Harry Potter: Awakening the Unknown

A few days after the letters arrived, the Granger household bustled with excitement.

Well, Hermione did. Her parents, while supportive, were still hesitant about the entire concept of magic. It wasn't that they doubted their daughter, but accepting something so impossible to imagine was a challenge.

That morning, Hermione sat by the window, bouncing slightly in her chair as she clutched A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. Her eyes flicked between the pages and the clock, anticipation building with every passing minute.

When the doorbell finally rang, she shot up from her seat, nearly knocking over her tea in the process.

"I'll get it!" she called, rushing toward the door.

Mrs. Granger, who had been reading on the couch, raised an amused eyebrow but followed her daughter nonetheless.

Opening the door revealed a tall woman with a severe expression, dressed in deep emerald robes. She held herself with a posture that demanded respect, and her sharp gaze immediately took in Hermione with quiet scrutiny.

"Good morning," the woman said. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. May I assume you are Miss Granger?"

"Yes! It's wonderful to meet you, Professor," Hermione said, practically beaming.

McGonagall's stern expression softened ever so slightly. "A pleasure. And you must be Mrs. Granger?" she added, turning toward the woman behind Hermione.

Mrs. Granger gave a polite nod, though there was clear uncertainty in her eyes. "Yes, feel free to call me Elizabeth. Please, come in."

As McGonagall stepped inside, she took in her surroundings with a careful gaze before directing her attention back to Hermione. "I trust you received your Hogwarts letter?"

"Yes! It was brilliant—we've already started preparing."

McGonagall blinked. "Already?"

Hermione perked up, missing the suspicion in McGonagall's tone. "Oh yes! Harry and I—"

McGonagall's expression changed instantly. "Harry?"

"Harry Potter," Hermione clarified, as if the answer were obvious. "We've been studying together for weeks now! We even went to Diagon Alley already."

McGonagall's mouth pressed into a thin line. "That… is unusual." Her gaze shifted toward Mrs. Granger, who now looked equally bewildered.

"Hermione, dear," her mother said slowly, "I thought you were just playing with a friend."

"We weren't playing," Hermione corrected. "We were studying real magic!"

McGonagall's lips twitched, though it was difficult to tell whether it was amusement or concern. "I see."

The professor folded her arms, clearly reevaluating her expectations. It wasn't uncommon for Muggle-borns to be excited about magic, but Hermione's knowledge was already far beyond what was typical.

Before she could say anything more, Hermione turned back to her mother. "Professor, could we go pick up Harry? He has to come with us."

McGonagall hesitated. She had originally planned to escort Hermione alone, but if Harry Potter had somehow already ventured into the wizarding world, she needed to ensure everything was in order.

"…Very well."

The contrast between the Granger home and Privet Drive was stark. Where the Granger house felt warm and welcoming, Number Four felt cold and rigid, even from the outside.

McGonagall knocked firmly on the door. They waited.

After a long pause, the door was yanked open, revealing a broad, red-faced man with an ill-tempered scowl.

"What do you want?" Vernon Dursley barked, his beady eyes darting between McGonagall, Hermione, and Mrs. Granger.

McGonagall's expression hardened. "I am here for Mr. Potter."

Vernon's face twisted. "There's no 'Mr. Potter' here."

A quiet muffled noise from within the house made McGonagall's eyes narrow. Without waiting for permission, she stepped past Vernon, sweeping into the house with the air of someone who belonged there, whether he liked it or not.

"Hey—wait just a—!" Vernon sputtered, but McGonagall was already moving.

Hermione and her mother followed quickly, and what they saw made Hermione's stomach drop.

Harry stood at the far end of the hallway, his small frame tense. His glasses were askew, and there was a faint red mark on his arm where Vernon had grabbed him. Petunia stood behind him, pale and rigid, while Dudley peeked around the corner.

McGonagall's face darkened. Her hand flexed, fingers itching toward her wand.

"You dare lay a hand on a child?" she hissed, her voice dangerously low.

Vernon spluttered, but McGonagall was already raising her wand. "Say one more word, Mr. Dursley, and I will personally ensure you regret it."

Vernon went silent and Petunia let out a strangled sound but said nothing.

Mrs. Granger was the one who stepped forward, her voice firm but calm. "Harry, dear, go get your things."

Harry hesitated. "But—"

"No arguments," McGonagall said, her voice leaving no room for discussion.

Not wasting a second, Harry dashed toward the cupboard under the stairs. He didn't have much, a few books, but he wasn't leaving anything behind.

McGonagall turned back to Vernon and Petunia. "Harry will not be returning here."

Vernon looked livid but too afraid to speak. Petunia swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of her skirt.

"I will be reporting this," McGonagall continued coldly. "If I so much as suspect you have mistreated another child—Muggle or magical—I will be back."

Harry returned, his books wrapped up in a sheet and slung over his shoulder.

"Come along," McGonagall said, nodding toward the door.

As they stepped outside, Mrs. Granger turned to McGonagall. "Professor, he can stay with us."

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

McGonagall hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Very well. I can find him somewhere for next summer once the school year begins."

Hermione smiled lightly at Harry, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something light settle in his chest.

Freedom.

That evening at the Granger house was unlike anything Harry had ever experienced. He had expected some level of awkwardness. After all, he had just been pulled from the Dursleys' home with little warning, but there was only warmth.

Dinner was a simple affair, just a roast with vegetables and warm bread, but to Harry, it felt almost extravagant. He had learned long ago to take small portions, eat quickly, and not draw attention to himself, but when Mrs. Granger noticed, she frowned.

"There's plenty, Harry. You can have as much as you'd like."

Hermione nudged the serving dish closer to him encouragingly.

Harry hesitated, gripping his fork tightly. The Dursleys had always made it clear. He got what they allowed, and nothing more.

But here, no one was glaring at him, no one was watching to make sure he didn't take too much. Slowly, he reached out and took another piece of bread. Mrs. Granger simply smiled and went back to eating.

Afterward, Mrs. Granger set up a proper place for Harry to sleep. She insisted he take the guest room, despite his quiet protests that the couch would be fine.

The bed was soft, the blankets thick and warm, and when she left him to settle in, he just lay there staring at the ceiling.

It felt strange...

This level of care, this kindness with no strings attached. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but for the first time in years, he felt...

Safe.

Later that night, McGonagall returned, still looking stern but with a small grin a the edges of her lips.

"I will return tomorrow morning," she informed them. "We will all head to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies."

Hermione practically vibrated with excitement. Harry, still adjusting to the fact that he didn't have to worry about returning to the Dursleys just yet, simply nodded.

Mrs. Granger looked at the professor with a calm but firm expression. "And after that?"

There was an unspoken understanding between them.

Mrs. Granger nodded, satisfied. "Then we'll see you in the morning."