Growing up, I was the quietest girl in the room. Sometimes people even forgot that I was in the room. I never had to shout to be heard, but I had opinions, and I didn’t know how to keep them to myself just because it made others uncomfortable. I was very often told I was too much, too opinionated, too intense, and way too stubborn. I was mocked for being a tomboy, teased for being “lost my own world” because I always had a book in my hand and fictional characters on my mind. While other girls wanted to be “pretty” or “popular,” I wanted to be brave like Princess Chanchalkumari (Bankim Chandra Chatterjee's novel Rajsingha), clever like Miss Marple, or spunky like Jerusha "Judy" Abbott.
And then came Hermione Granger.
A girl who wasn’t just smart and brave but also owned it. A girl who wasn’t just present in the story but also took up space, unapologetically. She raised her hand even when no one else did. She corrected people when they were wrong. She valued knowledge and wasn’t embarrassed to show it. In a world that demanded girls be quiet, agreeable, and nice, Hermione was stubborn, fierce, brilliant, and most importantly unbothered by what people thought of her. For the longest time, I didn’t realise how badly I needed someone like her. I didn’t see that in trying to become palatable, I had been shrinking myself. But looking back now, I know that Hermione taught me something no self-help book ever could:
It is not just okay to take up space, but that it is necessary.
When we meet Hermione in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, she was everything I was told not to be. She corrects Ron. She quotes from textbooks. She knows spells before anyone else is even paying attention. And she doesn’t apologise for any of it. And, she stayed true to herself. She remained that girl who knew things even when it annoyed people, even when they teased her. And eventually, she became the girl everyone needed. She’s the one who figured things out, kept the trio grounded, and saved their lives more times than anyone could count.
Watching Hermione refuse to dim her light reminded me of the light I had turned down long ago. It wasn’t that I ever stopped being curious. I just stopped showing it so openly because the world made it clear that being a girl with opinions and brains wasn’t charming, and it definitely wasn’t cool. There’s a particular kind of loneliness that comes from being “too much” for people. Especially when you don’t know how to be anything else. Over time, I found myself editing my words, staying silent, choosing not to argue even when I strongly disagreed. All in an attempt to seem more agreeable, more digestible, more… likeable. Looking back now, I realise I wasn’t becoming nicer or more tolerant. I was just erasing pieces of myself to fit into someone else’s idea of how I should be.
Hermione never did that.
Even when Ron rolled his eyes at her or the boys ignored her ideas at first, she still spoke up. She still raised her hand. She still cared deeply and showed it. She cried, she got angry, she made mistakes, but she never made herself less to make others comfortable. That was the turning point for me. I began to notice how many times I second-guessed myself, how often I withheld my thoughts even when I knew I was right. And I thought, what would Hermione do?
She’d speak. She’d stand her ground. And if someone didn’t like it, well… that’s their problem.
From the moment she entered the wizarding world, she was underestimated. A Muggle-born girl? With big hair, buck teeth, and too many books? No one expected her to be a force to reckon with, yet that’s what she was. Not because she was born powerful, but because she made the deliberate choice to show up, speak up, and hold her ground. She didn’t wait for permission. She didn’t apologise for knowing more than others. She didn’t smile politely when someone dismissed her, instead she corrected them. She argued. She insisted.
Especially for those of us raised in cultures where girls are taught to be agreeable and not interrupt. We’re praised for being “well-behaved” and told that confidence looks good (but only when it doesn’t threaten anyone). Watching Hermione occupy space with so much certainty felt like watching someone do what I didn’t even realise I needed permission to do. And then there was S.P.E.W! Hermione’s campaign for house-elf rights. Yes, it was awkward. Yes, no one supported her. But that’s what integrity looks like, doesn’t it? Doing what you believe is right, even when no one acknowledges it. Hermione stood for something, even when she stood alone.
She wasn’t perfect, and she wasn’t always graceful about it. But that’s what made it real. She was messy, emotional, determined, and she never stopped trying. She reminded me that taking up space isn’t just about speaking, but also about standing for what matters, even when your voice shakes. Let us be honest, the world isn’t kind to girls who know who they are. It gets worse if you’re loud about it. And even worse if you’re right about things people don’t want to admit.
I’ve seen the world try to shrink women like her. When you’re vocal, you’re “difficult.” When you’re emotional, you’re “dramatic.” When you dare to be passionate or brilliant, you’re “intimidating.” We’re taught to soften ourselves. To preface our opinions with “sorry” and shrink our success so others don’t feel threatened. But here’s the thing: shrinking doesn’t protect you. It just makes you easier to overlook. And when I looked back at Hermione, I realised that she survived because she refused to disappear.
I’ve lived through experiences that tried to erase me emotionally, physically within relationships. Now, every time I get that voice in my head that said “maybe I should tone it down,” I remembered Hermione. She didn’t tone it down. She turned it up.
And maybe the world needs more of that.
If I could go back and talk to the younger version of myself, the girl who sat quietly and never raised her hands in class because someone rolled their eyes, who stopped arguing even when she knew she was right, who thought maybe she’d be liked more if she was a little less… herself, I would tell her this:
You don’t need to shrink. You were never too much, you were just surrounded by people who couldn’t handle fullness.
I’d tell her that her opinions are valid. That her passion is beautiful. That being smart, intense, curious, and outspoken is not something to tone down, it is something to celebrate. That she doesn’t need to apologise for taking up space, asking questions, or being the only one who cares a little too much.
Because caring deeply is not a flaw. It’s your power.
And if you’re reading this, maybe you were also told to be smaller, quieter, simpler. Maybe you were made to feel like you had to earn your right to exist as you are. I want to tell you what Hermione taught me:
You are allowed to take up space.
You don’t have to be less to be loved.
And you never, ever need to apologise for being brilliant.
People say fiction is an escape, and yes, it is. But the right stories and the right characters help you find your true self.
Hermione Granger wasn’t just the brightest witch of her age. She was the mirror I didn’t know I needed. She reminded me that it’s okay to be complex, to be driven, to care deeply even when others don’t understand. She taught me to speak louder, stand taller, and stop editing myself to be acceptable.
And in a world that’s still uncomfortable with women who take up space, I’ve decided I’d rather make people uncomfortable than disappear.
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