Assignment #2
Subject: Potions
Task 1: Write about a person who wants to know the "why" behind everything.
Word Count: 1355

Inquisitive

Professor McGonagall had many duties as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and one she was always looking forward to each summer was explaining magic to Muggle-borns and their families. Today, she was in the home of one such family, the Grangers. Their daughter, Her…something—Professor McGonagall quickly glanced down at her notes to confirm the name, Hermione—had just missed the cut-off date of the previous school year with her birthday in September, but that did not matter much: she wouldn't be the first child in her year that was a little older than the others.
"Why is it Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry? What's the difference?" a young female voice asked, the witch in question.
Professor McGonagall smiled and set out to explain. "There is no difference, Miss Granger. At least, not any longer."
"Then why not simply call it Hogwarts School of Magic?"
"Because that's not its name. Now, as I was saying, Hogwarts is—"
"I don't understand why it is called a school for witchcraft and wizardry if there is no difference between the two. If there was a difference once, what was it?"
Professor McGonagall let out a small sigh. "Miss Granger, I do not have time to explain the details to you right now. You'll learn about them in History of Magic, or, of course, you could read a book on it."
"But why —"
Her mother cut in: "Hermione, enough. Why don't you go up to your room while Professor McGonagall and I discuss this Hogwarts further?"
Pouting, the young witch left the sitting room, leaving Mrs. Granger and the Hogwarts Professor alone.
"I apologize for that, she always wants to know the details about everything," Mrs. Granger said.
"I quite understand. Inquisitiveness is an admirable trait," Professor McGonagall said. "In fact, one of the four Houses at Hogwarts prides itself in its pursuit of knowledge, the Ravenclaw house. I think your Hermione will be a perfect match for that one."
As the women talked, Hermione was reading through the brochures Professor McGonagall had brought with her, mentally compiling a long list of questions.
When the Professor left, Hermione immediately asked her mother when they could go to Diagon Alley, the magical shopping area, and got a promise they would take her to visit it the next weekend. She marked the day on her calendar.

The Grangers lost sight of Hermione for one second as they entered the grimy bar that apparently served as the entrance to the magical area of London, but that was enough for her to immediately walk up to the publican and begin asking him questions.
"Why is the entrance to Diagon Alley in a bar? Who are all these people? Why do you have more than one fireplace?"
"Ah, I, err, you see—" Mr. Granger shot to the poor man's rescue.
"Excuse us, good sir. First visit to the alley and, as you can see, she is very excited."
At that, the man's face lit up. "A new Muggle-born then? Welcome, young miss, to the magical side," he said, tipping his non-present hat for her. "Let me ask Nob to show you the way to Diagon Alley, you'd need a wand to get inside. Nob!"
Not fazed by the sudden shout, Hermione rounded on the man again: "Why do you need a wand for that? Why is—"
Mrs. Granger took Hermione by the hand and guided her after 'Nob', who turned out to be a young man with a rather dim-witted expression. Soon enough, Nob opened the passage to Diagon Alley for them by tapping his wand on a brick, and they were inside a street that looked like it came straight out of a fairy tale.
"Mum! Dad! They have books!"
The Grangers shot each other a look as if to ask, 'Really? All these wonders, and all she sees is books?', but they were long used to Hermione's… eccentricities, as it were.
"First, let's go to the bank," Mr. Granger proposed.
"Why? The book store is close by and we'll—"
Mrs. Granger cut in, "Remember that Professor McGonagall said they don't use the Pound here, honey?"
"Right… why don't they have the bank near the entrance then?"

As they neared the bank, Hermione suddenly ran forward, right up to the guards, and asked: "Why is your skin green? Why do you have that big spear?"
"Why is your skin pink? And it's a halberd, not a spear, human," the guard—the goblin—answered.
Mr. Granger ran up, putting his arm around Hermione and turning her away a bit, "I apologize for my daughter, she's—"
"Inside, human. You're blocking the entrance," the guard grumbled. Quickly, the Grangers entered.
All went well with the currency exchange until the teller told them about the number of Knuts in a Sickle, and number of Sickles in a Galleon.
"Why do you use prime numbers? Wouldn't a decimal system be easier? Why do goblins control the money anyway?"
The teller was not amused, yelling "Next!" and glaring at them until they had guided Hermione outside.

"That was… something," Mr. Granger said once they were outside (and out of reach of the goblin guards).
"I'll say," his wife agreed. "Let's just get the shopping done then… Hermione, how about we go get your wand?"
"But Mum, the bookstore is right there."
"The wand shop is closer, honey."
"Okay."
No sooner had they entered the wand shop though, or Hermione started off again: "Why do you need to know my measurements? What is a wand hand? What would happen if I were ambidextrous?"
The wand maker smiled as he called back the measuring lint, answering her as he rummaged behind the counter: "I need to know the proportions of your body to find the optimal wand length. Your wand hand is usually your primary hand, but some wizards and witches use a different hand to write, or fight swords with, than they use for their wand. I believe that answers your last question, as well."
Hermione's eyes lit up, encouraged. "Why are there so many different kinds of wands?"
The wand maker briefly handed a wand to her, immediately pulling it back after a spark left the tip. "Wands choose the witch, Miss Granger. For example, the rowan and unicorn tail hair wand you just handled was not suited for you, at all. Here, try this one. Fir and phoenix feather."
Hermione gave it a wave and nothing happened.
"Why is it not working? Did I do something wrong? Did—"
"Here, vine wood and a dragon heartstring core. That should be the one," the wand maker said, giving her another wand.
"I'm not sure why… oh." As she waved the wand, bright sparks left the tip and Hermione felt it connect to her, somehow.
"Ten and three quarter inches, a perfect match. That will be seven Galleons, please."
For once, Hermione was silent as they left the store. Not that it lasted long. By the time they had reached the bookstore, the questions flowed like water again.

A very tired Granger couple sat down with their daughter later that night.
"Hermione, we talked about this before. You can't just run off and start badgering people all the time," Mrs. Granger said.
"But I want to know why—"
"Hermione! Enough with the whys and the whats! For heaven's sake, don't you see how you're driving people crazy?" Mr. Granger burst out.
"But… but..."
"Honey, what your father means is that you shouldn't always ask questions. Try to find the answer yourself, first."
With a small voice Hermione answered, "Okay, I can do that."
Her parents shared a relieved look. Surely, nothing could go wrong. They hardly noticed as Hermione pulled out 'Hogwarts: A History' and began reading. Her parents wanted her to stop asking questions? Fine. Then she would simply make sure she knew everything by reading about it. The introduction was already an eye-opener… the most powerful wizard alive, Albus Dumbledore, was apparently a Gryffindor. That could only mean that to be powerful, she had to be a Gryffindor, too.