Hermione jolted awake with a gasp, grasping the pillow as furiously as she possibly could. Her nails dug into pallid palms as she shivered, struggling to recover from the vivid nightmare. She hastily dried her tears on the sleeve of her jumper, raking the other trembling hand through her hair. She closed her heavy lids, attempting to still her shaking chest.

Finally, she recovered enough to stagger to her feet.

Hermione's bloodshot eyes seemed to protrude grotesquely from the rest of her face as she blinked drowsily at her reflection. She silently grasped the handle of her lip balm and applied it, her lips starting to bleed from the indents of her teeth. It seemed a miracle that the household never noticed her shrill cries. She slunk quietly downstairs and gripped the stem of a crisp ruby apple, rolling it on the base of her fingertips.

Quietly, she bit into the fruit, savoring the flavor as the juice dripped down her chin. Hermione tucked her knees in and curled herself up on the couch, something she hadn't had the pleasure of doing in a long time.

Her tears finally diminished, slowly evaporating off of her face as she drifted into pondering thought. Her mind swam with the implications of the dream, one that hadn't occurred in over decade. It only served as a brutal reminder of what, in her mind, was a failure.

Hermione sighed, feeling the tears finally receding and her fluttering heart beginning to calm. Despite her jumper, she was still freezing and didn't dare turn on the thermostat in the irrational fear that her sleeping family would notice.

She pulled on a second jumper, allowing it to comfort her as she snuggled close, inhaling a waft of her mother's perfume and fell into an uneasy slumber…

The faintest pitter-patter of the rain jolted her awake; it took her a moment to identify a runner's footsteps. Hermione attempted to ignore it, but eventually sheer curiosity overwhelmed her. She reluctantly gathered her blanket around her and shuffled to the window, lifting the shades just a bit so that she could see the fog outside.

Her eyes widened just a sliver when the figure outside turned to wave cheerfully at her. She raised a tentative hand and lifted three fingers in response. The boy smiled, and jogged off. Hermione bit her lip, absolutely full of confusion as she turned back, her cheeks burning in what could've been surprise or pleasure.

Hermione mumbled something incoherent, her vision bleary from the night before. The teacher worriedly observed her out of the corner of her eye. It was so unlike her to be groggy.

"Good morning Professor Jennings," Hermione murmured, yawning before she could help it. She received a warm smile.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," she replied. "I was going to ask you to help me out but I see you're in no condition." Hermione shook her head, instantly awake. She held out her hand sheepishly to her calculus teacher, blinking the drowsiness from her eyelids.

"Oh no, my bad," she hastily apologized. "Of course I can help. Do you need any help grading the students' recent homework?" She had heard countless complaints from her fellow classmates about the unjust assignment.

The teacher eyed her skeptically. "Hermione…" she said warningly, but stopped at the determined look that had settled on her face. "If you're sure," she reluctantly reached for a pile of paper under her desk and handed them to her.

"I honestly don't know why you come to school so early," she pointed out. "You could definitely get far more sleep if you didn't push yourself so hard." Hermione sighed, shaking her head in what seemed to have become a signature of hers.

"It's no problem, Professor. It's honestly a relief to be away from the madness of the house." Hermione bit her lip, turning away from the her. …or the unbearable loneliness, she added privately. In no time at all, Hermione had finished marking the papers, and they sat, pristine and alphabetically organized, on the professor's desk.

"Thank you Hermione," she said, looking pleased. "It never fails to amaze me that you always get it done." Hermione blushed down to the roots of her hair.

"Thank you Professor Jennings," she mumbled. She carefully grasped one of the computers that had regularly sat on the teachers desks and retreated to her regular corner of the room.

Hermione took the time to momentarily reflect on the turning point of her life. It had been quite an interesting experiment, in all actuality, for as soon as she had stopped desperately trying to win the approval of her professors and classmates, she had begun truly working to become a prodigy. Now, it seemed as if that was all for naught. The classwork had been getting easier; the university courses almost boring her. Hermione sighed, doing several of the equations in her head as she scanned them with her chocolate pupils.

"Done," she murmured, the hour long lesson reduced to nearly fifteen minutes. Her careful scribbles flickered for a second, and Hermione let out an inaudible gasp and concentrated on the potency of her pen on the paper. Sure enough, the equations, while fainter, remained. She steadied her heart, muttering to herself.

She wordlessly handed her paper to the Professor. "Is there anything else I could do to help?"

Professor Jennings studied her, a calculating gleam present in her eyes. Her posture was relaxed, but her hand refused to leave her pocket and one arm was tensed. "Not at all, Hermione," she said, suddenly suspicious. "I think we're done here. Go now, I have a lesson to prepare for. Best head off to your homeroom."

Hermione nodded, padding silently out of the room, confusion fluttering in her ribcage. She wandered the halls for a while, simply breathing in the fresh air.

She hadn't lost control of her powers for a while now, she pondered, while quietly stalking the shadows of the school. There had been the flame incident, but she could forcibly control those behind closed doors. There was usually a trigger; a scientific method, and that morning there had been none. There was a series of footsteps, and when Hermione had finally glanced upwards, she was nearly run over by the jogger.

"Harrison?" She squeaked, jumping out of the way to prevent herself from getting bowled over.

"Hermione?" He asked, equally confused. They looked at one another for a second before, reluctantly in Hermione's case, recognizing the idiocity of the situation. Harrison burst into cheerful laughter, clapping her on the back and nearly making her stumble over from the impact. He was carrying his backpack on one powerful shoulder, and looked to be in the process of removing his jacket. Despite her lips twitching, she remained aloof, too afraid of getting harmed again.

"Hello Harrison," Hermione said primly, a sliver of coldness injected into her voice. She stifled her smile and adjusted her bag quickly. "How are you doing this morning?" He unconsciously ruffled a few of the bristles stuck up at the base of his skull.

Harrison shot her a crooked smirk. "Very well, Madam. And yourself?" She felt herself blushing to the tips of her ears but maintained her formal composure.

"Fine, Harrison," she said stiffly. He let out a very feminine giggle. Caught by surprise, it was all she could do but close her gaping mouth. Unwillingly a laugh bubbled in the back of her throat and she choked slightly.

"That was informative," she remarked, and he smiled teasingly at her. "At least I got a smile," he said cheekily.

She swatted at him playfully but he dodged with surprising agility. Hermione scowled slightly at that. "Prat."

He smiled genuinely, until his expression altered to resemble something disgustingly conceited. "Indeed," he said pretentiously. "Its part of the charm." He leaned backward onto the lockers and Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling a bit of her natural confidence emerge.

"What charm?" she scoffed in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. For a split second she let herself enjoy the emotion, but then Hermione felt the smile fade from her face as her mouth clamped shut.

"Sorry," she said embarrassedly, but Harrison shook his head.

"Don't be, it's not something I'm used to — " she hastily tried to apologize again, "And that's why it's nice." Hermione blinked a couple of times, unable to contain her surprise.

"Wow, you really are a strange one," she said unthinkingly. She clamped a hand over her mouth again but was cut off by Harrison's uproarious laughter.

"That I am, Hermione," he chuckled. "You are pretty funny, you know." Hermione was doing a remarkable job of impersonating a strawberry. She blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears. All she heard was one word: Pretty, pretty, pretty. The only time she could recall the word being spoken was in a mocking manner.

"I'm so sorry!" She blurted miserably, covering her face with her hands.

"No, no, I'm not saying that to make you feel bad or something," he replied, grimacing, "Bollocks, that would be rude."

"Thanks Harrison," she mumbled, rather unused to compliments. "Thats…" she hesitated slightly. "Very kind of you." For the second time, she allowed herself to ponder the thought that perhaps he wasn't attempting to humiliate and expose her.

"Harry," he corrected nonchalantly. Hermione again blinked in confusion.

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"Call me Harry," he repeated. "It's a, nickname?"

Hermione let the smallest of grins tug at the corner of her mouth. "Is that a question?"

"Er, no," he mumbled, suddenly rather awkward. Hermione's expression turned into a feral smile as she laughed. Perhaps he wasn't as suave as he had originally portrayed himself. Perhaps, this Harrison, she could get to know. "Yes,. No. I mean no. Yes, that's what I mean. Wait. I mean no. I swear what… no."

Hermione chuckled slightly at his befuddled expression, before her previous hesitation caught up to her. After the small shared moment had faded, all that was left was an abominable silence.

"Well, my class is waiting," she lied quickly, after a couple of seconds of realization. She ran her left hand self-consciously through her bushy mane of hair.

His voice was actually interested, intrigued. "Really, what class?" Hermione shuffled her feet uncertainly.

"Math," she mumbled, her voice betraying the untruth; she had just finished the class for the day. To her surprise, Harrison simply nodded, choosing to either be oblivious or ignore the obvious fallacy.

"Yep, time to go," He confirmed, and she was surprised to see that it was indeed only ten minutes until the bell rang. They both nodded, both albeit confused, and exchanged a cordial, in Hermione's case hesitant, smile.

"Have a nice day," Harrison called over his shoulder, and Hermione quickly ducked into the emerging crowd to avoid being singled out from the rest of her peers. She quickly fell back into the patterns of her everyday life, but her thoughts were repeatedly clouded with confusion.

The next classes seemed to pass in a formidable blur, the only thoughts that penetrated her mind had to do with her mother and Harrison.

Harry, she inwardly corrected, a small bit of embarrassment tinging her cheeks. It was no longer Harrison - at least, she hoped not. Hermione took a steadying breath. She was calm, she was serene. Maybe if she repeated the phrase she would start to believe it.

Taking another quiet inhale, Hermione stiffened, grasped her binders tightly, and walked into her Literary Class.

"Mr. Larcen," Hermione greeted, smiling in a way of welcome. He muttered something in return, a jumble of words she didn't quite catch.

"Pardon?" She asked, trying her best not to look confused. "I just wanted to ask about my report card." She received a groggy nod of affirmation from the teacher, and she pursed her lips, not quite sure how to proceed.

"Would it…" she stopped again, unsure if he was sleeping. "Have you sent the substantial grades to the University? And the - "

"Forged ones to your parents, yes, I know," he mumbled. "Four As, two Bs and one B+. I did it last night. Your straight As were sent, along with your college and university credits. Your assignment is on your desk, just finish. Quickly." Hermione flushed, more from surprise than anything else, nearly tripping over her own shoes as she scrambled to her desk.

"Sorry sir." She'd been half sure his incoherency was due to lack of slumber. She grappled with a pencil, and finally clutched one inside shaky fingers. She set to work, still slightly curious about the Professor. For a proclaimed genius, he had extremely misplaced social skills. Then again, who was she to compare them? She had no right to judge.

Yet again, she flew through the college course, hazel eyes darting across the paper in determination.

"Done sir," she called immediately after she was finished. A series of checkmarks and vocabulary words dotted the worksheet, and a moving paragraph featuring 78% of them stood prominently out on the back.

"Finally." The word was said with a tinge of grudging respect. "Thirty more seconds than yesterday." He fixed her with a piercing gaze, and Hermione detected a sliver of amusement. She sighed, perplexed at his almost scientific methods of testing her intelligence.

"Sorry Mr. Larcen. I'll do better tomorrow." Now that she had completed the work, he seemed more uninterested than ever. Hermione huffed, mildly annoyed at being a particularly intelligent gerbil.

"See that you do that, Miss Granger. You're excused, I suppose," he said mildly, laying his head back onto his arms. Hermione shook her head, contorting her expression into what could have been a reluctant smile.

She hoped that she wouldn't be as exasperating if she ever reached Mr. Larcen's level of intellect. Despite appearances, he and her both knew that he was the smartest person in the country, let alone the school. She was repeatedly curious why he had chosen to take a humble public school job as a Gifted English Teacher rather than be amongst his peers as a professor at Harvard or Yale.

"Have a good day," she murmured, walking steadily out of the door. She glanced at the clock halfheartedly; there were still a half hour of class. She sighed ruefully.

Hermione bit on her lip determinedly. A bush mane of hair behind her, she quickly pushed, avoiding the jostling elbows, and promptly tripped and almost fell on her face. She straightened, her face an inferno, and walked more steadily on.

"Hermione?" The voice was quiet and she almost missed it.

"John?" she echoed, just as silently. She turned her head to the side slightly, and caught sight of a tuft of dirty black hair.

"John," she said, smiling, reaching out her hand and allowing her brother to grasp his lithe fingers around hers. "What are you doing?" He shrugged, his extroverted personality shining through as his mouth curved into the slightest of smirks.

"Hiding?" He guessed mischievously. She ruffled his locks, cuffing his ear slightly and retook his hand. They trekked along the cobbled pathway silently, and thankfully, John recognized her hesitation as unusual. He prodded her hip curiously, a genuine look of worry crossing his freckled face.

"Herm… Are you all right?" Hermione blinked slightly, turning to face him. She schooled her face into a smiling one, and nodded.

"Of course I am," she said briskly. "Now, tell me about 'hiding'…" Cheeriness resumed, John proceeded to tell her about his grand endeavor, using large hand motions to describe the actions of himself and his deemed monsters.

"And then, I told him that he couldn't say that to El! Can you believe what he did next? He actually called me a 'sissy'!" He stopped for a second to huff, and Hermione marveled at the similarities between her and her younger, happier counterpart. "I mean, who even says that? It's a stupid word, 'sissy'. And then he refused to let me play with his toy train! How unfair is that?" Hermione chuckled at him, silently praising that the influences of his family hadn't swayed his moral compass.

"I'm very proud of you John. You did the right thing." He nodded sensibly, the beginnings of a grin forming on his face.

"On a completely unrelated note…" his lips curved into a wicked grin. "You wouldn't happen to have any rotten eggs, do you?" Hermione gasped, horrified and yet oddly amused.

"John!" Her reprimand was completely warm, however, and she too was chuckling slightly at the end. "Well,… I wouldn't normally encourage this… but he did call Elena Gornet a bad word. Honestly! Swears; at your age too. We can't have that, can we?" John cheered energetically, and though she was enjoying herself, her instincts forced her to quiet him immediately.

"Hush John." He quieted, but kept the gloating bounce in his step as he followed her lead. "Jennifer is going to be quite upset with me. I shouldn't have taken you home." John scowled, irritably.

"The last time they called El that name, I punched him." Hermione bit back a laugh, remembering that particular incident. "And I got in trouble for it! Me! In trouble!" He paused dramatically and she just rolled her eyes at him. "And Mom just let it happen!" He flailed his arms in disbelief. "She said that no one would say that word and though I told her he had, she just told me not to punch him!"

Hermione's felt resentment budding in her throat and she forced herself not to react. "Well, your mother is entitled to her own opinion. You little troublemaker, you just do what you think is right. And if all goes wrong, I can always kidnap you and we can sail across the seas to Ireland."

John laughed, anger forgotten. "And what about the money? How would we get there?" Hermione sighed, it was a question that had, countless times, prevented her from running away.

"We'd make do," she decided. "We'd ride the high seas and become bandits. Can you help me think of a good pirate name?" John's face rippled into something more logical, revealing the potent awareness behind his mischievous mask.

"Hmm," he murmured, looking quite thoughtful. "We'd have to be like spies, something that wouldn't show our identity. Something like, the Irish Fellows or something, and you could cut off your hair and pretend to be a boy."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do that, exactly?"

He grinned at her, "Another test? Well, while being female isn't a disadvantage in modern life, when we plunder and loot we would be more intimidating as men rather than two females. Men typically have larger muscle mass, and while you certainly could throw a punch, I'd rather they be scared then impressed."

"But," Hermione nodded her head, "have you considered making them underestimate us? If I was to go alone, all they would see was a kindly girl on a ship. If you were to jump out from behind, we would also be able to subdue them with the element of surprise."

John brightened. "I didn't think of it like that. Well, then, the Irish Duo we are. We can't say that we will make a very intimidating pair," John flexed his wiry arms dryly, and bounced back up and down to demonstrate, "But we'll certainly make an exciting team. And plus, if they think we're from Ireland, they'll have no idea that we're from the United States."

Hermione laughed at him, "You've certainly thought this through." He nodded cheerfully.

"Of course I have. I'm me." He grinned at her. "Now come on Herm, we're almost home." He grasped her hand and tugged her eagerly towards the house. She laughed quietly, allowing him to lead her into the door.

"Finally!" He said in exasperation. "Hermione, if there's one thing I've learned in the past it's that you are the slowest walker in the history of slow walkers!" Hermione's smile faded as she recalled her dream the previous night, her mother repeating a phrase that sounded eerily similar.

"That's me," she said, chuckling weakly, attempting to keep up the happy atmosphere. He let go of her hand, and Hermione watched him run into the kitchen, what had once been the pride of her mother, unburdened and untainted.

Inwardly, her heart collapsed in on itself. "I never run."

Thank you for reading! Sorry for the slow update, I know it's been a while. I appreciate all of you sticking with me over the period I've been absent.

Love, Kathie