Disclaimer: I own some stuff and I don't own other stuff.
"I wish I had your brains, Hermione," one person tells me and another says, "God, can't you ever get your face out of that book," while someone else says, "Top of the class, right? Wow," and I hear another's voice telling me, "Filthy know-it-all mudblood." The myriad of words washes over me...know-it-all...brains...books....top of the class....
I shake my head as though to clear it. I hate it, the way they all act, like I'm either their admiration or some filthy scum. They all look up to me or look down on me, but never at me.
They never look inside me, past the "smart-girl-who-reads-too-much" they see. Oh sure, sometimes admiration is nice. Sometimes it is nice to be told how smart I am, how much they wish they could be like me, as diligent and intelligent and all the other crap I posess.
Sometimes.
But sometimes I'm sick of being that creature who the world looks upon with glassy eyes, either saying I am too much the way I am or that they admire the way I am. Sick of being the thing whom all either admire or despise.
Oh, naturally I act like I enjoy their admiration. Naturally. How strange it would be if they told me, "I wish I were as smart as you," and I said, "Fuck you," back to them? Not a pleasant situation. How akward would it be to tell them that the thing I hate most is not when they despise me but when they admire me?
But still, there are nights like tonight which I spend, crying myself to sleep and simply wondering:
When will they ever just look at me?
And, as though an echo, something tells me, "Never. Never, Hermione, never."
Never.