring tricks.

"Magic," said McGonagall, in a dry tone of voice.

"No, really - how did you do it? It did seem so realistic."

"Magic," said McGonagall again.

Helen and I looked at each other. It was as if she had meant what she had just said.

"You said magic?" I asked her tentatively.

"Yes," came the reply.

McGonagall reached down the newspaper again, and tapped it once more. It wasn't a newspaper now, nor a lamp, but another armchair. Just like the others.

There was no way she had had that up her sleeve. And if she'd never been to the house before, she wouldn't have known what our chairs looked like. This was the same size, same shape, same patterns on the fabric. Sitting there in the middle of the floor it made the room seem a bit crowded.

Cautiously, I got up and went over to it. Looked just like the others. I prodded it. Just as solid as the others. I risked sitting down in it. Felt just like the others ... actually, only closer inspection, it wasn't quite the same as the others. It was newer. No signs of wear and tear.

I stood up, looked at the chair and then at Helen. She looked as baffled as I felt. We both turned to McGonagall who was sitting with a slightly prim expression on her face.

"Magic, eh?"

She nodded. We sat in silence.

"Now we have got that over," she said, "would it be possible to have a word with Hermione?"

Helen and I looked at each other. This woman comes into our house one night, turns newspapers into armchairs, and then asks to talk to our daughter?

"Why do you want to talk to her?" Helen asked.

McGonagall regarded her. "I'm not going to hurt her in any way," she said softly.

And somehow you had to believe her. There might be something very odd going on, but I just knew that there no way this woman would hurt Hermione. Helen obviously thought the same, because she got up and went into the hall, calling upstairs: "Hermione!"

"Yes, Mummy," came a voice from upstairs.

"Could you spare us a moment?"

The sound of feet on the staircase. Helen came back with Hermione behind her. Hermione looked around, saw the women - McGonagall, wasn't it? - smiled politely, looked at me, then a puzzled expression spread across her face.

"When did we get the new chair, Daddy?"

"Ask the lady."

Hermione looked back at McGonagall with polite curiosity.

"You are Hermione." It wasn't a question. Hermione nodded. "Do you mind, my dear, just stepping over here for one moment?"

It wasn't really a request. And despite my misgivings, I watched as Hermione walked across the room.

"Could you just hold that for a moment?" asked McGonagall in a very polite voice, holding out that stick.

Hermione took whatever it was from her, and grasped it quite firmly.

Something happened. Don't ask me what. All I know is something happened - and we all felt it. I could hear Helen gasp. McGonagall looked rather pleased with herself. Hermione - well, Hermione was standing with an expression of amazement and delight on her face.

"Well, child, don't just stand there," McGonagall told her. "Wave it!"

Hermione did just that. A shower of sparks, all different colours, shot out from the end of it, and flickered before fading away.

"You'd better give it back now," said McGonagall, "before there's an accident."

I could see Hermione was very reluctant to hand it back - she twirled it in her fingers once or twice, producing more sparks, before handing it back, and then giving McGonagall a questioning look.

McGonagall turned to Helen and then myself. "Mr and Mrs Granger, I must tell you your daughter has extremely strong magical powers."

We gaped. At least, I did. Then we looked at Hermione, who looked rather embarrassed with all the attention.

"You mean me?" she asked, looking at McGonagall with a frown.

"Yes, indeed, I do. Now then," she went on, reaching into that bag she was carrying, "If I could just show you ..."

She got out this roll and laid it on the carpet, touched it with that stick again, and it spread itself out. It seemed to be a blank piece of paper, but then she touched it with that stick of hers. Some letters appeared, and what seemed to be a crest. Helen and I went to stand on one side of McGonagall's armchair, and Hermione kneeled down on the carpet.

HOGWARTS. And what seemed to be a school crest.

McGonagall tapped the paper again. The letters disappeared, and a picture of what were obviously schoolchildren appeared. But ... they were moving! Indeed, some of them were waving at us.

McGonagall tapped the picture with her stick again and this boy moved to the front.

"Ah, Cameron," she said in a reminiscent tone. "One of my finest students. Mind you, it's time we updated some of these pictures - it must have been ten years or more since he left."

Another tap.

Now there was a picture of a big hall, with everyone having dinner. This time they were so busy eating they didn't pay us any attention. More pictures, this time of children in classrooms. And then the most bizarre one of them all.

QUIDDITCH - THE SCHOOL SPORT!

These people were flying! And throwing balls to each other! One stopped in mid-flight and gave us a thumbs up.

"Gryffindor versus Slytherin," said McGonagall with a note of regret in her voice. "The last time we won the House Cup."

Helen and I looked at each other. That was the definitive voice of a longstanding teacher - I had heard the same note in my housemaster's voice once when we had been knocked out of the House Cup (but that was for cricket) yet again.

McGonagall tapped that paper once again and it went blank, rolled itself up.

"Ah, well," she said more briskly. "Enough of that." She glanced from Helen to me with a slightly amused look in her eye. "You've probably seen enough for one evening. I'll leave you with two things: a book for Hermione ..." - she delved into her bag and came out with a large tome - "... and something for you two." This time an envelope, which she passed to me.

"In there are the details of the school and the contract you would have to sign if Hermione is to take up her place there."

Hermione spoke up for the first time during the presentation. "You mean you want me to go to this school?"

McGonagall regarded her with a smile. "Of course. Well, you are a witch."

Hermione blinked. "A witch?"

"Yes. Didn't you feel that when you waved my wand?"

"That's a wand?"

"Indeed."

And I remembered Hermione hadn't been there when McGonagall did her tricks earlier.

"You'd better demonstrate it to her," I told McGonagall.

"Of course." She regarded Hermione for a moment then looked round the room. I didn't want anything useful changed into whatever, and then I saw the ideal object: a vase we had been given a long time ago. I'd always hated it, but since it had been a present ... I went over and handed it to McGonagall.

She looked at it, then tapped it with her wand again, muttering something I didn't catch.

The ugly dirty green vase changed itself into gleaming clear crystal glass.

"There," McGonagall said, obviously pleased with herself, "that's a bit more like it."

I could see Hermione's face, dumbstruck. Eventually: "How did you do that?"

"Magic. You see, I'm a witch too."

Hermione looked at the vase. McGonagall held it out to her. Hermione took it, and examined it carefully. "Will I be able to do that?"

"Oh, yes. Basic Transfiguration. Which is the subject I teach."

Hermione looked from McGonagall to the vase, still uncertain, then laid it down on the carpet. She picked up the book. "And this?"

"A history of the school."

McGonagall got to her feet. "Could you read the papers?" she asked the two of us. "I'll be back tomorrow evening if that's convenient for you?"

"Yes, of course," muttered Helen.

"I'll be on my way then."

"Let me show you out," I offered. It was still pouring with rain. "Not a very nice night to be out in," I observed.

"Not really," agreed McGonagall.

She set off, and I glanced down the street. It was deserted - not surprisingly. I looked back for McGonagall, but she'd gone already. Funny. She wouldn't have had time ....

When I got back, Helen had gone to make some tea, and Hermione was already sprawled across the carpet deep in the book. I sat down in my usual chair (not the new one! Not just yet!) and looked at her. My daughter. Hermione. A witch?

But then Helen came back with cups of tea. Hermione put hers down absently, and the two of us looked at her as she turned page after page. Eventually, the tea untouched, she stood up.

"Can I go and read this upstairs?"

"Of course, dear."

Without looking at either of us, she slowly made her way out of the room. I swear she was still reading the book with every step she took. Neither of us said anything, until eventually Helen said: "Let's leave that envelope until tomorrow."

"Fine by me."

"And I've had enough excitement for one evening. I'm for bed."

"Me too."

We didn't talk about it at breakfast either, but everyone in the surgery must have thought me very odd that day. I think I was working on autopilot. Anyway, we both got away quite early, and sat down at the dining room table with the envelope. I carefully cut it open and pulled out the contents.

I'll say one thing for the wizarding world: they can write contracts that are short, to the point, and perfectly straightforward. It didn't take us long to read through it. But that, in a sense, wasn't the point.

We'd two or three schools in mind for Hermione when we started looking, and gradually narrowed it down until the three of us were happy with the choice. It was some way away, and would mean a lot of travelling, but Hermione said she could cope. She was very good at coping. Just like her mother. I mean, take this lot today. I didn't do a thing. Left it to them. Makes for an easy life, I can tell you.

Well, for a start, if she did go to this place - I hadn't started thinking about it as Hogwarts yet, just 'that school' - she'd have to board. I didn't know whether she'd like to or not. And - well, I didn't want to see her go away. On the other hand - and this was quite a lot to get my head round - if she was 'magical', then we didn't have much choice.

So eventually Helen called Hermione down, and she sat round the table with us. Her eyes were glowing.

"I've been reading that book that woman gave me. 'Hogwarts - A History'."

"Oh. Any good?"

"It's wonderful!"

Well, that seemed to be the answer to the next question. "Would you like to go there?"

"Oh, yes, please, Daddy." Then she saw our faces and bit her lip. "I know it'd mean boarding and going away from home," she said in a rather smaller voice.

"Never mind about us. Is that what you'd like to do?"

She looked down at the book she'd brought down with her and nodded. "If it's all right by you."

"Of course, But ... it might still all be - well, a hoax."

I knew deep down that it wasn't. Even though you might say: 'Magic??', McGonagall had been so convincing that there was no way I could see that it could be a hoax.

"All right, dear," said Helen. "We'll wait until the lady comes back this evening and have another talk with her."

Supper was rather a tense meal. Then we sat in the living room, no one saying anything, Hermione still reading that book. I think she'd started again from the beginning. Then the knock on the door.

McGonagall was as brisk as ever. Not a woman for small talk. I took her cloak and hung it up, showed her into the living room. The extra armchair was useful: I waved her to it and she looked at me with a small smile.

When she had sat down, she looked at each of us carefully - none of us had said anything yet - and I think that she read from our faces what the answer would be.

"Well," she said eventually, "I'm sure you've lots of questions."

We had - and we hadn't. I'm sure it must have been the same for you. Where do you start?

"This contract ..."

"Yes?"

"It does seem remarkably straightforward."

She smiled. "We don't like to waste words."

"So I see. There are one or two phrases that do interest me."

"Which are they?"

"Well, the one which says: 'You will not be able to discuss your child's education with those outside the wizarding community.' It doesn't say - 'will not', it says 'will not be able to'."

"That's right. You see, Mr Granger, we value our separateness. When you sign, you will find you will be able to discuss Hogwarts with other Hogwarts parents, with your daughter, and so on, but not your next door neighbours."

"What if they ask?"

"Then for the period of that conversation, you will have no knowledge of Hogwarts. Your daughter will be attending a boarding school in the country."

"Oh." I didn't like the sound of that.

She seemed to soften slightly. "I can imagine. But believe me, it is necessary. After all, you hardly say your daughter is training to be a witch."

"Well, if you put it that way ..."

"And it's a precaution against you making any sort of slip."

"But we can discuss it amongst ourselves?"

"Of course. But not outsiders."

I weighed that and glanced across to Helen. From her face I could judge she didn't like the thought either, but she, like me, could see the point.

"And I can't do magic at home?" Hermione asked.

"Not until you're fully qualified. And that applies to all witches and wizards, not just those Muggle born."

"Muggle born?" she queried.

"Apologies. Our shorthand for non magical people."

"Oh."

"So no more armchairs for a few years yet."

On the other hand, that re-assured me a bit. The idea of having a witch for a daughter - well, what might happen if she had a temper tantrum and did something nasty? Not that Hermione is given to temper tantrums, but even so ...

Well, there was a bit more talk after that, but we ended up signing on the bottom line. I had visions of signing in blood, or something, but instead McGonagall produced this quill! And we didn't need to dip it in ink.

Well, the next thing was the things she needed. And we had to get some wizarding money. McGonagall took us along to that place - Diagon Alley. That bank! Well, you've seen it yourself. And the things she had to buy. A wand. Odd fellow, that Ollivander, isn't he? He gave wands to Helen and to me to try out, but there wasn't a flicker.

Still, it's all worked out in the end, hasn't it? Even despite all that stuff about that fellow whose name we're not supposed to say. Not that it stopped Hermione. And she's ended up with a good job in the bank. You say your son's working for the Prophet? I was a bit worried that we'd not see her again when she left school, but she lived at home for a couple of years. Out most of the time, but what youngsters aren't?

Oh, Helen's waving at me. That means I'm wanted. Nice meeting you. Hope you enjoy yourself.