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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2. The letter from no-one

I move my fingers under the wax and pull the envelope open. The unmistakable aroma of fresh parchment tempts my senses and I can't help but breath in deeply. I pull out the matching paper from inside and open it.

At the top of the page, the same four animals from the wax seal are on a coat of arms, with the name 'Hogwarts' above it.

As my eyes skim down the page I catch the name Albus Dumbledore and look closer. This man is the headmaster with multiple titles, including 'Grand Sorcerer', 'Chief Warlock' and 'Supreme Mugwump'. I'm not sure what to make of this, but for now I don't question it. Beneath it in more emerald ink is a paragraph.

"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1st, we await your owl by no later than July 31st."

"But, what does this...?"

"When you were born," Mum says, turning around to Dad. "W-we were informed that..."

"That you are a witch," Dad says, moving to sit on my bed.

I let the words sink in. I am a witch.

This explains so much.

The time the fire started when I was cold, when the piano played by itself during my recital and the numerous times books from my shelf have flown into my hand.

I am a witch.

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