Okay

by She's a Star

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Let me tell you, if it were mine, I wouldn't be sitting here longing for a Vanilla Coke right now. Oh, no. I would have a lifetime supply of Vanilla Coke. Ooooh . . . *eyes go all glassy at the prospect*

Um. Right.

Author's Note: This is a challenge that I did with my dear friends drama-princess and Bohemian Storm, in which we had to do a character piece featuring something bad that's happened to said character that they can't control, and a mention of a galleon.

This rambles on a bit, and it's rather boring and pointless, but I'm determined to write something HP every day 'till book five comes out, so . . . yup. You get to read it anyway.

*

I've always been an outcast of sorts.

It sounds silly, I know, and a bit melodramatic - I hate sounding melodramatic - but, more or less, it's the truth, too. In primary school, I was mocked constantly: 'Oh, don't talk to her, she hates everyone. She's too smart for her own good. You know why her hair's so big, don't you? It's because her brain's so huge that her skull's that gigantic.'

I tried to handle it logically (I do tend to do that), rolling my eyes at how ridiculous that very suggestion was, and how stupid they all were, and how I didn't need them and didn't like them one bit.

But I still cried myself to sleep sometimes, after Mum and Dad had tucked me in and gone to bed themselves, and secretly, I wanted nothing more than friends.

Mum worried about me, though she tried to hide that she did. She knew it was odd that I never had classmates come over after school; never played house or had tea parties with my dolls. She tried to convince herself, I think, that I just didn't care for dolls (and maybe I didn't), and got me books instead. At age nine I read Jane Eyre.

When I got my Hogwarts letter, I was so happy. Mum and Dad were skeptical, of course, and were positive it was some great big joke. 'Now, Hermione, don't get your hopes up.'

I knew I probably shouldn't, but I did anyway. I still remember bouncing around my bedroom, knowing that this was why I'd never had any friends - because I was a witch - but now I was going to be with people like me, and I'd be normal (more or less).

And then I met Ron Weasley.

I hated him at first, more than I wanted to admit to even myself, because he was just like the boys at school that used to tease me. It scared me so much - I thought that perhaps I was just a freak, and I never would find true friends.

Now it's almost funny - but not in a haha sort of way - that I thought that about him, because it's been four years now and I love him so much. He's my best friend - him and Harry - and I honestly don't know what I'd do without them. They've made me so happy.

I love this world I've fallen into so easily. I can't help but feel so privileged that I've been blessed with this, that I get to learn about these wonderful things that most people live life completely ignorant of.

But I'm afraid, too.

I never thought I would be a target of prejudice.

I mean, yes, I've been made fun of horribly because of my hair and my teeth, and even though that made me so miserable perhaps five years ago, it seems so trivial now.

Now, I get looked at like I'm scum because of something I can't control. I get awful words thrown at me, and somehow the knowledge that they're just words can't soothe me because I know every time I see those awful Malfoys that they want me dead. It's frightening, how much one glance can capture: when Draco's father was staring at me at the Quidditch World Cup, I wanted nothing more than to hide, to become invisible just so I couldn't be looked at like that.

But I also knew that I hadn't done anything wrong.

There is no justice in this world. Even amongst magic, there's still prejudice.

I know that I should just accept this for the way the world is, but I don't want to. I find myself wanting to do something legendary, to change things. I suppose I'll always be a child in that aspect. Even though it's impossible, and part of me knows that, I still want to try.

I think that Ron worries about me, even more than Harry does. Harry's like me - he grew up in a world devoid of magic, but Ron's always been surrounded by this. Ron understands more than either of us do, and maybe that's why when he looks at me sometimes, I can't even begin to read his expressions.

'Galleon for your thoughts,' he said quietly, the evening after we came back from the Cup.

'I'm not sure they're worth that much,' I'd replied, forcing a smile and absently hugging The Standard Book of Spells - Year Four to my chest.

He stared at me then, in that way I can't quite place, and his arm brushed against mine as he said, 'You know, Hermione, I'll never let them hurt you like that.'

I believed him.

I still do.

I know it's silly to do this. I mean, he's only fifteen - how can a teenage wizard who can't even do a proper Summoning charm and lies on his Divination homework protect me from powerful adult wizards who believe I don't deserve to live?

It's just not logical.

But maybe not everything is about logic, with matters like these.

Maybe it's about hope, and love, and believing even though you shouldn't.

All I know is that even as darkness approaches, everything's going to be okay.

I'm going to be okay.