●Chapter Four●
Hermione Jane Granger despised her name. She wasn't chosen to represent the feminine sides of the God Hermes, God of good luck and speed. In fact, she didn't believe she even had those characteristics in her blood. And she wasn't named after the wife of Leontes in Shakespeare's "A Winter's Tale". She had no real friends around to think up some kind of nickname for her and frankly, it was a mouth full.
There was nothing else to say about it, really. And "Hermy" was definitely out of the question. And then that was just to make fun of her and taunt. She's learned to close her ears and eyes now away from most of it. But she's still fragile to the vicious sharks that are the humans around her bent on causing destruction for themselves.
And she hated her hair, the bushy average brown that would only frizz. Then when she tried to do something to it her hair knotted and frizzed further. It was ugly and people called her names like "beaver face" and "bushy beaver" because her teeth weren't fixed like they should have been. Her eyes were odd too. When she was little they were on odd brown, turning yellow by the time she could think. Now they were a light lazuli purple that was odd for anyone.
She hates her feet because they're perfect for her, smoothe but callused on the bottom. She's walked on glass when her father broke a window in her room with a rock. She doesn't mind it now though as the pain feels good. They're not horribly disfigured or too big or too small. It gives no sign as to her state as an outcast.
She rubs her wrists and unconsciously glances to the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, a small alcove room the size of a walk-in closet connected to her room and her room alone. It's taunting her; tempting her to do what she feels will make her feel better.
She's still surprised that her parents left it to her instead of giving her the smaller guest room. It would provide more room for them and their exploits. She ignores the pounding two rooms away and puts her CD player over her ears, and puts the sound all the way up so she won't feel any vibration but the tremors coming from the music. The small TV at the end of the bed is playing countless cartoons and it gives her something to smile at.
She hates her smile and her lips and her face because she can't stand to see them in the mirror, because then she'd have to see her eyes that betrayed her feelings when she did so. Looking into the eyes of another would only let them see what she had long learned to show.
But it just made her another freak in a crowd and not someone special. She loves her eyes though. Her mother (Janet) had light brown eyes and her father (John) had dark brown eyes. The brown hair was inherited but they had straight to her frizzy bush. If she didn't already hate them, then it would just be a frustration but she hates them for many reasons, making her among them.
She felt herself sinking into a depression when she started irrationally thinking that she wouldn't make any friends because she wanted to always read, and then when you got her going on about the books she couldn't even shut herself up. Maybe it was because her secrets wanted out and the only way to keep them down were to say something else.
Anyway, when she got a letter to some special school she was just confused. Magic? Don't make me laugh-she's not stupid. Spells and unicorns don't exist. It's against the laws of physics and the third dimensional properties of all life.
And then a man who pays her no heed but keeps his voice and most of his stance polite comes and knocks on their door claiming all kinds of things. His clothing is weird, noticeably odd. A short-sleeved shirt and short black pants were okay, but the tropical pink blouse shown with the feminine shoes and blocky stripes tell the residents of one particular house that the man is odd far more then his claim of magic.
And then he enters their house and her parents pay her no hateful eye, although she's sure they will say something when the odd man leaves. A stick is shown and waved and all of a sudden the coffee table is in the middle of the room, literally. It's no longer touching on the floor but bobbing side to side, wobbling noticeably. The glass half full with what this man doesn't know is strong brandy makes tinkling sounds as its sides hit the glass slightly many times in the silence that stretches.
The man explains, taking their reactions not for what they are and although she has rising hopes for this other world of magic that will take her away, she knows there is nothing she can do for this night and every night following and maybe that hints at what she hopes with all her might are not true.
A week later her parents grudgingly take her to this 'Leaky Cauldron' place to show that they're being proper parents to the world and they publicly faun over her as if she's this precious thing to them. But they don't like her and she doesn't respect them. They might have conceived and 'brought her up proper like' but she doesn't really consider them her parents. She feels like she's thirty in kid shoes.
The letter she got explains the use of pets and she enters the only shop she can find nearby. Glancing around, she doesn't want a bird because then others may ask why she doesn't write her folks. She is leaving home as soon as she can and maybe this is the closest she can get right now. She'll take it if she can.
An orange cat fancies her attention and he looks lazy with his flat face and large body. But there is something there, maybe a rebellion. But her parents follow, the jail keepers making sure she stays put and that she doesn't grab unnecessary expensive items. Hermione has already grabbed enough books. It's the only thing her parents let her buy in bulk. Maybe that's reason enough to relish the experience.
She has one last look at the fluffy orange cat practically purring for her affection, her's alone. She's nearly dragged out and away from this magical place back into that house that is her house but not her home. She is homeless with a roof over her head. She doesn't really have a home except maybe insider he imagination.
She would have named the cat something odd. Crookshanks. But she lets the thoughts fall away.
She can't wait to leave for Hogwarts even if she doesn't make a single friend.
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He wakes up from another nightmare to the smell of his mother's cooking. Carefully, he extracts himself from his bed and looks around. Chudley Cannons posters are hanging around his bright room. He's learned not to blink. The carpet is a bright red and the walls are painted in magically bright orange. The large poster in front of his bed shows two members swerving away from a bludger, the view changing randomly as the picture Cannons play Quidditch.
The boy's red hair is the same as the rest of his family's but his eyes are a starkly contrasted blue. He is the sixth son and his only younger sibling is a girl. He's going to Hogwarts the next day and the only thing he truly looks forward to is falling asleep on the couch in the living room this night so he doesn't have to see this too-bright room covered in the darkness of secrets and despair.
His nose leads him up but he smartly enough makes sure all his important things are packed and ready for the next day's ride away from the Burrow. His hand-me-down trunk is placed behind the door and anything important isn't left in the room besides a pair of clothing for today and his robe for tomorrow.
Ronald B. Weasley makes it downstairs just as his mother calls his full name and he winces. His first name is annoying but his middle name he hates. Why couldn't she have given it to Bill, his eldest brother? It was practically already his name, Bill, Billius. Ron knew that Bill despised being called 'William' so it worked out fine.
There are strawberry pancakes awaiting his mouth and he gobbles seven up. His family follows though only his tall, already grown father eats nearly as much as he does. Ron is a growing boy with quite an appetite. The syrup drowns in the cooked bread his wonderful mother makes for them, sure to make enough for all the Weasley appetites.
He spends his last day out by the pond skipping stones and catching frogs. He sees the rat that wonders their property that one of his elder brothers caught and named Scabbers. He gets the creeps whenever he looks at it but his mother insists that he take it with him. He honestly plans on leaving it at the house claiming he forgot it.
He doubted his mother would honestly mail an animal, especially with the owl they had. Errol was so old and decrepit he was surprised it hadn't just plain died on him yet. About to be in his fifth year, Percy Weasley, the third child, had made prefect. Molly and Arthur Weasley had bought him an owl for his "well done" present. Percy named the large brown owl, Hermes. The third boy was stuck up in his room often. Ron privately suspected that he was constantly writing Penelope Clearwater, whose name slipped out of the older boy on accident, occasionally.
Ginny comes to play with him at random times. The only girl Weasley since before recorded history has a fondness for trouncing through the flower patches that randomly control parts of the Weasley land. The Weasley family has long gone without the riches that most purebloods have at their beck and call, and Ron was honestly kind of sick of it, though he'd never say such a thing. He was the youngest boy and everything he received had most likely once belonged to his elder brothers at one time or another. His sister was lucky in that aspect. There were no girls to inherit from and she got all new things. But he loved her just the same.
The last day of his pre-Hogwarts life ended slowly for the boy who wasn't really a boy. His demeanor was different from all of his family and he couldn't say why. As much as he loved the other eight, he would have thought long ago that maybe they would have noticed something off. But he'd had this fear longer then he had not. His actions were his own and no one explained it differently.
He slept on the couch that night and didn't have to see his room alone.
He went to Hogwarts without the rat, ideas and thoughts heavy on his head. He was about to take a step into the next great cycle of life. He would leave his sister in this life behind.
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TBC
It has come to my attention that many people are bothered by the whole cliche heir thing. But I will assure you that though this might be eventual-super, might be, Harry isn't going to immediately gain a hundred thousand allies.