Chapter 4
Hermione has never understood girls. She doesn’t understand boys, either, but it stings much more acutely when she can’t relate to people who are supposed to be like her.
It isn’t that her classmates are unkind; far from it. They often engage her when she’s alone in the dorm or the halls. Lavender offers to do her hair and Parvati talks about unicorns and centaurs and Hannah Abbott is always up for a conversation about the Muggle world.
Hermione tries her best, but a snort or a disparaging comment always slips out when they say something too silly or do something too girly.
Things are easier with Harry and Ron. She can criticize all she likes, and they never act silly in the way that girls do.
“Just be one of the guys, like me. Girls are too catty and obsessed with things like fashion and makeup,” Ginny tells her when it come up. Hermione doesn’t think that’s quite it, but she laughs and agrees, anyway.
“I dunno. Girls are too bloody complicated. You shouldn’t want to be like them, anyway,” Ron says. “You’re fine as is.”
“I don’t want to be like them,” Hermione snaps, then pauses. Who is “them?” She supposes he means people like Lavender and Parvati, but she doesn’t understand why she feels so insulted at the implication.
When she asks Luna, she says, “It’s a matter of live an let live.” She drifts away without clarification.
-
It’s many years and deaths and beginnings later when she finally gets a satisfactory answer.
“Oh, Hair-my-knee,” Feur sighs, carding her fingers through Hermione’s long braids, “Zere ees no shame een being a woman.”
“I never said that!” Hermione protests. “Women are just as capable as men and we don’t all wear frilly things or care about makeup–”
“Zees ees exactly my point,” Fleur cuts in. “Such theengs are not silly or shameful; zey are just another form of self-expression.”
Hermione quiets, in understanding and guilt. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I always am, cherie,” Fleur says, and presses a kiss to her cheek.