The Brightest Witch Of Her Age
Title: The Brightest Witch Of Her Age
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character(s): Hermione
Word Count: 819
Rating: PG
Summary: Five things Hermione doesn't know.
Notes: Written for fivebyfiction "five things" monthly challenge.
Ever since he bothered to notice her, Ron would call her bras "those bloody Muggle contraptions." She never asked, and nobody ever volunteered, what normal witches were supposed to wear instead.
-
She doesn't know exactly when she first realised that her feelings for Ron went beyond simple friendship.
It may have been in their third year, when Ron had got so angry at Crookshanks that he had stopped speaking to her. That had hurt; not the fighting, because that had been easy, but having him be really, actually mad at her.
It may have been at the Quidditch World Cup, when she had wanted to scream at him to just shut up about Viktor Krum, already, and pay attention to her! What did he think, that she had come just to see the match?
It may have been the day before Halloween, when she had seen the way he looked at Fleur Delacour; and she had cared, and not just because it made him look like a fool.
It may not have been until the Yule Ball, when Hermione had, even she would admit, looked stunning as she accompanied Viktor to the dance. Parvati had been astonished, Harry had looked at her like ... well, like she was a girl, and even Malfoy had looked at her with slightly less hatred than usual. Ron had ignored her, and she hadn't expected that at all; for nearly half an hour afterwards, she was quite convinced that she had got over him.
Or it may have been later than that, after she and Viktor stopped seeing one another. It may have been that late, though she thinks she knew earlier than that. But she doesn't know for certain.
-
She still doesn't know who Ron was more jealous of - her or Viktor.
-
Everything she's ever tried, she's been able to do well. She was good at English and Maths, and she's good at Charms and Potions. But she can't fly well; it's the only thing she's ever tried to do, and failed. She just doesn't know how; it doesn't come to her, like everything else comes to her. That bothers her, and it bothers her that she cares. She has never envied Harry his fame, or his destiny, but she envied him the first time his broom jumped into his hand before hers. She envies him every time he flies, because she doesn't, not any more; she just can't handle doing something she isn't good at, and she thinks that makes her not very brave at all.
-
She doesn't have her Hogwarts acceptance letter any more. Her first year at Hogwarts, she had taken the letter with her, in case she had needed to produce it, to prove that she really did belong. It had stayed in her trunk the rest of the year, and she had taken it out whenever she needed to prove that to herself. Her second year, it had been a security blanket of sorts, a good luck charm - not, Hermione would have said, that she believed in anything of the sort. Her third year, it hadn't been anything in particular, but she had packed it anyway; and every year after, it had gone in her trunk with the rest of her school things, sometimes used as a bookmark or carried around in her pocket, sometimes just there. Had she been asked, Hermione wouldn't have been able to rationalise it, which was unusual for her; but that letter was her most prized possession, and the only thing, sometimes, keeping her from thinking she had gone completely mad. What she knew, what she remembered, could all be wrong; but this was written down, and so that was okay.
She lost it, she thinks, when the school was attacked, though she can't remember exactly the last time she saw it. She still remembers what it said, written in the green ink that had somehow made it more believable, and she recites it to herself sometimes, when it's dark and she's alone. It's not the same, though, and she knows it won't be the same if she writes herself another one. She remembers thinking - only for a second, mind, and not that she'd ever admit - that when she couldn't find the letter, it had broken the spell; that with nothing to prove it, she wouldn't be a witch any more, but just an ordinary girl. She still is a witch, she knows, only she can't read about it any more.
She has moments, sometimes, when she doesn't feel very much like a witch at all, and it's then that she misses the letter most. She has a wand, but that's just a fancy stick, really, and occasionally the lack of real, physical proof bothers her. Even now, she doesn't know why she deserved to be special, and she thinks she'll always be afraid that one day it will go away again.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character(s): Hermione
Word Count: 819
Rating: PG
Summary: Five things Hermione doesn't know.
Notes: Written for fivebyfiction "five things" monthly challenge.
Ever since he bothered to notice her, Ron would call her bras "those bloody Muggle contraptions." She never asked, and nobody ever volunteered, what normal witches were supposed to wear instead.
-
She doesn't know exactly when she first realised that her feelings for Ron went beyond simple friendship.
It may have been in their third year, when Ron had got so angry at Crookshanks that he had stopped speaking to her. That had hurt; not the fighting, because that had been easy, but having him be really, actually mad at her.
It may have been at the Quidditch World Cup, when she had wanted to scream at him to just shut up about Viktor Krum, already, and pay attention to her! What did he think, that she had come just to see the match?
It may have been the day before Halloween, when she had seen the way he looked at Fleur Delacour; and she had cared, and not just because it made him look like a fool.
It may not have been until the Yule Ball, when Hermione had, even she would admit, looked stunning as she accompanied Viktor to the dance. Parvati had been astonished, Harry had looked at her like ... well, like she was a girl, and even Malfoy had looked at her with slightly less hatred than usual. Ron had ignored her, and she hadn't expected that at all; for nearly half an hour afterwards, she was quite convinced that she had got over him.
Or it may have been later than that, after she and Viktor stopped seeing one another. It may have been that late, though she thinks she knew earlier than that. But she doesn't know for certain.
-
She still doesn't know who Ron was more jealous of - her or Viktor.
-
Everything she's ever tried, she's been able to do well. She was good at English and Maths, and she's good at Charms and Potions. But she can't fly well; it's the only thing she's ever tried to do, and failed. She just doesn't know how; it doesn't come to her, like everything else comes to her. That bothers her, and it bothers her that she cares. She has never envied Harry his fame, or his destiny, but she envied him the first time his broom jumped into his hand before hers. She envies him every time he flies, because she doesn't, not any more; she just can't handle doing something she isn't good at, and she thinks that makes her not very brave at all.
-
She doesn't have her Hogwarts acceptance letter any more. Her first year at Hogwarts, she had taken the letter with her, in case she had needed to produce it, to prove that she really did belong. It had stayed in her trunk the rest of the year, and she had taken it out whenever she needed to prove that to herself. Her second year, it had been a security blanket of sorts, a good luck charm - not, Hermione would have said, that she believed in anything of the sort. Her third year, it hadn't been anything in particular, but she had packed it anyway; and every year after, it had gone in her trunk with the rest of her school things, sometimes used as a bookmark or carried around in her pocket, sometimes just there. Had she been asked, Hermione wouldn't have been able to rationalise it, which was unusual for her; but that letter was her most prized possession, and the only thing, sometimes, keeping her from thinking she had gone completely mad. What she knew, what she remembered, could all be wrong; but this was written down, and so that was okay.
She lost it, she thinks, when the school was attacked, though she can't remember exactly the last time she saw it. She still remembers what it said, written in the green ink that had somehow made it more believable, and she recites it to herself sometimes, when it's dark and she's alone. It's not the same, though, and she knows it won't be the same if she writes herself another one. She remembers thinking - only for a second, mind, and not that she'd ever admit - that when she couldn't find the letter, it had broken the spell; that with nothing to prove it, she wouldn't be a witch any more, but just an ordinary girl. She still is a witch, she knows, only she can't read about it any more.
She has moments, sometimes, when she doesn't feel very much like a witch at all, and it's then that she misses the letter most. She has a wand, but that's just a fancy stick, really, and occasionally the lack of real, physical proof bothers her. Even now, she doesn't know why she deserved to be special, and she thinks she'll always be afraid that one day it will go away again.