Sorry, this is being rewritten, it's not that good and basically a mess, so i'd reccommend not reading it (at least not yet)!

CHAPTER ONE

BOOKWORM AND BULLES

A small, gentle breeze blew in from an opened window, causing the curtains to dance and flutter slowly in its wake. Beyond the walls and past all the tall, magnificent bushes, lay the adequete and lively neighborhood of Vinewood Street, of which was being bombarded by happily content birds and creatures alike. Flying from branch to branch, they chirped to each other in greeting, while the sound of howling dogs could be heard all the way down the next street over.

Ms. Bradley, of house number five, could be seen standing in front of her bay window, trying to juggle teacups and dishes simultaneously as she tried to keep an eye out on the currently smoking bacon. Fortunately for him, the man living in the home next to her seemed to be having a much more relaxed morning, as he absentmindedly flipped through the small amount of channels on the television, trying to find something entertaining; he ended up settling on the loudest and eye-catching broadcast he could find. However, a few doors down at house number nine, the people living there were more relatively quiet. Inside stood pictures on dark and wooden table stands, each showing a bushy haired girl with rather large front teeth, and intelligent brown eyes, both on a face that only kept getting older and older as the years went by. In the kitchen, fresh orange juice laid upon the counter; toast, with marmalade spread all over it's slightly burned top, sat next to it.

Almost like following a trail, the smell drifted up past the stairs and down the hall, until it entered through under a closed door, right into the room of an eleven year old girl, Hermione Granger.

She woke up with a start. With her fingers curled into her palms, she rubbed at her sleepy eyes, swinging her legs to the edge of her bed. Trying to get a hold of her surroundings, she stared groggily around the room. A small, round table, covered in a pile of stacked books, brushed against the side of her tall dresser, where it stood, shiny and new, looking as if it had never been used. Nearby, there was a white shelf by the door that held all of her possessions, including her rather embarrassing baby toys she never got rid of. The walls behind it were a light shade of purple. Everything was the same as always: neat and organized; clean and dusted. Her eyes searched for a clock.

Peering at the small table, Hermione let out a frustrated sigh as she realized the pile of books blocked what should have shown a few numbers that held the correct time. She prepared for the worse: she could be late for school. Not wasting any time, she dashed around her room, quickly stuffing socks onto her feet and slipping into her usual attire. Then she grabbed as many textbooks that she could fit into her arms and tore downstairs. It was by the time she reached the kitchen did she remember that she should have checked the clock when she had the chance.

Sitting in a chair, her mother hummed under her breath, flipping through a pile of letters.

"Mum!" called Hermione, anxiously bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You wouldn't happen to know what time it is, would you? I would really, really hate if I were to be late. Goodness knows if I am, I will never forgive myself. Miss. Flores only said to me last week how proud she was of my consistent work, and that I was doing so really, really well. Do you—?"

"Relax, honey," said her mother, placing a calming hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Don't you worry now, you have all the time in the world at your doorstep. School doesn't start in another hour or two."

Hermione instantly let out a breath of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

"Yes, well, I must say it's nice to see you up so early. Here, have something to eat."

Jean Granger walked busily to the pan and grabbed a new plate. "Hmm." She squinted in thought. Leaning over to rummage through the cabinet, she imerged with a couple slices of bread in her hand, and waved them in triumph. "Thought I'd ought to make some more; I might have burned the last few. I was caught up in that book you got me—you know, the one for my birthday."

"The book! I remember—obviously," said Hermione as she sat down. "I take it you like it, then?"

"Oh yes, it's quite fascinating." Her mother smiled, putting the bread in the toaster. "And how about you? Read anything lately?"

Hermione frowned. "No, not really, I've been trying to study more. Miss. Flores said—"

R-i-i-ng!

The sound of the phone interrupted her, and her mother ran toward the telephone, almost tripping in the process. "I'll be right back! Watch the toast!"

Sitting back in her seat, Hermione waited for her mother. She could hear upset tones from the other room, so she deducted that the conversation over the line wasn't exactly pleasant. Hermione had just started formulating a reason on why, when a loud huff distracted her from her thoughts. She watched as her mother walked back into the room, looking irritated.

"Is everything all right?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"Yes, yes," said Jean reasurringly, "everything's fine. It was your father; he got himself in a spot of trouble, but never you mind. I'll be covering for him after I get you all sorted for school. How's the toast looking?"

She checked the toast, and her mother served her up a plate. They sat quietly, both lost in their own thoughts; both lost in what felt like to be an endless pit that resided inside their minds—a running wheel that didn't seem to tire. That day, Hermione was fretting over her classes.

Like usual.

It wasn't a secret that Hermione loved school; mostly, she was the one to answer all the questions her teacher asked, and she'd never get caught dead with a detention. For some reason, however, that seemed to make her a pure target from a bunch of kids, who, she figured, has nothing else better to do with their lives than to make her miserable. Taunting and teasing her endlessly, they made fun of everything: her hair, her books, or her clothes. They even went as far to imitate chipmunks whenver she was was around. Needless to say, it bothered her—not that she'd ever admit that.

Unfortunately, she could recall one horrid day, when they were blocking the entrance, keeping her from getting inside. They had crowded around her like she was an unfamiliar speciem, laughing as she got angrier and angrier—laughing even more when she threatened to tell a teacher. So, for the next few minutes, she had endured their constant insults, trying to fight the rising tears that she knew would soon be making their appearance if she had to stay any longer. In fact, she did cry; a cry of relief when a school worker showed up and intercepted, telling them off.

That didn't stop them though, because as much as she loved school, there were downsides to it as well.

"Toss these away for me, will you?" asked her mother, holding several envelopes and crinkled papers in her hand. Hermione reached over and took them, standing up to slip them in the trashbin. She plucked some stray crumbs that clung to the fabric of her skirt.

"Oh, look at you," chided her mother, shaking her head. "That outfit is so old and wrinkly! How about we change you into something better?"

"It isn't!" protested Hermione. "They're clean, of course, and it was the first thing I picked out. Besides, I always wear this."

"Exactly," muttered her mother, wrinkling her nose. "Always. It's getting torn, don't you think?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and quickly left the room with her books before her mother said anything else. There was still the faint smell of tea and burnt toast in the air. And to add on, their neighbor's dog had started barking in response to the one down the road. It was obnoxious enough to drive a person nuts, especially when doing something as important as reading.

The thing was, her mum and dad were the only people in the world she could trust, along with some of her teachers as well. No one at school would never, ever be her friend. Not Hermione Granger, the girl with the weird name: the girl with the big, bushy hair and a reputation known as being an odd know-it-all. She remembered an incident years ago, when she was playing outside on the playground; there was a pole someone could go down, and she had wanted to try it. She was just waiting for a girl her age who was in front of her to hurry up.

The girl was obviously scared, Hermione could see that. So she tried helping. She told the girl how to do it, but before she knew it the girl was glaring at her, saying that she didn't need "Miss Bossy-Pants" telling her what to do. Then she jumped down and ran across the grassy slope while Hermione first stood there, dumbfounded, clenching her fists as an unknown anger awakened inside her, rising to the point she was surprised smoke wasn't coming out of her ears. And in that moment—that strange moment—all of a sudden, the grass seemed to flatten and level down like the wind itself had turned into a thousand pounds, and the girl went tumbling away into a muddy puddle. The rest of the kids pointed and jeered.

Out of some sympathy, Hermione didn't laugh. She knew what it felt like to be embarrassed.

But that was only one, out of counteless others, of weird things that seemed to happen around her. They just popped out of no where. It came to the point where some people eventually caught on and avoided her—even her parents noticed weird things happen around her. Strangely enough, a small part of her felt special. Only a little bit, that is. Like school, there were too many downsides to ignore.

Hermione continued between reading, and being lost in her thoughts. The sun started hiding behind the gray clouds, and a gloomy Monday morning started to seep in. Before she knew it, her mother was calling her from her seat on the couch with keys around her wrist, holding them up and dangling them in a tune.

"Time's up," she said, looking expectantly at Hermione. "Make sure you have everything, won't you?"

"I never forget," said Hermione, standing up to retrieve her bookbag.

"Hmm, you don't, do you?" Jean mused. "Don't tell your father, but he could learn a thing or two from you. Goodness knows how many times I've had to remind him of his schedule..."

Hi!

This is Hermione's point of view in the Harry Potter books. I tried to keep her in character as well as I possibly could, but I have a feeling I probably messed up quite a bit. And also, if I made any mistakes involving the grammar or even something to do with the HP books, I apologize. I really hope you like it, though to warn you, I easily give up on stories. But I happen to like this one, so hopefully I can try and continue.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series. J.K Rowling does because she's brilliant!

CHAPTER ONE

BOOKWORM AND BULLES

A warm, morning light shone through the open window, and a small breeze blew aside the white, long curtains. Birds fluttered by, chirping to each other in greeting while dogs could be heard howling all the way down the next street. Inside the house pictures stood on dark, wooden table stands, each showing a bushy haired girl with rather large front teeth, and intelligent brown eyes that kept getting older and older as the years went by. In the kitchen, fresh orange juice and tea were laying upon the counter, with marmalade spreaded all over thin, burnt toast next to it. The smell seemed to wade under the closed door and into the room of an eleven year old girl, Hermione Granger.

She woke up with a start, rubbing her sleepy eyes, all the while swinging her legs to the edge of the bed. She blearily stared around the room, trying to get a hold of her surroundings. A small table covered in thick books brushed against her tall dresser where it stood shiny and new, looking as if it had never been used. Nearby, there was a white shelf by the door that held all of her possessions, including her embarrassing baby toys she never got rid of. The walls were a pearly white. It was the same as always; neat and organized, clean and dusted. Her eyes searched for a clock.

Hermione peered at the small table, but a pile of books blocked what should have shown a few red numbers that would have told her the correct time. She prepared for the worse; she could be late for school. Not wasting any time, she dashed around her room, quickly stuffing socks onto her feet, and slipping into her usual outfit. Then she grabbed as many books that she could and tore downstairs. It was by the time she reached the kitchen did she remember that she should have checked the clock when she had the chance.

Her mother was humming under her breath, flipping through a pile of letters.

"Mum!" called Hermione, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Do you know what time it is? Oh, I hope I'm not late. Goodness knows if I am, I will never forgive myself. Miss. Smith said that she was very proud of me last week and that I was such a hark worker. And if I'm late, I honestly hope I'm not, but-"

"Calm down, honey," said her mother, smiling. "You have all the time in the world at your doorstep, school doesn't start in another two hours. Though, I'm glad to see you're up so early. Did that dog wake you too?"

"No, I don't think so," answered Hermione. "Is there anything to eat?"

"Yes, there is!" Her mother walked over to the cabinet and grabbed a few slices of bread. "I should probably make more toast. I'd give you the ones I just made, but I overdid them a little too long. I was busy reading that new book you gave me for my birthday and got a little distracted."

Hermione took a seat. "Oh, so I take it that you like it then? That's really good, because it took me hours to find the right one, and I wasn't sure you'd be interested. Of course, I thought it seemed quite fascinating, I actually was thinking of getting a copy... Do you think I could take a look after you're done with it?"

"No problem, dear." Her mother buttered the slice and laid it down on a plate. "Oh and your father said to have a good day at school, he left early for work this morning. He nearly forgot about that appointment he scheduled..." She shook her head. "I told him over and over to write it in that planner I got for him a few months ago. But does he ever listen? No, of course not. I suppose it's a good thing I did so instead."

"What about you?" asked Hermione, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast. "Don't you have to go to work at the Dentists'?"

"Not quite yet," said her mother, "I'm going after I drop you off at school."

Hermione frowned. "You do know it's not a far walk from here, right? I've done it before, and you wouldn't need to drive me."

"No," said her mother immediately. "Not after what happened last time."

"Last time? Nothing happened then..."

But Hermione knew that something did indeed happen. Usually, she was the one to answer all the questions in class. She was the one who did all her homework on time. Not once in her life had she ever gotten a detention. And for some reason, that made her the pure target of a bunch of kids who, she figured, had nothing else to do with their life. They teased and taunted her. They made fun of her hair, and imitated chipmunks whenever she was around. Sometimes it made her cry, not that she'd say so.

However, one day, before should could get inside the school, they were waiting by the entrance. They crowded her and formed a circle, and she knew she couldn't stand up to all of them. The only thing she could do was say that she was going to tell the teacher. Hermione remembered their shrill laughs, and rude taunts. And then, in a flash, they took all of her stuff, took her books, ripped some of them, then threw the rest into the trash. They even tried messing up her hair. But that didn't stop her from being afraid of going to school. After all, they've been more quiet after all the trouble they got into.

"All right," resigned Hermione, "you can drive me. I just didn't want you to be late, that's all."

"That's very sweet of you," laughed her mother. "But I won't be late. Whoever comes after me, is late. It's my new rule."

I don't think you can do that, she thought with a smile.

"Put these away for me, will you?" asked her mother, holding several letters in her hand. Hermione reached over and took them before sliding them in the trash. She plucked some stray crumbs off of her skirt.

"Oh, look at you," chided her mother, shaking her head. "That outfit is so old and wrinkly!"

"It isn't!" protested Hermione. "They're clean, of course, and it was the first thing I picked out. Besides, I always would wear this."

"Exactly," muttered her mother. "Always. It's getting torn, don't you think?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and quickly left the room with her books before her mother said anything else. There was still the faint smell of tea and burnt toast in the air. And to add on, their neighbor's dog had started barking in response to the one down the road. It was enough to drive a person nuts, especially when doing something as important as reading.

The thing was, her mum and dad were the only people in the world she could trust, along with some of her teachers as well. No one at school would never, ever be her friend. Not Hermione Granger, the girl with the weird name. The girl with the big, bushy hair. The odd know-it-all. She remembered an incident years ago, when she was playing outside on the playground. There was a pole someone could go down, and she had wanted to try it. She was just waiting for a girl her age who was in front of her to hurry up.

The girl was obviously scared, Hermione could see that. So she tried helping. She told the girl how to do it, but before she knew it the girl was glaring at her, saying that she didn't need miss 'bossy pants' telling her what to do. Then she jumped down and ran down the grassy slope while Hermione first stood there, dumbfounded. But then she felt an unknown anger awaken inside of her, rising, clenching her stomach in a tight fist. And all of a sudden, the grass seemed to flatten and level down like the wind had turned into a thousand pounds, and the girl went tumbling into a muddy puddle.

Out of some sympathy, Hermione didn't laugh. She knew what it felt like to be embarrassed.

But that was only one of the weird things that happened around her. They just popped out of no where. Some people caught on and avoided her until they left altogether. Even her parents noticed weird things happen around her. Strangely enough, it made her feel special. Only a little bit. There were too many downsides to ignore.

Hermione continued between reading, and being lost in her thoughts. The sun started hiding behind the gray clouds, and a gloomy Monday started to seep in. Before she knew it, her mother was calling her from her seat on the couch with keys around her wrist. She held them up, dangling them in a tune.

"Already?" asked Hermione, blinking her eyes. "That was faster than I thought."

"Time goes by fast in the mornings," said her mother. "It's noon that's as slow as a slug."

"And Daddy," piped Hermione before she could help herself.

"Him too."

They laughed. Soon her mother grabbed her purse while Hermione grabbed her bag, and then they were both out the door and into the car. It wasn't a long drive, it seemed like barely seconds had gone by before they had already pulled into the parking lot. Hermione quickly shouldered on her jacket. If she was correct, it looked like it was going to rain later. Her mother seemed to be on the same trail of thought.

"Those clouds look angry to you?" asked her mother, looking up into the sky with one hand shielding her eyes. Hermione shrugged in response. She didn't really mind if it did or not. "Well," her mother went on, "I hope you have a brilliant day, honey. Don't get any sweets for lunch, mind you."

"I won't," promised Hermione. "I can't disappoint a dentist, can I?"

"No. They're just not good for your teeth."

"I love you, mum," said Hermione, hugging her mother. "Go now, or you'll be late."

Her mother started backing away toward the car. "What did I say about that? I can't be late."

"Yes, you can!" sighed Hermione, shaking her head. She watched as her mother got inside the car and started slowly backing out. Then, with a tiny little wave, she zoomed out and down the road toward the next street. Hermione watched until she couldn't see the silver bumper anymore, and then set off toward the two front doors.

The place was crowded. Students of all ages walked down the halls, some rather timidly, some like they owned it. Hermione shuffled closer to the wall, trying to avoid the massive wave of kids surrounding her like a swarm of buzzing bees. She managed to survive, and rounded the familiar first corner that lead down another hall. Papers and juice boxes littered the ground already, and Hermione fought the impulse to pick them up and put them where they belonged. However, she knew it was the janitors job, and even if she did do it, there was a chance she could be late for class.

What that thought jeering her into action, she quickly picked up her pace. On her way there, Hermione had to tell herself she was just being paranoid, but she had an inkling of suspicion that she was being watched. Before she could think on it much, her feet had already carried herself to her classroom.

Rows of tables of four were everywhere, while some little drawings and most impressive scores were on the blackboard (them being mostly her's). The teacher, Miss. Smith, was seated at her usual, slightly obscure desk, her mouth silently moving as she read something important. A slight frown crease was visible on her forehead, and she started twirling a pen in her long, skinny fingers. She suddenly looked up, as if she just realized her class was filing in.

"Hello everyone!" cheered Miss. Smith. "Hold on a minute, just finishing some last minute grading. I'll be passing out your quiz scores at the end of class, and so far they look great. I'm really impressed. Anyway, for those of you joining us, I want you all to be seated and to read the board in the back of the room, please."

Hermione was already looking at it. It said the same thing as usual; to take out some paper and pencils, school books, and highlighters. There was a shuffle of noise as everyone did so. Then, the teacher stood up and started talking. Hermione listened with rapt attention, not missing any one word. She made sure to take notes, and highlight the ones Miss. Smith said would be on next Tuesday's test.

"Now class," said the teacher, clasping her hands together. "Would anyone like to tell me-?"

Hermione's ready hand automatically shot up in the air.

A small smiled played on Miss. Smith's lips, and she went around her desk to sit down. "I didn't ask anything yet, Miss. Granger." Everyone laughed, turning around to smirk at her. "Oh, hush now, don't be rude!" Miss. Smith called. "Anyway, I'm looking at the time and it seems like we don't have any more time for questions afterall. So, I'll quickly hand out your quiz results, and then you can go head off to... P.E? It is P.E, yes?"

"Yes, Miss. Smith," sang the entire class except for Hermione. She was too busy attempting to hide her reddened face behind one of her textbooks.

"Excellent!"

A quiet silence fell over the students as the teacher handed out the scores, some eagerly leaning forward like they had to use the lavatory. Hermione sat, stiffed back and eyes wide as the teacher approached. What if she failed? What if she got not only one answer wrong, but every single one of them? She sucked in her cheeks.

"Oh no, oh no," she chanted under her breath. With her cold fingers, she reached for her paper. She scanned it quickly and saw check marks on the answers she got right. She turned it over.

"One-hundred and five percent!" gasped Hermione quietly. I knew it!

There was a loud snort behind her followed by an eruption of whispers and giggles. Hermione quickly folded it into her bag and left the class as fast as she could. It was time for gym. She could have groaned right there and then- she hated it more than anything, which was a surprise considering she didn't think she'd not like something that had to do with school. But yet, she did. Especially when they did the teams. She was usually one of the last ones left, and it got quite depressing after a while.

"Hey Granger, if you fall in P.E at least your hair will break the fall!"

Hermione didn't have to turn around to see who it was, but she did out of instinct. In front of her was a tall, bulky girl that reminded her of the tree outside her room. The girl had logs for arms, poles for legs, and big meaty hands that looked like they could easily crush a head if someone was unluckily enough to get it stuck between them. Her hair was like spaghetti, all long and stringy, and she owned a pair of narrowed, pudgy eyes. It was Lin Taylor.

"Whatever," muttered Hermione, taking larger steps. Just try to ignore her, she reminded herself.

"What did you get on the quiz?"

"Like you don't know," she snapped.

Lin smiled and that infuriated Hermione more. "What don't I know?"

"You know what."

"What?"

Her friends exploded into laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"See you," said Lin, stalking past while sticking out her tongue. "We're running today!"

Hermione stopped. "In P.E?"

"Duh!"

She didn't think things would get worse after hearing that, but it did. She fell down several times while running, one of the reasons being Lin who tripped her from behind. She immediately told the teacher, and Lin promptly denied it saying that it was an accident. Predictably, Mr. Grayson just left the sore subject alone, while she bandaged her sore cut on her leg. She was miserable by the time they trudged back up to school.

The day didn't get better after that. By the time she went back to class, she didn't feel like answering any questions, which made the teacher concerned. Then she was almost tripped again at lunch, like she hadn't fallen enough already. And not long after that, she was kicked out of the library because some students were doing presentations inside there, so she had to go back to her class where Lin sat behind her, nudging her chair the whole time.

It was just great.

As the bell rung, she was already half way out the door. She could feel Lin and her 'friends' following her all the way down the hall. Couldn't they ever give her a break? She sighed loudly.

"What's up, Hermione?" asked Lin's best friend, Marcie. She was just as unflattering. "You okay? Was that a sigh or are you having difficulty breathing?"

"Maybe we should get the nurse?" chuckled Lin.

"Or a mental hospital."

Hermione ignored them.

"Cat got her tongue, you think?"

"Must be a furball stuck in her throat."

Lin scoffed, throwing a long arm over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione squirmed, feeling her eyes sting with unshed tears. How did she ever deserve this, she wondered, as Lin started speaking again; "More like a hairball from her furry, big head. But I mustn't say that, 'cause my mummy taught me manners."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Unlike a certain barbarian over here..."

They laughed like it was the first joke they had ever heard.

"Leave me alone," cried Hermione, jerking her arm away from Lin and marching away. "Do yourselves a favor and grow up, why don't you?"

She could hear "oohs" and "ahhs" behind her as she ran.

Hermione went home, feeling more exhausted than usual. By the time she entered through the front door, she immediately stumbled up toward her room and took out her homework. It seemed more complicated than before.

She sometimes wished that something good would happen to her. Not really good, but something to make life more easier. Sure she had both lovely parents, and she was always at the top of her class, but she was sick of all the teasing and hurtful comments. She didn't like how she seemed to have everything, when suddenly it turned into nothing. She didn't even have a friend.

How come they all hated her? She knew she could be bossy, and yes, she can act like she was smarter than others. But that's all she has, really; her head. Because apparently her feelings were never accounted for.

It was like none of it mattered.

She certainly didn't.

I hope it's okay, and that someone out there enjoyed it!

And I hope you review- whether good or bad.