Once upon a time, Hermione cared what others thought about her. When she was a student at Hogwarts, only recently aware that such beings as witches actually existed and that she was one, she felt at an extreme disadvantage to those who had grown up always knowing what they were. To make up for her deficit and to make her feel at least somewhat more equal to those with hundreds of years of magical heritage, she worked twice as hard as everyone else to be the best. If it was possible to be learned from a book, she did and she sought out even more knowledge. Having all of the answers would prove that she was just as good as any member of any Sacred Twenty-Eight family. At the time, she didn't understand that some had more powerful innate abilities that couldn't be learned from the inside of a book. It had been incredibly frustrating to watch others in her classes perform magic easily that she had to work hard at to produce the same result. She would set impossible tasks for herself in order to improve. For years, she studied and worked herself so hard it was a wonder she didn't completely burn out or tax her magic irrevocably. Her years at school were a waste, in her opinion, because she rarely took the opportunity to enjoy herself as she learned.