Chapter Text
Hermione Granger sat quietly at her desk and waited. Waited for the passing of the final hour, on the final day, of her final year in primary school. She could hardly stand the sluggishness of the clock, but not for the same reasons as her classmates. While the other students couldn't wait to be finished with school, Hermione simply couldn't wait to be finished with them. Most of her classmates disliked her, and she generally disliked them right back.
Hermione wasn't your average 11 year old girl. She read and completed her assignments faster than anyone in her level. It left her with the options of being utterly bored while the rest of the class caught up, or simply continuing on past the end of the assigned portion. It was due to this that Hermione found herself looking for additional information on the various subjects they studied. She disliked reading certain things for a second time, finding the repetition completely unnecessary. So to keep her interest perked and mostly to fend off mind-numbing boredom, she sought out additional information from other resources.
However, her reasons for disliking her classmates weren't fueled by a fondness for books, but came from a sense of injustice. Their reasons for disliking her were illogical and seemed to center around her physical appearance. It was widely agreed that the boys who taunted her were miscreants, frequently interrupting class with immature pranks. However, their cruel words left a lingering haze over Hermione. It was as though they cast a spell over the class, sometimes including the teacher, that caused them to avoid her lest they be grouped in with her and an arbitrary stigma.
As summer was upon them, it was hot and stifled in the classroom that day. Hermione found it suffocating, longing to get outside for some fresh air. To combat the discomfort, Hermione put her unruly and frizzy hair in a long plait down her back. As the last hour ticked on, the noise level grew and grew.
Anxious to be rid of the whole lot of them, Hermione opened her history book and skimmed for any last fact or figure she hadn't caught the first time. She heard a quiet sniggering slither it's way around the classroom. Feeling suddenly alert to a large number of eyes looking her way, she reacted a moment too late. She felt a tug on her plait and heard the sound of a pair scissors closing right behind her head. Hermione jerked around to see Marla Anderson holding a clump of Hermione's frizzy brown hair up to her own sleek, blonde hair.
"What do you think, Hermione? Is "woolly mammoth" my style?"
Hermione reached back to feel her plait, finding it loose and very wrong. As she bolted out of the classroom door, she heard the class erupt into cackling and laughter. She barely heard the teacher as he lazily drawled for everyone to quiet down and return to their seats.
Tears streaming down her face, Hermione ran down the hall. The rush of air past her ears drowned out the echo of her shoes on the hard tile floor. Coming to a halt at the door to the girls toilet, Hermione barged in. When she heard the door shut behind her, Hermione released a heavy sob. Her chest tightened, her breaths becoming more and more shallow. She shouldn’t have run, her lungs always objected to running. It took her a few minutes to regain her breath. Making her way over to the mirrors, she centered in front of one and mustered the courage to look. It was awful. Her sprint from the classroom had shaken out the rest of the plait. The left side was untouched, billowing past her shoulders and down her back. But the right side was short. Too short. It stuck out like a pyramid, jutting away from her ear. It wouldn't fit back in a plait or even a simple ponytail. She closed her eyes, more tears plummeting down her face and onto her jumper. Opening her eyes, she saw her miserable reflection. Her skin was blotchy from crying, her eyes were red and swollen, and, oh, her hair. She hid in one of the stalls for the better part of that final hour. Anger welling up inside with nowhere to go, she broke out into fits of tears. Why? Why did they taunt her so much? How had she ever offended them so badly that it always came to something like this? As the anger threatened to burst out of her, she gripped her arms across her chest to keep from punching the stall walls. Closing her eyes again, she plainly wished that it hadn't happened. It didn't happen. It didn't happen. It. Did. Not. Happen. How would Marla like it if it happened to her?! What would Marla do if she had to spend the summer growing out her hair? Sure, it must be nice if your hair lays smooth and shiny, but what if it didn’t? What if Marla had her hair, had Hermione’s hair, to deal with? What if Marla were the “woolly mammoth?”
Deciding to face the inevitable, she exited the stall and made her way to the sinks. She took a deep and stuttering breath, then exhaled the last bit of anger she was clutching. She leaned over one of the sinks. After splashing her face with cold water she dragged a rough brown paper towel across her forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, and chin. But as she looked up into the mirror above, Hermione gaped in surprise. Reaching her hands up, Hermione ran her fingers through a normal and full mane of hair. Both sides cascaded and puffed out past her shoulders, both sides the same long length. Had it happened? Had she only imagined Marla holding a lock of her hair? The idea that it was another in a long line of cruel pranks made her angry all over again. But instead of more tears threatening to spill over, it was resolve that she found flooding up inside her. She couldn’t stand for it. She would spend her life working for fairness and understanding. She didn't know what that would look like, but she didn't care. She would fight to protect other kids like herself, other misfits, other anomalies.
Hermione tossed the paper towel in the bin and wrenched open the door to the hallway. Marching back to class, she could hear a girl yelling from down the hall. As she drew closer, it was clear the noise was coming from her classroom. She reached the door, looking through the narrow window into the room. The class was in absolute chaos. Deliberating whether or not to go in, Hermione decided she at least needed to pick up her book bag. Hoping to sneak in, she quietly opened the door, releasing a wave of sound into the echoing hallway.
It was as though they had been waiting for her. The class hushed in an instant and all eyes were back on Hermione, but this time it was fear, not laughter, that sat behind their stares.
“YOU!” someone screamed.
Turning to look in the direction of the outburst, Hermione gasped. It was Marla. At least, it was the face of Marla. But it was the hair of, well, it was Hermione’s hair! Even Marla’s eyebrows had turned dark and thick, a harsh contrast to her normally blonde and unnaturally thin ones. Marla bellowed again.
“YOU! You did this to me! I don’t know how you did it, but it was you! You little witch!”
Hermione picked up her bag, set her jaw, and pushed in her desk chair.
The bell rang.