Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

AN: It has been much too long since I wrote a Harry Potter fanfiction...

I currently have plans for about forty chapters or so – I will take prompts if anyone has any, feel free to give them. All events are canon compliant, though not all take place within the books. Some will be longer than others.

"There is no friend as loyal as a book" – Ernest Hemingway.

By now, you're quite used to being on your own; you are nine years old and streets ahead of the others in your class, who scorn and shun you for it. No matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to fit in with them, and they seem to make no effort to make things easier on your part, so you've given up. It's easier to expect nothing from them and find solace in paper and words, knowledge and learning.

Your books do not mock you, they do not leave you out of games or very deliberately pair up so that you are always, always, the one left without a partner. The teachers don't seem to mind when this happens; if you are in a class of even numbers, they simply place you with whichever other child has been unlucky enough to end up alone. If the number is odd, then who better than the brightest girl in school to be the one to work on her own?

In your books, you can be anyone; you can absorb all the knowledge your brain is capable of understanding or lose yourself in imaginary worlds of fascinating adventures and, of course, friends. You don't have many; not in the flesh at least.

Of course, your solitude is another reason for them to pick on you, but you learned quickly how to avoid them, how to walk with your eyes to the ground, taking quick, smart steps through the corridors and classrooms so that you pass by largely unnoticed and you can pretend not to see their laughs and sneers when they see you. You've found the best places in school to hide during break times, the best places for getting away from them. Sometimes you have to find new hiding spots; if they discover them, the purpose is ruined. If the teachers come across you, they tell you to go and play with the others.

'Hermione?' Asks one of them quietly; she's young and pretty, and she smiles at you when she talks, but she also leans down and puts on a false voice as though speaking to someone much younger than you are, or very dim. You don't like being made to feel stupid, you hate to be embarrassed; you have had enough of it. You hate it when the adults treat you like that, but you haven't the courage to correct them. They are Authority.

'Yes Miss?' You squeak, knowing the game is up. You'll have to hide somewhere new tomorrow.

'Why don't you go outside? I'm sure there are lots of fun things for you to do!' And there she goes again, presuming to know, presuming to understand, thinking to make you feel better. You just want to go home. You can learn just as well by yourself, you know you can.

'I don't want to,' you mumble, falling back on your old habit of staring at the floor when you talk and avoiding the eyes of the person you are addressing.

'Why not?' She exclaims, straightening up and beckoning to you. You follow her, because you daren't say no to a teacher. But you don't reply to her question; you just shrug. 'Don't you want to spend time with your friends?' Another shrug. Her face falls into familiar lines of sympathy and exasperation. 'Hermione, you aren't going to make any friends staying locked up on your own all the time. Why don't you make an effort?'

She's still using that voice, which makes you want to scowl, but you arrange your face into looking as polite as you can and smile stiffly. She ushers you outside into the bright sunshine and shouts of the playground.

Make an effort.

Do they think that you don't try? Do they think that you haven't tried so hard to make friends, to join in? But they don't like you; you don't know why but they call you names and they push you around, they leave you out and they ignore you, or they deliberately seek to make your life a misery. Your lip trembles as you watch them running and playing; they scare you, they scare you so much you're shaking where you stand, and there's a hot lump rising in your throat at the thought of talking to them.

But Miss is watching you.

So you pluck up the courage to walk forwards and swallow your fear, plunging yourself into the lion's den.

When you get home, you will return to your books. You will bury yourself in them and forget the other children, the teachers and the humiliation of spending time with them – apart from them.

For now, though, you will be brave. You will try. And then you will return to your friends.