Mudblood No More

Someone Else

The next day passed by in a blur. Early in the morning, Hermione was released from the Hospital Wing. It was relieving, really, to get out of the completely bland, boring room. All of that white would drive anyone crazy. Something about it always gave off the padded-room feel,  made her feel mentally unstable. So it was nice to finally see the Gryffindor common room, donning the red and gold that she loved.

Finally, Hermione felt better. Almost as if a weight was lifted off of her. She felt something that she couldn't even describe, because it was so incredible, so amazing.

Somewhere around midnight, she'd fallen asleep. She'd admit that she'd been faking before, but it was for a good cause. She needed time to think things through, without interruptions. And hearing Slytherins jeering at her for fainting certainly wouldn't help. They didn't even seem that ill, to be honest, Potions accident or not. But they certainly had a new problem to deal with, because she had made sure that they'd be in the Hospital Wing for a little while longer than expected.

Her thinking time had helped her understand something. She was alone in this. And no one would care. For some strange, unfathomable reason, Hermione felt pleased about it. There'd be no one to have to rely on. Some part of her was telling her that it was wrong, that she shouldn't bottle up her feelings. Not something this big, at least. But another, much larger part of her told her that it didn't matter. No one really cared anyway.

Slowly, Hermione climbed up the staircase, not caring that she only had five minutes left till class started. She knew that dawdling in the halls wasn't a good idea, but it didn't matter, not really. Classes were useless. They were a cycle, a routine, something that Hermione found she hated. It felt so restricting, and she craved-- no, she needed-- freedom. She deserved it, after all. She'd played the part of the goody-goody student for such a long time, that she deserved this. What did it matter if she was late to one class? McGonagall would have to deal with it.

Suddenly, her stomach rumbled, and she realized that she'd never stopped by the Great Hall for breakfast. She let out a sigh, and told herself that she'd go down for lunch later. There was no point in going down now and having to deal with the elves.

Reaching her dormitory, she shoved the door open without any mercy and collapsed on her bed. Oh, how she had missed it. Even if it was only for a night. Suddenly, it seemed to hold a completely new feeling for her. It felt so new in a way that it shouldn't (it'd been her bed for five years), yet so familiar. She couldn't even explain it.

There was some part of her questioning her sudden, out-of-character behavior. She wanted to fear for what she was becoming. She wanted to douse herself with water, and pray that whatever had taken over her would wash away with it. But deep down, far under, a somewhat malicious voice told her that she'd always been like this. That this was who she was, and had always been, appetite for revenge and all.

Then, almost like lightning striking, an idea slithered into her head, and firmly planted itself into her brain. She now knew who she was, didn't she? So why not show the other people? She had always, for her entire life, wished that someone would look at her without seeing a "pretentious" bookworm, and would see her instead. Hermione Granger, the girl who loved to paint her nails, and feast on mint chocolate chip ice cream. Or the girl who

Sighing, she lifted herself off the bed, not bothering with any gentleness. She trudged the few steps it took to get to her trunk, and lifted it open, which, however, sounded more like slamming. She rummaged through the neatly kept items, throwing some on her bed, and some others on the floor, without caring what they were. Finally, she held up her desired objects, which just so happened to be her favorite sweatshirt, a tank top and a comfortable pair of jeans.