Title: Filter Effect

Summary: In order to change the outsides of something you don't like, you have to change the insides, Hermione realized with a start.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: This will be my first posted story on here. I am aware that there is plenty of room for improvement... but this bunny attacked me in first period and now it's multiplied! I'm halfway though another chapter for a completely different story…and I haven't even finished this one. Oh well… Hermione (and others) are probably out of character because this plot isn't very likely…but so what I don't care. Oh, this isn't one shot...I just didn't feel like typing anymore. I'll update regularly...since I have no life and sit in front of the computer all day anyway. Another note, let's pretend that Hermione isn't monitored on underage use of magic in this chapter, and I'll pull together some explanation in the next one. Okay I'm rambling.

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Part One:

Icy rain poured in thick sheets on the milling students outside a puffing scarlet steam engine. Most of the irritated students huddled morosely under charmed umbrellas as they waited impatiently for their parents to rescue them from the cold that was sinking into their bones. Others didn't even bother to try and hide and just stood under the sky that was unrestrainedly pouring buckets upon their heads.

The crowd waiting to pass through the platform between nine and ten dwindled as the students apparated away, or were whisked away by friends and family to exchange fond farewells. It wasn't difficult for a bedraggled Hermione Granger to shove her way through a small group of protesting third years to the head of the line. Not bothering to wait for the teacher who was waving students through in twos and threes to avoid suspicion to let her through, Hermione fell sideways through the brick wall and into Muggle London.

"Hermione, dear!" The sound of her name earned the soaked teen's attention, and she raised her head enough to meet the dark eyes of her mother. Pushing her way past bunches of tourists, she staggered through a particularly rowdy group with a grimace and ducked under the large umbrella that Jane Granger held out for them.

"Honey, where are Harry and Ron?" Her mother asked, her brow knitting together in concern. When Hermione made a noncommittal noise and shrugged, her mother wisely let the matter go. Together, they wound through the crowd, while Hermione's mum kept one arm around her shivering daughter's shoulders until they reached the car.

Hermione looked around the deserted parking lot as she waited for her mother to unlock the car. Pulling a small trunk from the pocket of her black hooded jumper, Hermione tapped the wood twice with the tip of her mahogany wand and whispered, "Engorgio." Soon her normal-sized trunk was packed into the back of the small black car and the two were speeding onto the freeway towards home.

Hermione hunched down in her seat, hugging her arms to her chest as she let her mind wander over the last few hours that had passed on the train. The golden trio was no more, or at least it seemed to be that way. It was common knowledge among Gryffindor House that Hermione was the brains of the group, and it seemed to outsiders (and even the ones inside) that intelligence was her only attribute. Her friends had long gotten use to the dark brown wild curls that had long since been described as "bushy". Hermione was not one to flaunt something she didn't have, so shapeless robes was what she wore nearly every day, except on weekends when she slipped into jeans at least two sizes too big, and was never seen without an oversized jacket.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and Hermione ruthlessly shoved down the pitiful desire to bawl. They had no right to say that about her! Since being a prefect, and the only reliable one she noted with some vehemence, she had taken it upon herself to assist the first years and such with their trunks and patrolling up and down the compartments to monitor the use of magic. Quite accidentally she stumbled upon a conversation between Harry and Ron that made her stop dead in her tracks, one she was certain she was never meant to hear.

"---Honestly, Harry, I never will understand what I saw in her. Bloody mental, that one."

"I know mate. Sure, she's smart, but it's not like she acts like a girl, you know?"

"Yeah, exactly. The only time that she was even worth looking at was in fourth year at the Yule ball, and even then, it wasn't much."

"If she didn't wear a skirt, no one would have any idea that she was a girl."

The sound of snickering followed behind Hermione as she had turned on her heel in tears. All of their mocking had forced her back into her first year, when she had heard Ron and Harry saying the same mean things about her as she trailed behind them to class. The realization that they were still the same caused all the emptiness and insecurities she had managed to push away from her thoughts to tumble down upon her. She blindly stumbled along the hallway toward the lavatory in hopes of getting some privacy, her mind reeling at the knowledge of what the two people she called best friends actually thought about her.

Hermione had rubbed her chest against the fierce ache that had begun to spread as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Alone in the loo, she gave herself free reign to crumple in a heap on the floor, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked her chest and shoulders.

What they said pinpointed every single weakness she had with such ease, stripping her down to the trembling little girl that hated herself because she could never measure up. She spent all those hours in the library because the only way she would ever gain respect in the Wizarding World was through forceful knowledge. No one else had to try, but Hermione had to bust her ass because of her heritage.

It hurt her so much because they were right. They saw through the masks of self-righteousness that she put up and knew that she wasn't worth their time. Everyone could tell that it was just chance that they even became friends in the first place.

Six years of friendship, plotting against Voldemort, finding all the Horocruxes in the summer after fifth year and halfway through sixth had done nothing to change their views. Not only that, but they had left to her the task of researching how to destroy all the Horocruxes as the boys played chess and complained. They immediately assumed that she would jump at having that job; she hated it in all actuality. They didn't even ask. Hermione would rather be out there killing some death eaters, but they shoved onto her the research job. She did it resignedly, because it was the only way to get things done.

Sighing, Hermione huddled deeper within the recesses of her jumper as her mother reached forward to crank the heat up in the car. Hermione glanced over at her mum, noticing that she looked slightly nervous and was gripping the steering wheel rather tightly. Dismissing it to the rain-slick road, she jumped when Jane spoke. "Mya, is something bothering you?"

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip as she pulled the black hood over her waterlogged curls. "Nothing, mum. Just cold." She stared blankly out the window and chastised herself for deluding herself that Harry and Ron would even see beyond her brains. Hell, even those weren't that attractive. She mentally snorted and looked down at her soaked converse.

"We'll be home soon, are you hungry?"

She shook her head silently, and despite her efforts, her thoughts trailed back to Harry and Ron. Why did the things that they had said bother her? And as in every situation, the analytical part of her brain kicked in. She mused that Harry and Ron had said those things because they probably believed them. That's not what hurt about what they said- it was the matter-of-fact, cotton-dry way to what they said that implied they believed the rest of the world agreed with them. And if she herself agreed with them, even if it was only a miniscule- okay not so miniscule- part of her, well, then things needed to change.

Hermione felt her spirits begin to lift as the wheels in her head started spinning. In order to change the outside of something you didn't like, you had to change the insides, she thought with a start. Well, it looked like Hermione has some soul searching to do.

By the time the two pulled into the driveway of their two-story gray-blue house, Hermione's fingers where itching for a quill to write down all the things she was thinking of. She was dimly aware of dragging her trunk out of the car, and with the assistance of her mum, pulling it into the house. Leaving her belongings at the foot of the stairs for the time being, Hermione raced up the stairs and bolted to her room.

Shutting the door behind her, Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, she was back in her sanctuary. Numerous pencil sketches and drawings were taped on the walls; an easel was propped up in the corner with a half finished acrylic painting resting near her brushes.

Sitting down on her bed, the emotionally drained teenager tugged off her wet shoes and dropped them on the floor near the head of the mattress. Flopping down and sprawling the entire width of the queen size bed, the brunette nuzzled her face into the dark gray comforter.

Mum always told me to pick my battles, Hermione mused to herself. There is no point in me acting like there is a stick up my arse all the time. No wonder Fred and George always pinpoint me as a test subject for their pranks. Making a sound of distaste Hermione rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. In the summer of her third year, she had purchased a wide variety of fabrics in varying shades of dark green and tacked them onto her ceiling. Her eyes followed the well-worn path of an emerald strip, noting with a pang how it matched the hue of Harry's eyes. She would have to replace that, she decided.

It's official, Hermione realized. I've got to change. There's no other way to change the ways that people perceive me. And the way I perceive myself, she thought ruefully. With a little more soul searching, some exercise, and maybe a shopping trip that her mother was forever trying to drag her to, Hermione could finally start to let go and relax. And just in time for her seventh year.

Hermione rose from her bed and rummaged through her closet for something dry to change into. A pair of jeans and a black shirt was the selected articles of clothing, and with her eyes scanning the content of her closet, Hermione mentally added some new clothes to her list. If she was going to change on the inside, she decided grimly that the outside might as well go along for the ride.

Slipping through the door, Hermione trundled down the stairs to speak with her parents about her change that was long deserved.

Part Two:

The first day of hols dawned gray and gloomy, and Hermione Granger woke with her sense of rock solid determination still raging. Dragging herself akwardly out of bed, the seventeen year old rushed through her morning routine and slapped on some clothes before focusing on the imposing task in front of her: cleaning out her wardrobe. And before breakfast, too. But if Hermione didn't do it now...she'd never get it done.

Soon a pile of shirts she hadn't worn in years, along with several pairs of jeans were gathered untidily on her unmade bed. Neck deep in musty smelling clothing, Hermione wrestled a rather moth-eaten looking sweater from a hanger. Disgusting piece of clothing, and she wondered vaugely where in the hell she had ever got it.

By mid morning her parents were stirring and Hermione had a rather empty looking walk in closet. Since her mum had agreed on letting her get new clothing, using the excuse of her "outstanding grades" to pacify Seth Granger, she had decided that her old clothes had to go. If she was going to stick to her decision of changing, then she was going to do it right. Although, Hermione couldn't seem to part with four pairs of jeans that were her favorite, or a black sweatshirt that her father had bought for her the year before. Some shirts were also salvaged, but the rest was bagged and sent off to Salvation Army.

"Hey Mum, when are we going shopping?" A curly brown head appeared around the corner from the kitchen, and Jane jumped and looked up quickly. She shuffled the papers before her and cleared her throat. Hermione noticed that her quick smile looked strained. "After you eat, Hermione." Jane returned to her newspaper. Grumbling, Hermione snagged a piece of toast and munched on it as she plopped down in a chair.

"Mum, I just wanted to tell you now, that I've cleaned out my closet, and this is a total re-vamp of my clothing," Hermione started rather timidly. Jane looked up again and smiled at her only daughter. "I trust your judgment, honey. And I think that its best you do this by yourself; I'll give you money and drop you off. I'd rather not see what you're buying until it's too late." The two shared a laugh as Jane dug into her purse, although her Mum's seemed rather forced.

"Okay mum." Hermione held out her hand for the money, and when her mum handed some to her she quickly counted through it before shoving it into the pocket of her jeans. Hermione hid a grin with a mouthful of toast. More than enough for what she wanted.

"I'm going to drop you off at the strip mall and you can call me when you're done."

"O-okay, I guess." Hermione thought that it was rather odd her mum was letting her go by herself, but shrugged the thought away. "I'll probably be getting clothes, some beauty products, maybe some new shampoo and some artist supplies," Hermione informed her mum as she washed down the toast with some apple juice.

"All right," Jane replied distantly as they cleared the table and Hermione grabbed a jacket.

"Mya, I brought your trunk upstairs, try not to leave it at the foot of the stairs."

"Okay mum, sorry." They climbed into the car and turned out of the driveway towards a mall that would be crawling with teenagers by noon. I best get a move on when I get there, Hermione reminded herself. She watched the scenery flash by and started pondering the new clothes that she should buy. Probably not a specific style, she decided. She'd just walk into some stores and get whatever she thought looked nice.

Soon her mother was waving good-bye and Hermione was standing at the side entrance into the three-story shopping mall. "Well, here goes nothing," Hermione said to herself and resolutely pushed through the double glass doors.

A/N Okay, tell me….was it horrible? Fabuloso? I don't know, I like to pretend its awesome…and I'm a review whore so tell me what you thought. Spankies.

Cianyde