Woken by the sun's rays streaming into the room, Hermione instantly remembered yesterday's incident. With fleeting hope, she looked at the table — and her heart skipped a beat: the charred sheet of math homework was still there. This wasn't a dream. Burying her face in the pillow, she thought in despair: 'But how is this possible? What's wrong with me?'
The day before, Hermione had stayed up late over her homework. For a determined and gifted ten-year-old girl like her, the task wasn't hard; she got through it pretty quickly. But she couldn't shake off the nagging thoughts spinning around one name — Barbara Grayson.
Over the past year, that fair-haired classmate had turned Hermione's life into a living hell. If there was anyone in the whole wide world the usually even-tempered Hermione hated, it was Barbara.
Grayson was smart too. And maybe that was exactly why it infuriated her so much that Hermione outshone her in everything. Leadership was in Barbara's blood — she was the daughter of the mayor of their small town. Unable to beat her rival in class, she took it out on her the rest of the time.
Worst of all, Barbara's friends always backed up her every stunt. Yesterday, Hermione's hairstyle had become the target of their mockery. She had never paid much attention to her thick chestnut hair — it just didn't seem important. But Barbara and her entourage saw it differently.
"Country-girl habit — going around looking like a shaggy horse," Barbara snorted, and the girls burst into giggles, piling on sharper and sharper remarks. Soon they moved on to Hermione's slightly protruding front teeth. And then — things went downhill from there…
And so, sitting at her desk that evening with the finished assignment in her hands, Hermione found herself thinking again about her hated classmate. Her thoughts were far from peaceful. Anger boiled inside her, resentment built up, the desire for revenge was taking shape.
Suddenly, the sheet of paper flared up right in her hands. Hermione cried out, dropped it on the desk, and, barely regaining her senses, slammed a book down on it, trying to smother the fire.
"What happened?.. How?!" she whispered, staring at the charred page.
In shock and utter bewilderment, she sat for several minutes, unable to grasp what had just happened. At last, worn out by worry and restless thoughts, she decided to put off finding answers until morning and went to bed.
And now she was trying to put her thoughts in order.
"It couldn't have caught fire on its own… So something must have set it alight," she whispered.
Getting out of bed, Hermione went to the table and carefully examined the surface. The only reasonable explanation was the desk lamp.
"I must have been lost in thought and didn't notice I brought the paper too close to the lamp… That's why it flared up," she concluded with visible relief.
She had always been able to find logical explanations for even the strangest events — and she was proud of her ability to analyze things.
Her thoughts about the previous evening were suddenly cut short when her mother, Emma Granger, walked into the room. They had much in common: the same thick, slightly tousled chestnut hair, similar facial features, the same look in their eyes. Emma smiled at her daughter with that special warmth only a mother can give.
But when she noticed Hermione was still in her pajamas, her smile shifted to mild concern.
"Hermione, are you alright? We have to leave soon," she said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Why aren't you ready yet?"
Hermione froze. She really was running late.
"Sorry, Mum, I… just got caught up in my thoughts," she mumbled. "I'll be ready in a minute," and hurried into the bathroom.
Emma watched her go.
"She's growing up…" she thought. "And with age come new problems…"
She felt there was trouble on Hermione's mind. But whenever she asked, her daughter always gave the same answer: "Everything's fine." Emma didn't believe it. More than once, teachers had told her Hermione's relationships with classmates were difficult.
Before closing the door, Emma looked around the room. Everything was as usual: the room was in perfect order, the shelves filled with rows of books and the desk stacked with notebooks. Photos and awards on the walls silently boasted of her daughter's school success. And only in one corner, the few remaining toys looked out at the world with a faint reproach — Hermione had barely played with them.
Ten minutes later, Hermione came into the living room, straightening her hair and clothes as she walked.
"I'm ready," she said with forced brightness. "We can go."
The Grangers' living room was spacious and light. In the center stood a low table with stacks of newspapers and books. Around it were a comfortable sofa and two armchairs. In one of them, with a cup of coffee and the morning paper, sat Hermione's father, John. He was a tall, dark‑haired man with stern features, and he always put on his glasses to read — in Hermione's opinion, they made him look even stricter and more serious.
The Grangers, both dentists, worked at the same clinic. Emma specialized in children's dentistry, John in surgical procedures. At the clinic, he was respected and valued as a real professional.
Seeing his daughter, John glanced at his watch, stood up, and straightened the lapels of his elegant jacket. When Emma joined them, the family headed for the door.
The day was slightly overcast, matching Hermione's mood. She pulled her light coat tighter around her as she walked to the car, glancing at the quiet town of Oakridge. Just a few kilometers from noisy London, their neighborhood was known for its neat houses and perfect lawns.
On the back seat, Hermione pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching scenes of the waking town flick past. But her thoughts were elsewhere. Barbara was unlikely to have ended her latest round of mockery — and Hermione dreaded what would come next. She let out a heavy sigh, lost in grim thoughts, when she heard her mother's voice.
"Hermie, are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" Emma turned from the front seat, her eyes full of concern.
But Hermione only shook her head, avoiding her mother's gaze. She couldn't see how Emma could help — and didn't want to burden her with her problems.
Worst of all, the school change next year promised no relief. Barbara was also planning to transfer to Silverleaf — the very school Hermione's parents had chosen for her. That meant one thing: everything would stay the same. Or get even worse.
Upon arriving at school, Hermione said goodbye to her parents and slowly headed to the entrance. The school building — two stories, brick, with white frames on tall windows — looked especially gray against the overcast sky. The yard smelled of damp earth and wet grass, with drops of dew still glistening on the lawns. Bushes along the paths were just starting to show their first green, and the maples stood almost bare, their buds swollen.
As usual, the yard was crowded with students: some hurrying to the doors, some talking with friends, others laughing without care. But as she got closer, Hermione stopped in her tracks.
A group of her classmates had surrounded the new boy — Tommy. He'd only recently transferred to the school, after moving from a remote northern village. Small and slight for his age, he stood with his head down, clutching his satchel. He tried to get past the bullies, but they, laughing and shoving him, had no intention of stepping aside.
A heavy knot tightened in Hermione's chest. Watching Tommy shrink under the taunts and jabs was unbearable. Her whole insides boiled with outrage. She had already taken a step toward them when an inner voice stopped her short:
'Don't get involved! You already have enough trouble with Barbara. The last thing you need is to tangle with Jake and his gang…'
Hermione froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, head down, she walked toward the entrance, trying not to look at Tommy. But every mocking shout aimed at him hit her like a blow.
And yet, when she was almost at the entrance, Hermione suddenly stopped.
"This isn't right," she whispered.
Then she turned and, her voice high with tension, shouted:
"What's he ever done to you? He's on his own and smaller than you! Leave him alone!"
The bullies froze. For the past year, they'd felt like they owned the school — and they certainly hadn't expected anyone to challenge them outright. For a moment, Hermione even thought maybe this would be enough. But…
"Oh, look," sneered Jake, the biggest of them, "our little bookworm has crawled out of the hole to stand up for the scaredy-cat!"
Hermione's heart gave a jolt. Her lips trembled, but she forced herself not to look away. Loud laughter broke out all around, not just from Jake's friends but from other students as well. Her face burned with shame and anger.
"Hermione, what's it like being an unbearably smart know-it-all, huh?" Jake went on mockingly. "What now, you going to teach us how to behave in 'polite society'?"
With that, he made an awkward, exaggeratedly courteous bow, as if to a queen. The boys around him roared even louder. It was at that moment Hermione saw Barbara. She had just arrived and now stood off to the side — watching with a cold smirk.
'Well, I asked for it,' flashed through Hermione's mind. 'At least I got what I wanted,' she tried to console herself, seeing Tommy slip past and dart into the school building.
Even so, Hermione had no intention of letting Jake's insults slide. Gathering what confidence she had left, she said loudly:
"Wow, you've already heard of 'polite society'? And here I thought you were still into coloring books, where your favorite characters are the villains who pick on little kids."
With that, she turned and headed into the school, catching a glimpse of Jake turning crimson and starting toward her with a scowl. Her heart pounded wildly.
"Jake," Hermione suddenly heard Barbara's soft voice behind her, "there are other ways to get back at someone."
Hermione turned. Barbara's gaze was full of threat and promised nothing good. Then Grayson leaned toward Jake and whispered something in his ear, glancing sideways at Hermione.
A self-satisfied, nasty smile soon spread across Jake's face…
After the morning clash, Hermione's day went completely off track. The usual teasing, which she had started to build some immunity to, turned rougher and more cutting. Jake and his friends, spurred on by Barbara, threw themselves into it with special zeal. But this time, it didn't stop at words.
It began, as expected, with Barbara. She was walking down the corridor at an easy pace, a cup of coffee in her hand — straight toward Hermione. The math teacher, Mrs Ashworth, was nearby. And although Hermione was sure the teacher didn't much like her, she still felt safe — Grayson always behaved perfectly in front of teachers. But this time was different. Barbara 'accidentally' stumbled, and coffee drenched Hermione from head to toe.
"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed in her syrupy-sweet voice. "Sorry, I'm so clumsy…"
The smirk in her eyes told a different story, but the teacher couldn't see her satisfied face.
"You… you did that on purpose!" Hermione burst out, staring at Barbara in shock as coffee dripped from her school uniform.
Barbara instantly put on a look of surprise and hurt, as if she couldn't imagine how she'd become the target of such awful accusations.
"How could you think that?" she asked with mock outrage, turning to Mrs Ashworth as if for protection.
The teacher paused, frowning slightly, then shook her head.
"Hermione, I'm sure Barbara didn't mean it. It was just… an awkward accident. You saw yourself — she simply tripped."
Mrs Ashworth's tone was soothing, but Hermione didn't miss the warm, almost approving smile she gave Barbara. Only then did Hermione remember how often the teacher spoke admiringly of the mayor — Barbara's father — and about the importance of raising children "with family values."
"But…" Hermione began.
"No buts," Mrs Ashworth cut in. "Just admit you were wrong."
"But she did it on purpose…"
"Hermione, enough," the teacher's voice now carried irritation. "That kind of behavior doesn't suit you. Apologise!"
Stunned, Hermione stood frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Outrage welled up inside her. Behind Mrs Ashworth's back, Barbara didn't bother to hide her pleased smirk — she was enjoying Hermione's bewilderment.
"Oh, Mrs Ashworth," Barbara cooed. "There's no need for apologies. I completely understand Hermione's feelings, and of course I'm not upset with her at all."
With that, she put on a knowing, forgiving smile and, turning, walked away unhurriedly.
"You see how it's possible to show grace even in an unpleasant situation," Mrs Ashworth said, giving Hermione a brief glance.
The classmates watching could barely keep from laughing, and the moment the math teacher disappeared around the corner, they let their mockery loose.
As it turned out, the 'morning coffee' was only the beginning… During the day, there were several more episodes like it. They weren't as openly staged as Barbara's, but they were no less humiliating.
The worst was when Jake, not bothering to hide it, dumped the last of his coffee from a paper cup onto her — just like that, in passing. Hermione stood frozen, staring at him through the drops running down her eyelashes. He only smirked and walked on.
And it didn't stop with coffee. At lunch, when she sat down in the cafeteria, Hermione felt something sticky under her — someone had stuck chewing gum to her chair. In PE class, more than once, a ball 'accidentally' thrown hard by Jake slammed into her.
Tommy was also getting more than his share. It seemed their enemies had teamed up.
'Have I done him a disservice?' Hermione thought bitterly.
Before, only Jake went after him, but now anyone who felt like it joined in. Tommy looked crushed and didn't respond to the taunts.
Before the last lesson, Hermione stepped out of the classroom for a moment, and when she came back, her bag was gone. The room went silent — everyone was waiting to see what would happen next. At that moment, the bell rang and Mrs Ashworth walked in.
"Take your seats and get your textbooks out," she ordered.
Hermione stood by her desk, not knowing what to do.
"Hermione, are you asleep? Why aren't you getting your books out?" The teacher came closer and frowned. "What's happened to you? You look… mess."
"I… it's not my fault…" Hermione mumbled, searching for words. "It's all…" She glanced automatically toward Barbara.
Mrs Ashworth noticed the glance. The puzzlement in her eyes shifted at once to cold suspicion. That look brought back, unbidden, a scene from the previous year.
It had started with a test. Like everyone else, she got her test paper, solved it quickly, and handed it in. Mrs Ashworth glanced at the paper, then at the clock, then at Hermione — and her cold gaze showed the same distrust as now.
"You couldn't have solved this that fast," she said sharply. "Only a minute has passed. Where did you get the answers?"
That day turned into a nightmare: talks with the headteacher, with her parents, with other teachers. The suspicion that Hermione had stolen the answers from the staff room hung in the air, and no one believed she had simply done it herself.
Her father, always looking for a logical explanation, sat down to do the same test himself — and his result was noticeably worse. Hermione remembered how he had quietly set down his pen, looked at her — and for a split second, the same doubt flashed in his eyes. He said nothing. But she remembered that look forever.
Since then, it felt as if a wall had grown between her and Mrs Ashworth. A wall behind which lived her most humiliating memory.
Meanwhile, snickers broke out in the classroom. Tears welled in Hermione's eyes — she felt alone against everyone, even the teacher wasn't on her side. Her gaze drifted to the book lying in front of Barbara. Heat boiled in her chest.
And then — BOOM!
The book Hermione had been looking at exploded. Pages flew across the classroom, and the air filled with the smell of burning. For a moment, there was complete silence.
"She tried to blow me up!" Barbara shrieked, pointing at Hermione.
Her frightened face was smeared with soot, and the ends of her blond hair were singed. Mrs Ashworth stood as if stunned, then slowly turned her gaze on Hermione.
"I… I didn't…" Hermione began, but the tears came before the words. She couldn't take it anymore — she ran from the room.
For days afterwards, the school buzzed with talk about what had happened. Police, questioning, guesses. All of it was useless. No one ever found an explanation.
Hermione believed it had been another of Barbara's nasty tricks aimed at her — something that had simply gone wrong. Even so, after that incident, her classmates mocked her much more cautiously. And deep down, she was almost glad the strange thing had happened.
***
That evening, after dinner, the Grangers made themselves comfortable in the living room, sitting around the coffee table with mugs of hot tea. Hermione felt it was the perfect moment for a serious talk.
"Dad, Mum…" she began. Her parents looked at her expectantly. "I don't want to transfer to Silverleaf next year. Can I go to the local Oakridge school instead?"
John, caught off guard, spilled some tea on his knee. For a moment he couldn't even find the words — he just winced and, muttering under his breath, began dabbing at the stain on his trousers in quick, jerky motions.
"Darling?" Emma said uncertainly to her daughter, and that seemed to jolt her husband out of his stupor.
"Oakridge?" he repeated at last, doubtful, as if he hadn't heard her right. "Are you serious?"
Hermione gave an uneasy nod, gripped her mug with both hands, and stared at the floor as if she'd just spotted something very interesting there. She knew this request would upset her father — and that was the last thing she wanted. She loved him, valued his opinion… but this time she couldn't act differently.
"Hermione!" John raised his eyebrows slightly, slipping into his familiar instructive tone. "You do realise that moving to Oakridge would basically undo everything we've worked for? Silverleaf is one of the best schools in the district! The standard of teaching, the staff, the connections…" He ticked the points off on his fingers. "After that, you could get into university to study medicine — dentistry in particular — at a serious level. We've talked about this so many times, haven't we?"
"John," Emma cut in gently, "maybe we should first hear what Hermione wants?"
Hermione's father gave his wife a dazed look but kept going.
"Hm… But, Emma, Silverleaf has the best students. Even the mayor's daughter is planning to transfer there…"
"Exactly!" Hermione suddenly burst out. Her voice rang with emotion. "I don't want to go to the same school as her!"
"What?" He didn't grasp it at once. "Why should that have anything to do with your transfer?"
"Everything to do with it," she exclaimed, lifting her eyes from her mug. "I just can't anymore. Even one day next to her is too much. And a few more years? I won't last."
"Oh, seriously? Hermione," he said again, more sharply now, "you can't throw away your future over a childish grudge. That's… irrational."
Hermione felt everything inside her twist into a tight knot again. Her father, as always, made sense. Spoke reasonably. And that only made it worse. She couldn't — and wouldn't — spend the rest of her school years next to Barbara. Even if it meant giving up the dream of studying medicine. Of becoming a dentist.
Though, if she was honest… had it ever really been her dream? She'd always been drawn to science and to unsolved mysteries. And in a patient's mouth… how many mysteries could there be?
"John," Emma broke in again, "you've always wanted the best for her. But maybe the best also means what she chooses for herself?"
She came over, sat down beside her daughter, and hugged her.
"Thanks, Mum," Hermione whispered, leaning against her shoulder.
John opened his mouth, ready to argue, but then, as if thinking better of it, slowly closed it and looked at his daughter with a troubled expression. In his eyes now there was not just disappointment or puzzlement, but genuine concern for Hermione herself.