Which School?

Which School?

Chapter One: The Fourth Option

Hermione Granger sat on the window seat in her bedroom. She was poring over a thick book on Germany, where the Granger family would be taking their summer holiday that year. It was the start of the summer, and Hermione had six wonderful weeks free from school. Her brow creased slightly as she thought of the three folders of information sitting in the living room.

The first was the standard information sent out to all potential pupils of the local girls' secondary school. Hermione had already decided she wasn't going to go there. Susie Andrews and the other girls in her class would be going there, and Hermione definitely did not want another seven years in the same school as them.

The second folder had information about the comprehensive school in the next town over from hers. It would mean longer travel every day, and as the school was mixed, she'd have to take classes with boys as well as girls. On the whole, Hermione didn't mind boys. They could be very stupid at times, but they didn't pick on her as much as girls did. Still, she wasn't sure she liked the idea of being in a secondary school with them. She suspected that the other girls would become increasingly giggly as they grew up, 'fancying' boys and going out with them. Hermione wasn't sure if she liked that idea very much.

The third, and last, folder was for an all girls boarding school in Devon, more than a hundred miles away from her home in Oxford. Hermione thought that she liked the sound of this school the best, but it seemed to place an awful lot of emphasis on sports, and Hermione wasn't very fond of sports. She also wasn't sure that she liked the idea of spending months at a time away from her parents.

All in all, Hermione wasn't at all sure that she wanted to go to any secondary school.

Sighing, she focused on her book again, knowing that she would have to make her decision before she left for Germany in two weeks time. Distantly, she heard the doorbell ring, but didn't pay attention. No one ever rang for her. It would probably be someone looking for an appointment at her parent's dental practise next door. No, she'd let her mum handle that. Much nicer to be reading about the fairy tale castle in Bavaria that had supposedly been the inspiration for the Sleeping Beauty fairy tale.

Hermione wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she still enjoyed reading fairy tales. So often the heroine was beautiful and kind and loved by all. It seemed like such an idyllic life, and Hermione had always dreamed of living in a castle. She stared intently at the Bavarian castle, counting the towers, trying to work out how many rooms such a place might contain, trying to work out-

"Hermione! Can we see you down here, please?"

Hermione looked up. It was her mum. She set her book aside slowly, hoping that it wasn't another neighbour complaining about something the 'weird child' had done. She hadn't been out of the house since holidays had begun, in case something happened.

That was another reason Hermione wasn't looking forward to secondary school. How would a whole new group of children react to a girl to whom weird things seemed destined to happen?

Hermione made her way downstairs, in no hurry to find out what her mum wanted to see her for. She felt extremely nervous, as though whatever was waiting for her in the kitchen -she could hear the chink of teacups on saucers- was going to be very, very big trouble.

She hoped it wasn't Mrs Walker. Her cat had only been pink for a day, after all, and Hermione had taken good care of it until it recovered.

Slowly, wishing nothing more than to be back in her room, Hermione opened the kitchen door slightly and peered through the gap. Her mother was chatting happily to a middle-aged lady in rather severe clothes. Hermione didn't recognise the lady, but her sharp eyes and thin lips made her look rather stern. Slowly, Hermione opened the door further, and stepped into the kitchen.

"Hermione, this is Professor McGonagall. Professor, my daughter Hermione," Hermione's mum said.

"Miss Granger, I have heard much about you," McGonagall said. "I am given to understand that you are quite a singular young girl."

Hermione nodded. She didn't really understand, but she didn't want to appear stupid.

"You do exceedingly well in school, I believe?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione nodded again.

"She was moved ahead a year when she was eight," Mrs Granger said proudly.

"How has that been, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked, turning a piercing gaze on Hermione, who coloured slightly. She had a feeling that this strange woman knew exactly how it had been. Professor McGonagall? Professor of what? Was she a social worker? Was she here to take Hermione away?

"Fine," she declared fiercely. "I'm much happier to be studying at a higher level. In fact, I'm sure I could study even higher still and not have any problems."

"Hermione is very intelligent," Mrs Granger said, still more proudly.

"Indeed," McGonagall said, studying Hermione closely. "Tell me, Miss Granger, do you ever have any problems with the other children in your class?"

"No," Hermione said, having decided that this stranger was trying to cause trouble. "I get on fine with everyone."

"Indeed?" McGonagall replied. Mrs Granger was watching the two of them with a slight look of concern on her face.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Mrs Granger, you said that your husband would be home soon?"

"Oh yes. It's Saturday, and we only have a surgery in the mornings. He should be finishing around now, in fact," she said with a look at the kitchen clock.

Hermione had butterflies in her stomach. She wanted to run away, to lock herself in her room, but she wasn't going to leave this McGonagall woman alone with her mother. She watched McGonagall take a sip of her tea, and grimace slightly.

"Would you like some sugar in your tea?" she asked, forcing politeness into her voice.

"Er, yes, if there is any, thank you," McGonagall replied, slightly surprised.

"Oh, do forgive me," Mrs Granger said, springing up. "We hardly use it ourselves. It's bad for your teeth, you know."

"So I have been told," McGonagall replied. Something about the way she said this made Hermione giggle slightly, and McGonagall looked at her carefully.

There was the sound of the front door opening and shutting as Mrs Granger carefully put a half a teaspoon of sugar in McGonagall's tea. Mr Granger strode into the kitchen, looking very pleased with himself.

"Well, that's one less tooth that'll have to be pulled," he said in a very satisfied tone. He bent down to hug Hermione, and then kissed his wife. Finally, he noticed Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, I am sorry," he said. "I'm Peter Granger."

"Minerva McGonagall," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm a Professor at Hogwarts School in Scotland."

"Really?" Mr Granger asked, looking slightly nonplussed. "Hogwarts? I can't say it rings a bell. Did we, er, did we apply to you? For Hermione, I mean?"

"Not exactly," McGonagall smiled slightly at Hermione. "Entry to Hogwarts is by invitation only. Your daughter, Hermione, has been brought to our attention as a very promising student."

Mr Granger puffed up with pride. "Well, yes, she's a very intelligent girl, works hard, and we're very proud of her."

"Good," McGonagall said. "However, as I'm sure you're aware, there have been, well, some unusual incidents with which Hermione has been involved."

Hermione's heart sank. She hated having people talk about the 'unusual incidents'. She stepped behind her father's chair, putting him between herself and McGonagall.

Mr Granger took a seat opposite McGonagall, his expression suddenly very serious. "Now see here, my daughter was not at fault. She's a good girl, and she's not to be blamed for anything that brat Susie Andrews gets up to."

"You are right, in a way," McGonagall said, folding her arms. "Although Hermione is not to be blamed for these incidents, she is most certainly the cause."

Mr Granger looked ready to explode, barely restraining himself from ordering McGonagall from the house.

"Perhaps it would be easier for me to show you what I mean," McGonagall sighed. "Miss Granger, when I had a sip of my tea earlier, you asked me if I wanted sugar. Why was that?"

"Well, Mum and Dad never offer it to people," Hermione said. "And you made a face."

"Indeed. I must say, I am used to having rather a lot of sugar in my tea. As I grow older, I find it is useful in providing me with the energy I need to keep up with my students. Now, if you'll excuse me . . ."

McGonagall drew a long stick from her handbag. Hermione watched her wave the tip of it above her teacup, and then say "Sucro!"

Hermione's eyes widened as first one, then a second, and finally a third white cube formed at the tip of the stick, and then dropped into the teacup. McGonagall put away the stick and stirred the cup before taking a sip and looking up at Hermione with a smile.

"Er . . ." Mrs Granger said. Mr Granger looked thoroughly confused.

"That," McGonagall said, setting the cup down, "was magic. That is also what Hermione has been doing, albeit without realising it."

"Magic?" Mrs Granger asked, as though from a great distance. Mr Granger looked at his wife, but quickly returned his attention to McGonagall.

"I, we, don't understand."

"I don't blame you," McGonagall said kindly. "Hermione is a witch, Hogwarts is a school for young witches and wizards where my colleagues and I teach them how to control magic, how to use it, and so on."

"It's," Mr Granger began, before pausing. "I'm sorry, it's a lot to believe. I mean, magic?"

"Would you like to see more?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes!"

It had been Hermione who answered, as quickly as she could. McGonagall nodded, and drew out her magic wand once more.

"Well then, Miss Granger, what would you like to see?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. Her mind raced. Could it be true? Was it possible? Was it some kind of amazing joke? "Something big," she said at last. "That sugar could have been a trick. I'd like to see something that couldn't possibly be a trick."

McGonagall stood up and walked around the side of the kitchen table. Mr and Mrs Granger stood up as well, stepping away from McGonagall as she tapped her wand against her chin. Mr Granger pushed Hermione behind him, shielding her from anything McGonagall did. Hermione stuck her head under her dad's arm to see whatever McGonagall did.

"Ah, yes," McGonagall said, peering closely at her reflection in the kitchen mirror. "Something big, Miss Granger? Well then, how does this suit you?"

McGonagall crouched, and then, impossibly, she seemed to be shrinking.

And changing.

Mrs Granger shrieked as McGonagall disappeared, and in her place sat a proud looking tabby cat. Hermione pushed past her father, and dropped to her knees in front of the cat, reaching out to touch it -"Hermione!" her father hissed- and scratching it behind the ears. The cat purred contentedly, before shaking its head in a very human way. Suddenly, it started to grow, and a few seconds later Professor McGonagall stood before them once more.

Hermione stood up, and took a step back. She looked up at McGonagall and giggled. Where previously the older woman's hair had been in a rigid bun, it now was rather messy where Hermione had scratched the cat behind the ears.

"Yes, well," McGonagall said, tapping her head with her wand. The Grangers watched in fascination as the hair tidied itself back into an impeccable bun.

"Can you teach me that?" Hermione asked, entranced. Her own hair was rather bushy and unmanageable, and the idea of being able to cast a spell and have it tidy itself up was very appealing. Could she really learn to do it? Was she really a witch, like this woman before her?

"Perhaps," McGonagall said. "Magically altering any part of your body, even your hair, is very complex magic. Many witches and wizards cannot master it, and indeed being able to do it is far from an essential part of everyday life."

"So . . . What can magic be used for?" Mr Granger asked, still reeling slightly from seeing the woman standing before him transform into a cat and back again.

By the sounds of it, Hermione thought as McGonagall reeled off a long list, everything. Eventually, McGonagall paused to take a breath, and Hermione put up her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"When do I start?"

To be continued. . .