I apologize if this is formatted oddly.. I don't really know how I should space it to make it more visually appealing. Either way, I don't write often so lets hope this will go well eh?
"Survival of the fittest, a phrase coined by Herbert Spencer, was Darwin's way of describing the process of natural selection. Spencer described this as The preservation of favored races in the struggle for life." Hermione intoned to her mother. She skipped hand in hand with her mother through the gates of her primary school.
"Good job Hermione, can you tell me what that means?" Hermione paused and looked up to her mother with doe eyes.
"Strong people will live and weak people die, right?" Her mother did not affirm nor deny her words. They walked a few paces in silence, Hermione's trainers lightly scuffing as she they walked the few paces. Her mother suddenly let go of her hand.
"Are you strong Hermione?" Puzzled, Hermione stopped and replied.
"I'm strong mum!" she chirped.
"Remember when I pushed that mean Jerry Davis away from me, or when I did the big set of monkey bars by myself and-" Her mother cut her off, drawing a sharp breath. "If you are strong, girl, then you will fight the thing that insane lady told you. It is unnatural and defies everything real that we taught you." Her mother's eyes bore into the little girl's mind as she spat her words out.
"But mum! Magic is amazing, how many theories like Darwin's will I get to prove wrong! I can make things out of thin air and read a ton of new books, and try lots of new magical things!"
"You can be my 'daughter' when that thing is no longer inside you." She strode away in angrily determined paces, Hermione jogging a bit to keep along.
"Mum? Mum?" she cried out, her trainers becoming scuffed as she ran across the pavement.
"Find your own way home brat. Find your own way home when you can be normal, like the rest of us people." she spat. She refused to meet Hermione's eyes.
For the first time, Hermione stood alone as the woman who had doted on her for nine years, almost ten, thank you very much, abandoned her on the sidewalk of a primary school because she wasn't good enough.
Hermione could do better than that. She would be normal, if that's what it took for Hermione to be a daughter. Hermione would scour her books for hours into the night, absorbing every little detail until she could recite the passage flawlessly. Only when her eyelids would no longer open, and her fingers no longer turn the pages would she give in the to pull of night and fall asleep, slumped over the her little mahogany wood desk carved with apple blossoms.
"I found solace in the strangest place
Way in the back of my mind"
I'm quite afraid this is a bit short..feel free to review if you wish. Flamers will be used to cook my steak. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and will be used to better my next chapter if I continue.