The Little Things That Matter

The Little Things That Matter

"Daddy, read me a story?" Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and silently pleaded with him. She was always so eager that it made him laugh. He smiled down at his only daughter and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Alright then, which one would you like me to read to you?" He was sure it was useless to ask, but he always did, nonetheless. Immediately, the small four year-old jumped off the bed and scrambled towards the small bookcase in her room.

She pulled out an old, worn book and nearly tripped over herself as she ran back to hand it to him. Eric placed a hand on his daughter's head before she climbed back under the covers.

"Careful, love, you don't want to fall," he said to her softly. She nodded her head in response and sat patiently, hugging her knees, while she waited for him to begin reading. He glanced at the book and shook his head knowingly.

"Darling, are you sure this is the one you want me to read? You've already heard it so many times," he never failed to ask her, and took pleasure in their little routine.

"Yes, Daddy. It's my favorite," she paused, "please?" It was the same every night. He would come up to her room and find her sitting on her bed, waiting for him. Eric would tuck her in and she would always ask him to read her a story. He would inquire as to which story she would like for him to read and she would all but fall over herself to bring him the book in excitement.

It was always the same book nowadays, and he would ask her if she was sure it was the one she wanted to hear every time. She would nod her head and tell him it was her favorite and ask sweetly, "Please read it to me?" He always would.

Tonight was no exception. He opened the book to the first page and began to read aloud, knowing that he could never refuse her anyway.

She would close her eyes from the time he uttered the first word, as if deep in concentration, and would remain that way as she listened to the entire story. Eric wondered how she never got tired of hearing the same words every night. He never got tired of reading them to her. It was something he looked forward to all day, this time alone with his daughter. It was their time to be together and he cherished it.

By now, he had learned her reactions to the tale. He always watched for her smiles, the way she would knit her eyebrows together in frustration, and the way she would purse her lips expectantly as he read. Sometimes, he thought she fell asleep while he read, but if he paused and made to put the book away she would ask him to please continue. He always finished the book and expected her to be asleep. She never was.

Tonight, he finished the story and watched his daughter. She lay on her back quietly and did not stir. He replaced the book on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, where she had always been able to reach it, and returned to his daughter's side.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered, and leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. Slowly, he walked to the door and turned off the lights, wondering if she had actually fallen asleep this time. Eric opened the door and was about to step out when he heard the rustling of sheets behind him.

"Goodnight, Daddy," she responded, eyes still closed as she smiled at him through the darkness.

~*~

The next day, Eric Granger worked hard at his office, caring for his patients. He was tired by the time he and Anne, his wife and fellow dentist, headed home.

He had told Anne about Hermione's love for her favorite book once, and Anne had come home with the film. She had thought to give it to Hermione as a treat, since she obviously enjoyed the story so much, and Anne had heard from several of her patients that their small daughters had loved the film, too.

Hermione had thanked her mother politely when she received it and rushed to her room at once to lay it gently on her desk. She hadn't touched the tape since. Eric had laughed, Hermione had always preferred books she couldn't even read to television, but Anne had worried.

"It's lovely that she likes the book so much," Anne had said, "but all the other little girls loved the film, and she isn't even showing much interest in it!" But Hermione had always been different from all the other little girls her age.

She was fascinated by books, and would often sit on the armrest of Eric's armchair and look over his shoulder as he read on the weekends, even though she couldn't read herself yet. Other times she would grab one of her books and mimic her father by sitting on the floor next to his chair and holding the book just like he was and turning the pages just when he did. Eric was proud of his little girl.

When he opened the door to Hermione's room that night, he was surprised to find her sitting on her bed with her favorite book already in her hands. Caught off guard by the change in routine, Eric approached her bed and sat down next to her. As he made to tuck her under the covers, Hermione reached out one of her small hands to stop him.

"Daddy," she said, " I'm going to tell you the story tonight." She seemed very pleased with herself. Eric wasn't completely sure what to expect but he nodded his head and gave her permission to go on. Carefully, Hermione opened the book and turned to the first page. She looked up at him and gave him a quick, excited smile before she returned her gaze to the page and shut her eyes.

Hermione began the story slowly, pronouncing each word carefully as she spoke out loud. When she reached the end of the page, she flipped to the next one and continued. Eric was shocked. At first, he had thought Hermione was reading. His little, brilliant girl was reading before all the other children her age.

He quickly realized, however, that Hermione kept her eyes closed. She wasn't reading, but rather she was reciting the story word for word. She seemed to have memorized when to turn each page, as she didn't open her eyes once until she was finished. Eric was still impressed.

Hermione gazed up at him expectantly, and the worry in her eyes gave away that she hoped for his approval. Eric sat there, staring at his daughter, and couldn't believe that she had managed to memorized the entire tale and recite it back to him. Sure, it wasn't a very long story at all, he told himself, and she had made several mistakes and stolen glances at the text, but it was still quite an achievement. Hermione's face fell as she took her father's reaction, or lack thereof, as disapproval, and he rushed to correct her thoughts by reaching out and embracing her.

"Oh, Daddy! Did you like it?" He clung to her tightly and nodded.

"Hermione, you were fantastic," he whispered, his voice cracking a bit with emotion. She sniffled into his shirt and pulled away to look her father in the eye.

"Daddy, will you teach me to read? I want to read like you do," she asked cautiously. His face broke into an even wider smile as he told his daughter that of course, he would love to teach her to read. She's so clever and mature for such a young age, he thought.

A very young and extremely overjoyed Hermione beamed up at him.

~*~

Hermione sat on the cold tile floor of the Granger kitchen, huddled quietly with a thick book, which she had recently received for her eleventh birthday, in the corner of the room. Her mother insisted that she come shopping with her, and Hermione endured it, impatiently, as her mother dragged her to the grocery store and then a shopping mall.

Anne tried to capture her eleven year-old daughter's interest with pretty dresses and bows, but to no avail. Upon arriving at home, Hermione ran off to the kitchen, where she had left her latest reading material waiting for her.

Anne knew she should be thankful that Hermione was so studious and clever, but she couldn't help wishing that her daughter would act more like other girls her age. As Anne wandered into the kitchen with a vase she had fetched from the living room, her eyes fell upon Hermione's figure in the corner. She filled the vase with water, set it on the counter in front of her, and collected the bouquet of white orchids she bought from the grocery store, all the while watching Hermione out of the corner of her eye.

"Hermione, why don't you go outside and play with Louisa from across the street?" Hermione lifted her eyes from her book and looked straight at her mother.

"I'd rather stay in here, Mum," she replied, and turned back to her book. Anne wouldn't admit it to herself, but she knew that Hermione had trouble making friends at her school. She couldn't understand why, however; Hermione wasn't particularly shy and she was friendly and polite.

"Louisa is a perfectly nice girl, Hermione. I don't see why you refuse to socialize with her," she stated.

"Mum, I'd just rather not go play with Louisa right now," she said, without bothering to look at her mother this time. Her mum thought Louisa was a perfectly nice girl, but she was wrong; Hermione knew that Louisa was quite the opposite. Hermione simply couldn't get along with the other kids, some of them were nice, but none were very interesting. And the rest were friends with Louisa and ignored her.

Louisa usually ignored Hermione as well, except for when she chose to tease her. Hermione knew she was different from the other kids. She preferred reading to watching television and playing with toys, even though she had a few dolls that she cared for. She had never done anything to Louisa who seemed to hate her.

Often, Louisa would corner her during their free time at school. She would approach with a few other girls and taunt Hermione, calling her a "weirdo" and a "bookworm". Hermione tried to ignore Louisa, but her words stung, and she would often find herself hiding behind a book and crying softly, hoping no one would see or hear her. Hermione could barely look up at her mom, who was busily arranging flowers by the sink.

Louisa was a horrible girl.

"Really, Hermione! You can't shy away from the other children all of the time! You're always by yourself, reading some book," she spit the word out as if it were dirty, "and I'd just like to see you among some of the other children, playing and enjoying yourself, some of the time!" Anne knew she had lost control and tried to steady herself. She let her hands drop from the orchids she had been placing in the vase and glanced at her daughter.

Hermione closed her book, and it lay in her lap as she stared up at her mother. How could she say than? Hermione wondered. Anne's words had hit her hard, and she dropped her book and froze in her spot against the wall after hearing them. Anne knew she shouldn't speak like that to her daughter, but she seemed to have forgotten it again.

"Hermione, you can't hide behind books forever," she said, maintaining eye contact with her, "and you have to give the other children a chance. I will not watch you waste your childhood cooped up in your room with some book." Hermione felt herself shaking now. What was her mother trying to say?

"In fact, why don't you give me that book and at least go greet Louisa?" Anne put one hand on the vase and resumed her work with the other. Hermione shook her head.

"If you want me to go outside, Mum, I can read on the patio," she whispered.

"Give me your book, Hermione, and go talk to the other girls," she crooned, but her tone betrayed her.

"No, Mum. I don't want to," Hermione whispered coldly. She stood up quickly and walked rapidly towards the door.

"Hermio-," Anne called out, but she was cut short when Hermione wheeled around to face her, angry tears spilling out of her eyes, and the vase in front of her burst. Anne screamed in surprise and stumbled backwards, flattening herself against the wall. When she looked away from the vase that had spontaneously exploded, Hermione was gone.

~*~

Hermione sped through the hallway and up the stairs, her book clutched to her chest. She ran straight past her parents' room and right into the smaller room at the end of the hall, shutting the door behind her and locking it.

It wasn't the first time something strange, such as the vase exploding, had happened around her. Hermione could remember a recent incident where she felt Louisa got what she deserved. Hermione had arrived early at school one day and was sitting calmly at her desk, reading, when Louisa arrived. Louisa made her way towards Hermione's seat and Hermione didn't notice Louisa standing next to her.

Before she knew what was happening, Louisa grabbed her book from right under her nose and ran towards the other side of the room. Hermione remembered nicely asking for Louisa to return her book, but Louisa had only laughed as Hermione was forced to chase her around the room and students continued to arrive. The entire class laughed when Hermione tripped on the leg of a chair and Louisa dropped the book rudely next to Hermione's face, calling her a freak.

Hermione had been so humiliated and angry. Her face burned as she made her way to her seat and Louisa mocked her from the front of the room, pretending to be about to trip. Next thing she knew, Louisa's shoelaces had come instantly untied and she had fallen hard to the floor and began crying.

Hermione was shocked, she clearly recalled Louisa's laces being tied rather tightly when she had been on the floor herself. She didn't know how they had come undone, but she felt Louisa deserved it, and she tried to conceal her smile as the teacher entered the room to investigate the howling. It was a pleasant memory for Hermione. A very strange memory, but still satisfying.

Hermione placed her book neatly on the shelf and threw herself onto her bed, wiping angrily at her eyes with her small hands. She knew she was being a bit dramatic, but she didn't care. What her mother said to her was as good as a slap in the face.

Hermione loved going to school, she loved to learn. It was her forte. Knowledge made her strong; it made her feel worthwhile. But there was another aspect of school that she hated.

Hermione tried to be nice to the other kids at school. She corrected them when they were wrong and tried to help them too, but that always seemed to make them not like her. She didn't know what she was doing wrong. And when the other kids began to talk about her, when they began to call her names and tease her, Hermione held onto the few firm aspects of her life. She clung to the chance to learn, to her books, and most importantly, to her father. She saw these as the only things that would always be there for her no matter what happened.

So when Louisa and her friends surrounded Hermione at school, Hermione learned to hide behind her books. She learned to hide behind her knowledge. She chose to put on a mask that made everyone believe she was strong and confident, when she was really crumbling inside. And with that mask, she put up a wall around herself, a wall that would defend her, but that would also keep everyone else out.

And so, she shut everyone out of her life, even though the thing she longed for above everything else was to be loved and accepted; to belong. She shut out everything except for her books and her teachers. And the only times that her wall came down were when she was with her father, because Hermione felt that her father loved her and understood her.

She felt that her father would never judge her, unlike her mother.

Yes, she loved her mother, but sometimes Hermione became so angry with her. Like right now, like today. Her mother always wanted her to be with the other children. She never let Hermione read or spend time alone. Hermione knew that she was only doing what she thought was best, but couldn't help feeling that her mother didn't know what was best.

How could she want me to be with those kids, when they treat me so horribly?

But Anne didn't know about the endless teasing that Hermione endured. Hermione had never told her mother about how the other children treated her. She didn't want anyone else to know. She didn't want to be pitied. Hermione only wished she could go outside and play with other girls. She wanted that more than anything, and it was the one thing that she couldn't have.

And there were always tears. Hermione always had to hide her face - behind books, behind doors, inside her room - because she didn't want anyone to see her cry. She felt that her tears were a sign of weakness, and she did not want to be weak. And yet, she cried. She cried as a release. She needed to cry sometimes. It was her way of getting rid of emotions that she preferred to not deal with.

Crying helped her heal, it made her stronger, and it allowed her to forgive. And even though she hated herself for it, she was crying at that very moment.

Maybe I am weak.

She thought she might be.

~*~

Earlier that same day, the house lay quiet. Eric made his way into the living room and sat in his armchair, realizing the silence was due mostly to Anne taking Hermione shopping with her, but their house was never the origin of much noise anyway. Eric reached towards the bookshelf next to him and pulled out a random book.

"The Mysteries Behind the Curtain," he read to himself, "exploring the unknown emotions hidden by the human soul." Eric shook his head and opened the book, but he didn't read. It lay in his lap as he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief. He wondered where Anne had taken Hermione. He knew Anne would attempt to distract Hermione with clothes and nail polish.

He laughed as he remembered Hermione's eleventh birthday, which had been only a few days before. Hermione received several presents, and looked right past the hair ribbons and new shoes, drawn to the new books she received. Anne had looked disappointed, but it seemed to lift her spirits when Hermione allowed her to tie a scarlet ribbon in her hair.

Eric looked towards the hall, hearing keys jangling in the background. He stood up and placed the book on his chair. As he walked out into the hall Hermione ran up to him, said hello, and rushed into the kitchen. He looked after her curiously, and felt Anne's hand slip into his.

"I suspect she's off to read again," she sighed into his ear. Eric turned to face his wife and smiled down at her.

"Well, hello to you too, Anne," he teased, placing a light kiss on her flushed cheek. She sighed again and let go of his hand, but leaned forward to peck his cheek. She was smiling now.

"I'm going to go get a vase for some flowers I found at the store, would you mind taking the bags into the kitchen for me? They're by the door," she said. He nodded and walked off towards the bags after grabbing her hand again and squeezing it gently.

Eric walked into the kitchen, laden with grocery bags, and headed towards the counter. He dropped the bags carefully on the surface and laid the flowers by the sink for Anne. In the corner of the room sat Hermione, reading intently. He chuckled to himself. Guess Anne was right, he thought.

Eric made his way back into the living room and picked up the book he had been holding earlier. He sat in his armchair and opened the book to attempt some reading, when he heard voices floating into the room. They belonged to Anne and Hermione.

"Hermione, why don't you go outside and play with Louisa from across the street?" he heard Anne say. He couldn't make out Hermione's response, but heard Anne again. "Louisa is a perfectly nice girl, Hermione. I don't see why you refuse to socialize with her." Sensing trouble, Eric stuffed the book back into its place on the shelf and got up again.

He could hear Hermione refusing to go outside as he neared the kitchen.

Anne had appeared frustrated with Hermione when they arrived at home and Eric hoped she wouldn't have an outburst. He didn't completely understand why Anne felt such a need to push Hermione to be social with the other children. He figured that Hermione simply preferred reading, which was good for her and would enhance her intelligence.

There was also something he didn't like about that Louisa girl. She always seemed to give Hermione a rotten look when they passed her, and Eric knew that Louisa's parents gave the girl everything she asked for and never set many limits. He figured Hermione shouldn't be around girls like Louisa if they acted in that manner.

"Really, Hermione! You can't shy away from the other children all of the time! You're always by yourself, reading some book, and I'd just like to see you among some of the other children, playing and enjoying yourself, some of the time!" Anne's voice had become higher, and her volume increased.

Anne, what are you doing? He wondered whether he should interrupt as he stood outside the kitchen door, hidden from their view. He didn't want Anne or Hermione to get upset, but he could sense that they already were. Hermione's reading and social life remained a sensitive subject in the Granger household.

"Give me your book, Hermione, and go talk to the other girls," Anne sounded almost desperate. Eric held his head in his hands as he listened. He heard Hermione flatly refuse her mother's request and her footsteps quickly approaching.

Before he could step back, he heard a loud crash inside the kitchen and Anne's scream. Hermione ran out of the room, almost crashing into him, and straight up the stairs. Alarmed, Eric watched her flee and rushed into the kitchen, where a stunned Anne stood, staring out the door.

"Anne, what happened? Are you all right? What was that noise? Is Hermione okay?" He bombarded her with questions as he rushed to her side. She had closed her eyes and he stood in front of her, taking both her hands in his.

"I was only trying to help," she said, almost guiltily.

"But Anne, what happened?" He gestured to the shattered glass that covered the counter and the floor next to it. She shook her head, pulled her hands out of his, and picked up a broom that was lying on the other side of the room. Carefully, she made her way back, and Eric watched her. He knew Anne had struck a nerve with Hermione and that they had both gotten upset. But that still didn't explain the shattered glass.

"I don't know what happened. It's just so strange," she whispered, sweeping all the glass into one pile. "I think I may have been a bit too rough, but I just worry about her. It's not normal for a girl her age to act like she does. She spends all day reading and she's never with other children. She's wasting her childhood; she's not letting herself enjoy it. She's so ahead of herself, Eric, that by the time she's twenty she'll be forty inside," she said, the words spilling out rapidly, "I just don't want her to miss being a kid... she's only eleven." Eric watched as Anne swept the glass into the trash and collected the shards of glass off of the counter with a wet rag. He didn't fail to see a tear slide down her cheek.

"I know Anne, I know," he said, taking her in his arms. She leaned her head silently against his shoulder, her tears moistening the material of his shirt.

"I was only trying to help," she whispered. He tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

"It's okay," he murmured into her scalp. They stood there, in silence, the harsh light of the room falling over them.

~*~

Anne had gone to their room to lie down, and Eric found himself sitting in the living room once again. He leaned back in his chair, and let himself be engulfed by the silence and darkness of the room. Anne had explained to him that when Hermione turned to face her while leaving the kitchen, the vase she had been holding spontaneously burst. Eric didn't understand the things that happened around his daughter sometimes.

He closed his eyes and remembered once when she was nine, Hermione had been sent home from school. She was terrified at being sent home for causing trouble, but no one could really explain why her teacher's skirt had ripped apart when she repeatedly scolded Hermione for not giving the other children the opportunity to answer a question. Eric had laughed then, Hermione always knew the answer and her hand was always waving in the air when she was at school, but he hadn't been able to explain the incident either.

The truth was, odd things often happened around Hermione; things that no one could explain. Sometimes he wondered if there was a reason for these peculiar events, but he usually ignored those thoughts.

Eric heard shuffling outside in the hallways and opened his eyes. He sat up and watched the shadow of a small girl enter through the doorframe.

"Daddy?" He heard her whisper.

"I'm here, love," he responded. She walked over to him and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head under his arm. He wrapped his free arm around her and felt her trembling. Gently, he stroked her hair with his hand. After a few minutes he felt her relax her grip, and heard her breathing grow deeper.

It was true, she often acted older than her actual age, and she was more mature than other children her age, but inside, Hermione was still a child. She was vulnerable to the world around her, and innocent, like a child could be. And Eric would protect her from the world as much as he could.

Carefully, he rearranged Hermione in his arms and stood up. He carried her up to her room quietly and laid her in her bed, pulling the blankets over her and doing his best not to wake her. Eric leaned down and kissed her forehead before going over to her window to draw the drapes. As he stood by the window and looked out into the night, he thought he heard hooting in the background.

Odd, I didn't know we had owls in the area, he thought as he pulled the curtains closed. He walked out of his daughter's room, shutting the door behind him.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he whispered through the door at her. When he got to his room, he found Anne already asleep. After changing quickly, he slid under the sheets and murmured goodnight to Anne. He closed his eyes and was near sleep when he felt someone crawling onto the bed. Hermione wormed her way under the covers next to her mother and leaned her head against the pillow. Anne shifted and wrapped an arm around her daughter, planting a kiss on her head.

"I love you, Hermione," she whispered several minutes later, as she lay with her eyes closed, long after both Hermione and Eric had fallen asleep.

No one had noticed the heavy parchment envelope addressed to Miss Hermione Granger, The Room At The End of The Hall, which had been slipped through the mail slot. Little did they know that it would explain many of the strange things that happened around Hermione, and that it would change their lives forever in a way that they never could have imagined.

~*~

The End