She was enjoying the crisp September air, the kind that always felt sharper than it should have. It seemed fitting, even if she disliked the thought, a new day marking the first real step into a new life. Not just as Hermione Jean Granger, but in a world where magic existed and the possibilities felt endless. She would be lying if she claimed she was not excited. The dichotomy appealed to her more than she cared to admit. Learning magic felt both completely alien and yet strangely familiar at the same time. She could not understand why it felt familiar, and that realisation irritated her but she paid it little attention. She let out a sigh, there was no point fixating on something she could neither control nor answer.

  The day promised to be enlightening, but waiting for the Professor to arrive was somewhat torturous, and she had very little to do in the interim. She did have a few things she wanted to look into or rather secure as extracurricular reading, but without seeing what was available it was all theoretical. While she couldn't rely on her knowledge of the book franchise to be completely accurate, some of the events, such as Voldemort coming to power and the persecution of Muggle-borns, were likely to happen again.

  She was interrupted in her musings by knocking at the front door; Hermione glanced at the clock. The Professor was punctual, not a minute later or earlier than when she promised to be here, although as term had started she was surprised she had scheduled the visit, but it wasn't her business how the school ran itself. She rushed to the door before her parents could beat her to it. She admonished herself for being so childish in the moment, but at the same time. Magic!

  Opening the door, she found Professor McGonagall standing there, her stern expression softened by a hint of warmth. “Good morning, Miss Granger. Are you and your parents ready?”

  Hermione nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Yes, Professor, I am!” she said, playing up the image she had of an excited child. “Let me see if my parents are ready yet!”

  She didn't have time to even turn around before hearing her father chuckling. “Well, it’s certainly refreshing to see my little bookworm excited about something other than books for a change,” he said while smiling affectionately at his daughter.

  Hermione took umbrage with that statement and pointed her nose in the air as she said, “You do know there are likely thousands of books there just waiting for me, right?” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly.

  Her mother barked out a laugh. “She's got you there, Dan,” she smirked at her flabbergasted husband.

  She could hear her father grumble under his breath, “When did she start acting more like your daughter, Emma?” So her change in behaviour had been noticed; luckily they attributed it to her being more like her mother. Small Mercies.

  With a nod, Professor McGonagall entered into their home instead of onto the street "Ordinarily, we would have Muggle-born family's meet us in London near a pub called 'The Leaky Cauldron', however as you are the only family I'm showing around after the start of term, I thought it would be better to use a portkey to take you to the entrance to Diagon Alley instead. A portkey is, from what my other students have described to me, a like a teleporter from star wars?"

  Hermione could see her father’s face light up with excitement and twist into a grimace of disgust at the faux pass. “You mean Star Trek? That sounds like fun, how do we do it?” He had decided excitement was the better part of valour. She was grateful to have things in common with the old Hermione and her new parents. Avid Star Wars fans were always preferable to Trekkies. She suppressed a shudder at the thought.

  The Professor smiled at the response "All you need to do it grab hold of this, it is due to take us there in just a few more minutes, feel free to ask any questions you may have in the meantime whilst we wait." and she pulled out a scroll. Huh, not as whimsical as an old boot but I guess she didn't need to hide it in plain sight.

  It didn't take long before she felt the pull, it was just as described in the books and a highly unpleasant form of travel. It took everything she had not to be sick, sneaking a glance at her parents she was glad to see her mother was having the same reaction to the experience, her father however... he looked like all his Christmases and Birthdays had arrived at once.

  After being given a few moments to collect themselves, they were guided towards the back wall, with the Professor giving the barkeep a short hello. She watched as the Professor tapped the bricks in a specific pattern to open the entranceway, trying to commit it to memory.Hermione’s eyes widened in wonder as she stepped through the archway, taking in the sights and sounds around her. The street was alive with activity, with witches and wizards of all ages milling about, browsing the shops and chatting animatedly. But it was the different races that really grabbed her attention. Reading the books and seeing the films led her to believe there was little diversity outside of being a wix, but seeing it in person proved that assumption false.

  “Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice filled with pride. “This is where you will purchase all of your school supplies.”

  Hermione nodded eagerly, her eyes darting from shop to shop. There was so much to see, the towering spires of Gringotts Bank, the colourful displays in the shop windows, the enticing smells wafting from the Leaky Cauldron. It was all she could do to not get lost in this new world, she had always loved exploring when she was Elena.

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  “First stop, Gringotts,” Professor McGonagall said, leading Hermione towards the imposing marble building at the end of the street.

  As they entered the bank, Hermione couldn’t help but gape at the grandeur of the marble hall. The air was filled with the sound of tinkling chandeliers and the soft rustle of robes as wizards bustled about their business. Not to mention seeing the large goblins fitted with medieval armour was a sight she tried to burn into her memory. Realising she was staring a little open mouthed, she tried to hide her rude behaviour but the guard just grinned at her. Perhaps they were not as rude as they were portrayed in the books? Or perhaps, it was because she was staring at the craftsmanship of their arms?

  Professor McGonagall led Hermione to one of the tellers, a stern-looking goblin with a quill behind his ear. “Good morning,” she said politely. “We are here to access Miss Granger’s vault.” Now that caught her attention, she already had a vault?

  The goblin nodded curtly, motioning for them to follow him.

  Hermione’s heart raced as they descended deep into the bowels of the bank, passing row after row of gleaming vaults.

  Finally, they reached Hermione’s vault, and the goblin unlocked the door with a flourish.

  “This is your vault, Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said, her voice tinged with pride. “You may withdraw what you need for your school supplies, as this was included in the tuition your parents paid for you to attend Hogwarts. I must confess I had forgotten to explain this to you and your parents; we usually open one for Muggle-borns before they enter our world.”

  She shifted, as if uncomfortable with her next statement. “I know in the Muggle world the parents would oversee this, but whilst our government is happy to help Muggle-borns, they do not extend that courtesy to their parents.”

  She looked towards Hermione’s parents. “You recall me explaining about Magical Guardians? This is just one facet we are responsible for. We will not have control over her finances, but for all intents and purposes, I am the one our government will contact in relation to your daughter.”

  Her parents were clearly not thrilled with the situation, but they understood it logically. It would be difficult to come to another country, or world, where they were unable to interact with the majority of it and had no knowledge of the laws to make informed decisions. They were already unhappy at not being given a choice in which magical school to send her to; it was Hogwarts or private tutors. She had asked about attending Beauxbatons Academy of Magic instead, but was informed that it was only available to French nationals.

  She would have to deal with Britain and its future turmoil.

  Hermione hesitated for a moment, unsure how much she would need to

  bring and how many books she’d need (want), but then she remembered the

  list of supplies she needed and began to fill a small pouch with gold

  coins, and figured she’d worry about it after getting more information

  on the available books. Better to have too much and not need it, than need it and not have enough.

  With her pouch safely tucked away, Hermione followed Professor

  McGonagall back out into the bustling street. Their next stop was

  Ollivanders. There were lots of fanfictions she had read about Harry Potter when she was Elena, it was one of her guilty pleasures and so far the real thing was much better than reading about it.

  As they entered the dusty shop, Hermione could actually feel the magic in the air, she didn't know you could feel it like this, perhaps it was akin to forces such as potential and kinetic energy? Putting that line of enquiry out of her mind, she took in the sights. The air was filled with the scent of wood shavings and rows upon rows of wands lined the walls.

  “Good morning,” a voice called out from the shadows. An elderly

  wizard with twinkling eyes emerged from the back of the shop, his wand

  tucked behind his ear.

  “Ah, Professor McGonagall,” he said, smiling warmly. “And who is this young witch you’ve brought with you?”

  “Merlin Olivander, you and your jump scares. This is Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall replied, gesturing towards Hermione. “She is in need of a wand.”

  Mr. Ollivander’s eyes lit up with interest as he studied Hermione. “A wand, you say? Well then, let us see what we can find.”

  He disappeared into the depths of the shop, returning moments later

  with a long box clutched in his hands. With a flick of his wand, he

  removed the lid, revealing row upon row of gleaming wands.

  “Now then, Miss Granger,” he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Let us find the perfect match for you.”

  Mr. Ollivander handed Hermione wand after wand, each one different than the last, but none of them feeling quiet right.

  Finally, he reached into the back of the shop and pulled out a wand

  made of Aspen Wood twisted with English Oak with a core of White River

  Monster spine. “Try this one,” he said, his voice somewhat breathy.

  Hermione took the wand hesitantly, feeling like she was being shocked but without pain? Then she felt it, her magic flowing into the wand and her magic shooting out to spiral around her in a fain ephemeral glow.

  “It’s perfect,” she whispered, a sense of wonder filling her voice.

  “Curious Miss Granger, very curious.”

  “Oh? How so Mr Ollivander?”

  “Aspen wands are usually warrior wands, great duellists and are very

  well versed for Martial Magics whilst the other wood, English Oak was

  used by Merlin himself and was said to attract those with good

  intuition, whilst the core is for spells of Force and Elegance, a very

  powerful combination, something you’d usually expect from a Soldier.” He

  paused for a moment and seemed almost lost in thought.. “they are

  usually a sign of terrible events to come”.

  "Terrible events to come?" Hermione repeated, her brow furrowing in concern. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Ollivander?"

  The wandmaker's gaze drifted off into the distance, his expression

  pensive. "Aspen wands are often drawn to those who are destined to face

  great challenges," he explained quietly. "They are wielded by those who

  possess strength of character and a fierce resolve. But with that

  strength comes a burden, a responsibility to confront what may lie

  ahead." He chuckled "That said, there are always terrible events to come, that is simply the ebb and flow of life, so take it as little more than the whims of an old man, Miss Granger."

  Hermione nodded slowly, taking in Ollivander's words with a sense of

  solemn determination. This didn't mean anything, at least not yet however she couldn't help but let a little worry worm its way into her heart. She had an idea of what was coming.

  "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," she said sincerely, her voice steady

  despite the uncertainty swirling within her. "I'll keep that in mind.