AN: This is the second installment to the Bus Rides and Bookworms series. This is centered on Hermione's point of view of what occurs on the bus and explains a bit about her past since she isn't a witch for this story's purpose and not much is known about her. Short and sweet, just like the last one. I'm thinking about concluding it with one more, thus making a trilogy. I might change it later, but not so sure about it yet. I will try to add the final part by the Sunday so please bear with me. Well without any further ado, here it is and I hope you like it! Please rate and review!
Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling
I'm finally getting a chance to go to the bookstore in town to pick up the book I ordered. It was The Giver by Lois Lowry—it's such an amazing story. I first read it in secondary school and it completely intrigued me. I've borrowed The Giver a few times from the library and it immediately became one of my favorites. I just had to add it to my collection of books so I placed an order for it about a week ago. The library notified me that other people had been requesting it for weeks and I felt embarrassed at having checked it out so many times so I was only too hasty to return it. I would read it when I was busy spending my lunch hour in the library trying to avoid being teased by Billy. He and his cruel friends never missed a chance at making fun of my disheveled hair or my love of books. Stranger Granger, that's who I was—nobody to be friends with because almost everyone at school thought I was some weird nerd. If I thought primary school was bad then I was completely unaware at how bad secondary school would be.
Nothing changed much. The teasing didn't stop, in fact, it came more frequently since the other students saw me as some kind of know it all freak that was able to raise a hand faster than the speed of light. I was used to the entire name calling, the mocking and the joking, and quite frankly, it didn't bother me. At least not as much as before. Mum and dad explained years ago that my hunger for knowledge was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, anyone who wouldn't accept me for who I was didn't deserve to be given a care in the world. That was my mentality—Hermione Granger wouldn't dumb herself down for anybody. I knew who I was and what I was capable of. Nobody had the right to judge me and the only person who did was myself. I accepted years ago that I wasn't gifted in the looks department and would probably live in a flat with a dozen cats and walls filled with books. The funny thing was I didn't care. The only things that mattered to me were my family, my studies and achieving my goal in doing some good in the world.
Of course there were times when I just became overwhelmed with it all. I'd lie in my bed hours at a time crying my heart because I couldn't make a single friend or the name calling had finally gotten to me. I had acquaintances at school but it wasn't the same. I always saw them as people giving me pity about my teasing or students who wanted to use me for the answers to a test. Perhaps my only real friend was my English Literature teacher, but no matter the amount of times she told me that I could speak to her about anything, I wasn't able to bring myself to do it. It felt weird and not right in a way. I've met two other girls before that moved onto our street and they were both very lovely. Their names were Elise and Anna—and I was the happiest whenever we spent time together because someone finally accepted me for who I was. They cared about me; my ambitions, my love of books, my mass of messy curls and I couldn't be more grateful. I was saddened by the fact that I couldn't spend much time with them because their families moved consistently due to their parents' financial affairs. They were the closest things I had to best friends. I just miss them terribly and can only hope that I find people like them again.
Mum and dad left early to their practice and I was forced to take the bus. I didn't mind because it was nice traveling by public transportion from time to time. I stepped into the bus, paid my fare and took a seat near the back. I placed my large bag comfortably beside me and pulled out a large dusty old book. I found it yesterday when I was helping mum clean out the garage. It had no title, which I thought strange at first, but made me curious so I begun reading it last night. It turns out the book is a mystery tale about a man going from place to place around the world in search of something "significant." He doesn't remember what it is since he woke up from a coma with retrograde amnesia. It's a fantastic story really and I hope I can finish it by the end of the week. My cousin was coming over to visit for the weekend and I didn't want to spoil her time here so I had to finish it quickly. The bus began moving and so I dove into the old pages to fill my mind's content.
A few minutes went by when the bus came to a familiar stop. I looked up from my book to catch a glimpse of the people coming in. Everyone looked like they were either late for work or were heading into town to shop. Everyone except a certain red headed boy or young man I should say. His wavy red locks went past his ears and he looked to be around my age—he was tall and had eyes that were a nice shade of blue. He was nothing short of handsome, although for some reason, looked to be unsure of himself. I think he must be visiting or something because I can tell he feels uncomfortable with all the people on the bus. He paid his fare and looked around for a seat not seeming to notice I was still staring at him. I quickly looked down at my book and pretended to read. I think I've gotten away with it when he suddenly takes the seat behind me! I begin to panic; maybe he did see me staring at him like someone trying to solve a puzzle. I can't conclude if he has, but he doesn't say anything so I immediately dismiss it. I continue gazing at my book, pretending to be heavily engrossed but can't help wondering about the ginger boy behind me. There's something about him that I just can't put my finger on. In a way, he looked indifferent to the world and I seen an unyielding sadness in his eyes when he made his way over to his seat. He had the face of someone who had been through so much suffering and pain. I wonder what events led him to look like the life had been sucked out of him. I'm not sure why I can't get this out of my head but he just seemed so enigmatic; just like the consistent unsolved murders that occurred last April and May. It's all so very strange and mysterious indeed.
I look up from my book and noticed the bookstore up ahead. I pushed the request stop button and quickly packed my things. I get up and without as much of a glance back, I make my way toward the exit. I head down the steps and wonder if my blue sweater was enough to keep me warm since the air is absolutely freezing. I hug myself trying to generate more warmth and begin my way to the bookstore. Midway down the street I look back at the stationed bus near the window where I was sitting and find the red headed young man looking at me. I turn around quickly and continue my way to the bookstore. When I get to the entrance, I hear the bus leaving and once again look back to the window. He is still staring and I don't break his gaze until the sound of the engine is heard no more.
I wonder if I'll ever get to see him again. I don't know why, but I get this unknown feeling in my stomach and hope I do.