The Houses Competition
House: GRYFFINDOR
Class: History of Magic
Category: Drabble.
Prompt: [Prompt] Failing a test.
Word Count: 742
I don't own Harry Potter, I just like to entertain myself a bit with its wonderful characters. I am not a native English speaker, Any grammar mistakes were made unintentionally so I apologize in advance. I have dyslexia and I am still learning English.
Special thanks to my Gryffindor team for betaing this chapter
What defines Hermione Granger?
Hermione stared at the 'T' right next to her name. It seemed to be three times larger than the other grades on the list, and no matter how much she wished it would disappear, it was still planted there. People passing by saw their own grades over her shoulder and continued on with their lives. Some of the more curious students (let alone gossipers) gave a quick look at the other grades, and when they saw hers, some exclaimed in surprise, others saw her with pity, and in some eyes, there was even a spiteful happiness.
Of course, she did not notice any of this; she only had eyes for that 'T' that seemed to blink at her. It became blurry as her eyes filled with tears that refused to shed, even in her state of stupor.
"Hermione failed the exam!" Ron exclaimed excitedly, which ensured that those who hadn't known now did.
Harry elbowed him in the stomach.
"You did too, idiot!" she replied indignantly.
"Yes, but I expected it. I didn't have enough time to study, but you never fail—" Ron argued.
"Don't listen to him, Hermione, it's something that happens to all of us," Harry cut in.
Hermione quickly left the classroom, frustrated that Professor McGonagall had posted the grades right at the end of the last class of the day. It made no sense; she had studied the same as for any other exam—intensely.
Muttering to herself and stomping almost to the edge of a tantrum, she headed to the bedrooms, determined to skip dinner. She was upset; would it happen again? What if it happened in the OWLS that now felt so suffocatingly close?
She threw herself onto her bed, after throwing her backpack aside, took the pillow, and put it on her head. The pillow drowned out a frustrated scream as she sought to hide all the sadness, pain, and frustration.
Her brain was the only thing that defined her. She had Harry and Ron, but the bond they both had between them was not the same as with her. She was not particularly pretty, popular, or sporty. Without her intelligence, without her good grades, she was nobody. She wanted to kick her bed. No one would understand; for her, it went beyond a grade or an exam. It was about her identity and her place in the world.
After a long time moping, she sat up on her bed, her eyes swollen, her hair more matted than usual, and with a stabbing pain behind her head. She had analyzed the situation a bit; maybe, if she spoke to Professor McGonagall, she would have another chance to redeem herself, or at least remove the catastrophic 'T' from her records.
Determined, she ran down the stairs to the common room where Harry, Ron, and Neville were at the bottom of the stairs of the girls' bedroom.
"There you are! I thought we would have to send someone for you," Harry said with a worried face.
"I'm sorry you got a bad grade," Ron said, causing her to roll her eyes because she knew it was the closest thing to an apology she would receive from him.
"Hermione..." Neville began, a little nervous. "Professor Sprout taught me something. She believes we should celebrate the eventualities of life, particularly those little mishaps that happen but that make our lives change or acquire meaning."
The boy stared at the ground. "Following that philosophy, if you are a person accustomed to success, when failure calls you should celebrate and learn from it." He offered her a cupcake that she had not noticed before in his hands. "Let's celebrate, Hermione. Today, you have learned something new. You have experienced what life is." He finished with a shy smile.
Hermione thought about those words and the past reflections of a few moments ago in her bed and understood; did she really want her life to be defined that way? Did she want the only thing that she was known for to be her intelligence? Would she give that amount of power to something so arbitrary and, in some cases, beyond her control?
"Neville," she began, with a new determination on her face as she took the cupcake, "You're—"
"Granger." She was cut off, however, by Professor McGonagall, who was standing at the entrance portrait. "May I have a moment please?"
She nodded. Now matter what Professor McGonagall said, she knew she'd be okay.