Hello! Thank you for all the lovely and helpful reviews! :D It's really nice to hear from anyone who reads my stories, so please continue to review if you like this, and I am sorry for the pause between the last chapter and this one, I've had quite a busy few weeks ...

In response to a guest review I received for the first chapter - firstly, thanks for your kind words. :) I appreciate hearing constructive criticism as well, so it was interesting reading what you had to say. I know that my style can be quite florid, but I'm afraid that probably won't change; I simply love detail, and my writing is probably influenced by the fact that I do a lot of art and always try to include lots of detail in that ... In regards to what you said about me/Hermione/Hogwarts, I have three major thoughts: firstly, I'm actually rather flattered that you could see how much I love Hogwarts simply by reading that - even if that's not a good thing in literary terms, it just makes me happy to know that my passion for this most magical of places really came through in my writing. Secondly, I do feel that I was putting myself in Hermione's shoes, and it's nice of you to say that I 'may be adept' at that - I always feel that's something that's really, really important in fanfiction - keeping the characters true to themselves. I do also appreciate, however, what you said about me perhaps envisaging myself as Hermione, and here it gets a little tricky. I think that I am good at putting myself in characters' shoes, and particularly Hermione's, because she is my favourite character of all, so, while it may take time writing about her, as I want to get it just right, I also find it easy to slip into her mindset simply because I spend so much of my time asking myself in day to day situations 'what would Hermione do?' and because I've always felt a great connection to Hermione: I see myself in her and vice versa. However, that can also lead to what you said about 'envisaging myself as Hermione' which to a certain extent could be true in that as I feel such a connection to her, it's almost impossible to separate that connection when I'm writing about her. Then again, I do always make it clear in my mind that I'm writing about Hermione, not me; I love Hermione and wouldn't ever want to sacrifice her personality for the sake of putting myself in the story. However, I think any writer puts a bit of themselves into their characters, and the same is true I think, of readers/fan-fiction writers: I see myself in Hermione therefore, whilst I may write her in character, 'my' in character may be slightly different from someone else's 'in character' Hermione, who may in turn contain some of that reader/author's DNA.

In short, I think that I was writing something of a dual piece: all the things Hermione felt, I felt. But I also firmly believe that they are things Hermione would have felt, so I don't think I'm being untrue to her character. And I definitely picture her as very different to me, though I always wanted to look more like her - sometimes people have told me I do look like her which makes me SO happy, but I'm going off on a tangent now. :P Thank you very much for your review, anyway, it clearly gave me a lot to think about! Sorry for the insanely long reply.

Enjoy!

Bluebell Flames

An odd little girl.

A strange child.

Bright, but so peculiar.

These were the words which had followed Hermione all her life, snapping at her heels like so many vicious dogs. What she had done to deserve them, she had no idea. So it was true that unusual, often mysterious things did have a way of happening around Hermione, and maybe no one could explain them - but then, she couldn't explain them either, so it could hardly be her fault, now, could it?

Books had always been her comfort. Books. Solid, reliable, trustworthy books. You couldn't be taunted by a book. A book would never desert you. And there was so much to be learned from them, so much to fill the hours she spent alone in her room, in her garden, even at school, where she excelled almost enough to dispel her fears and insecurities. Almost.

Hermione never really knew when the oddities had started to occur. She couldn't remember a time when they hadn't, despite the hours she used to spend trying to strain her memory further back than it could reasonably stretch.

'Mummy,' she used to say, her small face serious, 'can you explain me?'

But no one ever could. So, Hermione had stopped asking, and started reading. The more she read, the more she learnt, the more confused she became. Nothing, anywhere, in any of her books, explained why she could make the bath water hotter or colder to suit her mood. Nor did she ever find an explanation for the way her hair seemed to crackle when she got upset, or why her lights turned on and off in her room when she wanted them to. The icing on her birthday cake which changed colour, the grass which grew fresh and new in minutes so it would have to be cut again - she could never find an explanation for any of it. But over time, she learnt to accept it more and more, and eased happily into a way of life which was comforting and familiar, if somewhat lonely: books, books, family, and books.

That is, until the day the doorbell rang.

Most people wouldn't have found it strange for their doorbell to ring. After all, why have it if you don't expect anyone to use it? The thing was, the Grangers didn't have a doorbell. They used to have one, but it had broken when Hermione was three, after she fell off her swing and grazed her elbow; they never had got round to replacing it.

So it was very strange indeed when the Grangers were interrupted during breakfast one day when Hermione was eleven years old by the merry chiming of a doorbell.

Mr and Mrs Granger looked at each other, perplexed. Hermione looked at both of them, and instantly filed this away as another odd incident she would have to accept and maybe, just maybe, one day explain.

The doorbell rang again.

'Well. I suppose we'd better see who's ... who's at the door,' said Mr Granger finally, still looking puzzled. He got to his feet and left the kitchen, followed by his wife and child, both of whom were curious to see who was ringing the non-existent doorbell.

Mr Granger swung open the front door to reveal a tall and somewhat severe looking woman wearing an almost indecent amount of tartan and holding a thick creamy envelope in one hand.

'Good morning,' she said crisply. 'I take it this is the home of Miss Hermione Granger?'

Hermione's eyes widened.

'That's me,' she said quickly, side-stepping her parents and gazing up at the woman with a great deal of interest, 'I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm very pleased to meet you - how did you know my name? I hope you don't mind my asking, but it seems most peculiar, seeing as I don' t know that many people and none of them would come looking for me at my house. Are you from the library? I don't think any of my books are overdue, I checked them last night. Did I leave my library card there? I think I have it upstairs, I can check if you like, just in case, but I don't think I'd have made a mistake, I generally don't. I mean ... ' Hermione blushed and trailed off.

The woman gave her a brief, beady look and nodded, but didn't reply to her torrent of questions.

'Good. I've taken the liberty of fixing your doorbell, by the way.'

'But ... we don't have a doorbell.' Hermione's father was looking at the woman, completely nonplussed.

'Really? I think you'll find you do, Mr Granger. May I come inside?'

It hadn't taken Hermione nearly as long as one might have expected to accept the idea of magic being real. She had always been a fiercely logical person, and whilst under normal circumstances she might have found the things which the woman - a Professor McGonagall - was saying unbelievable, perhaps even ridiculous, Hermione was not under normal circumstances. She hadn't been under normal circumstances her entire life, and while she was astounded, rendered speechless for some time (a feat in itself; Hermione had a tendency to talk a lot and fast about anything that came her way) and while of course she had never once suspected magic to be the cause of her more peculiar abilities, Hermione nevertheless adapted to the idea quite quickly. Professor McGonagall demonstrated a basic flame conjuring charm (Hermione was delighted to find she could even touch the dancing bluebell flames, and resolved to learn the spell as soon as she could), handed Hermione her letter, answered a torrent of questions from Hermione and a good deal from her parents, and that was that. Hermione had seen, and so she believed. In any case, the witch seemed so formal, so straight-backed and proper that Hermione hardly dared to disagree with her. Professor McGonagall would return within the month in order to assist the Grangers in navigating their way around wizarding London, and she would see Hermione at Hogwarts on the first of September.

Hermione watched the witch walk a few paces from their house before she spun on the spot and, with a crack that made Hermione jump, vanished into the morning air.

All day Hermione chattered on to her parents, who seemed to be having much more difficulty wrapping their heads around the revelation that their straight-laced, sensible, prim little daughter was a witch than she herself was, and who spent most of the day looking bemused and out of sorts.

That night, Hermione read her Hogwarts Acceptance Letter. She read it over and over, trying to inscribe the words on to her retinas. This, then, was the answer she had been looking for her whole life. She was a witch. Her brain told her firmly that witches didn't exist, that she was being silly - but Hermione remembered the bluebell flames. And while she was delighted, and eager to be among others like her, a worm of nervous foreboding was creeping deep inside her. She knew nothing of the wizarding world, nothing at all. But she could learn. That was what Hermione always did. And she felt sure that if she learnt enough, no one would ever think her odd or strange or peculiar ever again. Hermione's last, sleepy thought before she closed her eyes was that she hoped they had a good bookshop in this 'Diagon Alley' that Professor Mcgonagall had mentioned.

Hope you liked it. :) Just a little piece about Hermione's life before Hogwarts ... A bit lighter than previous chapters, though still quite sad in its way, I think.

Next chapter: Sirius immediately after he escapes from Azkaban.

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