Disclaimer: I do not own harry Potter; the mentioned is owned by J. . Furthermore, I do not intend to nor am I gaining any money or profit from this FanFiction, which is written entirely and solely for entertainment purposes. I do, however, own my writings, plots and words, as they are thought, constructed and made by me, and therefore, belong to me.

If there was one contradicting thing about Hermione Granger, the Wizarding World had thought, was her perfection. That is, she often was uncaring whether you were good-looking or bad, she would strike up a friendship with everyone.

Oh, and a friendship it was to be called, too. She'd complete all your homework, be with you in your worst hours, and, though only known to people having experienced it first-hand, she was quite content to skip classes for a friend. It doesn't seem much, but everyone does have their own values and their own levels of importance they give to things. And classes topped Hermione Granger's list.

"Education," she'd say with an air of a soldier who had participated in so many battles that bravery had become commonplace, which, in fact, was indeed true, but she was too young to be a soldier and far too brave, daring and.. well… special.

"Education. It is a girl's greatest asset. Even if you don't gain many friends in the process."

And, indeed it was the truth. But, our beloved Miss Granger was sometimes as oblivious as her much honorable friend, Ronald Weasley, respectively. But, she had failed to recognize positivity concerning her from her fellow wizards and witches. The positivity? Well, let us edit our quotation above, and add: "That you do gain many admirers."

Much of her many friendships had to be owed to the fact that she didn't have many friends in her homeland, the Muggle World. Not saying that she didn't have any friends - quite impossible a thought, that is - but she had more than her fair share, anyway, considering the countless amount of friends she had in the Wizarding World. She had enough friends that she would only be able to sleep at her parent's house no more than three weeks every year in the summer vacation, having to keep up with her childhood friends, and the like. She visited a relative or two, too, though that was usually reserved for the Easter Holidays. Christmas, however, was a time for family only. But she made friends only because she wanted the feeling of cherry blossom blooming season forever in her heart, the feeling she got when she was with a friend.

But that wasn't all. The real, true reason wasn't that, not exactly.

Well, then, what was it?

Hermione Granger was a naturally addictive person.

Now, before your imagination runs off, I would like to clarify that I meant it with no "dirtiness", or, more bluntly, anything related to sex. It was simply a fact. And proof was everywhere, had anyone bothered to look beyond that characteristic, and analyze it more.

Take the name Hermione Stella Granger, for example. The first characteristic of Harry Potter's best friend is undoubtedly an indication to addiction, one way or another. Her studiousness? An addiction to winning. Her inability to give sufficient time to herself? Her addiction to the fear of others finding somebody better, and such thoughts which only lead to her trying to make sure her every waking moment was spent by her trying to improve the overall outlook of her academic career, her habit of arriving on time, and spot on. Oh, and making sure her two best friends didn't skip class. "It does not help the matter," she used to say to her two best friends Ronald and Harry's dormitory mate, Seamus Finnigan, who used to tell her unsuccessfully to chill, and to let them get way with skipping class, because they had her, and could pass the exams with flying colors if they listened to her explaining for an hour. This act of flirting did go unnoticed, by Hermione Stella, as it was subtle enough to go undetected by her already naturally poor skills, "that they are Ronald Billius Weasley and Harry James Potter. Everyone who knows them knows they can do anything as well as resisting anything. Except temptation."

But, that wasn't the case. There were exceptions to every rule, everyone included. But, Hermione Jean Granger didn't ever skip a class, for any reason which could be considered selfish. But, that was to be expected; the girl was "a walking bleeding heart", or so was described by a Slytherin, with a seemingly uncannily violet shade of eyes.

She could, of course, skip any year she wanted, and still manage to get six O's at the end. But, her absence from class would be major let down to her beloved house Gryffindor, as she was, unsurprisingly, the person who gained the most points for it. Not intentionally, though, it was another bonus of being addicted to reading , being fancied by the whole of Ravenclaw's male population, and, well, simply being the best.

Ironically enough, if having such a brain that the word "brilliant" would be an insult was not enough, she was extremely and naturally good-looking. Natural being a key word here, it was quite a known fact that she and make-up were like oil and water: fascinating? Very. Gorgeous, if viewed at the right angle. And glimmering like treasure, like gold.

But there were people out there who compared her to oil and water, nice to look at, but not something to mess with. Because, they reasoned, wouldn't messing with it be unwantable? Wasn't oil sticky, however much it glittered like gold from the outside, it was the inside that mattered. And the inside was nothing but something causing regret and disgust in those people.

But, she had the insides which were better than any of them. She had a heart, unlike them. She yearned to help others, house elves, werewolves, centaurs, unicorns, every one. Unlike them, who only helped themselves to fourth helpings of trifles and puddings and were probably rich enough to eat a new extravagant wedding cake on every meal.

But that, of course didn't matter to them. The only thing that mattered to them was the only thing that mattered to them ten centuries ago. And they used to laugh at her for reading the same book thrice. And, fate had it that that only thing which they really cared about, and was their first priority was the only thing Hermione Jean Granger did not have.

But, it couldn't have mattered, now, could it? She's perfect enough without any flaw, and the tiny, petty thing it could have been, people wouldn't have given a second damn about it.

You would think, considering the above descriptions, that she was, in fact, gold.

She wasn't.

It was obvious that, if it had been anyone else, they would have taken over Britain with a brain like that. But with that beauty? That flowing, luscious nearly-blonde bundle of curls, those huge, soul-seeing topaz eyes, that creamy, porcelain skin, those cheeks becoming bright with pinkness whenever she'd smile or laugh, the slight freckles dotting her nose, being just barely visible, and that slim, willowy body which would give any female a hit on her self esteem by just being in the same room?

It wasn't just that. It is, of course, unavoidably true that nearly every male she met would have a distant feeling of love towards her, or, at least, of like. It was an almost unspoken rule of the deities above, who were thought not to be questioned in their actions, but, really, one cannot help doing so. Even in the case of Hermione Granger. Especially in the case of Hermione Granger. After all, Hermione Granger was known to follow rules, but there are things unknown to every existing organism, dead or otherwise, things unknown to Merlin himself, and we ourselves. But what Hermione Granger did not know was that there were exceptions to every rule. She herself was a good example, yet again, as being the brightest witch after Rowena Ravenclaw, she had many advantages she never even knew to take. She herself was an exception to the rule: "No Man Is Perfect."

Be it because of her being a female, or whatever, but it was true.

She was as golden as the rule itself.

As true as time itself.

And had beauty as luminous as the moon herself.

So what was holding her back?

Something she didn't know at first, and had a wish to keep it that way if she could.

How sad that wishes don't come true.

Not always.

Not in the Wizarding World, anyway.

Not for Mudbloods, at least.

Yes, it was obvious. And possible. Maybe a bit too much possible.

Hermione Jean Granger had not a flaw.

She had a disease, they said.

A disease worser than a cursed life.

Worser than having countless Horcruxes.

Worser than possible, they said. Something so impossibly hopeless to erase, something in which indulgence only made it a state of permanent despair, they said. Something which couldn't be helped, because there was no one else to blame. That someone, however, had a fixed status, a rank.

And what might that be, you ask?

Well, if you are thinking that after all the girl had gone through, a flaw in their eyes that outweighed any goodness, that was the first and last letter of their alphabet, of their existence, the fixed rank was above average, though nothing high- class and fancy, or sophisticated, but enough that their blood would be blurred and harmony would be ensured, and their birth was just drawn down to fate, nothing more or less, something forgotten, just not noticed and for their difficult lives due to their feet in both worlds, they'd have a reasonable life accommodation arranged. Or if not that, then a chance, at it, at least? Then, I can only exclaim a thing:

No.

The rank was below dirt.

Of somebody who should not be allowed to breathe.

Of somebody who spends their entire life being referred to as it, and putting up with it.

Of somebody who has no control over their lives , no idea, no hope.

Alas, what was expected of them?

To go along with it, that's what.

Oh, God.

It was as if they didn't care, which was true. They didn't bother to care.

The same could be said for her; In the beginning, at least.

Until she realized, before it was too late.

And acted to change, whatever was possible.

But…

Old Habits Die Hard.

But the soul's weary chance at redemption remains.

Don't get the point wrong. Their beliefs weren't right, they knew. But they didn't give their traditions up; they only knew one thing, if it came to it, and that was "Self-Preservation". They were Slytherins, and what else was expected? But of those twenty eight Pureblood families, where did they six purely consisting on Gryffindors go?

No one knew, no one wanted to.

It was torture, that lifestyle.

How many nights had the girl cried to sleep? How many nights had she spent memorizing spells so that others would think better of her? How many nights of solemn oaths, of demanding promises, of lost vows had she spent? How many nights had she been convinced of suicide's pleasure? How many nights? How many nights in all?

No one, not even God knew that.

"Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart

For They Shall See God"

She knows because of that verse.

She also knows that it was meant for her, made to fit her perfectly.

She was one of the few people with whom that soul-crushing verse could match.

Sometimes, she wonders if she's the only one.

Sometimes, she think that it was better if she had never heard of magic.

At others, she knows that it was better.

She once dreamt a dream of her remaining a Muggle; without the worries of the Wizarding World.

She saw herself, her beauty, her life. She saw herself being the best in her year. She saw herself surrounded by young, giggly girls watching her with admiration and jealousy as they asked her which curling iron she used and then turning green with envy when she would say that she didn't use any. She saw herself being flirted with regularly. She saw herself having a boyfriend who would be the one to see through her, and be famous and all, but worship the ground she walked on. She saw herself being proposed to by a man whom any girl would have fallen in love with in a second, but someone who would only want her, and only her.

She saw herself as a woman; beautiful, intelligent, loving, caring, generous, optimistic and most of all, deserving. She saw herself being driven to the school by her father, and him kissing her forehead every day, stating that she had to be the Eighth Wonder Of The World. She saw herself agreeing, not a trace of doubt; in fact, the emotion being completely foreign to her. She saw her new husband give her a breath-taking bridal night. She saw a mansion of her own and saw gorgeous curly-haired bookworm kids running around. She saw herself being admired every second of the day, she saw herself being liked every second of the day, she saw herself being desired every second of the day.

And she saw it.

She saw herself.

She saw herself wanting it all.

Badly.

How unsurprising it is, that by this point, we all know that wishes just don't come true.

Wrong.

If you are under the impression of having misread it, please do not hesitate to read it again; it's true. It's true; and when this bend came in Hermione Jean Granger's eyes, she barely bought into believing it herself. But, it was true, her knight in shining armor had come at last, come to make her a princess. She wouldn't label that description as something she deserved, she was well aware that that was something she was ceasing to believe that could even happen in dreams.

Her Prince Charming made her rethink things.

Made her rethink it all.

How ironic that he was the one who started it in the beginning.

Author's Note: So, how is it? Please review and give suggestions, any kind of feedback is more than welcome! This is my first story, actually. And do let me know how you want the story to turn out and make your requests and ideas known!

~Anna