Chapter 2: The Girl in Navy
Hermione wasn't much of a talker. She never had been, even as an infant. 'You didn't cry or whine about anything,' Emma Granger would complain to her on good days, when the dastardly woman wasn't sipping her life from the edge of a flask, 'you'd just stare at me, like I wasn't even your real mother. A truly shameful sight.'
In all honesty, it had been that way for as long as Hermione could remember. She wasn't stupid, or childish. She knew her place. Emma and Dan Granger had one chance for a child, one, and they wanted a boy. Unfortunately, destiny was cruel and Hermione came into their lives. Poor, simple Hermione Jean Granger. The bane of existence in all its glory.
'We really try to make the best of it,' Emma would complain to her friends late in the night, always unknowing that Hermione was eavesdropping from upstairs, 'but she's such a funny looking girl. No young man will ever fawn over her. Not like Dan did me anyway. I can only hope she'll be the third wife of some rich fellow,'
That's was she was to Emma Granger, a third wife. Hermione hated her mother - the same mother who she was on a first name basis with. It was always ma'am, miss, malady or just...Emma. It wasn't ever mum, or mummy. And in turn, Hermione was never darling, sweetheart or pumpkin. She was always just Hermione, or, if Emma Granger was drunk or in a sour mood, child. Hermione didn't know what to think - her own mother calling her that. Like she was some pet which would come at her calling. But, Hermione wanted to please, and so she went like the good child she was.
Dan Granger wasn't any better. He was the one who wanted a son. He wanted to play catch with him, build models, and go fishing or hiking. Hermione, though, was just Hermione. She wasn't athletic like some other girls. In fact, she was downright puny and she knew it. 'Knocked over with a breath of wind,' Dan would grumble whenever he attempted to get her into sports. Eventually, he just stopped trying altogether. He took Emma, of all people to the Little League games down the street. They left her home in solitude. Every. Single. Time. Being Hermione though, she knew where she belonged. She liked the library, and being surrounded by knowledge and books and sheets upon sheets of written text.
But Hermione also wanted to please. Her heart ached for those small strolls through the garden on a Summer's evening, or a family night at the cinema. She wanted to be called sweetheart and darling, or be picked up and swung around whenever Dan came home from work. But she wouldn't get that because she was Hermione Granger. She was a funny looking girl, who could blow over in a breath of wind. So, when Dan and Emma Granger decided it was time to pick up and move, Hermione just padded along behind. She didn't complain, she never did, and there was barely a peep from her mouth.
'You'll be going to a new private school,' Emma informed her the day of the move, practically throwing a navy colored uniform in Hermione's direction, 'best ware it in now. And for heavens sake do something with that hair?'
Hermione didn't want to go to a private school, and navy was her least favorite color. But she didn't complain, like always. So she wore the uniform all the way to the place called Privet Drive. As for her hair, it was slicked and pinned back so tightly Hermione felt as though her eyeballs would pop out. But that's what Emma Granger wanted...that's always what Emma Granger wanted. The house was nice and quiet, there was a park down the street, and Hermione had a room all to herself as usual. But obviously the house was just a buffer. A place to keep Hermione as separated as possible from her parents.
'We'll never have to see each other the house is so big!' Emma pined, 'isn't that fantastic?'
Hermione didn't say anything. After all, Emma wouldn't listen anyway. She'd give her a look, a scalding 'don't speak again' look, and then return to her flask. Dan liked the yard in the front, and of course agreed with Emma about the space. There was even a library, a quaint little place filled with books which had been brought from their old house. And, alone on a summers day, Hermione sat surrounded by Shakespeare, Aristotle and Thebes. This wasn't an uncommon ritual, in fact, Hermione rather liked it. She was used to the solitude. But, as bookish as she was, Hermione was just as curious.
Standing from her place on the library floor, Hermione lifted a lip at her navy school uniform as she straightened it, running a hand over her scalp to make sure her offensive curls were pulled tightly back away from her hairline. If she were being honest with herself, Hermione would have just shaved it all off. But Emma Granger had always dreamed of Hermione with long, straight caramel colored hair. And so the curls remained. Rolling her eyes at the thought and going to the big window, Hermione pushed away the curtains.
In actuality, this was the first time she saw another person on Privet Drive. Since their arrival, the street had been completely void of any people. But now, staring out the second story window at the house across the street, Hermione was looking directly at someone. She couldn't make out any of him other then the fact that he had dark hair, and was a boy. But he didn't stay long, and had soon vanished from the window. Perhaps he's a ghost. Hermione thought, turning back to where all of her novels were spread in a distinct moon shape, like in one of my stories. A ghost who lives alone in a hidden mansion. Yes, that had to be true.
Frowning, Hermione left the window and returned to her nest of knowledge, sitting in the middle of it all with a weak sigh. She had read all these particular books a thousand times before. In fact, Hermione had read all the books in her family library. But these ones were her favorite. Romeo and Juliet, Sampson Loves Delilah, Titanic. All of them were romances. Was it wrong to wish for a romance at her age?
Hermione was just about to start on Romeo and Juliet again when the doorbell rang from downstairs. Blinking and scrambling towards the hall, Hermione heard her father in the main parlor,
"Can I help you with something?"
Dan Granger didn't sound amused. He was never amused anymore. Someone introduced themselves as 'The Dursley's who lived across the street'. Perhaps the ghost has come with them? Hermione shook her head. Ghosts didn't have families...did that make her a ghost too?
"Oh we aren't used to having guests, and what a lovely young boy you have," Emma Granger cooed, "he's very handsome,"
"Yes. He's a good but troubled boy," a man said, spitting slightly with his words as Hermione crept closer towards the staircase to look down into the parlor. An ungodly man had sunk down into their love seat beside a stick like woman. Were these 'The Dursley's?'
"Oh we know what you mean, Mr. Dursley," Emma groaned slightly, "daughters are completely useless. You wouldn't believe what I have to go through with her every day!"
"You poor woman," Mrs. Dursley insisted quietly, "I think we could be good friends,"
"Yes. Is your boy in a private school? That's where my daughter is going. I won't have to deal with her anymore, as she's still just a child."
There it was again. Child. Hermione twisted her lip in anger and clenched her fists in the jacket of her navy blue uniform. Thats all she was. Hermione was nothing but a child, a troublesome, funny looking, blows over in a breath of wind child. Exhaling heavily, Hermione darted as fast as she could down the stairs, and passed through the back hallway flanking the kitchen. She was seeing red, a truly furious shade. And when her nicely polished black shoes met outside, her legs pounded forward, carrying her farther and farther away from Privet Drive.
Hermione ran as long and as hard as she could; she didn't look back until the twisty rungs of the monkey bars came into view. Slowing and breathing heavily, Hermione kicked at the dirt with a frustrated scream. She hated her mom and Dad, and her own ugly face. She hated private school, and Privet Drive, and the fact that should never, ever escape Emma and Dan Granger. She hate, hate, hated it! And so, with a defeated sigh, Hermione entered the playground and took place one one of the crooked swings. She glowered at the dirt, kicking at it with her 'no longer shiny' shoes.
It wasn't long though before a small stone rolled in her direction, landing before her toes and halting quietly. Glancing up, some of Hermione's loose ringlets tossed about her head in the wind as she spied a figure standing at the entrance to the playground, staring at her. He was like a ghost, pale against the dark backdrop of sky as a breath caught in her throat, and all of her hatred melted away into fear. I'm face to face with a ghost. Hermione thought, clutching the chains of the swing as the boy swallowed too.
"...hi,"
His voice was sweet, like honey and sugar as he turned to look over his shoulder before back at her, "are you alright?"
"Mm fine," Hermione replied quietly, hooking some hair behind her ear and staring at the dirt. Who knew ghosts could be so kind? "Who are you?"
"My names Harry Potter," he said, looking to the sky as a fat raindrop landed on his nose. Hermione looked up too, feeling the chill rolling down the curvature of her face and down into her lap, "aren't you cold out here?"
Hermione turned back to Harry and shook her head slightly,
"No. Are you?"
Harry shrugged and shoved his hands down into oversized pockets.
"Not really. Can I sit with you?"
"I suppose."
Hermione pumped a bit with her feet as the rain grew heavier, and Harry padded onto the playground and sat in the swing beside her. He was a quiet boy, contented to just sit without saying a word. And no matter how hard she tried, Hermione couldn't hate him. She hated everything and everyone, except for him. Because he was Harry Potter. And who could possibly hate a kid named that?
"Hermione."
The name seemed to drift on the wind as Harry swiveled his head to face her. His eyes were the most piercing green she had ever seen in her life, "my name...it's Hermione. Hermione Granger,"
"I like that name," Harry admitted, also pumping his legs to get his swing moving back and forth, "you don't talk much, do you?"
"I've never had anyone to talk too, before," Hermione replied, leaning the side of her head against the swing set chain as she side glanced at Harry, "and you?"
"I don't talk to many people either. They don't like me because I-"
Harry stopped mid sentence as Hermione knitted her bows. Did he suddenly realize he was talking to a freak?
"What is it, Harry?"
"-erm...well, people don't like me cause I can do strange things. Like, not normal, things,"
"Really? Like making things float; and disappear and whatnot?"
Harry turned to Hermione and nodded, with a look of guilt plastered all over his features,
"Yeah, do you hate me now?"
Hermione, for the first time in a long time, smiled. It wasn't a small smile either, but a broad, beaming smile with seemed to light up the dark sky,
"I can't hate you Harry," Hermione said, feeling like Harry and her were just meant to be together, sitting side by side on the swing set in a thunderstorm, "wanna know why?"
Harry hesitated, paused, then nodded his head. Hermione, feeling brave and at ease, reached out to take his hand in her own,
"I can't hate you, because I can do those things too."
