Then Hermione glanced nervously back at where the three older boys were lying unconscious as the realization hit that they'd seen her, they might know who she was, they might sneak up on her and take her by surprise and - and they could really hurt her -
Hermione stopped.
She remembered that Harry Potter had put himself in the middle of five Slytherin bullies on the first day of class when he hadn't even known how to use his wand.
She remembered the Headmaster saying that you grew up by being put in grownup situations, and that most people lived their lives inside a constraining circle of fear.
And she remembered Professor McGonagall's voice saying, 'You are twelve.'
Hermione took a deep breath, once, twice, and three times.
She asked Mike if he needed to go to Madam Pomfrey's office, which he didn't; and got him to tell her the names of the Slytherin boys, just in case.
And then Hermione Granger strolled away from the heap of unconscious bullies, making sure to put a smile on her face as she walked.
She knew that she was probably going to get hurt sooner or later. But if you were too scared of getting hurt to do what was right, then you couldn't be a hero, it was as simple as that; and if you'd put the Sorting Hat on her head at that moment it wouldn't have waited even one second before calling out 'GRYFFINDOR!'
She was still thinking about it when she came down to dinner; the euphoria of saving someone still hadn't worn off, and she was beginning to worry that it had broken something in her brain.
As she approached the Ravenclaw table a sudden epidemic of whispers broke out, and Hermione wondered if the Hufflepuff boy had said anything yet before she realized that the whispers probably weren't about that.
She sat down across from Harry Potter who looked extremely nervous, probably because she was still smiling.
"Uh -" said Harry, as she served herself freshly toasted bread, butter, cinnamon, no fruits or vegetables whatsoever, and three helpings of chocolate brownies. "Uh -"
She let him go on like that until she'd finished pouring herself a glass of grapefruit juice, and then she said, "I've got a question for you, Mr. Potter. How do you think people fail to become themselves?"
"What?" said Harry.
She looked at him. "Pretend there isn't all this stuff going on," she said, "and just say whatever you'd have said yesterday."
"Um..." Harry said, looking very confused and worried. "I think we already are ourselves... it's not like I'm an imperfect copy of someone else. But I guess if I try to run with the sense of the question, then I'd say that people don't become themselves because we absorb all this crazy stuff from the environment and then regurgitate it. I mean, how many people playing Quidditch would be playing a game like that if they'd invented the game themselves? Or back in Muggle Britain, how many people who think of themselves as Labour or Conservative or Liberal Democrat would invent that exact bundle of political beliefs if they had to come up with everything themselves?"
Hermione considered this. She'd been wondering if Harry would say something Slytherin or maybe even Gryffindor, but this didn't seem to fit into the Headmaster's list; and it occurred to Hermione that there might be a lot more viewpoints on the subject than just four.
"Okay," said Hermione, "different question. What makes someone a hero?"
"A hero?" said Harry.
"Yeah," said Hermione.
"Ah..." Harry said. His fork and knife nervously sawed at a piece of steak, cutting it into tinier and tinier pieces. "I think a lot of people can do things when the world channels them into it... like people are expecting you to do it, or it only uses skills you already know, or there's an authority watching to catch your mistakes and make sure you do your part. But problems like that are probably already being solved, you know, and then there's no need for heroes. So I think the people we call 'heroes' are rare because they've got to make everything up as they go along, and most people aren't comfortable with that. Why do you ask?" Harry's fork stabbed three pieces of thoroughly shredded steak and lifted them up to his mouth.
"Oh, I just stunned three older Slytherin bullies and rescued a Hufflepuff," said Hermione. "I'm going to be a hero."
When Harry had finished choking on his food (some of the other Ravenclaws in hearing distance were still coughing) he said, "What?"
Hermione told the story, it began rippling out in further whispers even as she spoke. (Though she left out the part about the phoenix, because that seemed like a private thing between the two of them. Hermione had felt surprised, thinking about it afterward, that a phoenix would appear for someone who wanted to be a hero; it seemed a bit selfish when she thought about it that way; but maybe it didn't matter to phoenixes so long as they saw that you were willing to help people.)
When she was done talking, Harry stared at her across the table and didn't say a word.
"I'm sorry for how I acted earlier," Hermione said. She sipped from her glass of grapefruit juice. "I should've remembered that if I'm still beating the pants off you in Charms class then it's okay for you to do better in Defense."
"Please don't take this the wrong way," said Harry. He looked too-adult now, and grim. "But are you sure this is who you are, and not, to put it bluntly, me?"
"I'm quite certain," said Hermione. "Why, my name practically spells out 'heroine' except for the extra 'm', I never noticed that until today."
"Being a hero isn't all fun and games," said Harry. "Not real heroing, the sort grownups have to do, it isn't like this, it isn't going to be this easy."
"I know," said Hermione.
"It's hard and it's painful and you've got to make decisions where there isn't any good answer -"
"Yes, Harry, I read those books too."
"No," said Harry, "you don't understand, even if the books warn you there's no way you can understand until -"
"That doesn't stop you," said Hermione. "It doesn't stop you even a little. I bet you never even considered not being a hero because of that. So why d'you think it'll stop me?"
There was a pause.
A sudden huge smile lit Harry's face, a smile that was as bright and as boyish as the frown had been grim and adult, and everything was all right again between them.
"This is going to go horribly mind-bogglingly wrong somehow," said Harry, still smiling hugely. "You know that, right?"
"Oh, I know," said Hermione. She ate another bite of toast. "That reminds me, Dumbledore refused to be my mysterious old wizard, is there someplace I can write to get another one?"
Aftermath:
"...and Professor Flitwick says her determination seems unshakeable," Minerva said tightly, staring at the silver-bearded old wizard who was responsible for this. Albus Dumbledore was just sitting silently and listening to her with a distant sad look in his eyes. "Miss Granger didn't even blink when Professor Flitwick threatened to have her transferred to Gryffindor, just said that if she left she would take all the books with her. Hermione Granger has decided she's going to be a hero and she's not taking no for an answer. I doubt you could have pushed her into this any harder if you had tried to -"
It took all of five full seconds for Minerva's brain to process the realization.
"ALBUS!" she shrieked.
"My dear," said the old wizard, "after you have dealt with your thirtieth hero or so, you will realize that they react quite predictably to certain things; such as being told that they are too young, or that they are not destined to be heroes, or that being a hero is unpleasant; and if you truly wish to be sure you should tell them all three. Although," with a brief sigh, "it does not do to be too blatant, or your Deputy Headmistress might catch you."
"Albus," Minerva said, her voice even tighter, "if she is hurt, I swear this time I'll -"
"She would have come to that same place in due time," Albus said, the distant sad look still in his eyes. "If someone is meant to become a hero then they will not listen to our warnings, Minerva, no matter how hard we try. And given that, it is better
for Harry if Miss Granger does not fall too far behind him." Albus produced, as though from nowhere, a tin which flipped open to reveal small yellow lumps, she'd never been able to figure out where he kept it and she'd never been able to detect the magic involved. "Lemon drop?"
"She is a twelve-year-old girl, Albus!"
Afteraftermath:
Within the windows, barely visible in the evening gloom, fishes swam in the black waters; illuminated by the bright shine of the Slytherin common room as they came closer, fading into darkness as they swam away.
Daphne Greengrass was sitting in a comfortable black leather couch, her head collapsed into her hands, glowing golden-yellowish as bright sparks of white light winked in and out of existence around her.
She'd been ready to be teased about liking Neville Longbottom. She'd been expecting to hear a lot of snide remarks about Hufflepuffs. She'd thought of whole reams of snappy comebacks for it while she was on the way back to the Slytherin dungeons.
She'd been looking forward to being teased about liking Neville. Being teased about that sort of thing meant you'd grown up into a real girl.
As it turned out, nobody had worked out that her challenging Neville to a Most Ancient Duel meant that she liked him. She'd thought it would be obvious but no, nobody else had even thought of that apparently.
It was always the hex you didn't see that hit you.
She should've just called herself Daphne of Sunshine, like Neville of Chaos. Or Sunny Daphne like Sunny Ron. Or anything except Greengrass of Sunshine.
Greengrass of Sunshine.
It had gone from there to Greengrass of Sunshine and Blue Skies.
Then someone had added Snow-Topped Mountains and Frolicking Woodland Creatures.
Currently she was being referred to as the Sparkly Unicorn Princess of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Sparklypoo.
And some cursed sixth-year girl had hit her with a Sparkling Jinx, she hadn't even known there was such a thing as a Sparkling Jinx, and Finite Incantatem hadn't worked, and she'd asked older girls who she'd thought were her friends (she had apparently been wrong about this) and then she'd threatened the caster with grievous political mayhem wreaked by her father and nonetheless Daphne Greengrass was still sitting in the Slytherin common room with her head in her hands, sparkling brightly and wondering how she'd ended up as the only sane person in Hogwarts.
It was after dinnertime and they were still at it and if they didn't stop by tomorrow morning she was going to transfer to Durmstrang and become the next Dark Lady.
"Hey, everyone!" said the Carrow twins dramatically, waving an issue of the Daily Prophet. "Did you hear the news? The Wizengamot just ruled that 'let's see what you got' constitutes a lawful challenge to be fought until the challenger lies down and has a nap!"
"How dare you insult the honor of the Sparkly Unicorn Princess!" shouted Tracey. "Let's see what you got!" Then Tracey lay down flat on her sofa and started snoring loudly.
Daphne's sparkling head sank further into her glowing hands. "After my family takes over I'm going to have you all put under anti-Apparition jinxes and Flooed into the sea," she said to no one in particular. "You're all okay with that, right?"
Thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk-thunk, thunk.
Daphne looked up, surprised; that was a Sunshine code-signal -
"I hight someone knocking!" bellowed Mr. Goyle. "Knocking of the door!"
"Let's see what you've got, door!" shouted an older boy near the door, and yanked the door open.
There was a moment of complete surprise.
"I've come to have a word with Miss Greengrass," said the Sunshine General, sounding like she was trying to sound confident. "Could someone please -"
From the look on Hermione's face she had just noticed Daphne sparkling.
And that was when Millicent Bulstrode raced up from the lower dorms and shouted, "Hey, everyone, guess what, now Granger went and beat up Derrick and what's left of his crew, and his father owled him and said that if he didn't -"
Millicent caught sight of Hermione standing in the doorway.
There was a very loud silence.
"Uh," said Daphne. What? said her brain. "Uh, what're you doing here, General?"
"Well," said Hermione Granger with a strange smile on her face, "I've decided it's not fair if mysterious old wizards give some people a chance to be heroes and not others, and also I've read history books and there aren't nearly enough girl heroes in them. So I thought I'd just drop by and see if you wanted to be a hero and why are you glowing like that?"
There was another silence.
"This," said Daphne, "was probably not the best time to ask me that question -"
"I'll take it!" shouted Tracey Davis, leaping off her sofa.
And thus was born the Society for the Promotion of Heroic Equality for Witches.
Chapter 70: Self Actualization, Pt 5
Even if you had been the Deputy Headmistress for three decades, and a Transfiguration Professor before that, it was rare that you saw Albus Dumbledore caught completely flatfooted.
"...Susan Bones, Lavender Brown, and Daphne Greengrass," Minerva finished. "I should also note, Albus, that Miss Granger's account of your seemingly unsupportive attitude - I believe her phrase was 'he said I should be happy to be just a sidekick' - has generated a good deal of interest among the older girls. Several of whom came to me to ask if Miss Granger's accusations were true, since Miss Granger had said that I was there."
The old wizard leaned back in his huge chair, still gazing at her, his eyes looking rather abstracted beneath the half-moon glasses.
"It placed me in something of a dilemma, Albus," said Professor McGonagall. Her face stayed quite neutral, she made sure of that. "I now know that you did not truly mean to discourage the girl. Quite the opposite, in fact. But you and Severus have often told me that to keep a secret I must give no sign that differs from the reaction of someone truly ignorant. Thus I had no choice but to confirm that Miss Granger's account was accurate, and feign the appropriate degree of worry, with a slight overtone of offense. After all, had I not known you were deliberately manipulating Miss Granger, I might have been rather put out."
"I... see," the old wizard said slowly. His hands toyed absently with his silver beard, small quick gestures.
"Thankfully," Professor McGonagall continued, "so far Professors Sinistra and Vector are the only two faculty members to don Miss Granger's buttons."
"Buttons?" repeated the old wizard.
Minerva drew forth a small silver disc bearing the initials S.P.H.E.W., laid it on Albus's desk, and gave it a brief tap with her finger.
And the voices of Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis cried out in unison, "We won't settle for second best, it's time to give a witch a quest!"
"Miss Granger is selling them for two Sickles, and tells me that she has so far sold fifty of them. I believe that Nymphadora Tonks, in seventh-year Hufflepuff, is enchanting them for her. To conclude my report," Professor McGonagall said briskly, "our eight newly minted heroines have asked permission to conduct a protest outside the entrance to your office."
"I hope," Albus said, frowning, "you explained to them that -"
"I explained to them that Wednesday at 7PM would be fine," said Minerva. She took back the button from the Headmaster's desk, favored Albus with a honeyed smile, and turned to the door.
"Minerva?" said the old wizard from behind her. "Minerva!"
The oaken door shut solidly behind her.
There wasn't a lot of room between the brief stone walls that demarcated the vestibule to the Headmaster's office, so although a lot of people had wanted to watch the protest, not many had been allowed to come. Just Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector, who were wearing the buttons, and the prefects Penelope Clearwater and Rose Brown and Jacqueline Preece, who were wearing the buttons. Behind them, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick
, who weren't wearing the buttons, scrutinizing the whole affair. Harry Potter and the Head Boy of Hogwarts were there, and the boy prefects Percy Weasley and Oliver Beatson, all wearing the buttons to show Solidarity. And of course the eight founding members of S.P.H.E.W., forming a picket line next to the gargoyles with their signs. Hermione's own sign, attached to a solid wooden handle which seemed to weigh heavier and heavier in her hands as the seconds passed, said NOBODY'S SIDEKICK.
And Professor Quirrell, who was leaning with his back against the far stone wall and watching with unreadable eyes. The Defense Professor had gotten one of her buttons, though she'd never sold one to him; and he wasn't wearing it, but idly tossing it with one hand.
This whole idea had seemed like a much better idea four days ago, when the fires of her indignation had been burning fresh and hot, and she'd been facing the prospect of doing it all four days later instead of right now.
But she had to carry on, because that was what heroes did, they carried on, and also because it had seemed infinitely too awful to tell everyone she was calling it off. Hermione wondered how much heroism had gone on for reasons like that. Most books didn't say "And then they refused to give up, no matter how sensible it would have been, because that would've been too embarrassing"; but a great deal of history made a lot more sense that way.
At 7:15pm, Professor McGonagall had told her, Headmaster Dumbledore would come down and talk to them for a couple of minutes. Professor McGonagall had said not to be frightened - the Headmaster was a good person deep down, and they'd properly gotten the school's authorization for the protest.
But Hermione was very very aware that even if she was doing it with signed permission, she was still Defying Authority.
After she'd decided to be a hero, Hermione had done the obvious thing, and gone to the Hogwarts library and taken out books on how to be a hero. Then she'd returned those books back to their shelves, because it'd been patently obvious that none of the authors had been actual heroes themselves. Instead she'd just read five times over, until she'd memorized every word, the thirty inches by Godric Gryffindor that was all his autobiography and his life's advice. (Or the English translation, anyway; she couldn't read Latin yet.) Godric Gryffindor's autobiography had been a lot more compressed than the books Hermione was used to reading, he used one sentence to say things that should've taken thirty inches just by themselves, and then there was another sentence after that...
Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality Page 111