These were thoughts that she would never admit to, the kind of girlish dreams that Hermione never listened to her classmates whisper about. She only had to spend one class with Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil to know that she was nothing like them, and had no wish to be. She was Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch, and know-it-all swot, whose wrist had dislocated from her constant hand waving. (More than once, actually.)