Super Girl

The world is loud, noisy, filled with screams and whoops and cries of pain and joy. I am surrounded by noise and colour and vibrance.

But I'm a tad bit colourless.

My hair is ash brown. My eyes are ash brown. My skin is so white that every grey vein is visible. My lips are a dull pink. I'm as flat as a board, colour-wise.

I have tried so hard, so damn hard, to be better. My marks are insanely high. My essays are perfect. My clothes are prim and neat. The only thing that defies my quest for perfection is my hair, and even that's become predictable. Just like me.

I'm Super Girl, and I'm here to be the best.

What I lack in personality, I make up in passion. I'm a crusader; I stand up for the weak and root for the underdog. I know that I can make the world a better place, if I just keep trying.

I have to push these types of things; if not me, than who? Who else is willing to stand up for the oppressed? Who else has the stones to put themselves into the line of fire and say "This is wrong! This must not continue!"?

There is no one else, is there? That job falls upon my shoulders; I think it's expected from me know. My ardor has diminished; the joy of making something right has disappeared under the yoke of expectancy. I am expected to be this perfect child, this model human being.

I'm Super Girl, and I'm here to change the world.

I'm brave. I am a Gryffindor, after all. I rush wildly into danger, and despite all my intelligence, I am just as prone to SGM's (stupid Gryffindor moment, trademark, et all.) as Ron or Harry. I have been Petrified, close to murdered, injured, transformed into a cat... I even stole into Snape's personal potion store my second year. No matter how cautious I try to be, sometimes my rage takes over my head.

But I'm supposed to be brave. I'm a Gryffindor, remember? It's nothing special, it doesn't make me different. I'm just another effing Gryffindor, committing random acts of Gryffindor bravery. I have to be this way; it's who I'm supposed to be. It's like they think I don't get scared; Hermione is courageous, and she always was, and always will be. There's no choice, it seems. Damned if I do, but damned if I don't. What a world.

I'm Super Girl, and I'm here to save you.

I'm a loving person. Compassion is the basis of my personality; I can be rude, it's true. But I don't mean to be. I love people too much. Nothing gives me greater joy than to see them smile. To make people laugh, to make them shine, lightens my heart. I can't do it too often; people get used to it. But I do want people to be happy.

But we all already knew that. I'm Hermione; I care. It doesn't matter if I have a bad day, because you can still dump all over me, and I won't mind, right?

I carry your pain and trials on my back; I hold your secret tears and your unbidden nightmares in my heart. But that's the way it's always been; Hermione will always listen. That's just who I am, and it doesn't matter if I'm in pain. Hermione cares.

I'm Super Girl, and I'm here to save your soul.

In my hands, I carry the world. Your world. And it's heavy; I carry decades of pain and sorrow and unmitigated anger. My back is stooped, and the nights are my only escape. I want to run, and scream, and break down.

I'm not given the chance to develop my personality. Do you know what my favourite class is? Do you know what my favourite colour is? Do you know that I like to sing songs, and that I like spring better than summer? Do you know that I used to climb trees all the time? Do you know that my favourite star is Sirius? Do you know that I cry for him every night?

Of course not. And you don't care, so long as I fulfill the expectations of me you have. So long as I check your homework, and rant about house elves rights, and fight the good fight, it wouldn't matter if I became a shell of Hermione, if Hermione drifted away into a void of nothingness and sadness. I want to cry, and scream, and roll in the mud and wail.

But I can't.

I'm Super Girl.

And Super Girl doesn't have time for tears.