I want the old Hermione back. I don't care which Hermione, the behaved one or the badly behaved one, I just want the actually noticed, non-transparent Hermione who could live life normally or at least lively, literally.
If I said it once, I've said it a bazillion times: I hate life now, how it is. I keep saying "life" like "I hate LIFE" or "That LIFE could be like this" because actually it's not life at all!
I wonder if it was just fate and that if I could go back in time and change things, I would still be in the incident no matter how hard I try. I sometimes think to myself, whether life to my family and friends is better than over a year ago because if it is, the things I feel like doing to those cruel people, in which I call them dim wits, are just too barbaric to imagine!
I shouldn't though, take revenge just because I'm moody over the incident, because truly it was my fault and the stupid teacher searching for me. He should be fired, maybe he is.
At least I know now that Holly has confessed and admitted that she was all secretive about something so stupid that she thought could have killed Uncle Mark. If my family had the courage to and Holly really did kill that old man, the family would be congratulating her like in The Wizard Of Oz when Dorothy kills the witch.
After all that drama with Holly, I grab lined paper that is usually meant for Christmas letters, and a pen and I note down some places we could show Aunt Betta in London but actually it's places I want to go to.
I jot down nine just in case Mum says no to most of them, she says no quite a lot. The places I write down are:
Kew Garden and
The British Museum.
I personally think I made a good list so I go to show Mum.
When I get to the kitchen, she's clearing the table we ate at. It seems as if this is like her lab, lair, and bedroom or hide out because my mum is always in here.
"Mum, mum, look. I've made a list of where we have to go and show Aunt Betta." Mum takes the list, analysing it.
"Shouldn't have Aunt Betta made her a list of where she wants to go?"
"No, because-because she did make it." I add.
"But you said you've made the list, not Aunt Betta?" Mum looks suspicious.
"No I didn't." I lie.
"Ok," She says, not buying my lie, "Why did Aunt Betta write Chessington Zoo three times, then?"
"Fine, I wrote it but I also added old people places like Kew Garden and The British Museum because old people like calm stuff like plants and history!" I admit.
"Aunt Betta isn't old, she's like in her mid-forties, right?" Mum thinks.
"Yeah right." I mumble, sarcastically.
Mum gives me a concerned glare and finishes of her task.
It's such a coincidence because Aunt Betta walks into the room, "So, what you doing?"
"Nothing," Mum and I chorus.
"Nothing much." I repeat.
"Would you like me to do the dishes, Anne?"
"No, its ok, Betta, go watch some telly. Please relax, you had a long journey." Mum says.
"I think I'll go unpack instead."
"I'll help you." I volunteer. I can't believe I'm volunteering to do something grateful. Next I'll be doing community service and then giving all my stuff to Petunia. NO, NO, NO, I'm not that good, not so good that I'll donate my clothes, books, and electronics to Barbie (Petunia).
Besides, it's not like she would accept them unless they were pink and fluffy or pink and sparkly. For some reason, I wish Petunia would come over to stay, that way I could use my No Good But Frightening Tricks on that brat.
I follow Aunt Betta upstairs, she hands me dresses, socks and other girly things to put into draws.
"NO! My socks go in one drawer along with those!" She points to what I'm dangling from my fingertips, desperate to put them away. I've never seen Aunt Betta so angry before. Her cheeks are flushed with bright red as her eyes are slanted towards her nose. Dramatically, she stuffs clothes into spare draws. It's not technically my fault because I am the daughter of Anne Jones.
"Aunt Betta, I think I'll go downstairs..." I start.
"NO!" She shouts, "You said you'll help me so now you are!" She screams with rage.
I can see now why her husband and George said she was a pain. She's getting all worked up about clothes, really?
"Am I a pain to you as well?" She begins to tear up.
Here we go again!
"No, Aunt Betta, I'm just going to get a drink from the kitchen-downstairs. Ok?" I try to smile, casually, while scampering down the crooked staircase.
Such a drama queen.
I don't tell Mum what happened upstairs because Mum might kick her out and it'll be all my fault.
"I heard a tantrum up there, is aunt ok?" Robin asks me.
"Yeah, course she is, why wouldn't she be?" I reply, breaking a sweat.
"Because I heard shouting." Robin says, curiously and so seriously that I could burst out laughing right now.
"Yeah, well. I was having a phase..." I bloat out. Will he just shut up?
"About what?" He interrogates.
"Why do you care?" I'm getting extremely annoyed and I really will have a tantrum.
"It's called being curious. Go on tell me."
"Urrgh!" I storm out the room. There is no place to go to with peace in this stupid house that we'll be probably staying in for about two months more.
Actually there is one place for peace and quiet. The garden. I search for the garden, I look in a very messy, box crowded room, containing junk and storage items.
Although, I see a glimpse of sunlight between a few boxes. There must be a door then. I clamber over many piles of landed cardboard boxes. I can see hinges because they glint along with the door knob that I now see. We have a garden!
However after all that climbing and tumbling, the door is locked.
"Great." I say, sarcastically. I go all the way back to the kitchen and on the way, I fall over, bruising my knee.
"Oh, great." I repeat.
"Mum! Where are the keys to the garden" I ask, tired of climbing.
Robin chuckles, over hearing," We have a garden?"
I nod and twist around to mum, putting my hand forward in demand for the garden key.
"Yes, we have a garden, Robin. A rather bushy, cluttered garden. Here they are, Hermione. Look after them. There is only one key after all." Mum passes them over, looking into my eyes.
I once again make my difficult way to the garden door.
"Wow, it's like a safari, I like it. One thing I like about this place." I murmur. Despite that I'm worn out from climbing and falling, I run around the garden like a weirdo. I have no idea why the heck I am doing this but I feel like nature can drag me into another dimension of my very own. I love winter most of all with cute penguins and polar bears even though you don't get those in London, winter always makes me imagine that wolves surround the Arctic and penguins waddle around. It's a shame penguins and polar bears don't live on the same poles. Oh well. Once I had a dream that I had two polar bears living in my back garden. They were cute and I named the boy, Snowbell and the girl Snow White. Strangely, in the same dream, my mum had twelve babies who all turned to adorable bunnies and I kept one calling her Beca but Snowbell ate a baby who was making a piercing racket. It's funny how dreams can be so crazy and mental but the real world has the same routine over and over again: you're born, you grow, school, secondary, sixth form, university, jobs, old, die. Sometimes you routine can change but in a bad way. You might die too early. To think, it's not funny at all.
I finally stop running, stupidly and pant dramatically. Collapsing onto the soft ground, which makes me feel like asking a gross questions, is this mud or mess, I am lying on? Hopefully just mud!
I hope, nothing can ruin this moment but just as I think that, Mum jogs out, "Sweetie, Aunt Rebecca and Petunia are coming over tomorrow. How exciting, huh?" Mum smiles. WHAT?! What's so great about our house? It's not that great, you know. Out of all the people, it had to be Petunia. PETUNIA! When I said I'd rather want her to come, I didn't mean it.
"WHY?" I yell so loud.
"Calm down, they want to see Aunt Betta."
Oh yeah right and they also probably want to insult our clothes, house, family. Not everyone wears pink and seven to eight centre meter heels! Apparently, Mum had to ruin the moment and I think I know for sure now that it isn't mud that I am lying on.