Hermione could hardly believe her luck. First she had been forced to sit through an hour-long lecture from McGonagall about skipping class, then she had the misfortune of running into Malfoy who felt she deserved to bear the brunt of his bad temper, and now she was stuck in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. With a growl, she tried the door one last time, and cried,
"Come on Peeves, this isn't funny!"
"I find it hysterical," Myrtle commented. "You certainly deserve it, Miss know-it-all."
"Look, Myrtle, as I've said before, I'm sorry. I don't want to be a know-it-all. It's just what everyone expects from me. Even my stupid mum and dad."
Hermione kicked the door viciously one last time, then gave up. She stalked over to the stalls and took a seat in front of a locked stall. She had closed her eyes, resting her head against the door. Having the feeling that she was being watched, she cracked open an eye to find Myrtle staring at her curiously.
"Go on. What about your mother and father?"
"I. . . you don't want to hear it," Hermione said, after a long pause. Myrtle snorted.
"Of course I do. Don't you know ghosts have a morbid fascination with the misfortunes of others? I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. It's not like anyone listens to me," Myrtle added woefully.
"All right, I'll tell you," Hermione said hastily, to prevent the flood of tears that was surely coming. She took a deep breath, and another. Myrtle looked impatient.
"If you're going to tell me, then do! Don't tease me."
"Sorry. My mum and dad are getting divorced. On my birthday. And they want me to pick who I'm going to live with. Only, I don't want to live with either of them because they are both hopelessly immature. Neither one of them really likes me anyway.
"Ever since I got into books, they stopped listening to me. Mum wanted me to be a movie star, and goodness only knows what exactly dad thought I could be. Probably a football player. But I only wanted to know things.
"I guess I thought if I knew things, I could find out why they didn't love each other. And why they married for money. And why the bloody hell they had me, if they didn't care for me. Or even for children. My parents always wanted me to be grown-up. When they talk about my early years, do you know what they say?"
"No," Myrtle said. She was staring at Hermione as if her head had come off her shoulders.
"My mum admitted to me that she hated me until I could talk. You know why? Because she had to take care of me! Because I took up her time! Because I was just a little baby, and I wanted her to love me."
"You have terrible parents." Myrtle looked sad. Hermione sniffed.
"And I can't even tell anyone. They all think I'm so perfect, and I'm not. I just didn't have any choice about it. I'm not especially pretty, and I haven't any talents."
"But you're smart!" the ghost protested.
"Only because I study for hours and hours. If I didn't study, I wouldn't know a thing. I'd just be average."
"There's nothing wrong with that. I'm average."
"But you. . . well, you're a ghost, and that isn't exactly average. And everyone expects me to be smart and brainy. But I don't want to be that anymore. It hasn't gotten me what I wanted."
"And what did you want?" Myrtle asked. She had come to rest on the floor, chin in her hands. Hermione was struck by the way she was acting. It was almost as if she was a concerned friend.
"I want someone to love me for who I really am. I'm not smart, I just like to learn. I like adventure, but I also like to be safe. And I don't want to be a know-it-all anymore. I don't want to do everything for everyone else."
"They can do it themselves," Myrtle said firmly. "If you want to change Hermione, just do it. How can they stop you? After all, you still know more than they do."
"You're right," Hermione said, after a moment's consideration. "They can't stop me. Of course, the door is still a problem."
"Oh, that. I guess I could get a teacher to help. Wait here."
"Thank you, Myrtle. I didn't expect you to help me. . . Does this mean we are friends?"
"Of course we are. And you're welcome. This might take a few minutes."
"Come on Peeves, this isn't funny!"
"I find it hysterical," Myrtle commented. "You certainly deserve it, Miss know-it-all."
"Look, Myrtle, as I've said before, I'm sorry. I don't want to be a know-it-all. It's just what everyone expects from me. Even my stupid mum and dad."
Hermione kicked the door viciously one last time, then gave up. She stalked over to the stalls and took a seat in front of a locked stall. She had closed her eyes, resting her head against the door. Having the feeling that she was being watched, she cracked open an eye to find Myrtle staring at her curiously.
"Go on. What about your mother and father?"
"I. . . you don't want to hear it," Hermione said, after a long pause. Myrtle snorted.
"Of course I do. Don't you know ghosts have a morbid fascination with the misfortunes of others? I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about. It's not like anyone listens to me," Myrtle added woefully.
"All right, I'll tell you," Hermione said hastily, to prevent the flood of tears that was surely coming. She took a deep breath, and another. Myrtle looked impatient.
"If you're going to tell me, then do! Don't tease me."
"Sorry. My mum and dad are getting divorced. On my birthday. And they want me to pick who I'm going to live with. Only, I don't want to live with either of them because they are both hopelessly immature. Neither one of them really likes me anyway.
"Ever since I got into books, they stopped listening to me. Mum wanted me to be a movie star, and goodness only knows what exactly dad thought I could be. Probably a football player. But I only wanted to know things.
"I guess I thought if I knew things, I could find out why they didn't love each other. And why they married for money. And why the bloody hell they had me, if they didn't care for me. Or even for children. My parents always wanted me to be grown-up. When they talk about my early years, do you know what they say?"
"No," Myrtle said. She was staring at Hermione as if her head had come off her shoulders.
"My mum admitted to me that she hated me until I could talk. You know why? Because she had to take care of me! Because I took up her time! Because I was just a little baby, and I wanted her to love me."
"You have terrible parents." Myrtle looked sad. Hermione sniffed.
"And I can't even tell anyone. They all think I'm so perfect, and I'm not. I just didn't have any choice about it. I'm not especially pretty, and I haven't any talents."
"But you're smart!" the ghost protested.
"Only because I study for hours and hours. If I didn't study, I wouldn't know a thing. I'd just be average."
"There's nothing wrong with that. I'm average."
"But you. . . well, you're a ghost, and that isn't exactly average. And everyone expects me to be smart and brainy. But I don't want to be that anymore. It hasn't gotten me what I wanted."
"And what did you want?" Myrtle asked. She had come to rest on the floor, chin in her hands. Hermione was struck by the way she was acting. It was almost as if she was a concerned friend.
"I want someone to love me for who I really am. I'm not smart, I just like to learn. I like adventure, but I also like to be safe. And I don't want to be a know-it-all anymore. I don't want to do everything for everyone else."
"They can do it themselves," Myrtle said firmly. "If you want to change Hermione, just do it. How can they stop you? After all, you still know more than they do."
"You're right," Hermione said, after a moment's consideration. "They can't stop me. Of course, the door is still a problem."
"Oh, that. I guess I could get a teacher to help. Wait here."
"Thank you, Myrtle. I didn't expect you to help me. . . Does this mean we are friends?"
"Of course we are. And you're welcome. This might take a few minutes."