Hermione is perfect. Everyone thinks so. Shes smart, has friends, caring, beauty inside and out. She is carved by Merlin himself. If only, she has a secret. Shes not perfect no one is not even her.


The day was cool and cloudy, no surprise there this was London after all. Hermione sat on her bed and stared out her window, looking upon the colored clouds. She would be returning home soon, she would be returning as head girl. She felt nothing when she received the badge and letter. Perhaps she might have felt something if she hadn't been expecting it, or maybe if she had someone to share her feelings with.

She spent most of her days here. In her families home, looking out her bedroom window. Her bedroom was small, held one simple closet, over busting from her clothing. One small bathroom, including a toilet, sink, and a bathtub. She had a bed, and bookcases, filled with books until no more could even be stacked on top. She had been offered a bigger room by her brother, but said she prefered the attic, it was her small room she grew up in.

The clouds shifted and changed, it must be nice, to be able to change when ever you like. Mold yourself into whatever you want. She would only change once in awhile, she worked hard at being the smart young witch she is. People may call her an over acheiver, she calls herself dedicated. Dedicated to learning, inproving, and bettering herself. If you want to call her an over achiever who is she to stop you?

As she tried to make shapes in the clouds, but found it was impossible. The ever changing clouds became even more ressless as a storm began to come in. She could see out into farm land. She could see it had already started raining in some parts, and awaited the ever predictable rain that was to come.

She did not know what time it was, not that it mattered. It would be just her tonight again, her family had left for Russia the day before she had left school. They failed to mention it to her in one of the few letters they sent. She did however find the letter they left for her on the kitchen table. It read 'Gone to Russia, write when we get home.' She knew from the letter she wouldn't be seen off to the train, again.

This did not bother her in the slightest. Unfortunatlly since the tragic death of the mother, life for her just hasn't been the same. Not that it wasn't before. She was a mistake, how horrible it sounds, its the truth. Her father never wanted her, in a sence. He wanted her, but her fathers wife didn't. You see she was the product of a cheating man. Jane, her fathers wife, didn't want the child that her husband produced with another woman.

Hermione never knew her mother, she didn't get the chance, her mother passed away a few years after she was born. She had never met her father and was slighly confused when she brought to live with this strange family. As soon as she learned she was magical, she was outcasted. At age 11 she finially gave her family a real reason to think she was a freak of nature. Someone to be killed like an insect.

The clouds now completely black, deceided they could hold no more and rain poured out. She smiled, she got what she waited for. Standing up from sitting in the position she had been in for hours, walked into her bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked at herself, before signing and turning on the water and washing her face, and brushing her teeth.

She had to up early, for tommarrow she would be leaving home. She thought of writing her family a letter saying she hoped they had fun. But knew it was a futile attempt at becoming a family. As she crawled into her full size bed. She praied one it would be better.