Brave New Girl

Brave New Girl
Chapter Two:
The Wreckage

She would have to move soon, but the very thought was unbearable. She'd been rooted to the spot since it had happened, and though her eyes darted furiously around the wreckage, no other part of her had moved. She could have been a statue.

She should have known better than to let herself get like this, to trust someone so completely. After all, she reasoned, trusting was not something she was particularly good at- not Real-Life Hermione, anyway. In-Love-Hermione wasn't Real-Life-Hermione. In-Love-Hermione was frivolous and carefree and... happy. Hermione cringed as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. That was the problem, after all. She'd allowed herself to be happy. One would have thought that that particular impulse would have been well squashed by the time she'd even begun Hogwarts. Primary school had not been the best part of Hermione's life. Children are cruel and honest, and if someone is different, she is automatically an outcast. Hermione, with her bushy hair, huge teeth, funny name, and even-then superior intellect and obsessive need to be the first with her hand in the air, had been an obvious and easy target. The teasing and bullying had been a tremendous shock to her; in her home, her intelligence and hunger for knowledge had been encouraged and marked as positive things, and she'd never once judged or seen her parents judge someone based on what they looked like. She supposed things might have been different if she'd had siblings- maybe she would have developed some of those childish, argumentative, snarky behaviors naturally- but she'd been raised with only her parents for company. Who would be able to blame her for becoming a tiny adult in a six-year-old body?

The crying jags that followed particularly difficult days at school- days when the insults and personal attacks had been too much- were always quieted by the calm, sweet voice of her mother and the always scientific logic of her father.

"Being smart isn't a bad thing, Hermione. Those children are upset with you because they can't think like you do. They haven't learned what you know yet." But despite her parents' support, the only remedy they could ever come up with was ignoring those who hurt her. She was better than them, and there was no need to stoop to their level. It was the logical solution and the adult way to handle it, and for a while, she'd been able to simply ignore it. After all, there had to be someone, some other child, who would befriend her, someone who would understand her. Sometimes she thought she'd found a friend, usually a new girl in class, but after a while, the shiny lure of popularity would take that friend away, and once again Hermione would find herself the subject of ridicule. Only this time, it would hurt worse than before because the one who was causing the pain was someone she'd trusted. Someone she'd loved.

Finding Ron with Pansy was like a Band-Aid ripped off a scab. For years she'd done such a good job bottling up emotions, hiding disappointment and fear, and putting up her brave Gryffindor front. Unlike most of the students, Hermione knew exactly how important it was to keep her composure, to play the part of the strong, confident girl. The walls she'd built around her in Muggle school had only been fortified at Hogwarts, but at least at Hogwarts there was the added dimension of hating her for her parentage, so not only was she a freak-haired, snaggle-toothed know-it-all, she was a Mudblood. Lying had become second nature to her over the years.

It doesn't bother me.

That's just ignorant.

They're just jealous.

Hermione snorted derisively. They're just jealous, that great mantra of bullied children's parents. Maybe someday she'd look back and think of it as true, but even now, eleven years later, she still thought that those other children- from her very first day of school- were just mean-spirited little brats with no manners and obviously either absent or asshole parents. But she knew that, though those things could definitely be said of Pansy, they were not true of Ron. So was Ron jealous of her? Was that why he'd cheated on her? Why he'd lied to her, why he'd knowingly hurt her?

She thought it highly unlikely.

Sniffling, Hermione realized what a truly dire situation she'd found herself in. She had no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Her only friends were male which would have made the problem awkward even if one of those friends hadn't been the problem in question. The only female she could even slightly trust was Ron's sister, so that was, of course, out of the question. She supposed if she really needed to, she could confide in Professor McGonagall, but after six years of presenting nothing but a calm, adult, confident front, would the Headmistress ever really believe that her Head Girl didn't even have the self-esteem of a first year? Or would she just tell Hermione the same old thing?

You're better than them. You'll come out on top in the end.

Maybe, she thought miserably. But what was she supposed to do in the meantime?

Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall instinctively, and she watched the second hand tick around the dial through the shattered, jagged glass of the cover.

She would have to move soon.

It was almost one o’clock, and she would have to move soon. Soon it would be time for Advanced Potions, and she would have to move. She would have to go to class. No matter what had happened, she would have to go to class. If it had been anyone else’s class, she might have considered skiving off, but missing Snape’s class would lead to a fate worse than the hell hole she currently found herself wallowing in. But if she wanted to go to Potions- No, she told herself. Shehad to go to Potions- if anything had a chance of making her feel even a tiny bit better it would be immersing herself in class- in unswerving logic. She would have to move.

But she hadn’t moved since this morning. Not since it had happened. Not since Ron, not since Pansy, not since everything she’d known had been destroyed. But she didn’t want to think about it anymore... again... ever. Because she was afraid that if she did-

Bang!

If she did, something would happen. Even as she had thought about thinking about it, a heavy text book leapt four feet in the air and landed with a heavy thud on the cold stone floor. She didn’t even look. These things had been happening the entire time. After a while, the shock and anger and devastation of everything that had happened had dulled to a throb, and then the throb had subsided to an ache. After the ache came disbelief, but eventually even the disbelief had given way to an all-consuming, mind-numbing deadness- a dull sense of half-being that simply would not leave her. It hurt too much to think of Ron, so she pushed that away. It hurt too much to remember who he was, and what she'd felt, and what they'd been together. It hurt too much to think of how much she loved him and how much, even after what she'd seen, she still wanted him- wanted him to explain what was going on, and why it was all just a big misunderstanding.

A stuffed toy Ron had given her exploded, and Hermione burst into a new set of tears. This was the worst of it. All at once, all she could see was the fat little face of her main childhood tormentor hovering over her, the bully's lackies jeering and holding Hermione down as the big one took her favorite Barbie. Tiny Hermione had cried and thrashed futiley against her captors, but nothing she did could break her free. Panicked and helpless, Hermione had watched the delight on the bully's face at the acquisition of a shiny new toy, and without warning, the doll burst apart, sending head, arms, and legs flying in all directions and leaving only the once fashionably-dressed torso in the girl's chubby little hand.

Hermione moved for the first time as she fell to her knees. She'd thought that those odd occurrences had been explained when she'd received her Hogwarts letter. Everything had made sense after that; sometimes underrage witches did unexplainable magic in times of great distress. It was all perfectly explainable then. And all of the weirdness had stopped for a while since she'd arrived here. She was learning to control hjer magic- a magic she'd never really believed in before- and that was the main, secret reason why she took to her studies so enthusiastically. If she was a witch, and there were other witches her age, then she belonged somewhere. Finally, she'd found somewhere where she could be herself and be understood and accepted.

She'd never lost control of her magic since coming to Hogwarts until today, and that was what scared her the most, maybe even worse than losing Ron. She was beginning to feel alone and out of control again, and the thought that that misery could consumer her again frightened her. She remembered all too well what it was to be alone- to be unhappy and cold and hated by everyone around her. And she didn't want it to happen again.

Something inside of her whispered then, and though she'd pushed the thought away many times before in her life, this time the idea took hold. It was a lie to believe that all of the magic she'd done as a child had been accidental, and an even bigger one to think that the destruction of her bedroom wasn't intentional either. It may not be exactly controlled, but she could direct it, call it up in a very intentional way. Sniffling and standing, Hermione considered herself in her cracked mirror. It was true that the events of the morning had been a bit on the dramatic, instinctive side, but she knew that if she wanted to- if she concentrated really hard...

Her copy of Hogwarts: A History leapt from its place on her sofa and landed softly on her mantle. Smiling at her red-eyed reflection, Hermione steadied herself and picked up her school bag. She knew how awful being hurt and afraid was.

Which was why she simply wasn't going to feel it anymore.

*********A/N****************
I added another chapter right away to move it to the top of the list, but I'll normally update about once a week (more or less quickly based on work schedule, etc).

PLEASE review! :)