The first thing anyone ever noticed about Hermione Granger was her hair.
Oh, her slightly pompous, know-it-all demeanor might be the next thing, and might leave more of in impression, and for those who really got to know her, her intense courage, intelligence, and loyalty would become her defining personality traits. But none of that could change the fact that the first thing that anyone ever saw was her hair.
Bushy was always the first word. Wild, mane, maybe, curly if you were feeling nice. But as nice as the onlooker might feel, as little as they might mention it, it was always the first thing they noticed.
Hermione didn't mind, much. She wasn't one for looks, anyway. She preferred to let her personality and brains be the things people admired about her. And, really, most of the time, she liked her hair. It was unique. It made her stand out.
But there was one particular time, every day, that made her want to chop it short, shave it off, comb through spellbooks to find a possible way to tame it, take Polyjuice Potion to become Parvati Patil and have her head of gorgeous, smooth, shimmering, straight hair, and that time was seven in the morning, when she had to pull out her hairbrush and tame it into something resembling presentable.
Everyone thought her hair was bushy during the day, but that was nothing, nothing, to the way it was when she first woke up in the morning.
As soon as she opened her eyes she would dread the inevitably half-hour-long wrestling match that was soon to ensue, attempting to lessen her hair's resemblance to an overlarge birds' nest. She'd broken hairbrushes on that mane before, gotten combs so hopelessly snarled she'd had to cut them out, and if she wanted to braid it or do anything other than simply leave it down and let it fly, she had to plan at least an hour into her schedule.
And it was no different on this Thursday morning. She woke up, rolled over, and immediately, a hand flew to her head. She felt the mound of knots and wisps that used to be her hair, and nearly groaned out loud, barely managing to restrain herself because the other two were still sleeping and they didn't need to be roused because of her hopeless hair.
Sighing, she settled herself onto the edge of the bed, charmed the mirror to hang just in front of her, and took her hairbrush up in one hand. Feeling like a general about to charge into battle, she set to work.
Yank! Yank!
Clenching her teeth to muffle the grunts of pain that wanted to escape, she paused for a moment to pull tufts out of her hairbrush. About half of her hair was reasonably knot-free, leaving only another half to go. And it had only taken twenty minutes to get halfway done!
Her more sarcastic side seemed to come out when she was brushing her hair, she noted, stifling another moan.
The curtain moved, though, and a sleepy face peered through the curtains; the ripping noises must have roused Parvati. Hermione stole a glance at the other girl's hair, and wanted to howl in envy. How, even having just woken up, did she get to still have such smooth, straight, manageable hair?
"Do you want some help?" Parvati offered, sizing up the war zone and coming to sit on the bed next to Hermione. Without waiting for an answer, she took the brush from Hermione's hands, and a handful of hair in the other.
Hermione winced, waiting for the pain, but it didn't come. Parvati's touch on her hair was gentle, careful, and whatever she was doing was working; Hermione's hair was becoming neater and less tangled, much faster than it ever had with Hermione doing it.
"You're going to ruin your hair if you keep ripping it out like that, you know," she commented idly, taking hold of Hermione's hair a bit closer to the roots.
Hermione shrugged, not really caring. But she relaxed a bit. It actually felt good, having her hair brushed; that was a feeling she'd never had before.
She hadn't had much to do with Parvati and Lavender before. They were interested in such different things – the other two loved gossip, and boys, and fashion, while Hermione's mind was always on things she deemed more important. And Parvati and Lavender were fast friends, while Hermione had always been much closer to Harry and Ron. And now, she was firmly on the path with Harry, the path that would one day lead to defeating Voldemort.
She had no regrets about this, none at all. But she did sometimes wonder what it would be like to have girlfriends, like Parvati and Lavender. Ginny was the closest thing she had, and that relationship was still very new. Hermione had never been interested in things like clothes or makeup, but she would have liked to have someone to talk to when Ron was being an imbecile, and obviously she couldn't use Harry for that. Even Ginny, really, wouldn't do – as his sister, she would be biased in some way.
She supposed it was what came of having only three girls her age in Gryffindor. Someone was bound to be left out somehow. She wondered if maybe that was what it was like for Neville – Harry and Ron, Dean and Seamus, were so close, and only Neville was left.
Parvati interrupted her reverie by handing her the brush. "Here," she said, a light smile on her face. Hermione reached up to her hair – and it was so smooth! So tame! And it had barely hurt at all!
She looked at Parvati in shock and gratitude. "How did you do that?" she gasped, eyes wide.
The other girl shrugged. "Practice?" She smiled at Hermione. "I could teach you how, sometime, if you like."
"I'd love that." Hermione smiled shyly back.
As Parvati exited the curtains, Hermione reached up to touch her hair again, her smile widening. Who knew?