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Hermione flipped open her compact mirror, a tube of dark purple waterproof lipstick balanced carefully in her other hand. She swept the shade across her lips with practiced precision, keeping one eye on the empty road while waiting for Alice to pull up to her house. Beside her on the porch landing, Jonsey purred contently, kneading her paws against Hermione's tights.
Her leg bounced with a surge of restless, uncontrollable excitement.
After weeks of subtle hints and gentle nagging, the Z-Team had finally agreed to hit the retro arcade she had been recommending for their Friday night out. It was the same small, neon-lit building her grandma had taken her to ever since she was a little girl. The place meant everything to her, and she desperately wanted to share a piece of her world with them-no matter how childish or dumb they might think it was.
She craned her neck, searching the dark, quiet street for Chad’s car or Alice’s headlights.
Nothing.
They probably just got held up, she reasoned internally, grasping at straws. Maybe Chad was on his fourth outfit change of the evening. Maybe a rogue criminal had derailed their drive over.
Or maybe... maybe they had forgotten her again.
It wouldn't be the first time. She remembered sitting alone in her room while they hit the beach party without her. She remembered watching their social media stories from the bar hang out she wasn't invited to. She remembered the dull ache of finding out they had gone to the exact karaoke lounge she had suggested, leaving her sitting at home.
But things were supposed to be different now. They had sworn they would be different. The Z-Team had promised to do better, promised to actually include her after they barely survived the final fight against Shroud.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then two excruciating hours.
Slowly, the passive moisture beneath her skin began to leak outward, spilling cold water down the concrete steps of the porch landing. Sensing the dampness, Jonsey quickly darted back inside, replaced a second later by Purrsephone, who flopped onto the wet ground to happily roll in the growing puddle.
Hermione dropped her head onto her knees. She felt like an absolute dumbass for letting her hopes get up, for actually believing they would show up this time. Wiping away the hot tears threatening to ruin her hard work, she pushed herself up and went inside, locking the front door behind her as Purrsephone trotted in at her heels.
After doing a quiet check on her grandma to make sure she was sleeping peacefully, Hermione retreated to her bedroom. She stripped out of her outfit and meticulously wiped off the dark makeup that had taken her four agonizing attempts to get right.
She collapsed face-first onto her mattress. Bastet hopped up onto the plastic cover beside her, nuzzling against her cheek.
Hermione pulled the black cat close, burying her face in the soft fur. "Do you think they actually like me, Bassy?" she mumbled into the cat's coat. Bastet just rolled onto her back, purring softly. "Yeah... I don't think they like me either. Or maybe I'm just that forgettable."
She actually couldn't remember the last time a member of the Z-Team had paid her a genuine compliment without it being backhanded or used as a weapon to piss off another teammate-usually both. Was it when she saved Sonar from that ice guy? No, she had been harshly scolded for getting in the way. Was it when Flambae got into that bar fight and she knocked out the guy sneaking up behind him? No, she just got yelled at for interfering.
Now that she was actually forced to think about it, no one on the team besides Robert and maybe(huge maybe) Punch Up and Coop seemed to like her at all. To everyone else, she was just an annoying nuisance, a hassle to even exist around whenever they happened to remember she was there.
Maybe I am, she thought numbly.
Rolling onto her side, Hermione stared up at the glowing plastic stars stuck to her ceiling, watching their faint green light blur as her eyes filled with tears again, falling asleep while desperately trying to think of ways to make herself more likable.
Since it was the weekend and her schedule was completely blank, Hermione spent her days falling into a quiet, comforting routine. It was the only thing keeping her from spiraling-from bashing her head into the wall until her blood smeared the drywall, or reaching for the razor hidden in her bedside table. She kept her hands busy: tending to her grandma, preparing meals, and taking care of the cats.
When night fell, however, she couldn't stop herself.
She would sit out on the front landing for hours at a time, staring down the empty street. She kept telling herself that maybe they had just rescheduled the arcade trip without telling her - (they do that a lot!) and that maybe tonight would finally be the night Alice's headlights turned the corner.
But no one came. No car pulled up. Her phone remained dead quiet-not a single text, missed call, or half-hearted apology.
She had been forgotten. Again.
Herman had been a forgettable little boy.
Whenever his parents locked him away in the dark basement after he lost control of his water, they would simply forget he was down there. One of the pros of being a quiet child, he supposed. He would be left entirely alone in the pitch-black silence with nothing but the bare concrete walls to talk to, waiting until they finally remembered they had a child and came down to turn the lock-only to toss him right back in a week later after he messed something up again.
Herman was forgettable back then. And Hermione was forgettable now.
Sometimes, a dark, terrible thought crept into her mind. She wished she had just died during the final fight against Shroud while trying to protect someone. It was a selfish wish-she knew that. What would happen to her grandma if she was gone?
But as Hermione sits in the dark, watching the empty, silent street from the couch next to the window, she couldn't stop the thought from echoing through her chest.
maybe if she had died protecting them, they would have finally remembered her name.