No-one ever bothers to look further when they have a "truth" right in front of them that makes perfect sense. They think that, because they can hear, they understand. That because they can look, they see. But sometimes the most beautiful sounds are only made to hide the most hideous of words; sometimes beautiful colors are painted together cover the ugliest of stains.

It was the story of her life, every day of it. It was the story of who she had been, who she was, and who she'd always hoped to become. She never failed, she was never wrong, she was the epitome of moral rightness, and there was never a moment of indecision. Everyone thought she was perfect; or, at least, as close to perfect as anyone was likely to get. But today… today, she couldn't be. Not anymore. And today she could be just herself, the failure that would never mean anything to anyone, because no-one in this place even knew to look for the picture-perfect world.

She'd pretended to be asleep, that morning, when they'd come to get her up. It had only been eight in the morning, but she knew they only wanted her not-to-sleep because they knew she enjoyed sleep. Besides, they only way they could possibly believe she'd slept through being dumped from her bed like that is if they were deluding themselves. They were masters of lies and illusion, though, so perhaps they'd even fooled themselves. It was just one more thing that wasn't normal about her, since no "normal" person could sleep through such a thing. Which would fit their purposes nicely, because she couldn't ever be normal, no, not her.

Not that they didn't praise her – at least to their friends. The other snobs at the office didn't know what school she went to, but that didn't mean her parents couldn't get some prestige out of it. They simply told the others that she went to a school so exclusive that it wasn't even listed; it was their way. And it was more than just partially the truth, though they might have made up the exact same story if she'd gone to a prison school that no-one'd heard of.

But in private – in private she heard every day about her oddness, her laziness, her carelessness. The times in her younger years when she'd done accidental magic were now attributed to a lack of self-control, never mind that all magical children did such things. The time she spent on her school work over the summer was considered as "free time", or even as time she spent looking after her "hobby". Her school, they saw much as though they were spoiling their child by sending her to a school where she didn't even have to work – after all, there was no math, and they knew their daughter enjoyed it far too much for it to be truly academic.

And so, they'd struck a deal, right from the first day she'd gotten her letter. She could go to this school, and they would pay for it, but she had to keep up with her regular schoolwork by correspondence. She would be required to take standardized tests at dates they specified (always far earlier than they were intended to be taken), and to graduate at least two years early.

Which meant that, this summer marked her official graduation. The paperwork had been completed, and the tests taken, and they were waiting for the results. Both her Muggle and Wizarding marks would be coming by the end of this summer, though the OWL results ought to arrive first, and she wasn't certain which she was more afraid to see. She'd been so caught up worrying about the OWL's that she'd nearly forgotten her Muggle testing until just before exams – but then she'd been so worried about having not studied for the Muggle tests that she hadn't been able to focus properly in the Wizarding ones.

And when they found out, when they knew how badly she'd done, things would get even worse. They delighted in telling their friends what the odd little outcast their daughter was, about how she had no friends, but at least before they would also tell the stories of how ridiculously smart she was. If she did poorly on the tests – not even that, if she didn't do so well that it was freakishly amazing, the summer would go down hill so fast she might just not see the other end of it – at least not in a fit mental state.

As if that weren't enough, many of her parents' friends' children were exceptionally intelligent in their own right; at least two were graduating and testing as early as she, and her scores and theirs would be released side-by-side. Not only that, but they'd had the full school year, every year that had passed between eleven and now, at almost sixteen, to prepare. She had to do ridiculously better than them for it to count for anything at all. The only way they'd accept anything even resembling a tie, is if she had perfect scores.

If she didn't, though, if her scores weren't that height of perfection, the time from score-release until September the first would stretch into eternity. She knew that as well as she knew that the hoped-for scores were unlikely to come; there was a year, once, where she'd failed a science class. Never, before then, had she gotten less than a perfect grade, not in anything, but it hadn't mattered. She'd tried to hide the score when it had come, slip it into the trash before anyone noticed, but they'd found out anyhow. Anyone who'd asked had been told she'd won an academic scholarship to a summer abroad program; hiding her away in her room had been the only way to hide the bruises.

And if she scored badly, if she didn't pass, or scored average… There'd be no more Hogwarts. Oh, if she were careful enough, she might manage to get back; after all, if she could get to a friend's house, say, a week before term, her parents would let her go. They'd do anything rather than be found out for who they were; it was their one weakness, and she could use that. But if she messed up in her plan, or if they thought she planned to reveal them, or if…

She didn't want to think about it. Even if she managed to escape, though, she'd have to come back the next summer. And then…

No, the only way, the only way, was if her scores were perfect. They had to be. Just had to be, she wouldn't even think of it any other way.

The light flicked on, from the switch that she didn't have any access to from inside her room, and she pulled herself up. Pretending this time would only end in the bed being taken away permanently – the rules were unspoken, but she knew them just as well anyhow. She pulled her clothes on quickly; it was cold out here, early in the morning. Her parents told their friends she had the guest suite, the little one-room area above the garage, because it granted her independence, or because they trusted her so well and it was a sign of that trust. But the real reason? If anyone ever found out that their daughter was an "evil" witch, they could claim they knew nothing of it, and it would be believable.

For a moment, as she wandered down the stairs into the garage, she imagined letting on to the neighbors. She could almost see them, consoling her parents, saying "Ah, well, it's not really your fault she took advantage of the trust you put in her." She wouldn't be surprised if her parents even had a stack of occult paraphernalia on hand, to slip into her room and disguise the real magic books, just in case of such an event. They would get their pity, at least, and it might just be enough for them to allow her to go free.

Her fantasy ended abruptly, however, as something tripped her on the steps, and she nearly fell down the last few, only just barely catching her balance in time. She looked back – it was her father. She'd walked passed him on the stairs, not noticing. He must have realized her daze, and tripped her to call her on it. Oh, but this wouldn't be good. Why on earth had she caught herself?

"Prideful brat. Too good to learn your lessons when they're taught? I know you're careless, that you couldn't care less, not about me or your mother. Even when we've done all we have for you, letting you go to that school, getting you private tuition so you can keep up with real school work. But you'll not get away with doing whatever you please, missy."

The look in his eyes was downright scary. She stared straight ahead, and tried not to think too much. No, they couldn't have. There's no way. It should be months, yet.

"We pulled some strings, daughter dearest. Managed to get hold of a copy of your test results."

"W-w-wh" she cleared her throat. "Which tests?"

"Why, the real tests, of course." His eyes were positively gilttering. Either he was very, very proud, or...

"Get the belt, Hermione."

Her eyes fell on the braided rope of leather, hanging off to the side of the garage door, in a shadowed corner, that hadn't seen usesince the summer of her "trip".It had certainly never been intended to hold up a set of pants. Obviously not on the trim waist of her father; it would likely encircle him three times. But things had to have their names, so that no-one could slip and say a wrong word, not even in their sleep. And while it would never be discussed where anyone might hear, they wouldn't take any unnecessary risks. This was for her own good, after all, and others might not understand; their children could obey without such measures, and might think them extreme.

Hermione had crossed the room; now she pulled the thing from off its' hook, and her mind went white.