Written for Military Mechanic's "The What If Challenge" on the HPFC forum.

Word Count: 1,000 exactly (not including the author's note)

She stood up straight, maybe too straight for a child. In fact, her whole demeanor wasn't normal: proud, professional, and the slightest bit vain.

She was nervous, but she didn't show it one bit.

Inside, it was a jumble of what if and what will. Outside, all one could see was a girl who looked like everything was going to work out for her.

The girl's mind was zooming, wondering if her parents would be proud of the turn out. Will they still love me if I get into some meaningless house?

Will they still be proud of me?

What she didn't acknowledge was that her parents would be proud of her no matter what happened.

Of course, they didn't know too much about this house system, but that wasn't why they would be happy for her.

Her parents knew their daughter worked hard willingly, and that was more than they could ever ask for.

"Now, don't worry about a thing, dear," they told her before she left for her new school- and new home.

"But here it was so good!" She protested. She was very excited to figure out that she was a witch, but she knew this transition wouldn't be easy. To go from no magic anywhere to magic everywhere seemed difficult.

"We know, but you'll make yourself known anywhere," her mother comforted, smiling. "You're not leaving all that you've learned behind. You'll do fantastic."

"But if this is stressing you too much, you can attend school here instead of there," his father suggested, her mother nodding.

|"No," she said confidently, standing up straighter. She was determined.

"I want to go to Hogwarts."

And it was a good decision. She had read up on it, and it seemed like the curriculum and academics were superb. A perfect fit. Hogwarts was going to be her home.

And as Professor McGonagall called her name to be sorted, she walked up to the chair, still straight, and awaited to be placed.

"Smart, very intelligent. I believe…" The Sorting Hat paused, considering the two obvious choices.

In her mind, she begged to be placed in a house where she could fit in, where she could make her parents proud. Where she can be perfect.

Granger lived to please, so anything less than the utmost pride crushed her.

The Hat knew what this girl wanted. And he knew what this girl wanted couldn't be achieved.

But she kept on insisting that she meet this goal.

Well, if she's going to be perfect, let her learn the hard way.

"Ravenclaw!" The Hat exclaimed.

The room erupted into applause, the Ravenclaw table being the loudest.

Hermione was beaming, knowing that this would be the best home for her.

She nodded now, still standing up straight.

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor, she thought. That's alright.

She'd been studying her new schedule for this term on her way to her next class, memorizing it as best she can. Well, she already had it memorized, but giving the impression that she was working even during class transitions seemed admirable.

Perfection had been on the top of her list for five years now, and she didn't want to admit it, but it wasn't proving helpful. She strived for top of her class so hard it was pointless- she already was.

It had made her parents prouder than proud, receiving excellent marks in all of her exams. But this year she knew she had to get that O -that is, many Os- in the upcoming testing.

All she did was study.

This was the only thing she did, and it had taken a toll on fifteen-year-old Hermione. Her social skills were poor (unless you call asking teachers thousands of questions socializing) and all she was known as is the smart-girl. That's it. Nothing else.

At eleven years old, this wouldn't have bothered her.

But now, she shut that feeling up, knowing that distraction meant failure.

And Hermione Granger doesn't fail.

So she pretended that she didn't hear any of the noise in her head, even though it was loud and clear.

But now she wasn't standing straight, as there was no time for that.

In this case, distraction actually does mean failure.

She ran like wildfire through the castle, knowing that pride means nothing now. Or marks, or social skills, or nickanmes.

All that matters is how fast you run and how much you can hide.

She had always been in a battle with herself, wondering if staying up studying, reading till morning, gaining more and more knowledge was healthy or not.

But right now she was in a real battle with more than herself.

And any action can change this immensely.

Another window shattered. Another door broken. Another person dead.

It wasn't till then was she finally realized that she wasn't smart.

She never will be.

She may have books memorized, she may have papers handed in, but what really mattered never occurred to her until now.

Whatever that thing was, she could realize it the easy way or the hard way.

Whether she waited to realize it or not, it would be a challenging transition- worse than the one she endured more that six years ago.

More effective.

And as she realized that she wasn't the girl she wanted to be, she collapsed onto the floor, crying, raging at her stubbornness, letting everyone else run by.

Nothing else really mattered now, really.

No, because she insisted perfection, and that made her anything but perfect.

Hermione Granger's story never played out liked it was supposed to, how fate intended it to be.

Pride and knowledge got into the way, clouding every ounce of sense she had.

She may be smart. But Hermione Granger wasn't intelligent in the ways she was destined to be.

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