Hogwarts (Challenges and Assignments)
Assignment #4: (Muggle Music: Show Tunes — task 2 — "I Feel Pretty" (West Side Story) — write about someone that is self conscious about their looks)
"Beaver."
"Frizzy-haired menace."
"Buck-toothed baby."
"Four eyes!"
"Brainy bookworm."
Hermione Granger had heard it all. She didn't mind so much the comments about her smarts; she knew she was intelligent ― her grades attested to that. It was the digs about the things she couldn't help that really stung. Such as her teeth and hair? She couldn't blame anything for those except maybe her parents' genes. But those were inherited!
She rushed home after the last class of summer school ended. She had been so excited and proud to be going into seventh grade at age twelve — and barely that — but the novelty had quickly worn off. The other kids didn't like her because she was younger than them, but still smarter. The teachers adored her, and she always got As on her papers and tests.
She dropped her things on the kitchen table and rushed to her room on the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time. She flung open her door and slammed it after her, leaning against it and breathing hard. Then she slowly made her way over to the full length mirror on the opposite wall.
She stared at herself in the shiny mirror. There she was in all her glory. She leaned in closer and squinted. The insults flew faster.
Too large nose. Not her fault. Blame her dad.
Glasses. The doctor had said her vision would clear up in a year or two. But that didn't help her now, did it?
Frizzy brown hair. Stupid great-great-great-whatever.
Pale skin from sitting indoors reading while all the other kids went out to play. There was nothing she could do about that except go out and take her book with her. And then she would get taunted and teased, and her book would get taken away by the bigger girls, and then she'd get in trouble because it was a library book. Best to stay inside with the teachers. If that made her a "teacher's pet", then she was glad to be one.
Freckles. Her mum called them sun kisses. Hermione called them brown and plain.
Skinny. That was just genetics, right? She certainly wasn't starved; she ate well at every meal. Except for lunch when the other girls stole her carefully packed sandwich and apple juice. Then she went hungry.
She shook her head in the mirror, and turned away with determination. A knock sounded on her door and Emma Granger poked her head in. Emma was slender but not skinny, and she was tall and graceful, and Hermione thought again how beautiful she was — not without a bit of resentment.
Emma took in her daughter's tear stained face and, in just a few steps, crossed the room and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. "Was it those girls again?" she asked.
Hermione nodded.
"What did they focus on this time?" Emma said, leading Hermione over to her bed and sinking onto it. Hermione sat down and put her arms around her mother again.
"M-my teeth, and my hair, and my glasses," she answered, sniffling. This was why she loved her mother — she got to the root of the problem and gave Hermione a good talk, and she was always there to help. She looked up at Emma adoringly, squeezing her and not letting go. Emma put an arm across Hermione's shoulder.
"Darling, don't listen to them. Your teeth can be fixed when you get old enough and all your baby teeth fall out and your adult teeth come in. Your hair is beautiful — so soft and wildly curly. Boys love that, you know." She winked at Hermione, who blushed. Emma continued: "And your glasses can be taken care of. The optometrist said your eyesight is much better than it was a few years ago."
Hermione nodded, already feeling better. Emma pulled away and knelt before the young girl.
"Hermione, I'm going to tell you something my own mother told me." Hermione perked up. She didn't know much about her Nana, who had died when she was five. "She told me, 'don't let them get to you. You aren't like them, and so they pick on you. You aren't like them because you're exactly. like. you." She poked Hermione's belly with each of the last three words, and Hermione giggled. "You make your own adventure, baby girl. You're the captain of your own ship."
Emma stood. "Now, come on. You got a letter in the mail. Somehow, someone knows exactly which room you sleep in."
Hermione followed her mother out the door and down the stairs, where, unbeknownst to her, a letter awaited her eager fingers and held a completely new adventure.