Ladder of Dreams

𝐀 𝐌𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Some children were rather clueless — particularly those who went to Fairbanks Elementary school, sitting in the back or tossing notes. Some could hardly do maths. Some couldn't write or spell. But others, others were just straight up ignorant.

Those idiots thought she couldn't hear them when she stood a few feet away — their bickering laughter, their snickering comments.

Oh, look! Beaver toothed! Wild bush! Can't she ever just stay with her bum on the seat? Know-it-all!

Well, if they didn't want to be successful, if they didn't care about their notes, then they could just be quiet about it. Their shrill words didn't need to tear into her ears all day then replay in her mind at night.

They could keep their pretty ribbons, colourful crayons, light-up sneakers, and colourful backpacks away from her, miles away.

Because Hermione Jean Granger did care about her notes. Even if her teacher didn't like her answers and even if they sighed whenever her assignments were a few lines long.

She always got the best test score and perfect marks. She was the highest in the class and would always be better than all of them.

Take that, she scowled at the fluffy pink backpacks bouncing along the girls' backs as they walked away. She turned on her heel and started down the pavement, hands clutching her overflowing black bag.

Her step gained a slight spring when she remembered. Today was going to be a good day, after all. She was going to get a tutor: extra work and more chances to get better.

Her tutor must be great, seeing as her parents had already approved of her. Hermione could already imagine all the things she could learn. New maths, words, tactics and tricks, the opportunities seemed endless.

By the time she was pushing open the back door to her house, she was smiling wide enough to reveal her rather large front teeth.

She bounded up the stairs, gripping the handrail and swung herself around to the top platform. The clock showed just one hour before she came.

She flung her backpack underneath her desk when she entered her room, and without pausing, made way directly for her bookshelf. She grabbed the book left-most on the top shelf, her current books, then perched onto her turquoise pillows on her bed to read and refresh her knowledge.

Twenty-seven pages later, soft taps on her door made her lookup. "Come in," she called, knowing it must be her tutor, as her parents didn't knock.

The door opened, and a girl her own height stepped inside. Her own height? She looked around her age. What would she be able to learn from someone who wasn't even older?

"You're Alora?" She asked, not at all ashamed at how dubious her tone was.

"Yes. Nice to meet you, Hermione," she said curtly. She fully entered, shutting the door behind her.

"I don't mean to sound rude," she did, "but what can you teach me?"

"Many things, I reckon. Things you have no idea about."

"Like what?"

Alora invited herself to sit beside her, leaning back into her pillows. She asked, "Have strange things ever happened around you? Perhaps, specifically when you were feeling some strong emotion?"

"Of course not," she answered before she even really thought about it. She hated that word. Strange. Weird. Bad.

"You sure? Think again," Alora said, completely unfazed.

Strange things happening around her ... she couldn't possibly mean — no. No, she couldn't. All those things were just her imagination. Yes, just her imagination running wild at times. Those things can't actually happen — it breaks all sorts of rules.