My wife, Jean, snuggled up beside me as I tucked the quilt around us. The change in her breathing told me she had quickly fallen asleep, but I lay there looking up at the ceiling. It had been a very long day – and I'd had a few drinkypoos – but sleep wouldn't come. There were too many memories, the most recent being me giving my daughter to another man.

I'm John Granger, Hermione's father, and we've just got back from her wedding. It's strange, I know, but I'd never given much thought before to a father "giving away" his daughter. I'd always thought of it as one of those old meaningless traditions, but it wasn't. I'd led her up the aisle, handed her over to her husband-to-be and walked away. Twenty minutes later, she wasn't Hermione Granger, she was Hermione Weasley, and married to Ron. It felt like I'd handed over a part of my heart. It wasn't even as if they were moving to Timbuktu and we wouldn't see them again. They had a house near his parents in Ottery St Catchpole, only about an hours drive from us.

No, what had put me in this reflective mood was that I was no longer the Number 1 man in her life. Truth be told, I hadn't been for a long time. They'd been living together –"shacked up" as Jean put it, especially when she wanted to shock my mother – for a few years now, but this was the final confirmation my little girl was a grown woman.

At big life changing moments, I always get reflective. I did the day she was born, when I finally got back from the hospital. I couldn't sleep then, either.

-o0o-

Jean and I had known each other for many years. She was the receptionist at my first dental practise. Mr. Thompson was the owner, and he was always Mr. Thompson. I was Granger, only Mr. Granger in front of the patients. There was no insult or slur intended or taken, that's just the way things were in those days. The receptionist was Miss. Wilkinson; it was several weeks before I knew her first name.

I suppose it was natural that we should gravitate towards each other. Mr. Thompson – I never called him anything else, even after he'd retired – was so much older we didn't have much in common. He thought "The Beatles" were insects, and wondered why we were suddenly so enthralled with entomology; he even offered to show us his butterfly collection. Jean and I struggled desperately to avoid each other's eyes for the rest of the day. That was the first time we realised we were something more than colleagues.

It was shortly after that Jean confided her big secret to me. She'd always planned on being a dentist herself. There had been some kind of hiatus during her A-levels – she hinted there was a boy involved – so had never been able to get to University. It was an almost off-hand comment of mine that she should retake them and go for her dream.

Well, she took me up on it. I was always proud of her, though it did put our relationship on hold for a while – 8 years to be exact, whilst she retook her exams, then went off to University to study and get her post grad experience. I suppose I was worried she'd meet somebody else, we were never "officially" dating, but she never did.

Shortly after she qualified, Mr. Thompson announced his retirement and I bought the practice from him, Jean joining as my assistant. It was a hectic couple of years; juggling the new business and the finances. A couple of times I almost ran out of money and the overdraft was stretched to its limit, but I got through somehow.

We still weren't "going steady", but spent all our time together. One day, I'm not sure what it was, but I saw something in her face – maybe a smile or a look – and I knew exactly what I wanted so I proposed, right there in the surgery. A year later we married.

We didn't worry too much about children. Truth be told we wondered if we were too old. I was 36, Jean 31 when we finally tied the knot and that was old in those days, so it seemed little short of a miracle when Jean told me she was pregnant almost three years later. It had been a rather good Christmas, I suppose!! It was our first skiing holiday, our first real break in years, and the gluhwine just got us nice and relaxed.

The pregnancy went off surprising well. Because of her age (Jean was fast approaching 34) she was under close medical supervision. As I said, she was considered old for a first timer. The doctors told her to stop work and rest lots. Because of that, perhaps, things just went ahead. Even before she was born, my baby was as good as gold. Then, on the 19th September 1979, we were "safely delivered" of a little girl. She was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen - so small, so fragile.

We, Jean actually, picked the name Hermione, she'd read it in Shakespeare somewhere, so I suggest Jean as a second name. Jean was adamant, she never liked her name, said it made her sound old, so the compromise was Jane. After a few days in hospital, they came home, and we started a whole new phase of our lives – as a family.

-o0o-

If I'd known then what I know now, it would have explained a lot. Even though I didn't have much experience with children, it was obvious to me that Hermione wasn't a "normal" child. I know it may shock you to hear a parent say that, but she wasn't.

She never cried, for a start. She smiled lots, and laughed and loved to be hugged, but she never cried. She was slightly precocious as well. Being new parents, we read all the childcare books we could, and she was always a couple of months ahead – you name it; crawling, standing, walking, talking and especially reading.

We're both avid readers, so it was obvious we would encourage a love of books, but with Hermione (sorry, we never got round to a pet name, or shortening it – even now she is Hermione to us) it went to a whole new level. She didn't just read books, she devoured them. Books were the cause of her first telling off, and the first indication something was very different.

I'd gone up to her room one day, Hermione would have been about 4 years old, and she was playing. Well, playing for her. All the toys were lined up in ordered rows, and she was reading to them. There were books everywhere; it was like an explosion in a bookshop. I told her to tidy up immediately, the place looked like a tip and she wasn't to come down until it was done.

I swear, no more than three minutes later she was in the living room smiling, telling me she'd done it. I, of course, said she hadn't and to stop being silly. The more she insisted, the crosser I got. Hermione had never lied before, never even told a little fib. Was it her age?

'Right, let's go and look. I think you'll be going to bed without any supper, young lady.'

Of course, the room was perfect. Every book was back on the shelves - ordered by Author and Title.

-o0o-

Things didn't change much when she started school. Even there, she was different. But, what worried us most was that she didn't seem to be able to make friends. We thought it was our fault. Perhaps I should explain.

We'd bought a house in an "Executive Development", only 12 houses in a cul-de-sac. Very middle class and self-contained, with most of the neighbours being our age or older. That meant there no children of her age to play with. Her first school was private, so she was dropped off and picked up every day by one of us. We tried to get her interested in the things we thought little girls should do – ballet, tennis or horse riding - but it all came to nothing. All that seemed to occupy her was reading. Hermione confided one day that she thought her classmates 'rather childish'. She occasionally went to birthday parties, and had some herself, but preferred to celebrate with a small dinner party for just the three of us. We were concerned she was missing out, but didn't know what to do about it.

The "happenings" carried on as well. It was nothing you could ever put your finger on. For example, she used to jump down the stairs. Most children do that, I know, but she jumped from half way and did seem to fall slightly slower than Newton would have predicted. Then there were the times she was sent upstairs to get something. We could never work out how she did it so quickly, she hardly seemed to have the time to get to the stairs, let alone up them and back again.

Apart from that, she was growing up, and to my (perhaps prejudiced) eye becoming a real beauty. OK, her incisors were a little prominent, but as dentists we new that could be fixed with time and braces. It was time to consider her next school.

We decided that continuing with private education would be best for her. To be honest, we weren't sure if she would be tough enough to handle the local state school. I suppose it was us being over protective and she would have been fine, but…well. We'd pretty much settled on a place for her at a girl's school, Marchioness House, and she'd passed the entrance exam with a mark that frankly astounded us. I knew she was good, but this was exceptional. The other thing that got me was the effect she had on the Head Mistress. The interview lasted about a minute. Hermione looked at her and smiled and suddenly …

'Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Granger that will be perfect. I'm sure your daughter will be very happy here, and we look forward to welcoming her in September. We will send you a uniform and book list in due course.'

That was the entire conversation.

Everything was settled, we were very pleased. Hermione seemed happy.

Then the letter arrived.

(A/N For our American friends, "A-levels" are the exams taken in the UK at 18 and required for University places. They are equivalent to NEWTS)