Unacceptably Average

An A.

Acceptable.

Not Outstanding. Not even Exceeds Expectations. Acceptable. As in, barely passed. As in, middle of the road, generic, completely ordinary. The lines between smart students and idiots was sharply drawn, but there was a narrow sliver of land between then; this border was called Acceptable-land, where lazy students frolicked and breezed through life.

I am not a lazy student. And I am not ordinary.

I've known I was exceptional (exceptional! Outstanding, even, not acceptable!) since I was in preschool. I organized the entire playroom into neatly divided sectional boxes, and levitated three alphabet blocks while doing so. My magic and my talent for learning manifested on the same day. My parents were understandably confused—why no, their daughter did not show any unhealthy organizational tendencies, and she had never floated several toys out of the sticky reach of her playmates, thank you very much.

And now, their 'brilliant' daughter had just received an A for Acceptable on her latest Transfiguration essay.

I stuffed the paper into my bag and stood up, my cheeks coloring. Suddenly getting the shameful document into my room and into my bed was a must. Not a soul could know that I had this in my possession. What could I say if someone saw it? I was holding it for a friend, yes, but damn, my name was printed at the top, wasn't it?

"You all right, 'Mione?" Ron asked me, yawning. He moved his hand and I saw bold little P on the upper corner of his essay.

(Of course I scored higher than Ronald. The day when Ron got higher marks on a test than I did would be the day I ate a toad and signed up for double Divination classes.)

"Fine," I snapped, and ran out of the hall, my cloak flapping behind me. I needed to get upstairs, needed to get away. As soon as I had a moment to myself I would use Incindio and burn the hated thing to a crisp. I fled the hall and turned a corner abruptly, trying to avoid the students milling about me.

"Slow down, Miss Granger," a voice drawled, and I nearly ran straight into Professor Snape, looking larger and more batlike than ever. He glared down his hooked nose and said, "Five points from Gryffindor for running in the hallways."

Five points? Not only did I ruin an essay with my completely, unacceptably mediocre grade, I also received a point deduction? And from the professor I had always gotten high marks from, too! Professor Snape may hate Gryffindors, but I had always turned in perfect grades in his class.

"Are you just going to stand there, Granger?" Snape demanded, and I looked up at him. My face was prickling, and I knew my cheeks were draining of color.

I just had a horrible thought.

I had to see Professor McGonagall again this evening. Oh, the shame in her face! I could just hear her cold voice in my head now. "An Acceptable, Miss Granger? Really, I expected more from you." I couldn't do it. I couldn't face her without clearing my name. I needed to go to my room, burn the document, and write it again. And then turn it in. I would try my best to make up for it, in any way possible.

"Excuse me, Professor," I managed to mumble, and darted past him, running faster than before.

"Ten points from Gryffindor!" he called after me icily, but I ignored him. Fifteen points and all of my dignity lost. When would things stop piling up?

I took a sharp left and pushed my way into the girl's bathroom, intending on dashing into the nearest stall and incinerating the hateful essay. Just as I pushed open the door I was met with a violent wail, and I saw Lavender Brown bawling her eyes out by the sinks, while Padma Patil patted her back soothingly. Padma made a pained face over Lavender's shoulder.

"Hermione! You're just the person I want to see, Lav's had a horrible day," Padma said, giving Lavender a sympathetic shoulder squeeze. "Professor Snape shouted at her in front of the whole class, and she got bitten by a Manticore a few minutes ago."

"Too bad for you, Lavender," I said, in what I hoped was a sympathetic voice. Apparently my tone was a bit off, because Lavender rounded on me.

"Too bad for me?!" she cried, her blotchy face swollen from crying, "I'm sorry I don't have my whole life together like the Perfect Hermione Granger!"

I laughed desperately, raucously, because really, an Acceptable student does not have their life together! She apparently thought I was laughing at her, because she balled her fists up and for a split second I thought she was going to hit me. "Get out of the way," I said, ducking under her arm in an odd motion, as though she was going to box my ear. (Although goodness knows I probably deserved it. I hadn't studied hard enough, that was it, I would burn this essay and study until tomorrow morning.)

"Don't listen to her," Padma said as I locked the bathroom door, "she's no help, anyway."

"Of course I'm no help!" I yelled through the bathroom door, digging through my satchel for the essay. "Go and bite the Manticore back if it means that much to you—bite Professor Snape as well, if you want to get back at him!"

The essay, the essay, where was the essay?

I emptied the entire satchel on the floor, looking for it. Books, quills, inkwells and papers went flying in every direction, and I sorted through it all, looking for the paper. Where was it?

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

I flew out of the stalls, past a furious Lavender and a bewildered Padma, leaving my things scattered all over the floors. It had fallen out of my bag, it had to be, where could it be? Anyone could pick it up and see what grade I had gotten, why hadn't I just burnt it while I was in the classroom? If a single person saw that essay I was finished. I was history. I would become a social outcast. Hermione Granger, the Acceptable, Ordinary Nitwit. It would spread like wildfire, my reputation as a dedicated student would be destroyed. What if it followed me? What if people assumed I was ordinary in other aspects, like in personal relationships? "Who, Hermione? Oh, she's all right, I s'pose. Average, really."

There seemed to be millions of feet and boots and cloaks. I cursed all feet in the world. Where was the paper? Had someone swept it up and put it in the bin? I had to dig it out, what if the House Elves saw it? They would never respect me again.

"You all right?" a voice asked.

"I'm average!" I howled back at whatever student was talking. "Where is it?"

"Oh, are you looking for this?" the boy said, handing me a very scuffed, wrinkled looking essay. I seized it and looked up in his eyes gratefully—it was a boy I didn't know, some innocent saint that had delivered me from an untimely evil. Wait. Had he seen the grade?

"I – er, I was just…"

I had to disown this paper.

Apparently the boy didn't care, and had already moved on. I stood rooted to the spot, fixated by the bold little A in the upper corner. Destroy it. Destroy it and study.

I pulled out my wand slowly, still facing down my enemy.

"Incindio."

As the flames spread over the paper, I felt a beautiful, blessed surge of relief. Gone. Gone forever. Ashes and ashes, dust to dust—now I just needed to go to the library and fashion a new essay.

I didn't notice for several long seconds that I had managed to light both my sleeves on fire.

.

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I can't…I don't even want to explain this. Just…just. A completely exaggerated idea which popped into my head this morning while I was thinking about Hermione's alpha-dog personality and what it might be like to become a bit unwound.