Author's Note: First off, thank you guys for the reviews! They make me really happy. I'm about to finish writing a 10-chapter story under a different pen name but for some reason I like this one a lot better. I think part of that is because all of you reviewers are so great and so heartening. Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to Z. Riley, N.C. PsyChick, justoneofmylies, meliailey, punkbanana13, and Miss Hogwarts. They all figured out that the name Danior means "born with teeth." I thought it suited Hermione's father perfectly, considering he's a dentist. Good job for figuring it out you guys! Heartfelt thanks to all of my dedicated readers and reviewers.
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"…But Ris, she's fast asleep," came a far-off voice.
"Well then, couldn't you carry her?"
"Carry her? I could do that when she was four, sure, but not now that she's sixteen!"
Hermione was curled up in the backseat of her car, listening to her parent's voices. She was too tired to move. Vaguely she thought about Henry and what he was doing right now.
"Hermione? Wake up sweet-heart." Her mother was prodding her. Hermione grunted in her sleep.
"I can't. He'll find out," she said.
"Who will find out?"
"Ron," Hermione muttered.
"What will he find out?" her mother asked, bemused. Hermione wondered why she was being so difficult. It seemed perfectly clear to her what she was talking about. "Honey, you're sleep-talking," her mum said gently.
Hermione ignored her.
"Dan, couldn't you just carry her inside? She's completely out of it!"
"Fine, I'll try," he said to silence his wife. Hermione felt arms grip her tightly and begin to pull her out of the backseat. Her dad panted. "Okay, Mione, you really need to wake up and get yourself inside."
Hermione opened her eyes. It was pitch-black outside except for the lights coming from the inside of the car. Her parents were staring at her.
"About time," her mother said, smiling at her. "You were acting like your four-year-old self again, Hermione."
Her dad laughed. "Yes, like that time we brought her home from the circus. Remember?"
Hermione sat up. "Fine, fine, I get it. I'm going." She yawned and climbed out of the car. Her dad put an arm around her shoulder and steered her to the door.
"What time is it?" she asked, trying to stifle another yawn.
"Around two."
"Two? Goodness who would have thought dentists could party so hard."
"Watch it," said her dad, smacking the back of her head playfully. She smiled and slowly ascended the stairs. Once inside her room, she shut the door and moved over to her dresser with her eyes closed. She groped for the right handle, pulled out the first pair of pajama pants she felt, and climbed into them without realizing she was still wearing a skirt.
She tiredly pulled her skirt off and made her way to her bed like a blind-person. She collapsed on top of the covers, pulled her red stuffed lion toward her, and kissed it. Then she fell asleep clutching it and dreaming of the real Ron.
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The next morning Hermione groggily noticed someone slide into her bed next to her. That someone started gently caressing her back while she slept.
"Mum?" she finally asked.
"I just wanted to apologize for yesterday," came her mother's voice. "Your father and I love you very much and I don't want you to think we're putting other things ahead of you."
"No, of course not," said Hermione half-consciously.
"You'll always be number one, Hermione. I know we like our jobs and friends a lot, but you always have and always will come first."
"Thanks, Mum. I'm sorry for acting like a selfish brat."
"Oh, you didn't like a brat darling. We all have our moments."
Hermione smiled. "You haven't scratched my back in a long time."
"I know. I miss it. Remember when I used to do this every night?"
"Mmhmm."
"I'm sorry if that party was boring, Hermione," said her Mum. "But I saw you talking with Dr. Mach's son…."
This made Hermione regain full consciousness. She swallowed and stared ahead at her closet door. "Oh."
"Was he nice? I think he's very handsome."
"Mmhmm," she said. She really didn't want to talk with her mother about this.
"What did you two do?" asked her mother with just a hint of a knowing tone.
"Umm…watched The Wizard of Oz."
"So do you like him?" her mother teased.
Hermione bit her lip and thought about it. Sure, he was very cute and nice. But did she fancy him?
"No," Hermione said resolutely.
"I expected that."
"What?"
"Are you going to visit your friend Ron this summer?" her mum asked suddenly.
Hermione blushed. Did her mum know more than she let on? She had thought she was so clever about hiding it!
"Er—I'm not sure. He hasn't written me about it. But Ginny said they've been asking their mum about it."
"I see. Well, when he invites you, just let me know."
Hermione continued to stare at the closet as she felt her mum rise from the mattress.
"I made pancakes if you want any, Hermione," said her mum with a mischievous grin. Then she opened the door and went back downstairs. Hermione groaned for what felt like the hundredth time that weekend.
She rose from her bed and headed straight for the shower. She really needed some time to think. This boy Henry liked her…she could have a good time with him this summer…but what about going to the Burrow? What about Ron?
She grinned stupidly while thinking about him: his wavy auburn hair, his light scattered freckles, his beautiful ocean-blue eyes. And then there was that guilty smile he reserved only for her when he knew he was being a real prat. Try though she might, she always had to fight back a grin when she saw that smile.
They had been dancing around each other for several years now. She could feel it, sensed it when they touched, when he told her jokes, and even when they fought. When would something actually happen? For goodness' sake, even her mother could tell something was going on and she had hardly even seen them together.
This summer something would happen. She would make sure of it. She may have to break some old habits and start some new ones, but she would finally show Ron her true-self. But…what if he didn't like her? Maybe she was the only one who felt more-than-platonic feelings for the other. Why would he fancy her anyway?
Whenever she had complained to her parents about her lack of boyfriend material, they had told her that boys were intimidated by her because of her intelligence. Well, she thought that was bullshit. She knew it was because she was a know-it-all who was bossy and high-strung. A part of her also felt that boys weren't physically attracted to her. She was very insecure about that, and she knew it.
"Well, it's not my fault I was born with bushy hair," she muttered to her shampoo bottle. It didn't say anything.
Hermione sighed. She always made an effort with her appearance, even if it didn't show. She did wear make-up. She did wear revealing clothes sometimes. Why couldn't anyone see that? Especially him?
I'll just have to start on the inside and work my way out, she decided. She would show everyone that other side to her. The side she had released to the surface only a couple of times before, but held back for unconscious reasons. It was time to release those qualities and allow them to breathe. She wouldn't hold back.
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A/n: Okay I know that was rather short, but I wanted Hermione and her mum to make up. And I wanted to explore her feelings some more. I'm mostly writing this from my own experiences and I relate to Hermione a lot, because I'm very insecure about my physical appearance as well. I know most teenage girls are. Don't expect Hermione to get a make-over or to always straighten her hair. She's a deep person and she's going to focus more on the inside than the outside. This story is about her personal journey, not her make-over story. We get enough of that on TV. I just wanted to say that so no one will expect anything dramatic. Anyway, Mia remarked that I use American phrases a lot. I'm sorry about that but it comes naturally. I'll try to be more critical of it in the future. Thanks!
I'd appreciate any feedback on this chapter. I'm trying to think of more outlets for Hermione's changing personality, but I'm having trouble thinking of ways to show her progress. Please review! When you're a writer and you receive comments about your work, it's like opening a Christmas present. Even if that present contains coal.