In a cozy tea shop near Regent’s Park, I order my afternoon tea with two sugars and sip it patiently while waiting for my companion to arrive. It’s an ordinary muggle tea shop that seats probably no more than twenty at a time, but its soft hues and friendly staff make it feel almost as comfortable as Madame Puddifoot’s in Hogsmeade on a weekend free from the carousing of Hogwarts students. The quaint, set aside nature of the shop lends no hints at the enormity of the person I’m about to meet.
The witch I’m to meet has trapped a previous Witch Weekly correspondent in a glass jar for months, not to mention that she endured torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, destroyed horocruxes, and fought against dark wizards two to three times her age at the Battle of Hogwarts. However, a soft smile graces her face as Hermione Granger pops in the door and immediately meets my gaze. Perhaps it’s her keen observational skills notable to her intelligence, or maybe her secretary passed along a photo of me for the meeting, or maybe it is simply my poor attempt at muggle fashion that has given me away in the small parlour (if the latter is confirmed, you’ll be sure to see an upcoming issue of Witch Weekly suggesting better options than I came up with!).
MP Granger is as friendly as the reports about her indicate as she sits across from me and orders her own afternoon tea. We exchange pleasantries and talk about London’s surprisingly
good weather lately. She’s seen her eldest child off to the Hogwarts Express this year and expressed how much harder it was than she thought it would be. “Of course, I still have my younger one back at home but it is such a milestone! I find myself writing owls every day to her. I can’t even imagine what my parents went through having to send me off so abruptly to a school they’d never visited, let alone heard about!”
In hearing about her parents and being reminded of her muggle upbringing I inquire as to one of her favourite pre-Hogwarts childhood memories. Ms. Granger ponders for a moment before lighting up. “I was always a voracious reader even as a small child. I remember reading the book ‘Matilda’ as an eight year old I think. In the book, Matilda is a young girl who loves to read and learn despite those around her trying to keep her from expanding her young aspirations. But Matilda was also magical! At one point in the story, she uses her magic to have all the books she wants fly in a parade towards her. I was enraptured. I daydreamed for days that I could do the same! So at one point, I decided to try myself. Granted, funny things had always happened around me, but I never attributed them to magic, simply circumstance. But in this one delightful moment, it was the first time that I had concentrated on a magical task and before my very eyes, a lone book rose up off of the shelf – followed by the next that I looked at and the next! I was astounded and ecstatic! However… my pragmatically self [‘even for an eight year old’ she laughs a bit mirthlessly] won out and I realized that this sort of behaviour should probably stay a secret if I wanted to keep my happy life. Even as a child, I knew
that being ‘different’ could cause strife. But in that moment – oh – I was overjoyed.”
We laugh together sharing childhood memories of the unexplained (in her case) and sudden (in mine) outbursts of magic that all children have before they begin their magical education. This, of course, then brought us back to her time at Hogwarts. But MP Granger is hesitant to speak about her personal life growing up. “I realize that this was all during the time of Voldemort’s second rise and an important part of our history, but I do request that I’m allowed at least a few of my own memories to keep solely as my own. I feel that there’s been so many ‘tell-alls’ and ‘histories’ that I sometimes forget if their stories are even my own at times.” Though the reporter in me always wishes to get the dishiest details, the very real woman sitting in front of me has a plea in her eyes that speaks to the rather raucous requests asked of her at so many of the press conferences that she gives. Instead of pressing, I suggest a walk around the park to talk more of the political details out of range of overhearing muggles. The Minister of Magical Being Equality casts a very effective muffliato charm around as we exit the tea shop.
The sun beats down on us in an uncharacteristic afternoon of delightful weather and I joke that Hermione (as she’s insisted I
call her at this point) is using her well known wizarding prowess
to give us such a momentous day for an interview. She shakes her head and laughs, but continues our banter anyway. But there’s more to talk about than the past and the very immediate present, and we turn our conversation towards the future and the work that she’s trying to do to get magical society there.
“I, obviously, grew up during the rise of Voldemort and his quest to purify magical blood. It was a time of inequality in the basest ways. Being called a ‘m*dbl**d’ [she uses the term without flinching] never fazed me in the ways it did others. Ron almost went into a tizzy one time while we were younger the first time he was around to hear it. It was the smaller things that really struck a cord with me and made me feel as an outsider, and an unwelcome one at that. I recall sitting in the ‘Slug Club’ and speaking about my parents’ professions as dentists. Many instantly were uninterested, as if my parents weren’t well esteemed simply because they were muggles, but others regarded it with horror at the baseness of working within muggle mouths. To many, the lives of muggles were worth so little of their time, my childhood meant nothing to them, my parents were simple, and my life worth only from my magical accomplishments. ‘For a muggleborn’ remains one of the worst insults I still have to deal with today. While so many people mean it as a compliment to my magical abilities, it is only in reference to my different blood and upbringing.”
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But in this one delightful moment, it was the first time that I had concentrated on a magical task and before my very eyes, a lone book rose up off of the shelf – followed by the next that I looked at and the next! I was astounded and ecstatic! However… my pragmatically self [‘even for an eight year old’ she laughs a bit mirthlessly] won out and I realized that this sort of behaviour should probably stay a secret if I wanted to keep my happy life. Even as a child, I knew that being ‘different’ could cause strife. But in that moment – oh – I was overjoyed.”
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