My very own secret
class. How are you all doing today?” the high-pitched voice of the teacher
Arlall,” came the already-bored response.
looked up at the teacher, her frizzy hair surrounding her face, and said
clearly, “Wonderful.” She was nine years old and was thinking to herself, if
this is what school will be like this year then I might as well quit now. The
teacher was already treating them like babies.
Granger never was a quitter.
spoke again. She had a falsely sweet voice and she was wearing too much pink.
Hermione sighed, and began to take notes.
“This year we
have a timetable we will follow. This may be new to some of you. We’ll start
with 20 minutes of settling in before we go straight to art, and then come back
here for writing. Then we have PE, and come back for maths before we go to
lunch. After lunch, we will have science, then head out to music. When we’re
done filling our heads with tunes, we’ll come back here for a snack and then have
playtime before it’s time to go home. What does that mean, class? That means we
have art right now! We have to go next door to Mr. Rand’s classroom, where the
art equipment is, so we’ll be working with his class as well. Okay, let’s go!”
her notebook and stood up, waiting to go last in line like she always did. No
one shot her a glance, because they were all too busy acting like babies,
wanting to be the first in line. She rolled her eyes and got ready for another
The day passed
normally. In art, Hermione’s work was exceptional, much better than anyone else’s,
which won her praise from the teacher – something she was used to.
When they went
back to the classroom, Mrs. Arlall handed out papers for the class to fill out.
They had to set goals for the year and explain how they could use the time at
school to improve. Even with her high grades, Hermione still had to use a separate
sheet of parchment so she would have enough room to answer the questions.
PE was one of
the only lessons she didn’t do so well it. Never very athletic, Hermione often
got angry when she was shoved aside, or when she missed a pass. This day, she
was in a dress for the first day of school and had to sit out. The PE teacher
was angry with her for not wanting to borrow PE clothes. He claimed to have
smell,” whispered Hermione to herself.
At maths, she
excelled, raising her hand for every question and answering everything
correctly. At the end of the lesson, she stayed a few extra minutes to do bonus
questions and check the answers. This made her late for lunch – but that didn’t
matter, she wasn’t holding anybody up. She spent every lunchtime sitting alone,
often reading. She pretended not to care, though, as she leafed through the
pages of the book, wondering what they would learn in the next lesson – science.
disappointed when she found that they only had to answer questions about what
they already knew. To make things worse, it took the whole lesson.
music,” Mrs. Arlall said.
she didn’t like music. It was one of the few subjects she didn’t do too well in
and she didn’t like subjects she wasn’t able to succeed in.
and playtime, she sat in the corner doing her homework and asking the teacher
for extra work. Finally, it was time to go home where her parents would pick
her up and take them to their office and she would sit for another couple of hours
The year was
turning out to be exactly like the last – and that’s saying something,
considering this year she was going to a private school because she was too clever
for her old one. This one was supposed to be more difficult and advanced. So
far, it seemed pretty much the same.
One week later
Mrs. Arlall came to pick them up from art with a surprise.
month, we’ll be writing stories.”
unicorns?” one girl piped up.
“Or dragons?” a
space!” another kid yelled.
the teacher, “we’ll be writing about something only we know about ourselves.
Something real - something that’s a secret.”
walked back to the room, Hermione thought of what she’d like to write about.
She was at a loss when she fell. A boy had tripped her up and began to laugh.
Hermione let out an annoyed groan and pushed herself up, mad, ignoring the few
pains she had. With a startled yell, the boy flew up in the air and landed,
with a small thump, on the floor a few feet away. Hermione pointedly looked
away, but she could feel his terrified eyes on the back of her head. Now she
knew exactly what she was going to write about.
The next month
was spent writing. Every English lesson was devoted to creating their stories.
Everyone was writing about things like tricks they or their pets could do. Or
places they wished they could go. Hermione was unique. She was writing about
When they got
their creations back, the air was tense. Everybody wanted a ten as a mark on
their story, and many people got one. Hermione was excited – this was her first
piece of work that she’d ever got a mark for.
Mrs. Arlall came
up to Hermione’s desk with a frown. As she passed the papers back, she
whispered to Hermione, “You didn’t follow the rules. I told you to write about
down at her paper and gasped before looking up to protest. Mrs. Arlall,
however, had moved on. She looked back down. Next to the title was a four.
Tears stung her eyes as she shoved it in her lunch bag, wanting to go home
right then and there.
When the day was
over and she went home, she angrily threw the story in the wastepaper basket.
Later on that night, a sparkling gust of wind passed through the house and picked
it up. It floated through the air, dancing in the light of the stars, and
landed in a pair of wrinkled old hands at the top of a tall tower. The hands
were open, as if they were summoning it. The man was wearing deep purple robes
and had a long silver beard. He passed his hand over the story and changed the
mark to a ten. In Hermione and Mrs. Arlall’s minds, the mark changed as well.
The two knew nothing of it, but Hermione smiled in her sleep.
The man chuckled
as he read it, and muttered, “In good time, Hermione Granger, all in good time”
My Very Own Secret
is a very unique girl. She does very well in school, but doesn’t have many
friends. This is because people can sense her secret. They can tell she is
different, and she is – in a good way.
Hermione is a
witch. She can do magic, but she doesn’t scoff about it because she’s not positive
– just 50% sure. She knows she may be wrong. Whenever she’s mad or angry or
hurt, the person who caused the pain suffers one way or another.
just the other day she was mad at a boy who pushed her. She was so mad that the
next thing she knew, the boy was on the other side of the room. Thinking it was
her fault, she tried not to let the guilt show on her face.
But no one ever
suspects Hermione of doing these things because she’s well behaved and quiet,
and why would she hurt anybody?
She doesn’t hurt
people on purpose. It just happens and there’s no way to tell that was the one
who did it. There’s no way to tell, except that she knows. Whenever this
happens she can tell it’s her. She gets a feeling of power that she doesn’t
have when she feels normal. When she feels normal, she’s usually upset from
people teasing her.
Someday she’ll be
around people who care about her in society because she will be famous as a
witch. People will wish they were her and she will be loved because she’ll be a
great witch. She’ll be happy at last.
A/N: Please Review. This is my first fic on SQ and I need