Brilliance and Gloom
Chapter Two - Nobody
A/N: I own nothing but the shape of this creation, all the pieces and building blocks belong the benevolent J.K. Rowling (except for Harry's invisible friend!) and all credit goes to her for their excellence.
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"Instead, you might consider how the young men of this school regard you." McGonagall said slowly.
"They hate me. Except for the Weasleys and Harry. Because I'm smarter than them." The idea was always painful, but she knew it was her burden to bear. "I won't make myself behave stupidly just to attract a male. That would defeat the purpose." Hermione protested, desperately trying to keep her tone neutral.
McGonagall leaned forward, and the intent on her face leant it a very nearly feline quality. "It would, wouldn't it?"
Hermione nodded, sensing the return of the pit of despair that had opened up under her when McGonagall told her that the position of Minister of Magic was too much for her—her!—to hope for.
She allowed herself thirty seconds to feel absolutely dreadful.
The time turner was still in her hand, and she wished desperately to go back it time and prevent herself from having this conversation. Maybe she would have grown out this ambition, and maybe she would never have to experience having it ripped from her, she would have set her sights elsewhere on her own. Then she would not have to go trudging through the rest of her life with a pang of disappointment and resentment each time her eyes brushed past the words 'Minister of Magic' in the Daily Profit, and saw another Cornelius Fudge pictured under the headline. But Hermione Granger knew herself better than that. It would have always been her goal, because her heart was always set high, and there was little else that appealed to her in the wizarding world. The Wizengamot was completely composed of purebloods, but perhaps she could try for Head Healer in St. Mungos?
She felt a bit nauseous. Hermione Jean Granger, failure. Hermione Jean Granger, well-married Bimbo with political aspirations doomed to fail.
Failure.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the word was the sound of her blood rushing into her ears. Her thirty seconds were up. She slammed the fear back into its compartment, and opened her eyes.
McGonagall's intent look was half faded away, and she was beginning to look decidedly disappointed.
Which certainly straightened out Hermione's defeated slouch.
"You are under estimating the males of our species, Miss Granger. Perhaps it would be best if we left this until you are older, and you've outgrown some of this cynicism."
"Cynicism, Professor?" She asked hesitantly, fighting the urge to put up her hand.
"Indeed. I am your Head of House, Miss Granger; would I ever suggest you neglect your studies? Or, for that matter, recommend that you become anything less than the best Witch you can be?"
Hermione was horrified. "No, Professor! I would never imply—"
"—oh, but you did! Now, as your punishment over the summer, I will assign you the following reading list." She wet a quill and dashed off a list on a spare piece of parchment. "None of these books are in Hogwarts' Library, you'll have to find them elsewhere, I'm afraid. I expect you to have read at least two of these come September, but be advised that any less than all will leave me very disappointed in you, Miss Granger." She held out the list to her second favourite student, who stood and took it gingerly, and then looked up in surprise.
"Professor?" She asked, at a little bit of a loss for words while her head spun with half formed ideas and questions.
"And do take good care of that time turner." Hermione blushed lightly, she had forgotten about it. "I might hesitate to leave it with another underage student, knowing that the trace simply cannot cover an underage witch or wizard while they are in the past. You are dismissed, Miss Granger. I'm sure you have things to do before the train leaves."
Hermione stood, list in one hand and time turner in the other. "Thank you Professor. Enjoy you summer."
McGonagall's lips twitched. "And you as well, Miss Granger." And with that her second favourite student, a title hard fought and won, rushed from the Head of Gryffindor's office. Presumably to send off a quick letter or two with the school owls.
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The train was getting ready to go, and Harry Potter sat very still in his seat while his best friend Ron Weasley chatted about a summer free from homework and Snape. Ron knew Harry never had very good summers, but he figured that sitting here in silence would be worse than trying to highlight all the best parts of what would still be a crap two months.
Harry thought about the same thing every year on their way home, though Ron didn't know it. When they were in first year, Harry had tried to tell a sleepy Ron about the invisible friend he had had when he was very little, who had come and looked after him when the Dursleys locked him in the cupboard all day, or left him outside alone. Except he might have been a little embarrassed to talk about his childhood, so all Ron really got was that Harry had an imaginary friend who babysat him, who he called Silly.
Ron, being a sleepy eleven year old boy who had no need for imaginary friends in a magical household full of siblings, had had a bit of a laugh at muggle kids' antics and then fallen asleep. He had never intended to hurt Harry's feelings, only it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He felt a bit sorry for muggle children, who had to pretend at magic.
Harry had wanted to know if there was any chance Silly was real. It had seemed reasonable at the time that she was a magical creature of some sort. He could remember how it felt when she hugged him. Until he came to Hogwarts, no one but Silly had ever hugged him, and he didn't think he could have imagined it so well without any reference. Could he have been remembering his Mum and Dad's hugs?
That was a really depressing line of thought. Harry tried to shake it off.
Hermione came rushing in, waving to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and sliding some magazines into her bag. The girls waved back and giggled their way out of sight. Ron asked her about the magazines, and Hermione pointed out that she was a girl, if he hadn't noticed.
Ron said he really hadn't noticed, and the two of them started bickering.
Harry stared out the window. The first time he met Silly, he had been five. He and Dudley had come back from their first day of school, and the Dursleys had wanted to take Dudley out for ice cream. Mrs. Figg wasn't home, and Dudley started throwing a fit when Aunt Petunia suggested they tote Harry along, so Uncle Vernon had taken him outside and given him a stern talking to. Harry couldn't remember the words, they had been neither unusual nor unexpected, but the gist was that Harry was old enough to go to school and so he was old enough to rake the yard alone.
And so he had, he raked all the leaves up, and even picked up with his hands any that he missed with the rake. He hurriedly tried to get all the leaves away in the bin, before Dudley could get home and stat jumping in them and kicking them round the yard. The bin was too tall for Harry, and he had to pull it down to and angle to put anything into it, and then right it back up again. Uncle Vernon was pulling back onto the drive, Harry pulled the bin over and got wet leaves and trash all over the place, and himself.
Uncle Vernon had been in a rage, but he eventually left Harry to clean it up. Aunt Petunia had refused to put a clean coat on Harry's filthy little body, se he had shivered and set to work, dreaming of the hot shower that would come later. A lukewarm bath wouldn't get him clean to Aunt Petunia's satisfaction, and he's get to shower for probably ten whole minutes before anyone came in and started to shout at him for being wasteful.
But even really good, warm daydreams can only keep a person warm for so long, and soon Harry was shivering and the shadows were getting so long that he was having trouble finding the garbage. Aunt Petunia would be livid if she found the smallest scrap of trash on her pristine patio, but he didn't have a broom and he was afraid to go and ask for one.
He started to cry, but he kept hunting for garbage and awful, cold, wet leaves.
And that's when Silly appeared, holding a dustpan, a broom, and a coat, and sporting a look of surprise.
"Are those for me?" Harry asked, just as surprised, but much too cold to care.
The girl looked at the patio, and at Harry, and then handed her burden over. The coat was squashy and purple, but deliciously warm, and it fit better than the hand-me-down he had from Dudley. "Thanks." He said simply, with all the solemnity of a child, and set to work.
She sat down on a chair, adjusting her own coat. She was bigger than him, and maybe eight or nine years old. "Who are you?" She asked. She talked kinda funny.
"Nobody." He said, honestly.
"Everybody's somebody." She argued.
Harry kept sweeping. The wet leaves stuck to things in the most frustrating ways.
"Well what's your name then?" She asked.
Dudley had already taught half the class to call him 'Potty' and 'Harry Snotter' by the end of their first day of school. Harry was afraid this older girl would tease him too.
"Tell me." She urged.
"No, it's stupid."
"Tell me anyways. I'll tell you mine."
"I bet you have a nice name. I don't." He pointed out.
"Well I have to call you something. Otherwise I'll have to call you 'boy'."
Harry shrugged. "That's what Uncle Vernon calls me."
"He does?" The girl moved the chairs out of his way while he made sure he did an extra good job.
"Sure."
She looked at him skeptically.
"So what's your name?" Harry asked, to distract her.
"Mine's dumb too. Long and boring and stuff. You can call me Silly." She stuck out her hand.
Harry thought that was a worse name than even his, but the girl seemed pretty pleased with herself, so he shook her hand. "Very nice to meet you, Miss Silly." He said seriously.
She broke down into giggles, covering her mouth when he put his finger in front of his lips.
Once she had calmed down, he handed back the broom and dustbin, and reluctantly peeled off the coat. "Thanks again. That rubbish would have taken me ages, and I would have been really cold. I'm sorry I got your jacket dirty."
"Why were you outside without a jacket, all wet and picking up junk with your bare hands?"
"Because I'm nobody, I guess." He wasn't supposed to talk to anyone about this stuff, but he trusted Silly. And she had let him borrow her jacket, even though she knew his was all wet and dirty. "Nobody and a freak."
Silly frowned, and tapped her foot. "I don't like it when you talk like that. I think you're wrong. I bet you're great. You just don't know it."
"I've gotta go, I'll see you later" Harry mumbled, and hurried back towards the house, feeling uncomfortable. When he looked over his shoulder, Silly and her things were gone.
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A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews so far! I would like to remind everyone that this isn't a romance, there will be lots of plot and character development, but Hermione is a young girl and she's got a long ways to go before I give her a match.