Light at the End of the Tunnel

"Knowledge is power."

~*~

It's simple really, my ever-present quest for knowledge. It all goes back to my childhood. You see I wasn't always a Granger, whatever people may think. I was also a Walker for a long while. I was born Samantha Walker, to Mary and John Walker. John was a drug dealer, and Mary his addict. She ran out of money for her drugs often, and had to make payments another way. I was a mistake, an error, simply a miscalculation on their part. Yet, Mary still had me, and even she didn't know why.

For as long as I can remember, every night I heard her sigh to herself: 'Why did I choose this child? Why didn't I give her up?' Every night, the exact same thing, the exact same words. As a young child, I didn't understand why she didn't want me. Somehow I thought it was all my fault. Therefore, I tried to be the best daughter I could be. Quiet, kind, never misbehaving, always minding what she told me. Every night, it was still the exact same words, said to the air, as if it was the only thing that would listen to her.

As I grew older, I learned to read and found a passion for knowledge. I found that if I read books at night, I couldn't hear her say the same words because I was off in another world. The world my books offered me.

However, simply because I was born didn't mean that my mother would give up the drugs. As a young child, I didn't understand why I would sometimes be left at home alone for two or three days at a time. I hated that dank, dingy home. It was full of spiders and cockroaches and other scary creatures. I hated every minute that she wasn't there. When I got older, I understood why she would leave, but barely. Some days, she'd come home completely out of it. She would stumble in the door, look at me sadly, like a was the biggest mistake of her life, and go into her room where she would lock herself in for a day or until she came down from her high. Those were the scariest moments, when she came down. Depending on what drug she was on, she would yell and scream, just for looking at her the wrong way. Other times, she would simply come out, lie on the couch, and sob that she hated me and I was the reason for all her pain. I just looked at the floor, exited the room and went to read. Oh, reading was my solace. It was my save haven. I could disappear to a magical world; become a magician. I could fight horrible monsters; be a beautiful princess. I could forget all the pain I was causing my mother.

One day, when she was coming down from her high particularly violently, she began throwing things at me, big things too. She grabbed our meager amount of pots and threw them at me. I dodged them, or rather, she didn't aim properly, which only served to make her angrier. She proceeded to grab one of our knives and chase after me. I ran screaming, terrified of my own mother. She yelled, "I have to punish you Samantha. You've been a bad girl. You've hurt your mother."

I was so scared. I was eight years old, and I was terrified of making her angrier, but I had to run over to the neighbor's house. I was screaming to Becca, the sweet lady next door, "Please! Please! Help! It's my mom! Please! HELP!"

That was a turning point for me. My mom was caught with drug possession, and charged with attempted assault on a minor. Me. I was taken to a foster home, my dad having no need or want for me. I was in a foster home when the news came. My mother, who never wanted me, had killed herself. She had hung herself from her prison cell ceiling. I was sad, but not terribly so. My mother had never wanted me, and I was learning slowly not to need her. There was a nice couple named the Grangers interested in adopting me.

On April 21, the year I turned ten, I was adopted and officially became Hermione Ann Granger. I chose to change my first name because I wanted as little reminder of the past as possible in my new life. The life I 'deserved' as my new mother and father said. Hermione was a name I chose, reading it once in a book and loving it. I had assumed I would name my daughter Hermione; Instead, I was the one to be named Hermione.

The summer after I turned eleven, I received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All the times I read stories to escape my life, all the times I'd dreamed of being able to do magic, and now, here was the opportunity. I was ecstatic.

I still retain my love for knowledge. I have to. It's a part of my past, one of the few parts I have left. I no longer even have my original name. However, Hermione was always my favorite character in that book. She found her happy ending, as I found mine. At the end of a dark tunnel, we both found the light...

~*~