Disclaimer: I own nothing...jus the plot.
For seventeen years I had the same picture on my mirror. It was of a beautiful lady I never knew before. She looked so elegant, so beautiful, and so perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror. The girl stares back at me with a frown on her face. She looked unhappy and apathetic to attend the dinner party that her father told her she had to go to.
I sighed a heavy sigh and grabbed a hair tie off my vanity. I put my hair up in a messy bun. How can she be so perfect? How could she be my own mother? All I have is this picture of her to remind me who my mother was.
Hermione Granger-Potter was my mother. She married my father just before her parents died. According to my father, Mother was a beautiful woman, full of spirit and very outgoing. She would never back down in a fight, no matter whom she was fighting with. Father also said that Mother was always strong. She had to be. She lost her father when Voldemort was powerful, and her mother died when she was my age, seventeen.
But I guess that all changed. She wasn't strong enough when she had me. She took her last breath when I took my first. She died when she gave birth to me, a good thing too.
She would be ashamed to have a daughter that was ugly, shy, and intimidated easy. Even though Father said I was the prettiest girl he ever seen, besides Mother, I still feel ugly. My hair is limp and stringy; I have eyes that are lifeless; I don't stand as tall as my mother does in the picture. Mother was beautiful. She stood tall in the picture, bedecked in jewelry. Her hair was healthy looking, and seems so shiny and full. Her eyes are bright and full of life. She seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Father perhaps? The little black dress she wore, looked well on her. She probably could wear a burlap sack and make it look good. She was sexy.
I wanted to be like her. These past seventeen years I haven't looked liked her one bit. I wanted to be stunning, elegant, and sexy. I could never be like that. I just could never be like her. No matter how hard I try, I would never be like her.
I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. The lavender shampoo and soap calmed my nerves and my irrationality. When I was done, I slipped into my robe and dried my hair as best as I could. When I walked into my room, I looked at the picture of my mother. She seemed poised and to be looking at me with confidence.
I smiled faintly and shook my head. I was stupid to think that my mother would be ashamed of me. She was my mother, who gave her life up to bring me into the world.
I went to my closet and picked out an outfit for the dinner that night. Instead of grabbing something dull, I picked the black dress that belonged to my mother, the same one in the picture. I put it on carefully, and the silky material seemed so comforting. I smiled slightly and sat down in front of my vanity.
I started to do my hair. I carefully curled each section, until I had ringlets all over. I clipped back the sides and smiled in the mirror. I opened the jewelry box and picked out the same earrings and necklace that Mother was wearing in the picture; I put them on.
I started to do my makeup, something I rarely ever use. I applied very little to my fair skin. When I was done, my father walked in to see how I was doing. She looked shocked from what he saw. I thought he was going to be mad, but when I stood up, he smiled.
"You look just like her, Danielle," he said. I couldn't help to smile broadly now. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then said, "You are so beautiful, just like your mother. I told you had it in you."
I looked back in the mirror. The girl in it was smiling now. Her eyes were full of joy and life. All these years I have tried to hide who I was, to look no like my mother. I felt guilty of her death. But I knew she gave her life up for me. She has been my role model for seventeen years, and finally, I have become her.