Chapter Text
"To be of good quality, you have to excuse yourself from the presence of shallow and callow minded individuals,"
If you asked the people who knew Hermione Jean Granger for their opinion on her, you would receive a variety of responses, both positive and negative, depending on the party(ies) involved.
Her parents thought that she was extraordinary (to be fair, most parents thought this of their children, so it was hardly an enlightening view on the girl's character).
Her teachers would grudgingly admit that Hermione was incredibly intelligent. Hermione had a little habit of getting into debates with her teachers, with the former winning more often than not. She couldn't blame them for their chilly attitudes though: she supposed it must have been hard to teach a child that could be a lot smarter than you. Hermione could readily admit her level of intelligence. She had a slightly higher than average IQ and an unusually good memory, meaning she customarily expected to be smartest one in the room. Or at least, the most eager to learn. She would settle for that as well.
Hermione's ballet teacher was an uptight French woman that was way past her prime (solely judged by the deep wrinkles that even the hardiest of concealers couldn't cover). She called Hermione une petite fée because she swore that when the little girl leapt, she seemed to impossibly stay in the air for a split second longer than possible.
The young librarian of the local library of which Hermione was a frequent visitor would call her an avid reader who had the potential to do great things when she was older. The librarian, a young man with an awful limp moustache, was in awe of the little girl who read the works of Jane Austen and famous biographies by the time she reached Year 5. He often chuckled when he thought of her eagerness to learn compared to his own.
Her classmates would describe her as an ugly, pesky, know-it-all who needed to keep her trap shut. As suggested by that pleasant nickname, her classmates weren't particularly fond of her. Hermione liked to think that being deemed a social pariah of her primary school was because of her intelligence being intimidating. It was certainly better than being ignored because she was a dreary bore.
Not having any friends wasn't for lack of trying, on Hermione's part at least. She had tried to befriend popular girl Aisha Omar frequently throughout her time in primary school; Aisha was the leader of the girl gang and being liked by her was practically a free pass through school. She was beautiful and confident; everything Hermione desperately desired to be.
Hermione had downloaded a bunch of cheesy, overrated movies that seemed to be in fashion from a slightly shady website and bought a neon pink magazine from a corner shop, hoping to be able to relate to the girls a little more. Hermione wanted to impress the girls with or at least show she was worth a minute of their time. However, when the apprehensive girl went up to them, instead of being relaxed (and instead like an anti-social hermit) she succeeded in making a fool of herself: Hermione's palms had started to sweat and Hermione stuttered a few incomprehensible and utterly irrelevant facts.
Aisha had rolled her eyes and ignored her.
She burst into tears as soon as she got home.
There was also the matter of exploding windows and lightbulbs. Sometimes the boys, (particularly that damn Darren Tate) would pick on her in class, imitating her as she answered questions. She remembered a particularly embarrassing incident when she had gotten a tad too enthusiastic and talked for at least a minute straight. When she had Hermione finally caught her breath, the whole class started laughing, and even the teacher couldn't resist a few chuckles.
Hermione's cheeks had burned in embarrassment as she slumped down sullenly. Tears prickled her eyelids, and she clenched her fists, forcing herself to remain composed.
Crying was as good as admitting defeat after all.
Hermione was so angry at all of them. Especially that damn Darren Tate who was still jumping up and down, imitating Hermione. She had stopped trembling and could only feel fury. How dare they.
She didn't remember it happening. The window reacted as if there was a force that was pushing down on it and it exploded into tiny pieces, sprinkling all over the room. Everybody seemed to automatically shuffle back in order to get away form the shower of glass. Inexplicably, the shower of glass seems directed towards Darren and several pieces of glass managed to hit him. Darren immediately cried out as the glass cut his bony cheek. The class was stunned into silence at the sight of the gaunt boy cowering and Hermione standing in the middle of the glass, looking as astonished as they all felt.
Another time, Becky Williams had tried to blame her for spilling the PVA glue all over the desk. Of course, gullible Mrs Michaels had believed doe-eyed Becky who had big blue eyes and dimples and a wicked smile instead of the brash, frizzy-haired girl who was nowhere near the glue pot at the time. The next thing either of them felt was the lovely sensation of having sticky glue in their hair. Hermione had no idea how it happened but the look on their faces was absolutely comical, their eyes had both widened up and Becky actually started crying!
(Becky had it out for her for the rest of the year. Funnily enough, none of the paper balls she tried to throw at her came anywhere near the girl. Her aim must have been horrible for it to have it her crush, Ben Odjewa, instead.)
However anybody chose to describe her, it was undeniable to all of them, even her beloved parents, Hermione Granger was an oddity. Odd things happened to her.
And a woman wearing peculiar long robes, and calling her a witch in her own living room certainly fit the bill.
This had that damn Darren Tate written all over it.