Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione, Snape, Ron, Harry, ginny, Crookshanks, or Hogwarts. I DO own the poems and stories. Do not use them. I still need to publish the poems. I wonder how I can….
Note. Italics are Hermione's thoughts. Bold is what she writes in her notebook. Regular font is just narration I guess.
Another note, I'm bored today. I wrote the stories that Hermione wrote in tutorial or study hall when I was bored there. The poems are stuff I've written in my notebook, except for the one about Hermione's hair. That I just typed.
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Hermione Granger was having a very boring day. Strike that, a very boring weekend.
Harry and Ron were sick with the flu, and to go near them was hazardous to her health, and to her clothes. She was hoping she might be able to get the stain out of her favorite robes.
She had read all of the decent books in the library.
She had done all of her homework.
Heck, she had even knitted twenty pairs of socks for the house elves.
Ginny was in detention all weekend for making an acne causing potion and pouring it onto her "favorite" teacher.
Her sudoku puzzles became boring after she had done her fifth one.
In other words, there was no one to talk to and nothing to do.
I'm bored. Thought Hermione.
Maybe I'll write some poetry.
Some sad, boring poetry.
She looked around her dorm. All of the red canopied beds were empty and neat. Waiting to be slept in and then neatly made again. Her trunk seemed devoid of all non boring life. She needed her notebooks. Her notebooks were the things that kept her sane. They were full of made up stories, poems, information she had learned, pictures she had attempted drawing, and details about her life. She kept them under her mattress and only took them out when her roommates weren't there. They were as nosy as a giant nose. She gave a small inner giggle at that really pathetic simile. Maybew she could write some better ones. She got her purple and gold notebook and wrote.
I'm bored. Here are a couple similes.
The frog was as green as Harry's eyes.
Ron's eyes were as brown as the freshly dug earth in a garden.
My hair is like a thick bush that the gardener hates.
Here's a poem about my hair.
My Hair, By Hermione Granger
My hair is bushy.
My hair is curly.
My hair can never behave.
You use a straightener, you get thick waves.
You use a curler and you don't want to know.
I've once lost a hair ribbon in my hair,
I found it three years later.
That was scary.
My hair is not stiff like a board,
But it's not as soft as rabbit's fur either.
It's brown, like most people's hair color is.
It has some highlights that are always there,
But they hide really well in the thick blankets of other hairs.
My hair isn't that nice.
It's a monster on my head.
A monster that nobody can control.
It is it's own entity.
It is alive.
My hair kind of reminds me of Frankenstein.
My aunt once went after it with a pitchfork.
That was weird.
My hair is weird.
My hair is my worst enemy.
Hermione smiled. That poem was kind of funny. The sad part was that it was true, even the ribbon story.
New Story.
The Girl From Brown Water Swamp.
They watched in horror as the muddy water started bubbling, the stench of the swamp getting more intense by the second. Something was starting to emerge.
A head of green brown hair that looked like a slimy rock. A pale dirty face followed with it's black hollows that it called eyes. The torso came next, covered in a once pretty dress that was now torn and mucky. Skeletal limbs on each side.
She screamed, and they finally had the sense to run through the thick undergrowth that grew around Brown Water Swamp. They ran to a small clearing with a huge hollow tree in the middle, the girl from the water right on their heels, screaming her inhuman scream. They hid and waited in fear. They did not have to wait long.
A lone man walking along the dirt road near the swamp heard terrified screams that suddenly silenced. He casually wondered why he heard screams, and why they stopped so abruptly. But, he continued his moonlit walk.
The girl from the water slowly walked back to her muddy swamp and slowly sunk beneath the mysterious waters, not to be seen again for another fifty years.
Hermione read the story again. Baffled about how the heck this got into her mind. But, she let it be. It wasn't the first time odd stories got into her head and flowed back out onto paper.
New Story, sequal to The Girl From Brown Water Swamp
The girl's belly was once again filed with the blood of her victims, and her ears were once again full of muddy water and the sound of fish and gators. Fifty years would pass before she could feed on the dirt again, not just the murky swamp bottom. 'But,' she thought, 'why do I have to wait that long?'
She snatched a fish and hungrily tore and gnaw at it, she had an idea she hadn't had since the day she was cursed to live with the waters of Brown Water swamp.
A boat was floating overhead, she heard it's motor stop, it was probably one of the local fishermen. Something exploded inside of her. Someone was trespassing in her domain, and she wanted revenge. She glided through the muddy water with the ease of practice. The swampy waters were her kingdom. She commanded it. And she demanded he pay for his trespassing in blood.
A lone trapper heard a small scream pierce the darkness. He quickly and quietly towards the source, the west side of the swamp. He saw a small wooden boat rocking in the middle of the water. He shined his flashlight on it and saw a small trickle of blood running down the strangely slimy part of the boat.
Underwater, greedy lips smacked and pointy green teeth chewed on it's prize, a new meal of human flesh. The creature the mouth belonged to's black eyes were filled with a blood red glint.
I have a very weird mind. Hermione thought. Oh well.
Another poem
What is red?
What is blue?
To a blind person,
these words are not true.
Poem
Ribbons are red.
Water is blue.
Pumpkin Pie is delicious,
And turkey is too.
Poem
Candy at night,
Sugar high fright,
That's what goes on,
On Halloween night.
Poem
In darkness, there are secrets,
And many, many lies.
In the sun there is only truth,
And nothing can ever hide.
Poem.
A car drives,
Racing, racing,
To a place where only it knows,
Driving, driving,
It speeds and skids,
Good bye dog,
It keeps driving,
Away, away.
I have a very weird mind. Thank god I'm not normal. I think I'd die. Normal girls wear weird clothes and go crazy over guys. Especially Harry. I don't think Ron likes it when that happens. I'm having a very boring weekend. On Friday, Snape made us brew a potion that smelled like a dead rat. Apparently, it is used in the wizarding world as an organic medicine. Yuck, haven't they ever heard of green tea and chicken noodle soup. They smell better, probably taste better too.
Maybe I should make some soup for Ron and Harry. Nah. Ron would probably throw up on another robe. He needs to stay away from chocolate pudding when he is sick. Chocolate stains bad. My poor pink robe.
I wonder if Ron has bunny slippers. Or frog slippers. I once had a pair of frog slippers, then I grew out of them. I loved those slippers. Ron would look funny in bunny slippers. Maybe I should get him some and get a picture of him in them. Wait a second, cameras don't work in Hogwarts, darn.
My cousin Hal is a photographer. He's really good. He gave me one of his photos once, it was a picture of a lion. He went on safari in Africa and got a lot of good pictures. I wish I could go to Africa, it would be fun.
I'm really random when I'm bored.
Malfoy is mean, meaner than a jelly bean. Yay! That rhymed. It doesn't make sense though. Oh well. I named my first goldfish yellow, he was yellow. I have no creativity.
Maybe I can scare Neville. I need a really big spider or rat. I have a rubber rat in my trunk. I got it for Crookshanks. He doesn't like it that much. Bye.