The Girl and the Books
There is a young girl with big, bushy hair, and large brown eyes. She's alone, swinging back and forth on the swingset at the park. There's a book balanced carefully on her lap - it's bigger than her legs, and she can feel bruises starting to form, but it's so lovely to read outside, especially on a day like this.
The other children at the park are used to her being there; in the spring, in the summer, in the fall, in the winter. She is a daily fixture in their lives, the little girl - only about ten years old or so - swinging back and forth, with a new big book every other day. They don't even know her name, and they've stopped bothering her - she is sharp and she is smart, they have learned, and it's quite an interesting quality for such a young girl.
The other girls and boys sit and play with their little sisters and brothers, and for a second, she looks up, but then looks back at the swarm of words on the page. Mum and Dad said a long time ago, if things went differently, she might have had a big sister. Her mum looked sad about it - why didn't she have a big sister? It was then and there that she knew it was better not to ask questions about the sibling that could have been.
"The Granger girl," one of the mums whispers, bouncing her toddler on her knee and watching her other two children chase each other around the park. "Poor girl. Busy people, they are, the Grangers. Leave early, and come home late." There is suspicion in their tone - the little girl with the book on her lap notices that. She is smart, she knows it, and they are suspicious, busy-bee adults with nothing else to do. Her mum and dad work hard, every day, at their jobs. They are popular, and they like working, there's no doubt about it. The girl is sometimes bothered by all of the time she has alone, but reading time is good, isn't it? Her mum picks her up a new book every other day.
When the adults and children leave, it's about supper time. They're all going home to spaghetti dinners and potatoes and soup and all sorts of lovely, delicious things that just melt in your mouth. The girl has to finish this chapter, just one more - her book is getting good now, she can't wait to read more. She reads and she reads until the words are her, and suddenly she's the main character, out on adventures. The words fuse to form her, and it's not until dusk when she returns home, and puts the book on her rapidly expanding shelf.
The girl takes out her supper from the refrigerator, and with the pop of a button, a flip of a switch, it's warming in the microwave. Her mum and her dad are proud of her, of how responsible she is, and she doesn't let them down, she doesn't do that.
The pasta is still a little cold, but she pours herself a glass of milk and has her meal, does her dishes, and it's only when she's brushing her teeth do her parents return home. The stop of the car engine, the jingling of keys as her dad opens the door and her mum comes in after him. By the time they're eating, she's already tucked into her sheets, with her book settled into her lap, and the light fading from the sky.
On the next day, she wakes up and repeats the whole thing over again.
The Muggle world was wonderful, amazing, fantastic. There was nothing to describe it! How these people got around without magic, without anything at all... they must be really smart, he figured. Yeah. His older brothers - they were all in Hogwarts, all five of them - said that there are Muggle-born people there. He doubts he'd be able to live without magic. His family probably couldn't, most likely - his mum cooked all her meals with it, and dad tinkered with Muggle objects using magic. Bill was brilliant and Charlie loved creatures Muggles didn't know existed.
He gazed at the city around him, wide-eyed. The Burrow was small in comparison to London's high-rising towers, the Big Ben, the Tower of London... Bill had said something about all of them. He knew a lot, his big brother Bill. One day, not too far from now, he'd be as smart as Bill.
"I promised you I'd show you London," said his brother. The boy nodded, slack-jawed. "I've been in Egypt for a little over a month now, and Merlin, do I miss the year I spent in this city. It's incomparable!"
They had stopped to eat not once, but four times, each at a different restaurant with different food. It was all so good (but he told Bill not to tell Mum he said that. She was still the best cook he knew, no matter what.)
They had taken a train, like the Hogwarts Express, Bill whispered, but underground. Fittingly, Muggles called it the Underground, or the Tube. He wished there was a Tube in Ottery St. Catchpole, that way he'd be able to go wherever he liked.
They had gotten off somewhere where the big buildings were only but a shadow in the sky, where houses were packed close together, all touching. There was Muggle children, laughing, swinging, playing in the yards while Bill and the boy walked down the street.
There was something that looked bloody confusing at the end of the street - a twisted mass of plastic and metal, children climbing through tubes and bars. They were laughing, weaving in and out of it - it looked like so much fun...
"What's this?" The boy asked, with his mouth slightly open.
"This," Bill laughed, "is a playground. The swing - yes, that, over there - you sit on the black strip and swing back and forth. Loads of fun. I'd do it if I weren't too tall. That's the monkey bars - you swing by your hands, just like a monkey. What that little girl is doing. You know what a slide is - you just, well, slide down it. There's tons of stuff - go play for a bit." Bill nudged his younger brother, and the boy took off towards the playground.
There was a flame-haired boy sitting next to her, this time. He pumped his legs back and forth, his elder brother - she assumed - instructing him how. Around her age, and he'd never learned how? Hm. That was quite curious. The girl flipped the page of her book, rapidly scanning the text with her eyes as the boy - becoming red in the face as he worked harder, pumped his legs faster. He wasn't from around here. The same kids came every day. She wondered where he came from, a little bit, but decided that it did not matter. Her priorities were sorted, and her book, sitting heavy on her thighs, was on the top of her list.
The girl didn't even move - she just sat there, hunched over, over some big, boring old book! How could she? He felt like he was on an erratic broom ride, swinging wildly back and forth, flushed, with one of the widest grins he'd ever produced on his face. There was nothing like this he'd ever experienced before! Bill would have to take him to Muggle London all the time, if this was the outcome.
After a long while of grinning and swinging back and forth, he slowed to a stop. The girl still hadn't moved, and he scowled.
"Hey," he said, poking her shoulder. She didn't respond, but he could see her eyes moving over the page quicker than he could ever imagine possible.
"Are you ignoring me?" he said, poking her again. This time, she looked up.
"No," the girl said, "I'm reading." She looked down at her book again, and this time, let her big, bushy hair (it reminded him of a lion's mane) shield her face from him.
"Why aren't you swinging?" he asked. It was loads of fun! She really should try it - maybe she would smile if she did. The girl looked downright miserable, and her eyes scanned the page quicker.
"Why aren't you swinging?" the tall, red-headed, freckled boy asked. She could not tell him the truth - a lesson that she had learned away from her precious books was that it was a silly, irrational fear to be afraid of heights. So she responded, lifting her head up as high as it could go.
"Because I'm reading," she said, shortly.
The boy frowned, and the girl sighed. Couldn't he see she was trying to read? Her book was getting interesting - she was just hitting the climax, right now. She needed to finish it, so she could start her new one tomorrow, back again on the swing.
"Reading is boring," he said, and she frowned. Boys were daft! Real boys were, anyway. Not the ones in her books. Boys in her class, at the park - they were all dirty and mean and some of them were unintelligent, too.
"No, it isn't," she said, and she knew the smart, sharp remark was coming out, the reason the other children had stopped asking her to play with them. "You just must not be able to read, then!"
"I can read plenty," the boy argued. His face was turning as red as his hair - the girl wondered, in the back of her mind, if he actually liked instigating arguments. It sure looked like it, from her point of view. "But reading is boring."
"That is a matter of opinion," the girl said, in a voice that was just a bit too old for her. Her mum, once, had told her that she was a little old woman. The girl wondered if that was a good thing or not. Maybe it wasn't.
Just then, before the red-headed boy could prove how daft he was once more, his brother came over.
"Who's your friend, Ron?" He asked, very kindly. Only boys her age were mean. Once boys grew up they were nicer. Like her dad.
She could lie about her fear of heights, yes, but she couldn't lie about her name. "Hermione Granger," she said, sitting up straight. She'd always rather liked her name; dad said it was unique, just like her, and it was from a play or a book, she had heard, one she had yet to read.
The boy was still red, and his brother nudged him.
"I'm Ronald Weasley," he said, and she could tell he didn't like his full name. Maybe he would feel a little more comfortable if he did.
"It was nice to meet you, Hermione Granger," said the older boy, smiling. "However, Ron and I should be going. Have fun," he said, and with that last remark, both the boy her age and the older boy were gone, walking down the pavement, to somewhere else.
It wouldn't be the last time she argued with a tall, red-headed, freckled boy. In fact, she'd go on to marry the same one.
(The girl with the books just didn't know that yet.)
a/n - For ReillyJade through GGE - I hope you liked it! I had a lot of fun writing this one! Also for various challenges/competitions :) Word count: 1,942