¤¤¤ Complicated ¤¤¤
Yea, another fic, finally!!! This is the first chapter of my second fic, and I'm rather proud of it. Please R/R!! I LOVE feedback!!
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Chill out, whatcha' yelling for Lay back, it's all been done before And if you could only let it be, you will see Somebody else, round everyone else Watchin' your back like you can't relex Tryin' to be cool, you look like a fool to me
Avril Lavigne, "Complicated"
Sometimes I wish I were a Muggle like my parents. Things would certainly be easier. I could live a nice, uncomplicated Muggle life. You know, go to college, be a doctor, get married and have kids, and live in a house with a white picket fence. But of course, I have to have another reason to differentiate myself from my family.
My whole family, extended and all, is just average. My parents are dentists. My aunts and uncles and grandparents are bakers or mill workers or teachers or hotel clerks. And then I was born. Spectacular Hermione Granger, who could talk at six months, who could read the newspaper at four and a half, who could multiply at the end of kindergarten. When I was eight, Mum and Dad asked me whether I wanted to go to Oxford or St. Andrews here in Britain, or Harvard or Yale in America. I was eight!! I didn't know what I was going to wear the next day, how could I know what college I wanted to attend?
Then came The Letter when I was eleven. My Hogwarts letter, the letter that shattered my parents' dreams for me. I was a witch. A spell casting, potion- brewing witch in a family of Muggles. Me, I was ecstatic. I had never suspected that I was a witch. Sure, there were some unexplained incidents, like lost Barbie dolls appearing out of nowhere, but I just blew it off. Mum and Dad hid it well, but I knew they didn't want me to go to Hogwarts. They wanted me to pursue a career as a lawyer or a doctor and make hundreds of thousand a year and make them proud to say that I was their daughter. We bought my supplies and I performed a few simple spells, and they saw I excelled at that too, and they cheered up a bit. It made them even happier when they found out I could still be a doctor in the wizarding world. I'm top of my year at school, and I know they're still proud of me, but sometimes I can tell they wish I stayed home and didn't go off to Hogwarts. It would make THEIR lives easier as well.
If I were a Muggle, I wouldn't have to worry about You-Know-Who. Hell, I probably wouldn't even know he existed. Ever since his return to power, I haven't felt as safe and secure as I used to here at home. I feel more vulnerable, knowing he could burst in at any moment and kill us all. Muggle locks aren't much good against an evil madman.
Don't get me wrong, being a witch does have its plus-sides. The obvious is the magic part. You can do everything with magic: cook, clean, write, travel. so in the physical sense, being magical kind of makes life easier than for Muggles. And if I hadn't decided to go to Hogwarts, I wouldn't have met Harry and Ron. Those two, of all the people in my life, have made the biggest impact on me. They have proved to me that not all guys are shallow and mindless, and behind all that wannabe manliness, there is a good, kind-hearted person. They're the greatest guys in the world, the best friends I could ever have. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on friendship with other girls, but then I think about what I already have, and I'm grateful.
Harry, lately, seems to be kind of depressed. I mean, I haven't seen him since school let out, and even he was like that. Obviously, what with the Third Task incident. Anyway, we've written letters back and forth (Ron included), like always, and Ron's are the same as always, but Harry's are different. No more jokes on Dudley's hideous weight gain, nothing funny like that. I want to believe it's just those horrendous people he lives with he has to call family, but I know that's not what really bugs him deep down. Yet I still don't understand why Dumbledore sees it best for Harry to live with the Dursleys for part of the summer, as they don't add to his self-esteem, which has already reached a dangerously low level! And really, if You-Know-Who is back in power, why must he stay with Muggles? Why must I stay with Muggles? Though at least the people I live with actually like me.
At the end of this past term, Harry tried to cover up how he felt. Honestly, he didn't do a very good job of it. Every time something upsets him, he acts sort of distant and he gets this look in his eyes. You can read his eyes like a book. Ron and I know that he feels horribly about Cedric's fault, but there's nothing he can do about it. Harry has it welded into his mind that Cedric's death was all his fault, and he should have taken the damn cup, and blah, blah, blah. Well, you know what? It wasn't his fault. The only two people at fault are You-Know-Who and Peter Pettigrew. I often wish that Crookshanks had eaten Pettigrew when he was still a rat. Ron probably would never have forgiven me, but that's a different story.
Speaking of Ron, he's been acting quite odd, too. Especially about Viktor. I don't know why, Viktor was perfectly nice. The whole little fling between us didn't really mean much to me, I'm still trying to find the proper way to break it off. Anyway, Ron doesn't show it, but I know it hurts him to see Harry like that. Those two have always, always, been there for each other, but now, I don't think Ron quite knows what to do. I guess that's where I come in.
CRASH. Crookshanks has just knocked over my cauldron, and my books come spilling out. The racket pulls me back from my deep state of thought. Sighing, I get up from my bed and pick up the mess, while Crookshanks jumps up on my pillows, purring. It's nearly one in the morning, and I suppose I should be getting to bed. I crawl under the covers and fall asleep to the steady rhythm of Crookshanks's purring.
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Sunlight pouring in through my window wakes my up. It's 10 o'clock. That's last for me to sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed and wander downstairs through the quiet sunny house. On the kitchen table, I find a note from Mum and Dad. I read it as I fry my eggs for breakfast. They left for work early and would be home a little after five. Good. I need some alone time. No one breathing down my back, asking if I've done my summer homework or if I'm hungry. I know they mean well, but it gets annoying! I eat my scrambled eggs in peace, ignoring Crookshanks's mews for food, despite his full dish.
When I'm done, I leave my dirty dished on the table and rub back upstairs to my room. I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. There's a good thing about summer: comfy clothes!! I go in the bathroom, splash my face with cold water, and pull my hair back into a loose ponytail. Then I head back downstairs again and settle down on the couch to watch TV.
The news is on. There's a stuffy looking newscaster standing with her microphone in front of a house that's had the walls half-knocked down. The roof is collapsed. I frown and stare harder, trying to make out the green thing floating up in the sky. It's shimmering, and it looks almost like a skull-
The Dark Mark.
I gasp and turn up the volume. "I'm Marcia Owens," the newscaster says boredly. " I'm reporting here from Godric's Hollow. Just last night, there seemed to be some sort of explosion in this house behind me, which was loud enough to cause the neighbors to call the police. Two young ladies were found dead, which no apparent cause of death, which has puzzled doctors and police. Suspiciously, the expressions on their faces were ones of complete horror- is it possible for someone to be scared to death?"
I am horrified. I feel so sorry for these Muggles, who are completely unaware of what is really going on. I run out on the porch, looking frantically for the Daily Prophet. I pick it up off the stairs, my hands shaking so badly I can barely unfold it. Sure enough, on the cover page, is the same image I saw on the TV. The article is more detailed: Two Muggle girls. dead.. The Dark Mark..believed to be the work of a Death Eater.. the same house Lily and James Potter died in nearly fourteen years ago.
My mouth goes dry. The irony of it is uncanny. I run back in the house, locking every door and window, even though I know it wouldn't keep a Death Eater out. I flip off the TV, unable to watch anymore. I sit on the couch, not knowing what to do. How must Harry be feeling? I need to talk to him, but how? I don't have his phone number.. Unless the Dursleys are listed in the phone book!
I dig up the phone book from under piles of paper in the den, and I sit on the floor with the phone next to me, flipping through and searching for Dursley. The only one listed is under Vernon. I think that's his uncle's name..
I dial the number and wait. It rings three times before a gruff, deep voice answers, "Hello? Vernon Dursley speaking."
I put on my most polite voice I use around Professor McGonagall and say, "Hello, may I please speak to Harry?"
"W-what?" He sounds stunned. "There is no Harry here. You have the wrong number."
I roll my eyes and drop the polite act. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Put Harry on the phone, or I'll have to write a letter to his godfather, I'm sure he'll-"
"Okay! Okay!" he cries, sounding panicked. "I'll put Harry on the damn phone. HARRY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!! YOU HAVE A TELEPHONE CALL!"
I hear muffled voices before Harry picked up the phone and says, "Hello?" His voice sounds dull.
"Hi, Harry."
"What? Hermione?" He sounds surprised, like his uncle, but in a good way. "How did you get this number? How did you get my uncle to let you talk to me?"
"I looked in the phone book, and I threatened to write a letter to Sirius."
He laughs, something I'm sure he won't be doing very often much anymore. "Good thinking."
He pauses, and then goes on. "Did you hear.about what happened at Godric's Hollow?"
"Yeah.it was all over the news, and in the Daily Prophet."
There's an awkward silence, and I fiddle with the phone cord. I never though I could feel uncomfortable talking to Harry.
"I don't think it was a Death Eater who did it, Hermione," he says quietly, and I know exactly what he means. He sounds small and alone.
We talk for hours, about the Third Task and Cedric and school and Quidditch and what happened last night and anything and everything that comes to mind. By the end of our conversation, I feel a little better, maybe because Harry sounds like he feels better.
"Thanks, Hermione," he says cheerily. "It was nice talking to you. You're a good friend."
I appreciate the compliment, but after I hang up, I wonder if I'm a good enough friend. I should have done more. Then I have to remind myself that I've done all I can. I can't always be perfect.
I hear a tapping on the window. It's Pig and he's holding a rather thick bit of parchment in his beak. I open the window and he swoops in, dropping Ron's letter in my hands. He flies onto the ceiling fan, hooting at Crookshanks, who is giving him the evil eye from the couch.
Ron's letter is all about what happened at Godric's Hollow and how he's worried about Harry and how he wants us both to come stay with us soon because he doesn't feel right with us staying the whole summer with Muggles, since You-Know-Who is on the loose. I'm surprised Pig got this here so fast, since Ron could only have written this today. Pig starts flying in circles around the room, and Crookshanks hisses at him. Forget about a peaceful day. I go up to my room to find parchment to write Ron back.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? Good? Bad? Needs work? Tell me, just no flames, okay? Please review!
Yea, another fic, finally!!! This is the first chapter of my second fic, and I'm rather proud of it. Please R/R!! I LOVE feedback!!
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤
Chill out, whatcha' yelling for Lay back, it's all been done before And if you could only let it be, you will see Somebody else, round everyone else Watchin' your back like you can't relex Tryin' to be cool, you look like a fool to me
Avril Lavigne, "Complicated"
Sometimes I wish I were a Muggle like my parents. Things would certainly be easier. I could live a nice, uncomplicated Muggle life. You know, go to college, be a doctor, get married and have kids, and live in a house with a white picket fence. But of course, I have to have another reason to differentiate myself from my family.
My whole family, extended and all, is just average. My parents are dentists. My aunts and uncles and grandparents are bakers or mill workers or teachers or hotel clerks. And then I was born. Spectacular Hermione Granger, who could talk at six months, who could read the newspaper at four and a half, who could multiply at the end of kindergarten. When I was eight, Mum and Dad asked me whether I wanted to go to Oxford or St. Andrews here in Britain, or Harvard or Yale in America. I was eight!! I didn't know what I was going to wear the next day, how could I know what college I wanted to attend?
Then came The Letter when I was eleven. My Hogwarts letter, the letter that shattered my parents' dreams for me. I was a witch. A spell casting, potion- brewing witch in a family of Muggles. Me, I was ecstatic. I had never suspected that I was a witch. Sure, there were some unexplained incidents, like lost Barbie dolls appearing out of nowhere, but I just blew it off. Mum and Dad hid it well, but I knew they didn't want me to go to Hogwarts. They wanted me to pursue a career as a lawyer or a doctor and make hundreds of thousand a year and make them proud to say that I was their daughter. We bought my supplies and I performed a few simple spells, and they saw I excelled at that too, and they cheered up a bit. It made them even happier when they found out I could still be a doctor in the wizarding world. I'm top of my year at school, and I know they're still proud of me, but sometimes I can tell they wish I stayed home and didn't go off to Hogwarts. It would make THEIR lives easier as well.
If I were a Muggle, I wouldn't have to worry about You-Know-Who. Hell, I probably wouldn't even know he existed. Ever since his return to power, I haven't felt as safe and secure as I used to here at home. I feel more vulnerable, knowing he could burst in at any moment and kill us all. Muggle locks aren't much good against an evil madman.
Don't get me wrong, being a witch does have its plus-sides. The obvious is the magic part. You can do everything with magic: cook, clean, write, travel. so in the physical sense, being magical kind of makes life easier than for Muggles. And if I hadn't decided to go to Hogwarts, I wouldn't have met Harry and Ron. Those two, of all the people in my life, have made the biggest impact on me. They have proved to me that not all guys are shallow and mindless, and behind all that wannabe manliness, there is a good, kind-hearted person. They're the greatest guys in the world, the best friends I could ever have. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on friendship with other girls, but then I think about what I already have, and I'm grateful.
Harry, lately, seems to be kind of depressed. I mean, I haven't seen him since school let out, and even he was like that. Obviously, what with the Third Task incident. Anyway, we've written letters back and forth (Ron included), like always, and Ron's are the same as always, but Harry's are different. No more jokes on Dudley's hideous weight gain, nothing funny like that. I want to believe it's just those horrendous people he lives with he has to call family, but I know that's not what really bugs him deep down. Yet I still don't understand why Dumbledore sees it best for Harry to live with the Dursleys for part of the summer, as they don't add to his self-esteem, which has already reached a dangerously low level! And really, if You-Know-Who is back in power, why must he stay with Muggles? Why must I stay with Muggles? Though at least the people I live with actually like me.
At the end of this past term, Harry tried to cover up how he felt. Honestly, he didn't do a very good job of it. Every time something upsets him, he acts sort of distant and he gets this look in his eyes. You can read his eyes like a book. Ron and I know that he feels horribly about Cedric's fault, but there's nothing he can do about it. Harry has it welded into his mind that Cedric's death was all his fault, and he should have taken the damn cup, and blah, blah, blah. Well, you know what? It wasn't his fault. The only two people at fault are You-Know-Who and Peter Pettigrew. I often wish that Crookshanks had eaten Pettigrew when he was still a rat. Ron probably would never have forgiven me, but that's a different story.
Speaking of Ron, he's been acting quite odd, too. Especially about Viktor. I don't know why, Viktor was perfectly nice. The whole little fling between us didn't really mean much to me, I'm still trying to find the proper way to break it off. Anyway, Ron doesn't show it, but I know it hurts him to see Harry like that. Those two have always, always, been there for each other, but now, I don't think Ron quite knows what to do. I guess that's where I come in.
CRASH. Crookshanks has just knocked over my cauldron, and my books come spilling out. The racket pulls me back from my deep state of thought. Sighing, I get up from my bed and pick up the mess, while Crookshanks jumps up on my pillows, purring. It's nearly one in the morning, and I suppose I should be getting to bed. I crawl under the covers and fall asleep to the steady rhythm of Crookshanks's purring.
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Sunlight pouring in through my window wakes my up. It's 10 o'clock. That's last for me to sleep. Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed and wander downstairs through the quiet sunny house. On the kitchen table, I find a note from Mum and Dad. I read it as I fry my eggs for breakfast. They left for work early and would be home a little after five. Good. I need some alone time. No one breathing down my back, asking if I've done my summer homework or if I'm hungry. I know they mean well, but it gets annoying! I eat my scrambled eggs in peace, ignoring Crookshanks's mews for food, despite his full dish.
When I'm done, I leave my dirty dished on the table and rub back upstairs to my room. I change into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. There's a good thing about summer: comfy clothes!! I go in the bathroom, splash my face with cold water, and pull my hair back into a loose ponytail. Then I head back downstairs again and settle down on the couch to watch TV.
The news is on. There's a stuffy looking newscaster standing with her microphone in front of a house that's had the walls half-knocked down. The roof is collapsed. I frown and stare harder, trying to make out the green thing floating up in the sky. It's shimmering, and it looks almost like a skull-
The Dark Mark.
I gasp and turn up the volume. "I'm Marcia Owens," the newscaster says boredly. " I'm reporting here from Godric's Hollow. Just last night, there seemed to be some sort of explosion in this house behind me, which was loud enough to cause the neighbors to call the police. Two young ladies were found dead, which no apparent cause of death, which has puzzled doctors and police. Suspiciously, the expressions on their faces were ones of complete horror- is it possible for someone to be scared to death?"
I am horrified. I feel so sorry for these Muggles, who are completely unaware of what is really going on. I run out on the porch, looking frantically for the Daily Prophet. I pick it up off the stairs, my hands shaking so badly I can barely unfold it. Sure enough, on the cover page, is the same image I saw on the TV. The article is more detailed: Two Muggle girls. dead.. The Dark Mark..believed to be the work of a Death Eater.. the same house Lily and James Potter died in nearly fourteen years ago.
My mouth goes dry. The irony of it is uncanny. I run back in the house, locking every door and window, even though I know it wouldn't keep a Death Eater out. I flip off the TV, unable to watch anymore. I sit on the couch, not knowing what to do. How must Harry be feeling? I need to talk to him, but how? I don't have his phone number.. Unless the Dursleys are listed in the phone book!
I dig up the phone book from under piles of paper in the den, and I sit on the floor with the phone next to me, flipping through and searching for Dursley. The only one listed is under Vernon. I think that's his uncle's name..
I dial the number and wait. It rings three times before a gruff, deep voice answers, "Hello? Vernon Dursley speaking."
I put on my most polite voice I use around Professor McGonagall and say, "Hello, may I please speak to Harry?"
"W-what?" He sounds stunned. "There is no Harry here. You have the wrong number."
I roll my eyes and drop the polite act. "No, I'm afraid I don't. Put Harry on the phone, or I'll have to write a letter to his godfather, I'm sure he'll-"
"Okay! Okay!" he cries, sounding panicked. "I'll put Harry on the damn phone. HARRY! GET DOWN HERE NOW!! YOU HAVE A TELEPHONE CALL!"
I hear muffled voices before Harry picked up the phone and says, "Hello?" His voice sounds dull.
"Hi, Harry."
"What? Hermione?" He sounds surprised, like his uncle, but in a good way. "How did you get this number? How did you get my uncle to let you talk to me?"
"I looked in the phone book, and I threatened to write a letter to Sirius."
He laughs, something I'm sure he won't be doing very often much anymore. "Good thinking."
He pauses, and then goes on. "Did you hear.about what happened at Godric's Hollow?"
"Yeah.it was all over the news, and in the Daily Prophet."
There's an awkward silence, and I fiddle with the phone cord. I never though I could feel uncomfortable talking to Harry.
"I don't think it was a Death Eater who did it, Hermione," he says quietly, and I know exactly what he means. He sounds small and alone.
We talk for hours, about the Third Task and Cedric and school and Quidditch and what happened last night and anything and everything that comes to mind. By the end of our conversation, I feel a little better, maybe because Harry sounds like he feels better.
"Thanks, Hermione," he says cheerily. "It was nice talking to you. You're a good friend."
I appreciate the compliment, but after I hang up, I wonder if I'm a good enough friend. I should have done more. Then I have to remind myself that I've done all I can. I can't always be perfect.
I hear a tapping on the window. It's Pig and he's holding a rather thick bit of parchment in his beak. I open the window and he swoops in, dropping Ron's letter in my hands. He flies onto the ceiling fan, hooting at Crookshanks, who is giving him the evil eye from the couch.
Ron's letter is all about what happened at Godric's Hollow and how he's worried about Harry and how he wants us both to come stay with us soon because he doesn't feel right with us staying the whole summer with Muggles, since You-Know-Who is on the loose. I'm surprised Pig got this here so fast, since Ron could only have written this today. Pig starts flying in circles around the room, and Crookshanks hisses at him. Forget about a peaceful day. I go up to my room to find parchment to write Ron back.
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A/N: Well, what do you think? Good? Bad? Needs work? Tell me, just no flames, okay? Please review!