Disclaimer: This will apply to every chapter of any story that I write. This work of fiction is purely a form of leisure writing and none of the characters belong to me. All of the characters belong to J.K. Rowling and the respective copyright owners. No offense is meant. However, any poems that is stated to be written by me, is mine, so…


THIS CHAPTER IS REVISED! Please re-read, as it contains a bit more words. I realized that I have to get off with a good start.


I'm never the dear everyone wants me to be.

I'm never the angel you wish to see.

I'll never be the carpet you step on.

I'll never be the shooting star you wish upon.

And I'll be who I want to be.

Just not today.

Written by me.


Chapter 1: Introduction

It was the holidays again.

There is no way I can continue to study! Why can't they just be quiet for once! Hermione thought.

She stood and pranced around her room, which was in her favourite colour, with starry wallpaper. She grabbed the nearest pillow and screamed into it.

With no form of entertainment, whatsoever, for hours, Hermione was naturally easily agitated.

Hermione walked down the hallway and opened each door. Yet, there was nothing in these rooms that suit her fancy. In frustration, she kicked the Victorian-style end table, which was by her side. The miniature waterfall nearly fell off the edge. As Hermione went to put it back to its original position, she heard a conversation between her parents.

Yay, just when I'm not studying, they decided to lower their volume by a notch or two. Hermione thought.

She went closer to her parents' door and overheard bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Really, dear? You thought that our daughter is that stupid!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed, somewhat sarcastically.

There was a muffled reply, probably by her father, Hermione assumed. Probably by the door, Hermione thought.

Wait, what am I doing here? Hermione questioned. Shouldn't I be studying, just the way everyone expects me to? After all, I've been out of my room long enough.

Yeah, right. Her inner voice retorted. I should be studying when my parents were screaming about something. Who says I'm a bookworm, anyway?

I couldn't be bothered with you. Hey wait. Am I talking to myself? Immediately, Hermione snapped out of her own conversation.

She slumped against the posh white wall, sliding down. There were only so many things that could be learnt from books. Family life, for example, could not be taught.


She was sick of the assumptions that people always make about her. Study, study, study was what people thought her to be doing all the time; the prim and proper angel. Sometimes, she was so into living the expectations of people, that she thought that was what she is. Sure, everyone expected sweet old Hermione to be buried in her pile of books, drowning out the world. Yet, who knew Hermione? They only knew of her.


Hermione stood up. And guess what? Her parents' door opened.

"Hermione! What are you doing here? Did you eavesdrop? Did you hear what we said? Go, go. Go back to your room. You know how much you need to study! You are not born to be a witch! How did they accept you into that school anyway? You belong here, in our..." her father went on and on, again.

Like a robot, Hermione went back to the sanity of her room. She slammed the door shut. Its echoes could be heard down the hallway. That was the umpteenth time that her father commented on her capability of being a witch.

Couldn't they just see my results, and trust that I didn't tamper with the grades? I may be a witch, but I can't tamper them! She thought. Always wanting to please her parents, she went ahead to study.


Hermione's residence was no ordinary home. From that, I don't mean that there were booby traps or dungeons. There were however, too many secret rooms to count. The rooms were not just known as "family room" or "television room", but each and every one of them had a name, which came from its history or contents.

The residence is magnificent beyond words. Three stories tall, it stands on at least one hectare of lush land, overlooking a crystal-clear lake. The exterior was both ancient and modern, with a touch of elegance and power. Its interior was classy and spacious, however, there was no personal touch. There was no Mothers' Day card that was put onto the fridge, nor was there any birthday pictures that were displayed proudly. It resembles more of the living area of the powerful, instead of a comfortable home.

The white walls stood high, with intricate carvings on them. Carvings of dragons, phoenix, and sometimes weapons could be seen. The polished marble flooring did no harm to its elegant, although stiff, atmosphere.

You may wonder how did dentists get all the money to splurge on this redundant show of wealth? Nope, the Grangers did not buy the house. They inherited the house, from their parents, who in turn inherited it from their parents, and so on. You get the idea.


Ever since Hermione read that classical music stimulates brains, she would listen it to through her stereo system. The system was of course something that sherequested from her parents as a gift.

As per usual, Hermione was listening to Mozart's creations. She was thumbing through her latest copy of Witch Weekly, which she had asked Ginny to send to her. She had gotten drowsy with proofreading her 6 foot long of Potions essay.

Nasty Snape. May he get his own desserts. Hermione thought with venom.

"Hermione! Go to the Topaz Room, now. We have something important to discuss with you," her mother, informed her through the intercom.

"Yes, mom. I'll be right there."


Approx. 850 words

This is my first try of fan fiction, as you may be able to tell. If there is any beta willing to help, please mail me at enn.whaateverr(at)gmail(dot)com. I may take a while to reply though. Hint as of where the story is headingtowrds, isin this chapter. A very small hint anyway. I'm sorry that this is so short, but I am exhausted after finishing my mother tongue paper today. Oh, and I'd never completed reading Harry Potter. I have only read until the Goblet of Fire. Review if you feel up to it, please.