Hermione had always prided herself on her intelligence. It was the one thing she would always have.
So much of her self-worth was tied to her grades. If I don’t do well, then I don’t deserve to exist. Hermione hated numbers. Reflections of self-doubt on paper. If I'm not the smartest, then what am I? And these high expectations of her were, of course, self-imposed. She felt good, getting good grades, because it felt like she was getting the respect and recognition she deserved.
And she worked and worked until there was no joy left in learning. Just in knowing. The baseline is perfection. She’s naturally smart, she knows how to study, so bad grades are never really her fault (it was graded wrong, the teacher was biased, the instructions were unclear). The cards are stacked against her and she knows it. She burns from the inside out with the wrongness of it. She has to work twice as hard to get half as much, and she’s just supposed to accept that?!?
Hermione wanted power. Dominion over people. For people to stop treating her like a child, to stop being so condescending, to make them. For no one to laugh at her buck teeth, to dismiss her because of her unruly hair, to not believe her just because of her dark skin. One thing Hermione could never understand is why people acted the way they did. Why they all just roll over accepting things that are wrong, or unfair, just because “That’s how life is.” If ink marred the skin of liars, you’d all be painted black, and I’d be luminescent, she thought. I’d glow. Like I’m supposed to.
So when she reads Matilda, and begs her parents to take her to the theatre to see it, they’re overjoyed; a brilliant little girl, just like our daughter. And Hermione leaves the theatre crying. Matilda changed things! She changed them, just like she wanted to be able to do! That’s exactly what Hermione wanted. But Matilda had power. She thought glumly, sitting at her desk. It’s not like I’m anything special. It’s just a story after all… maybe wanting things to change is childish. She envisions a book, high up on the shelf, floating down into her hands gently. And then it’s in her hands. Startled, she jumps out of her chair, dropping the book onto the floor. She stares at it, and she wants it in her hands. She so desperately, more than anything, wants that power to be real.
The thing about magic is, it’s mostly about intent; you don’t need to say the spell, you don’t need a wand. All you need to want.
This time, the book rises to her chest, and it floats there until she holds it in her hands. And she smiled, unruly hair, dark skin, buck teeth and all.
Everyone values academic excellence, and they expect her to be something great in the future; a politician, a doctor, a solicitor. She knew what they would never say out loud. “You better grow up to be something great, to make up for all the damage you’ve done to our perfectly normal world. You were supposed to be our perfectly normal girl, and you were, but now you’re not. What happened to you?” She did them a favor, really. Erasing her parents' minds after the disastrous end of fourth year.
So Hermione understands perfectly well Harry’s ‘chosen one’ dilemma.
“I spent so long satisfied with being whatever my parents wanted me to be, but they never defined it. It was nice, at first, because of their support… but going into something less educational, like art? Well, they’d never say it out loud, but I could hear it in their tone. What a waste of potential. Before Hogwarts, that was my greatest fear. Then, it was being normal. Of not belonging in the one place that had people so much more like me. Of failing myself. I feel like a failure, Harry. With you, with that book…”
“Mione- I never knew… I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry. I knew it was annoying you, but I nev- I guess that's the problem isn’t it. I didn’t ask, or think about it. I was so engrossed in finally being good enough that I ignored how you were feeling. I’m so sorry Hermione.”
She gave a sniffle into a conjured tissue.
“Though to be fair I did offer to share with you.”
“Harry James Potter, I will not cheat! I don't need to cheat to be the best.”
Harry raised his hands in surrender. “You’re the most brilliant person I know! And Malfoy and all those purebloods… they’re cheating at life! They get to do magic over the summer, and they get tutors, and they spend their lives surrounded by a system that caters so heavily to them that it never occurs for them to think about people like us!” In a quieter voice, he continued. “And you could never fail yourself, or me, or McGonagall, or really anyone for that matter. I’m pretty sure without you, Hogwarts isn’t qualified to be a school. I’m… You’re needed, Hermione. You’re wanted. You’re my best friend, Mione; you’ve always been there for me, and I swear, I’ll do whatever I can to be there for you.”
“Even when Ron is being a prat?”
“Especially when Ron is being a prat. He’ll have to come up for air eventually.”
Hermione gave a wet laugh, and Harry put his arm around her, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. They sat in comfortable silence. All was well.
“You know how there’s that charm to make something smell like fresh baked goods?”
“Naturally. My roommates use it all the time,” Hermione said, scrunching up her nose. “Covers up the smell of that sage Parvati burns for her daily ‘inner eye’ cleansings. Why?”
“... Do you think Ron likes Lavender so much because she smells like food?”