Hermione Granger and the Philosopher's stone

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone written from the perspective of Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger is an extraordinary little girl. Ever since she was a toddler she's been making things happen that would cause the other boys and girls in the playground turn their heads, not to mention the looks of horror from their parents. Not only is there something strange about Hermione, but she also happens to be the cleverest little girl her primary school has ever had.

A week into the summer holidays, Hermione receives a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
She's always known she was different, but now Hermione has found a place where she truly belongs.

Follow her along her journey, making new friends, learning new things and exceeding tremendously in her school work, but what will happen when she learns the secrets of the Wizarding world?

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13. The Banquet

Suddenly the plates in front of us are piled high with delicious-looking foods. I reach out and grab a Yorkshire pudding, at the same time as Seamus heaps bacon and roast beef on his plate. Harry piles as much as he can onto his, and Ron takes a huge bite out of his chicken leg. Ugh. Boys.

The clinking of knifes and forks can be heard over the fanfare of excited voices; everyone happy to see each other after the long break. I look around me and find everyone else is making conversation, so I turn to the ghost beside me.

"That does look good," He says miserably, practically drooling over Harry's steak.

"Can't you-"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," He says. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron butts in. "My brothers told me about you - you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-" He begins, stiffly.

"Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?" Seamus interrupts, his mouth full of mashed potato.

Sir Nicholas' expression is full of exasperation as he sighs, "Like this." His hand moves up to his ruff and pulls at his left ear. Ron guffaws with excitement as Sir Nicholas' head hangs, almost quite literally, by a thread from his neck. Looking quite pleased with this response, Nearly Headless Nick lets go of his ear, coughs and says, "So - new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the House Championship this year? Gryffindor have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable - he's the Slytherin ghost."

We look over at the Slytherin table, full of students dressed in green and silver. At the far end of the table sits a horrible ghost, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood, that could only be the Bloody Baron. Sat next to him is Malfoy, a grimace on his face. I smile at his uneasiness.

The conversation carries on, but whilst everyone else is talking about their heritage, and stuffing their faces with lamb chops, I can't help but gaze about the room. I get lost in the atmosphere and sense of belonging that I feel. It's as if my life before today never happened. I also can't help but wonder about lessons. I turn to the ginger-haired prefect and introduce myself.

"Hermione Granger," I hold out my hand. "And you are?"

"Percy Weasley." He nods, with a firm shake.

"Weasley?!" I exclaim - he can't be related to Ronald, can he?

"Yes, third eldest of the seven of us." I raise my eyebrows. "Well, there's Bill and Charlie, both of whom have left Hogwarts, then me, those two," he nods towards the ginger twins. "Ron and our little sister Ginny, who shall be coming up next year."

"Wow." It's hard to believe that anyone could have so many siblings. "And, you're a prefect, correct?"

"Yes," He beams. "Our parents are so proud - you know, they even bou-"

"What are classes like?" I ask, hoping to learn more about the school. He seems a little flustered, but answers my question promptly.

"Well, lessons are fairly straight forward for first years, just remember to listen well and take notes. Of course, you'll need to read your textbooks ahead of schedule-"

"Oh there's no need to worry about that, I read all of my books before I arrived!"

"Excellent! I presume that you're looking forward to lessons, then?"

"Of course! I do hope they start straight away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult -"

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing-"

"Oh, that's perfectly fine, I mean, it's just doing it, you know? I'm happy to start small and build my way up to bigger objects -"

"Yes, that's always the way to go when you're learning magic; there's no point in trying to duplicate an elephant when you can't duplicate a mouse!"

We laugh, but before I can ask how you would go about duplicating a mouse, Harry clamps his hand to his forehead.

"Ouch!"

"What is it?" Percy asks kindly.

"N-nothing," Harry murmurs. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"

I look up at the teacher's table and spot the two professors Harry is referring to, one of which wearing a turban tightly wound around his head, the other with limp, black hair brushing his shoulders. Percy and Harry start talking about the other teacher - Professor Snape, and how he's 'after Quirrell's job'. From this I presume that Snape is the angry-looking, hook-nosed teacher, while Quirrell is the man sporting the turban. As Percy continues talking to Harry about life at Hogwarts, I dig in to my almost-cold rice pudding.

As I'm finishing my dessert the room falls silent again, as Dumbledore gets to his feet.

"Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." The Weasley twins smirk, as Dumbledore's eyes rest on them.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madame Hooch." There are murmurs around the hall, but I decide that I'll find out more about Quidditch later. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Again, there are more murmurs around the room; Harry being one of the people to have the indecency to talk over Dumbledore. It is rather confusing as to why Dumbledore would use such a threat as a way of keeping everyone in order, but I presume that he must have his reasons.

"And now before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore cries. He flicks his wand and golden ribbon spurts out of the end, twisting and twirling into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune, and off we go!"

The hall erupts in to a chorus of out-of-tune versions of the same song; Harry is singing to the tune of 'Happy Birthday', Seamus to the Irish National Anthem, the Weasley twins to a slow death march. I decide to follow the words with the tune of an old Beatles song that Mum and Dad always play around the house.

The thought of my parents bring tears to my eyes, and I promise myself that I'll write them as soon as I can.

As the Weasley twins finish the song simultaneously, Dumbledore conducts them with his wand. When they finish, everyone bursts into a huge applause and Dumbledore is one of the few clapping the loudest.

"Ah, music," he wipes his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!" He returns to his seat, as prefects rise and start ushering us first-years out of the hall.

We all follow Percy up the beautiful marble staircase, past whispering portraits, all of which seem rather interested in Harry, although he takes no notice. Surprise, surprise. After filling myself with all of that delicious food, I'm rather sleepy, but I take note of which direction we're going in - through tapestries and sliding panels, up stairs and past big, oak doors.

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," A few sleepy mumbles come from my new classmates, as we step onto a moving staircase. We hop off and round a corner, however, we're stopped by a bundle of walking-sticks hanging mid-air  in front of us. Percy bravely takes a step forwards, bombarded by the canes.

"Peeves," he whispers to us. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, "Peeves - show yourself."

A loud, rude noise answers him, followed by a pop  - a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, legs crossed and clutching the walking sticks.

"Ooooooh!" He cries. "Ickle firsties! What fun!"

The ghost-like man swoops down on us as we duck, some screaming.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" Percy threatens.

Peeves sticks out his tongue, dropping the canes on poor Neville's head and zooming off down the corridor. Hopefully we won't see much more of him.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy warns, as we carry on walking. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he wont even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

We suddenly come to a halt, after what seems like forever following Percy around the castle. We've reached the top of a tower, it seems, and at the very end of the corridor hangs a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" She asks.

"Caput Draconis," replies Percy, and the portrait swings off the wall, revealing a round hole in the wall.

 

 

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