Being Yourself
"Sometimes I wish I was someone else instead. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been born Hermione Granger, but another name entirely, with a different face and a different life. Maybe then I'd enjoy being me a whole lot more."
Hermione sighed as she gazed into the full length mirror nailed unhelpfully onto the back of the door; she'd been standing there since school had ended for the week, half an hour before, but every time she started to form an opinion, somebody swung open the door, flounced in and without a word of apology sent Hermione's train of thought flying out of the window like an owl with an urgent message. Finally she gave up on the polite side, pointed her wand at the door and muttered "adhesivio", resulting in the door jamming so that no-one could open it. She settled down to examine what she looked like once more.
It wasn't that she thought she was ugly, but then she also didn't rank herself in the league of Beautiful Ones with people like Parvati Patil and others. She twisted this way and that, and with a charm on the mirror, enabled herself to see what she looked like from behind. It was just that she was so, so . . . . Well, she couldn't seem to find the right word, but there it was, she just didn't seem to fit in. She thought about the people in the school. They all had their own style – whether it was smart, casual, grungey, nerdy, sporty, tarty – everyone knew what they should look like. It wasn't that you looked at them and instantly put them into a category, but at least they knew what they wanted. She had no idea where she fitted.
She spent all of her time working in the library – not because she enjoyed it, but because she was good at it. The same as the people who spent so long applying make-up in the mornings; it wasn't necessarily because their life's ambition was to coat their eyes in silver powder and paint their lips with something resembling what's been scraped off the bottom of a welly, but because they knew that when they had finished the result would be worth it. There wasn't anything that she really enjoyed doing. She worked in the library because it gave her good marks, and anyway, being in there made her feel sort of at peace – calm – happy to continue and oblivious to everyone else, except the annoying first years who spent all of their time looking up spells to make their hair green or give their worst enemy a bad case of b.o.
She bought clothes which fitted on her body and into her price range. It wasn't that she was permanently out of money, like some of her classmates who frittered their savings away on chocolate frogs and magazines like Teenage Wiz. She just didn't see the point in spending it on something as pointless as clothes, which were, after all, there to cover your body from embarrassment and stop you catching colds. But still, if she were going to buy clothes then maybe it would make sense to spend that little bit of extra money and get something which improved her looks as well. There was no harm in it, after all. And anyway, she thought, a little bit of change never did any harm, and what's the point in having money if you don't spend it? Giving up on the all-too-depressing mirror-watching, she said the releasing charm for the door (several of her dormitory members fell into the room, rubbing their shoulders) and decided that she would visit Little Boughston the very next day to start her new look. After going to the library, of course.
* * * *
Little Boughston was a town about a mile away from Hogsmeade. Larger, and mainly populated by Muggles, it was a perfect place for Hermione to begin the hunt for the New Her. So, the next day she collected all of her English money she had brought with her from her money box (which she had put an Padlock Charm on), and set out for Hogsmeade. There, she accidentally-on-purpose became separated from Harry and Ron, and began the long walk to Little Boughston. She hoped it would be worth it.
And it was! The town centre was filled with shops such as Miss Selfridge, Top Shop, River Island and other places which she'd seen in London before, but hadn't bothered investigating. She walked into Dorothy Perkins and picked up a skirt. Short and far more revealing than she would have ever risked before, it was coffee-coloured suede, and felt so luxurious that she just had to try it on. When she did, it looked amazing. It showed off her legs, and complemented her normally dowdy hair. And yet . . . But she shrugged off the feelings of doubt, and, after admiring and testing a strappy top and fitted shirt, she bought the lot and set off towards the town centre.
* * * *
When she arrived back at Hogwarts that evening, Harry and Ron nearly fell over themselves to get to her.
"Hermione, you're alive . . . thank God!" Harry panted as he leapt over Colin Creevey to make sure that she actually was. Ron looked flushed and most of the common room were staring in her direction.
"You didn't have to worry us like that," Ron said angrily, shaking his flame coloured head at her. "When you disappeared – we've been looking everywhere for you all afternoon. We thought that you'd been dragged off by a troll or something. Don't you remember the warnings about them?"
Hermione recalled reading something about the trolls being over aggressive lately, in the Charm Tribunal – she flushed and bowed her head. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, wishing she hadn't put them through that, but also wishing they'd leave her alone for once. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be reinventing herself. She whipped her head up and looked Ron straight in the eye.
"But can't I have a life?" she snapped. "I do have things to do which don't involve you, you know." Ron looked embarrassed, and the majority of the room had the politeness to turn away. Only Harry looked very surprised at the outburst.
"Hermione, what's got into you?" he asked, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. She snatched her arm away.
"Do you have a problem with me, or something?" she asked. Harry walked back a few steps from her.
"Ok, Herm, I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want." It wasn't what Hermione wanted at all, but that was how the other girls seemed to act, and so she knew she had to do the same. She opened her mouth as if to say just that – but her pride got the better of her, and she turned and ran up the stairs to her room.
When she came down for dinner, she had her robes opened so that you could see what she was wearing. She had on her new suede skirt and a chocolate brown shirt which she'd picked up in Oasis, and she'd also tamed her hair so it was held down by a silver clip. The boys stared at her.
"Is that where you were this afternoon?" asked Ron. Hermione smiled at him and flicked her hair over her shoulder (well, that was what they did in the adverts), climbed past the Fat Lady and made her way down to the dining room to leave the boys to follow in amazement.
* * * *
During the next few days, Hermione changed considerably. She now spent the majority of her time with girls like Lavender and Parvati. She started to wear make-up and Harry even noticed her passing a note to Dean during a Transfiguration class. She became more outgoing and flirty with the other boys. Why was she doing this? He didn't understand. And Hermione wasn't too sure either. But she decided that she was certainly enjoying herself. She was spending much less time in the library, and more time with a large group of Gryffindors and often people from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. She loved the way that people complemented her on her new shoes or hairstyle (the only things visible when she had her robes on), and how it was no longer,
"Hermione, I didn't understand question five of the History of Magic homework, can you help me?" but more often than not,
"Hermione, do you want to go down to Hogsmeade this weekend? I've seen this gorgeous pair of shoes and I wondered if you'd tell me what you thought of them." But still, there was always the nagging suspicion at the back of her mind which suggested she didn't really belong. However, she forced it back down among the other feelings in her head that she really didn't want to think about, and life seemed great as she spent more and more evenings staying up late with the girls instead of doing homework, free periods flirting with the boys rather than practising Charms, and weekends at The Three Broomsticks spending her allowance on Butterbeer when she could have been sticking with Ron and Harry. But in her heart of hearts Hermione knew it wasn't where she belonged and it took one last straw to break the camel's back, as the saying goes, until she appreciated this fact.
She'd been in the corridor with Lavender, chatting up some Ravenclaw boys when the bell went and they both dived into the dungeon where the class was already seated, waiting for the Potions lesson to begin. Snape glanced up from the register and said,
"Well hello, ladies," in a tone of voice which suggested they were anything but, "how kind of you to join us." Hermione didn't mind his insults. She just let her mind drift back to the previous evening when she'd been talking into the night with Seamus up in a tower, instead of revising her notes or reading more extra-curricular books or helping the teachers or doing more of her –
"Coursework, please, Miss Granger." Snape paused by her desk and held out a hand with disgustingly dirty fingernails. Hermione's mouth dropped open. Courswork? Oh God, she hadn't realised. She'd forgotten. For the first time ever, she hadn't done her homework. How could she have let this happen? The one thing she was good at, and she hadn't even bothered to keep working at it, because she'd been so wrapped up in "enjoying" herself and changing what she was really like, who she really was. She didn't want to change herself this much. She wanted to be who she was before. She wouldn't mind not hanging around with "cool" people like Parvati if she didn't have this stress of not having her work done or worrying that she wouldn't have time to do it in.
"That's five points from Gryffindor for ignoring me, Granger," Snape spat, bringing Hermione back with a jolt. He still held his hand out for the essay, and she stammered,
"I don't . . . I haven't . . . it's not . . . "
Snape looked at her coldly. "If you haven't done it, Granger, it's a detention and ten points from Gryffindor." Several Gryffindors let out gasps of protest, but the rest of them seemed confident in the fact that Hermione would have done it, and looked at her expectantly. She blushed deep crimson and shook her head soundlessly.
"I haven't done it" she muttered, and then, looking at the amazed faces of her fellow students – even Neville had completed his – without even picking up her bag she ran from the dungeon all the way to the Gryffindor tower.
She reached the girl's dormitory and flung herself onto her bed, sobbing. It seemed like such a trivial matter to be crying about, but the fact was it showed how much she had changed. And she wished she hadn't. She liked her old self, now she thought about it. Surely being happy meant not worrying about anything? Well, she'd had a lot less to worry about when she'd done her work on time and not been up talking to the early hours of the morning, every morning. But the worst part was how she'd neglected Harry and Ron. It wasn't fair. They didn't deserve that at all. Why hadn't she just stuck with them all along? They liked her. They liked her because of what she was before, and, thinking about it, she had a lot of friends. She didn't need make-up and boys admiring her legs to be happy. But would they ever forgive her for abandoning them all this time? Slowly, she stopped crying and lay on her bed. Then, a movement to her left made her look up. On the floor next to her lay a wizard photo of three people, laughing and joking. She picked it up, and saw that it was her, Ron, and Harry. She studied herself. She had no bags under her eyes, her skin didn't look pale and hollow, and she obviously wasn't as exhausted as she felt right then. But best of all, she seemed to be so happy, and she wished that it could be like that again. She turned the photo over, and on the back saw that there was a message.
"Hermione – " it read, "you're not just a wonderful student. When you want to be, you're a great friend as well; and you can remember how to be good at both again." She smiled – and, clutching the photograph close to her, she got up from her bed and went to find her true friends to ask them if they would help her remember.
The End.
* * * *
Ok, I'm very sorry that this story is a bit rubbish but it's my very first attempt at fanfic and so hopefully I should get better . . . oh yes, from reading other fanfics similar to this I think I'm supposed to add a . . .
Disclaimer: No, they don't belong to me. Yes, I wish they did. That is, everyone in the story is the property of JK Rowling; the only thing I own is the plot and that's not really something to boast about.