Chapter 1 : Daffodils

Hermione likes Daffodils. She always has. They are just so yellow and happy. And for some reason, even though their shape would make you think that they lack in grace, they stand tall and they make it work. So whenever she feels upset or hurt she buys some, or better yet she picks some herself. She then puts it on her bedside table and just stares at them.

She can't help but think that Daffodils, in their lanky, crude, beauteous glory, are a metaphor for herself. She's knows that she isn't the prettiest girl (she thinks anyway), and she knows that she isn't popular or appreciated as well as some girls (Lavender brown and Parvatti Patil. How do they do it? They're like roses the pair of them. Everyone loves them.), but she intends to make it work just like the Daffodils. And she does. And one day, in the future when Ron finally asks her to marry him, he does it with Daffodils, and she cries. And in some deep corner of her heart, she smirks. She, Hermione the Daffodil, got Ron. And not that damn rose Lavender.

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