Critic: A story about a hidden cynic

She was there, as usual. He really shouldn't have expected anything different.

He noted the way she piled her books so that they towered over her. People thought she did that simply because she liked to study. But he knew better.

Fred, very quietly, shuffled closer. Every evening for the past two weeks, he found that she always occupied that particular seat, and always ensured that she was well concealed from the other occupants in the library. It was as if she was hiding on purpose, which meant Hermione Granger definitely had a secret that she didn't want anybody to know.

Fred liked to know everything that went on in Hogwarts. He made sure that he knew all the secret passageways, the secret entrances to the secret places where no decent student should visit (as Fred considered himself above petty rules, he saw no reason why he should abide by them), the many secrets that people keep hidden (unsuccessfully), and knew almost every 'secret' relationship that occurred within the four walls of Hogwarts. So he knew that it was his duty to find out what Hermione's secret was.

He really had to thank Snape, truly he did. If Fred hadn't accidentally walked on Snape and McGonagall having a rare cosy moment, written a very detailed account of what he had saw (most of it, he was sure, was considered not appropriate for eleven year olds) and read out the aforementioned piece of writing out loud during breakfast (the first years would learn anyway eventually, he thought it was his duty to enlighten them), he would never have landed in detention.

At first, Fred considered shelving books without magic a great bore and that Madam Pince was a crabby old woman with no sense of humour, but things turned interesting when he caught Hermione casting furtive glances as she stacked her books around her. Finally he had something to aim for. Fred Weasley didn't look it, but he was very ambitious- just not in the direction his mother wanted him to be.

Fred glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind her. If he was right (and he was certain he was), Hermione would get up and take a bathroom break soon. Now came the crucial part- he had to time it perfectly so that he could see what she was doing before she had time to pack her things away.

Wait. Fred could see her uncrossing her legs- there was definitely an intention to leave the table. Quick, do something!

But what? His wand was confiscated, and he knew that Hermione was not interested in striking a conversation with him. She was far too intelligent for that.

Oh no, he could hear scraping- she was getting up from the chair!

Fred knew he was a very modest person. No, seriously, he was. He rarely flaunted his fantastic daily achievements, but what he did next astounded him to no end. If he could be his own idol, he would.

In the little trolley of books he was (supposed to be) shelving, sat a monstrous little book. Literally. The Monster book of Monsters was never his favourite book, but it soon became it. Of course, people tend to actually read the book before deciding whether they liked it or not, but Fred liked to do things a little bit unconventionally. He liked a bit of action. Thus, he unbuckled the belt around the furry little thing, and threw it towards her.

Needless to say, he was very proud of the results.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective), Hermione had left her wand in the dormitories. Fred let Hermione believe that it was pure coincidence. But despite popular belief, Fred was actually a very organised and thorough person. He very rarely did things spontaneously; everything was meticulously planned. And this was no exception. Fred had stealthily stuffed Hermione's wand into a very comfortable arm chair beforehand.

So while Hermione was unsuccessfully cursing the book with the ordinary wooden stick Fred had thoughtfully provided as a replacement, he snuck up from behind and grabbed whatever it was on the desk. Later Hermione would wonder how he managed to do so without her noticing. Fred told her it was one of the many gifts that he possessed.

Now came the next part of his diabolical plan.

Run like hell.

Safely tucked away in that little handy niche in the Owlery, Fred examined the thing in his hands. He was sorely disappointed.

It was a diary.

How predictable.

He always thought Hermione wasn't one to write a diary; he thought she was much too logical for that. Apparently he was wrong. What was the point in keeping a diary? Nobody else was supposed to read it (again, he considered himself an exception) and unless you led an exciting life, the things that one wrote in a diary generally remained the same on a daily basis. Did he mention how incredibly boring it would be to read it?

Hermione's diary was a small leather-bound book with the words: Hermione Granger's private diary stamped on it in gold lettering. Well, there was nothing private about it now.

There was a small problem of actually opening up the book. There was a very simple muggle lock on it- but nothing was ever simple with Hermione. She must have set up a curse or something equally horrifying to those who dared to intrude on her privacy.

But Fred wasn't Fred for nothing. In ten minutes, he managed to pick the lock (it turned out all he needed was an ordinary hairpin- again he underestimated the abilities of Hermione Granger). By then he was beginning to think that all his efforts would be wasted on a pointless scheme.

He flipped to the first page, which had absolutely nothing on it save the quote "Don't judge a book by its cover" written in Hermione's neat handwriting.

Bored already, Fred lazily flipped to the next page. Unlike the previous one, it was crammed with writing. It was also written in a loopy scrawl that was most unlike her normal handwriting.

Maybe it wouldn't be a waste of time after all.

He began reading.

Dear Diary,

Today I did a lot of things. I woke up, ate breakfast, went to classes, ate food, then slept. It was a very fun, fun day.

I can see that this 'Diary writing' is going to be immensely pleasurable. Not.

When my mother bought me this book, she assumed, like the mundane person she is, that I would actually use this book as a diary.

Let's get one thing straight shall we? I'm not a diary person.

Someone has yet to provide me a plausible explanation for keeping a diary. There is just no point at all. It's just giving people a way to blackmail you- unless you're Anne Frank- because then of course, a diary becomes a method for gaining fame. I have no intention of dancing in the spotlights, thank you very much. I consider my life as a whole lot of boring middle and am currently waiting patiently until the end finally comes into sight. It was already bad enough that it had a beginning- if I could go back in time and force-feed the woman who gave birth to me that contraception potion I read about the other day, maybe I'll be happier.

Of course, that would mean I would never have been born, thus would not be able to feel said emotion. Oh well, one can hope can't they?

I think people consider it bad form when you insult your own mother. They definitely would frown upon the fact that I wish I was never born every time I blew out the candles on my birthday cake (note the irony). But since when have I ever cared what other people think?

So far, re-reading what I've written, I make it seem as if I don't enjoy my life. I do, really. If there's one thing I'm grateful for, it's that I was born into a world where so many idiots exist. People gape at me and believe I'm a genius. What they don't realise is that I'm not incredibly intelligent- it's the people around me that are astoundingly stupid. Geniuses simply do not exist. But there is, unfortunately, an overwhelming abundance of people who possess underdeveloped brains.

This is actually starting to turn out like a diary entry. I'm appalled. Next thing I know, my father is announcing I'm the next Princess of Genova, and that would simply not do. If I had to choose which Princess Diaries character I was to be, I would gladly pick Fat Louie over Mia every time. At least the cat was capable of surviving with three legs; Mia would probably try to commit suicide, fail, and then whine about her lack of limbs in that diary of hers.

Teachers tell me that I would make a really good healer or lawyer. But teachers are people, and people (who are not me) are, as mentioned before, incredibly stupid. I personally think that I'm a good Critic. If only people get paid criticising others, then that would be the perfect job for me. I don't mean being a food critic, or book reviewer. I'm not interested in what people do for a living. I'm interested in the person themselves.

The closest thing I know to a People Critic is a psychologist. Perhaps I should become one.

It's decided. I shall write a profile of each patient, determine their faults and recommend a suitable course of action-

Fred could hear footsteps approaching. He shut the book quickly and slipped into a passageway that led from the Owlery to the corridor outside the kitchens.

He thought he knew his brother's best friend. He always reckoned that if Hermione had a hidden side of her, it would be that she secretly enjoyed cross dressing. It amused him to no end when he imagined her wearing baggy trousers accessorised with cropped hair- the image had helped pass the time many a time when he was supposed to be listening to the teachers.

But this- this cynical, contemptuous, arrogant, mocking new personality of hers was definitely not what he expected. She always seemed amiable to him. A bit strict, perhaps, but not condescending.

He plonked himself down into an armchair in the common room. What else had Hermione concealed from her friends? Was she a Death Eater? Or God forbid, Voldemort's illigitimate daughter? It seemed that nothing could surprise him anymore. Nothing related to Hermione that is.

"Fred?"

Dear Merlin- it was her!

Fred stuffed the book down the back of the armchair. "Why, if it isn't Hermione, the friend that I know so well!" Not.

She was eyeing him weirdly. "You're up to something," she proclaimed. "Please tell me it hasn't got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheeze again."

"Don't you trust me?" Because I certainly don't trust you.

"Of course not. By the way, have you seen my wand? I think I left it here somewhere," Hermione squatted down and peered under a table.

"I don't see your wand, sorry." But I know where it is.

"Yes, but have you seen it?" She was shuffling the books on the table.

"Not since detention," he answered smoothly. Look at how well she acts! She should get an Auscar! (Or was it Oscar? He always got confused)

"Well, if you do happen to find it, can you please return it back to me?"

"If I see it, sure." But I won't see it, because it's stuffed in one of these armchairs.

"Thanks. See you later Fred." She headed up the staircase to the girls' dormitories.

"Goodbye," he waved back. And don't come back!

Was she always so scary? Fred shivered in front of the roaring fireplace. He better watch his step from now on. But first, he must continue to read her 'Diary' – who knew what other bone shattering secrets she had written in it?

Patient Number one: Harry James Potter

Problems:

I guess one must excuse his behaviour and personality on the account of the way he was brought up. But excuses can only reach so far. Harry is the most spoilt (a tremendous feat considering he was never spoiled), temperamental, violent, naïve boy I have ever had the misfortune to meet.

It annoys me to no end when Harry suddenly blows up at us, and then expects us to understand the 'predicament' that he was thrown into. So what if, metaphorically speaking, he had a sack thrown over his head-I've never agreed with Dumbledore more; I thought that it was an absolute necessity. Harry has a tendency to rush into things without thinking about the consequences first. Sometimes I doubt whether he even has the ability to process thoughts. I don't think he does- he's certainly proved himself on many occasions.

It really doesn't matter if he gets himself killed- I couldn't care less, to be honest, if he did. But the fact that a single small mistake that he makes, on account of his stupidity, will throw the entire world into jeopardy will simply not do- I live in this world, and no way will I allow myself get killed because of one immature child's inability to think.

The only reason why he even has a shot at defeating Voldemort (another immature boy who still needs a lot of growing up to do), was because of me. Let's recount shall we?

First year: I was the one who found out who Nicholas Flammel was. I was the one who realised there was a trapdoor underneath Fluffy. I was the one that recognised the Devil's Snare- and conjured up the flames that destroyed it. I made sure he wasn't poisoned. Let's face it- the only things Harry really did was provide us a flute, get the key (anyone who could ride a broom could do so), and stall so that Quirrell would delay in murdering him. He also would have gotten himself killed if his mother didn't throw herself in front of him and died in his place eleven years ago. I wonder if she regretted doing that. If I was the mother of a hopeless idiot, I certainly would.

Second year: I was the one that came up with whole magnificent plan. I was the one that stole the ingredients and brewed the potion (something that he would never be able to do in several lifetimes). I was the one that provided the drugged cupcakes, and thought to procure clothing big enough. I figured out what was petrifying everyone. Harry would never have saved Ginny if I didn't- and yet he gets all the glory. Talk about injustice and sexism.

This list could go on forever, but why waste time in dwelling in the past? Harry will never change (alas) and I would just have to keep pretending I support his useless campaign.

Oh, and did I mention how completely and utterly dense he is? It is common knowledge that Ginny has liked him for such a long time, yet he insists on drooling after Cho. Doesn't he realise that she's much too smart and good-looking for him?

Recommended Courses Of Action:

-Partake in Anger Management classes.

- Invite Voldemort to a duel. That'll teach him how important I am. And how useless he is once he realises he doesn't stand a chance.

-Take a photograph of him and Cho. Maybe then he'll realise how unattractive he is and melt into a pool of self pity. Wait. He just needs to take a photograph of himself; comparing him to Cho is just too cruel.

Fred couldn't help himself: he laughed.

In many ways, Hermione was absolutely right about Harry. Not that he would admit it of course.

He had been sneaking glances at the entry every few minutes because somebody kept entering the common room. It wasn't until he realised that faking illness and going to bed early was a better excuse to read in private than "I'm studying", did he settle himself in bed and pull the drapes shut.

He had decided long ago that this was something that had to be kept secret from everybody else; not even George knew about his little plan. Actually, in all honesty, Fred himself didn't know what his plan was going to be.

At first he was going to use this as a ransom, but it didn't seem to be a fulfilling prospect. He really needed to do something that will reveal her true character. But what?

It was past midnight now, but the innocent looking book was lying just within his reach.

Perhaps just one more entry…

Would you believe me if I said this story was actually intended to be a One-shot? No?

I've always wondered if Hermione did a running commentary of her life. I do. I like to amuse myself by thinking up unflattering comments about the people in my life. I know it's mean- but its damn funny. Try it sometime. I highly recommend it.

I've also always like the idea of a cynical, patronising Hermione. I think she'll do the whole Mr. Tinkles act awfully well (reference: Cats and Dogs 2).

Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you like the story so far (and please don't kill me over what I wrote about Harry and Hermione). I'd appreciate it if you review. I'll always be forever indebted to you because you made my day, made me smile, and generally made me one happy person.

-insert the image of me groveling-