A/N: This story was written for season 3, round 2 of the International Wizarding School Championship Forum.
Words: 1206
School: Mahoutokoro
Theme: Heritage
Main Prompt: [Dialogue] "For the seventeenth time, I'm a witch."
Additional Prompt: [Quote] "The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility."
Year: 3
All was quiet at The Burrow.
On the surface, this fact could be seen as troubling. However, it was late at night, and most of the occupants in the house were asleep.
All but one.
Hermione Granger.
The bushy-haired witch was still awake in the darkened bedroom she shared with Ginny. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't fall asleep.
It wasn't a mystery to Hermione why she could not sleep. She had hoped that she could put the day's events past her, but her conscience wouldn't leave her alone. She had laid awake for hours as she listened to everyone else at The Burrow settle and eventually go quiet, but her mind refused to shut off and allow her a reprieve.
Hermione huffed as she threw off the blankets after a few more moments of staring at the ceiling.
The Dining Room of The Burrow was more of an extended space beside its kitchen, and yet, it was calling her name, memories of calm conversations and hilarious stories adding to the siren-like pull.
Getting up, Hermione slipped silently from the room, tip-toeing to make sure she didn't wake Ginny, and made her way to her destination. She'd been staying at The Burrow long enough to know where to avoid stepping to bypass all the creaks and groans the stairs would make as she descended.
She made sure her actions were silent as she finally arrived at the base of the stairs and made her detour to the kitchen. Hoping that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't mind, she made a cup of tea before she sat at the table.
The memory from that morning, the one she had tried to brush aside, floated to the forefront of her mind.
"You want to leave for the summer?"
Hermione sighed at her mother's question. She couldn't fault her mum for asking it, even though she was reluctant to answer it.
It's not like she could say, 'I've been petrified for months and want to spend time with my friends before they go off to Egypt because I keep having nightmares whenever I close my eyes.'
Yes, that would go over so well.
Not.
Her muggle parents not only would freak out but would try to protect her by insisting she leave the magical world altogether.
And therein lay the problem. After her first year at Hogwarts, it hadn't been clear, but the instances of awkward silences and lulls in conversations she had with her parents were growing in number. It made Hermione come to a realization.
Her parents didn't know how to talk to her anymore.
Hermione would be excited about how well she's mastered her wand movements for Charms, but when she tried to explain to her parents, they gave her proud looks but exchanged confused expressions when they thought she wasn't looking. Hermione would talk about her Potions class, and her parents would trade disgusted glances when she described the ingredients.
She and her parents had always shared a love of reading, but even then, they didn't quite get as excited as Hermione did whenever she talked about Hogwarts' library. They would give half-smiles if she brought the subject up, and they would make hollow comments, but nothing else.
"I want to spend the summer holiday with Ron and his family before they leave," Hermione answered her mother's question, which wasn't a lie. "Ron and his family would be able to help me with something the Professors weren't able to." That also was not a lie.
"Yes, dear, you've mentioned problems with a few of your classmates before," Ava Granger stated with a wave of her hand, as though the bullying of Malfoy and other bigoted Pure-Bloods were inconsequential. To be fair, she never gave her parents the details, but still. "But I don't understand why you need to spend the beginning of your summer with him; you have your own family."
Hermione avoided her mother's gaze by looking down at her feet.
Ava pursed her lips. "Listen, Hermione, I'm glad you are making more friends, but your father and I barely see you anymore, ever since you've started going to that…that school of yours. I know becoming a magician is important to you-"
"Witch."
Hermione interrupted her mother. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and her eyes were scowling intently on the floor.
"What?" Ava Granger frowned, confused at the interruption. Her daughter never interrupted her.
"Witch, not magician. A witch," Hermione enunciated slowly. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor. "For the seventeenth time, I'm a witch."
Hermione lifted her head to stare at her surprised mother. "Stop calling me a magician, mum. I am not some phony that does tricks and illusions; I am a witch that can use magic."
Hermione bit her lip and cradled her cooling cup of tea as the memory played in her head. She disliked arguing with her mum and dad.
They were always the ones in her corner whenever she came home from primary school in tears. They were the ones who had smiles and hugs and pure love in their eyes each day she had lamented her inability to make any friends because she preferred to read instead of gossip, paint nails, or gush about hairstyles; all the things girls typically liked to do.
But ever since she had gotten her Hogwarts letter, it was as if somebody had flipped a switch. They were careful with choosing what to talk about, and whenever Hermione discussed her schooling with them, they barely contributed to the conversation.
And they always, always, called her a magician. Always. As though what Hermione was learning to do wasn't a part of who she was, and were instead some tricks she could do for laughs as she prepared to go to muggle university once she had finished her schooling at Hogwarts.
Hermione had never corrected them when they called her a magician. It had always bothered her, but she had continued to brush it off.
Yet, during that argument, Hermione was filled with sudden anger when her mum had called her a magician once more and, for the first time, spoke up against it. She spoke up about what she truly was with pride.
Her mother was too shocked to put up any more fight she might have had about Hermione spending a few weeks of summer with her friend and his family, but Hermione was scared that her defiant act only widened the chasm between her and her parents.
Hermione sighed at the depressing turn of her thoughts and took a sip of her tea, wincing at how cold it had gotten.
She stared into the contents of her cup in her hand. "I am a witch," she said quietly, but the words echoed in the silent room. "I am not a magician. I do not do tricks. I am a witch who does magic. That is who I am."
Hermione believed in the words she spoke. She knew the words to be true. Maybe if she said them enough, the hateful comments of Malfoy and the other pretentious Purebloods would be nothing more than background noise.
Maybe if she recited them enough, her parents would believe them too.
