Green Light

by cal_payne

Summary:

In a world where one third of the Golden Trio never made it to Gryffindor, the Wizarding world struggles to recognise the tell-tale signs of a certain Dark Wizard's looming return. Hermione Granger attends Hogwarts as the first ever Muggle-born Slytherin, and learns that the best way to lay with vipers is to wear the skin herself.

“Miss Granger,” the stern-looking witch said from beside her. “Please take your seat.”

She tore her eyes away from her trembling hands to stare up at her. “S-Sorry?”

Professor McGonagall frowned slightly and pointed to the far side of the Great Hall. “Please take your seat at the Slytherin table."

Chapter 1: BOOK ONE: No Longer Normal

Should I stay, or should I go now?
If I go, there will be trouble
And if I stay, it will be double

 

---

 

“Miss Granger,” the stern-looking witch said beside her. “Please take your seat.”

She tore her eyes away from her trembling hands to stare up at her. “S-Sorry?”

Professor McGonagall frowned slightly and pointed to the far side of the Great Hall. “Please take your seat at the Slytherin table."

She had to be dreaming. If she could just pinch herself, she'd wake up with her cheek plastered to the side of the train window, a faint trail of drool drying in the cool September evening. She'd look around to see her empty carriage, askew with books and parchments, ready and waiting to be stored tidily away into her dorm's expansive storage space. It will have all just been a bad dream.

But it wasn't. She was still here. And she was getting up.

Getting up?

Yes, there was no mistaking it. Her feet planted on the ground, she handed the weird, wrinkly hat back to the elderly witch before turning back to make her way through the small gaggle of other young witches and wizards waiting to be sorted.

What are you doing?! You can't sit over there! Her inner monologue screeched as she descended the short set of steps and forced an apologetic grimace on her lips. The crowd parted slightly. A blonde boy sneered as she ducked past, shoulder checking her slightly. A set of twin girls tried to part in opposite directions, but the taller of the two ended up jostling both to one side. The shorter girl gave her a pitying smile.

Tucking her hands into her robes to hide the trembling, she took a deep breath and pushed further into the crowd. A couple of boys snickered and whispered to each other as she passed. A smattering of applause was coming from one side of the Great Hall, the only guiding sound, a sound she clung to as she slipped through the last of the crowd. She could've sworn someone tried to trip her.

Taking her seat at the table, she fought every urge to flee. Breathing heavily, she forced herself to stare down at her empty plate as the rest of the sorting ceremony continued.

Gazes burned into her from either side. To her left, the two boys that had been called into Slytherin in succession sat close together, as though by mere proximity of their surnames they were destined to remained attached at the hip from here on out. To the right, a square-jawed, dark-haired girl jabbed her fork into the wood of the table, not hiding her boredom.

“GRYFFINDOR,” the hat roared. 

A chubby boy leapt down from the stool as if burned by it, running towards the table adorned in red.

A fit of giggles erupted from the crowd as McGonagall called out, "No, Mr Longbottom- give that back!"

There was nothing for it. She simply had to run. 

Looking about the room, she estimated that she could slip out at the next mishap. Maybe someone would fall off the chair. Maybe someone would put the Sorting Hat on just to be told, "Sorry mate, you're not actually a wizard after all, grab your coat," and the resulting kerfuffle would be enough for her to simply disappear. 

She couldn't stay here. She just couldn't.

“Malfoy, Draco..., MacDougal, Morag..., Moon…"

Come on, come on, she thought. Statistically speaking, someone had to drop the ball. The minute they did, she'd be ready. She took her hands out of her robes, drying the sweat from her palm.

"Nott…, Parkinson…, Patil…, Perks, Sally-Anne…,"

She felt someone sit down next to her, but her eyes remained fixed to the front. She willed it, she actively willed something bad to happen. A drop of wax from one of the floating candles above, maybe it could fall onto the Hat? One of the owls perched at the staff table could flutter its wings and draw everyone's attention. She could get up, she could stick to the wall and take off running. No-one would catch her.

No-one would miss her.

"Potter, Harry!”

Whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

Everyone suddenly began craning their necks to get a better view of the dark-haired boy at the head of the hall.

This was it. This was her chance.

Gripping the bench and steeling herself, she took one last scan of the professors, and locked eyes with Albus Dumbledore. There, taking centre stage at the High Table, in a large gold chair. His silver hair shone in the candlelight, falling soft across his shoulders and down his back. His half-moon spectacles rested at the crook of his bent nose, framing the wickedly blue eyes that bore into her.

For a moment, she thought he might be staring at something behind her. Hermione turned, but all she could see was the wall. When she looked back, he was still staring at her. A breath caught in her throat. 

Almost imperceptibly, Dumbledore gave a slight shake of his head. 

No, it clearly said, stay right where you are. 

Her heart clenched. Did he know, somehow, that she was planning to run that very second? 

“Not Slytherin, eh?” said the Hat. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – no? Well, if you’re sure – better be GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers as the black-haired boy took his seat.

“We got Potter! We got Potter!” two lanky ginger boys chanted, arms waving like windmills. 

In the chaos, there was still the unmistakeable urge to run. By now, Dumbledore was no longer staring at her, but looking indulgently at the boy called Harry Potter. It wouldn't even take that much effort to simply stand up and leave. 

“Thomas, Dean..., Turpin, Lisa..., Weasley, Ronald..., Winters, Zoe..., Zabini, Blaise."

Suddenly it was over, and she hadn't made a break for it. She was blocked in from each side, unable to move further than an inch either way and Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

Something dark and painful settled in Hermione's stomach as a delectable feast appeared before them. Steak and kidney pies, roast chickens, pork and apple stews, mackerel and eggs, steamed vegetables and sauteed potatoes. It looked delicious, but the sight of it overwhelmed her.

As everyone around her began digging in, she clung to the fabric on her legs for dear life. This was it. She was sorted.

"-in a long line of our name to come to Hogwarts, of course-"

"I'm hoping I get the bed closest to the window. My family lives waterside at the Lake District, so I love water-"

"-pass the potatoes over, Goyle!"

"Bog off, get your own!"

"-you either leave fast or stay forever, if you catch my drift-"

The chatter went on, passing through her like she wasn't even there. How do they all know each other? Did all magical people live in one specific area of England? She didn't dare ask. This wasn't like any first day of school she'd ever experienced before.

Anxiety gripped her in the chest. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek, watching the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she thought, and thought, and thought.

She'd read extensively, preparing for this very moment. If they asked her about the enchanted paintings, she had answer. If they wanted a brief history of the goblin wars, she could give it to them. There was likely not a single page from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk that she couldn't quote by heart.

But no-one was talking about magic. Not in the way she wanted them to, anyway.

"-hexed our maid by the time I was about five. Don't ask me where I picked it up-"

"I've got all the household spells nailed down. Mum's keen on getting a match made in the twenty eight by the end of the year, so I've got to be ready-"

"You couldn't pay me to take Muggle Studies, mate. What a waste of perfectly good time spent wiping my own arse-"

She kept her head down, lips pursed. She'd prepared herself for this as well. 

"Tut tut, Goyle," an older boy called a few seats down from her. "Didn't mummy teach you know thine enemy?"

"Put a sock in it, Higgs," snapped another boy, "the walls have ears."

Hermione's stomach growled gently. She couldn't bring herself to eat. Any and all food would surely turn to ash in her mouth. Anyway, eating something would require looking up, and that was something she wasn't willing to do just yet. She didn't want to lock eyes with Albus Dumbledore again. 

How did he know what she was thinking?

Supposedly he was the greatest wizard of all time, capable of magic beyond most people's imaginations. But books always exaggerated, in Hermione's experience. Even the good ones, like Jane Eyre or A Tale of Two Cities took artistic liberty at times. If there was no fantastical, there would be nothing to imagine. Nothing to dream about. No-one to look up to.

But there was something inherently dishonest about 'the greats'. They always had their fatal flaw. She wondered what Albus Dumbledore's was.

Whether he could read minds or not, it didn't matter. The fact remained that she did not belong here. Oh, she'd received the letter sure enough, but who's to say it wasn't for a very real, very magical Hermione Granger somewhere else in the country? Was that Hermione sat at home right now, poring over her timetable of English, PE and Food Tech with a similar befuddled expression? 

She couldn't deny she'd had a series of unexplained experiences growing up. But is that all they were? Just... coincidence? So, what? Maybe there were two Hermione Grangers, and both of them were witches. But maybe the other Granger was one in a long line of wizards that were esteemed in name and blood. But her? This Granger? This one was... this one...

"Are you alright?" a soft voice said from next to her, startling her back into the moment.

She turned. A curly haired, olive-skinned boy with full lips and a strong jaw had his head tilted, looking at her hesitantly. She blinked rapidly, wondering if she'd misheard him.

He held her gaze, though not pushing her for an answer. The oddest sensation started to take hold of her, a feeling of familiarity, of comfort and contentment. It was as though the rich brown of his eyes held some kind of antidote to the poison of fear. She searched his eyes for any sign that he might be poking fun at her, but she couldn't find any.

She realised she hadn't said anything back for about fifteen seconds, but he wasn't looking at her as if she was mad. Just as if she was long lost. It was strange.

Someone knocked into her from behind, pushing her closer to him. He reached out a hand to steady her by the shoulder. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"N-no," she found herself saying, barely above a whisper.

He let go of her shoulder. She took a sharp inhale of breath to steady herself, and cleared her throat. She noticed that the boy's plate was empty but for a few stray grapes and crackers. She inclined her head. "N-Not hungry either?"

The boy looked at his plate. "Not really. You?"

She looked at hers, shaking her head. "Not really."

He edged slightly closer to her. "They don't really cater for our kind, do they?"

Our kind? How did he know? Was it that obvious? Was it something that every Pureblood witch or wizard could sense? Like a muddy, brown aura of filthiness hanging around her? Her eyes darted around the table to where other students remained in steadfast conversation with one another. No-one was looking in their direction, but still.

"I-I don't know what-"

The boy gave her a look. "You're vegetarian too, right?"

Relief flooded through her chest, so much so that she began to laugh.

"Right! Yeah, of course!"

The boy smiled, a crooked thing that set her anxiety at ease. "Why's that funny?"

"Was it that obvious?" she grinned, thankful that her worst fears had not, yet, come true.

He looked across the table at the feast before them. "I figured you're either that or seriously unwell."

"Someone should say something," she smiled, feeling suddenly light.

"Someone should," he echoed, smiling right back at her.

In an instant, both of their right hands flew up to their face, index fingers jammed on top of their noses. 

"JINX NOT IT!" they both shouted. 

A bunch of people at the table stopped their conversations to stare at the pair of them in confusion, but they hardly noticed. They both erupted into a fit of laughter and began jostling at each other teasingly.

"Oh right, I see how it is-"

"Ladies first, I say-"

"What a stupid, backward, sexist notion, I must insist-"

"Come on, my mum would be so disappointed in me-"

"I couldn't give a rat's furry-"

"LA LA LA can't hear you!"

Hermione yanked the boy's hands from his ears and shoved him playfully. "Checkmate, then. Both of us are going to have to starve."

"That's fine mate, I photosynthesize," the boy grinned, pushing his plate away.

"How do you know what photosynthesis is?"

"How do you know?"

They narrowed their eyes at one another as the hall suddenly fell silent. Professor Dumbledore had once more gotten to his feet.

“Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you," he began. Hermione hadn't even noticed the food disappear from the table. Neither had the boy, it seemed, judging by his expression. “First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

An elbow jabbed into her side.

"Ouch!" she yelped, managing to disguise the noise as a cough.

"What's your name then?" the boy whispered to her.

What was it about this boy that calmed her so? 

She whispered back, equally conspiratorial, "Hermione."

"Harmony?"

"Hermione."

"Briony?"

She choked down a laugh, shooting him a glare. "Come on then, what's yours?"

He rolled his eyes, as if it were better off unsaid. "Theodore."

"Theod-" she started loudly, but after a hot glare from a third year boy she lowered her head, stifling a grin. "Theodore, really?"

"Really, Hermione?"

“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker," Dumbledore continued, gesturing over to a scrawny, ratty looking man holding a fuzzy cat, "to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"Will we see you at Quidditch trials, Minnie?" Theodore whispered mischievously. 

She narrowed her eyes at the nickname. "Only if you're game too, Teddy."

“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

This was enough to catch Hermione's full attention at last. A very painful death? But Dumbledore didn't seem to be in the mood to elaborate.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” he cried.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”

And the school bellowed:

“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees...

Hermione caught Teddy's eye and had to bite down on her tongue to stop from laughing.

"Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flied and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.”

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the ginger twins at the Gryffindor were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The room came alive once more as students rose from their seats, clambering out of the Great Hall in a mess of bodies. Hermione's heart rate went up again at this, and she deliberately took her time standing up, hoping to avoid the worst of the crowds.

Teddy gripped her sleeve like a needy toddler and tugged her upwards. "Oi, move it."

She tried to shake him off, but he dragged her headfirst into the sea of children. She'd never met someone, let alone a boy, that was so physically intrusive as Teddy. It was like he'd spent his entire life simply grabbing hold of what he wanted, taking it along for the ride. Why he'd chosen her, of all people, it didn't make sense.

As she followed him through winding corridors, down shifting staircases and behind torn tapestries, it was all she could do to take in the sight of the place. Ghosts materialised out of thin air, sliding through the air like trains through fog. Paintings whispered to one another as they passed, descending lower and lower into the castle.

When it seemed like they could go down no more stairs, they finally stopped in a cold, clammy corridor. Before a giant archway hung a pot-bellied ghost, draped in huge, thick chains that dragged along the floor. His head drooped low, a heavy brow marring an otherwise pleasant, chubby face. A giant black stain erupted from his chest, oozing black liquid.

"Baron," a tall, buck-toothed fourth year addressed the ghost.

The Baron barely spared him a glance before drifting aside to allow the children to move towards the archway. 

"Pudicitia," the boy said loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.

"Oh my God!" Hermione gasped under her breath as a gigantic, stone snake slithered up from the corridor and wound its way over the top of the arch. With a click, the archway stone fell open to reveal a door.

Teddy chuckled at her expression. "It's not real, don't worry."

"Yeah," she scoffed, "right."

As the students began to file in, chattering away, anxiety began to bubble in her stomach again. She had the feeling that if she stepped through that archway, something was going to happen. She didn't know what- erupt into flames, maybe- but she didn't particularly want to find out. 

Teddy pulled on her sleeve again. "Come on."

She stood still, and plastered on a fake smile. "Just a minute. Need the loo."

He nodded, letting her sleeve go and heading in. 

When she was the only student left outside the archway, she took a few steps closer. Through the arch, she could see the dull sense of a green-blue light coming from within that pooled at the entrance like a miniature lake. Excited chatter came from inside, the voices of other students no doubt settling into the common room or running to claim their beds.

She didn't know how they did it. How they just felt like they belonged. 

Walking backwards, she felt her centre of gravity shift. No good could come from going into that room. It was all a mistake. She should never have boarded the train. From her pocket, she pulled the scrap of parchment she'd folded and unfolded at least a hundred times on the journey to Hogwarts.

Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September.

We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

She dragged her thumb across the ink, tracing the flourishes. There was no such thing as magic. Mum and dad told her so. Even so, there was always something wrong with her. Things happened around her when she was angry or sad. She thought she caught sight of things that couldn't possibly be happening. It couldn't all be her imagination. 

This letter told her she'd been accepted. Accepted she was. But she could always be rejected. 

She stuffed the letter back into her pocket, shifting her feet. That was it. It was a temporary thing. It could be revoked at any given moment. Even right now, here, in this corridor. Dumbledore could come marching right up to her and say, "Right, we've had enough. Off you pop!" And she couldn't do anything about it, even if she wanted. Did she want? She'd come this far, figured this much of it out on her own...

Would her parents accept her back, if she did return? Would they even know where to look, if they did come? Would the wizarding world protect her? If she went missing in the Muggle world... She didn't know how long her story of a boarding school would last. It wasn't unheard of to get a bursary for students of exceptional accomplishment. Would they want to see her? Would they expect telephone calls?

And if she did get rejected, what then? She had nowhere to go. She had an entire year's worth of a fake life planned out ahead of her. She couldn't afford to be kicked out right away. There would be too many questions. But there was too much at risk.

She had to go in. She couldn't run.

But she couldn't go in. She had to run.

"It's not real, you know," a voice said behind her.

She just about jumped out of her skin, whirling around, hand clutched to her chest. "Christ!"

From the shadows of the corridors a slim figure emerged. The blonde boy from the crowd, the one that sneered and shoulder-checked her. He wore that same sneer now, an expression that soured an otherwise nice face. He looked like money, she thought, he had the unmistakeable air of someone that's grown up never wanting for anything. She didn't trust money.

"What's not real?" she breathed, both hands planted firmly over her heart. 

"The snake," he said, as if she was denser than custard.

"Oh, right," she nodded, "yeah, I knew that."

Still shaking, she stood up as straight as she could. That was the thing about rich kids, whether you liked them or not, you still felt like you had to put up some kind of front. She pulled a few loose strands of hair behind her ears, as if it made any difference.

"You might be the most pathetic Slytherin there ever was," he smirked, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, "too scared to go into the Common Room."

"You're not?" she frowned, heart still racing.

"Not what?"

"Scared?"

The boy rolled his brilliant silver eyes, like coins falling down a wishing well. "We belong there."

Her cheeks burned with the heat of his derision. "We do?"

"Well," he corrected, "I do. Dunno about you."

Hermione nodded shakily. "Me neither."

She turned back around to the archway again. It was easier to not look at him. 

It felt like a massive expanse of ocean she couldn't cross. Too afraid to step forward, too afraid to step back. She heard the boy sigh dramatically behind her, but paid it no mind. She couldn't be rushed into this. 

"You just going to stand there, then?" he continued.

She clenched her jaw, not responding.

"No, it's great, it's exactly how I imagined my first night at Hogwarts to go."

Closing my eyes now. Blocking him out.

"If you're like this about doors, heaven knows what you'll be like with windows."

She whipped back around. "What exactly is your problem?"

The boy grinned maliciously. "Ooh, kitten's got claws."

Her face pulled back in disgust. "At least I'm not pretending to be better than everyone else by arriving late to the party."

His smile twinged. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" she snapped, suddenly furious. 

"No," he bit back, looking over her shoulder. He paused for a moment, as if he wanted to continue the thought, but seemingly changed his mind. "It's a room, witch. What could it possibly do to you?"

She scoffed, shifting her weight. She had no answer for him, nothing good anyway. 

Of course he couldn't possibly know what was going through her head. He had no idea who she really was, where she really came from. He knew only what stood in front of him at that exact moment. If it looked, spoke and smelt wizard, it probably would be. What would he do if he knew what she really was? 

He looked at her then, his pale face soaking in the shadows of the evening, darkening his eyes. His gaze roamed over her face, scrutinizing her. She felt her freckles burn with it. He took in her mass of wild curls, her slightly too-large front teeth, her small frame. She must have looked like a crazed, rabid dog or something. 

She was right before. It was easier to not look at him. 

They stayed like that for some time, him raking his eyes over her as if hoping to peel the layers from her. Her, avoiding his gaze. 

"Who are you?" he finally asked her. 

Hermione picked a spot just over his shoulder, where the faint light of a lantern flickered, unable to answer. Something in the way he asked made her feel empty, bare. Like he'd gouged her out, and all that was left was fragile goo. What would she even say? Her eyes flickered shut for a moment.

Why couldn't she have been put in Hufflepuff? She took anyone in. Why, of all houses, Slytherin? Why would the Hat place her in the very house that hated her so strongly? She pictured the look on this boy's face if he knew. It was so bad it was almost comical. A smile threatened to creep onto her lips. 

His stupid, arrogant face. I'm a Mudblood, she shouted inside her head, I'm a Mudblood and I've been put in the only house in Hogwarts that's likely to kill me for being one. I'm a Mudblood and you have no idea!

"What are you smiling for?" he snapped.

"None of your busine-"

"Minnie?"

Both of them jumped, turning to the archway. 

Teddy stood at the doorway, hand resting on the doorjamb. His face was marred with concern. 

"You okay?" he asked, sparing a brief glance at the boy behind her. 

Suddenly the ocean didn't feel so big. 

She crossed the distance to Teddy in a few steps, nodding. "I'm fine. Let's go inside."

Teddy offered her a small smile, before looking back towards the boy. "Alright, Malfoy?"

The blonde boy- Malfoy- gave Teddy a brief nod. "Nott."

He nodded back, before reclaiming her sleeve and giving it a soft pull. "Come on, the girls want to sort out beds."

She allowed him to tug her over the threshold, and once more that sensation of finality struck her. She was inside now. Like it or not, she'd been accepted. Like it or not, she belonged. She could no longer claim to be a Muggle. She was whatever these people were, or something similar. She was no longer normal.

A wave of fear washed over her. She was no longer normal.

Chapter 2: Like He Meant It

Like a soul without a mind
In a body without a heart
I'm missing every part

 

---

 

Everywhere she looked, there they were. 

In the library with Teddy, looking up uses of levitation spells, Madam Pince was peeking through the shelves at her. In the corridors on the way to class, Professor McGonagall in her cat form would follow her as she rounded every corner. In the Great Hall eating lunch, the herbology woman Sprout would be spearing carrots with her fork but looking directly at her. 

It was like they all expected her to take off running at any moment.

Dumbledore must have told them something, otherwise why would they all be plastered to her robe-tails? They probably had a few students they considered flight risks. She wouldn't be surprised if they'd magically tagged her without her knowledge.

Luckily, none of the other students paid this odd behaviour any mind. They were all focussed on the bright, shiny toy that was Harry Potter.

Of course, she'd read about him. But seeing him, up close and personal, she had to admit she found it a little anti-climatic. He was just a boy, after all. A skinny, weedy little boy with jet black hair and bust up glasses that could barely say boo to a goose.

Sure, he might have bested the darkest wizard of all time, but that was when he was a baby. As if that even made sense! How could a baby do anything against a fully grown man? The way people talked about Potter, with the same reverence as Muggles did with Jesus, it was enough to bloat anyone's head. But the boy in front of them all now looked even more confused by the wizarding world than she did.

She almost felt sorry for him. If they traded places, she'd have withered under the constant light that shone on him every passing moment. He didn't seem to enjoy the attention, either, which made him oddly respectable to Hermione, unlike his ginger friend. That boy, well, it was safe to say he was begging for his time to shine.

"-Harry and I sit next to each other at lunch, of course. I was the first friend he made on the Hogwarts Express," he could be heard babbling away to anyone that would listen. "Can you believe he didn't know what a Chocolate Frog was? Mental, I tell you. He seemed so bloody grateful to be told he went and bought the entire sweet trolley for us! Could barely squeeze into our uniforms by the time we rocked up here!"

Something told Hermione that any attention was good attention to that boy. She kept seeing his likeness around the castle. The two older, gangly twins. The one, snotty-nosed, fourth year boy that liked to shout at people for running down the corridors. They were everywhere, like an infestation. She caught herself wondering if ginger-ness was a side-effect of having magical blood, there were so many of them.

Thankfully, the Gryffindors didn't seem to want to mingle with the Slytherins. Part of their long-standing feud, she supposed. Although what kind of petty argument between two wizards hundreds of years ago could convince a bunch of little kids to avoid each other, she didn't know. More than anything, it appeared to be an excuse for the students to draw rivalries. Particularly when it came to Quidditch.

What was it ... some kind of basketball on broomsticks? She still couldn't get over the fact that witches actually rode broomsticks, and not only that, but wizards too! She supposed Muggles had some of it right in their estimations. Although, the crooked noses and black cats were still yet to be seen.

God, there was nothing more boring than Quidditch. Flying, she could get behind. She wasn't the biggest fan of heights, but she could see how flying would be a more attractive alternative to travelling on foot or whatever 'Flooing' was. She hated the idea of getting covered in dust and rocking up in some poor stranger's fireplace. And what if that fireplace was boarded up? What if the fireplace was one of those fake electric ones? What then?

No, flying seemed logical. A bit nerve wracking, but logical. She could reason with it. And if she could reason with it, she could do it.

But Quidditch? It was like if Muggles started playing football with cars. 

"I think you'd be really good at it if you just gave it a chance, Minnie," Teddy rambled on their way off the pitch one afternoon.

Madam Hooch was alright, Hermione thought, firm but fair and the no-nonsense type. She was about the only teacher at the school that didn't expect the world from her students. When Hermione struggled for about ten minutes to summon her broomstick off the ground, Madam Hooch barely gave her a glance. She wasn't the only one, thankfully.

Although, being in the same estimation as Neville Longbottom was apparently not something to be desired. When he went flying off into the air as if the broom was hexed, Hermione rapidly stood back from hers as if it could grow teeth. 

No, she'd decided that flying made sense. But Quidditch? No thanks.

Teddy disagreed.

"You're the strategic type, so you'd make a good coach, if nothing else," he said, pushing back the curls that had blown all out of proportion from his face.

Windswept Teddy was quickly becoming her favourite Teddy. The freedom that flight offered him seemed to clear the cobwebs that otherwise clung to the corners of his eyes. It was like he'd been cooped up inside a very small cage for twelve, long years, and suddenly the wicked blue of the sky swallowed him whole. 

"I can't think of anything less exciting than deciding where a bunch of kids on broomsticks should chuck which ball," Hermione replied, grabbing his broom as he shook off his elbow pads.

It had become one of their little routines. After flying lessons, she would carry his broom and equipment as he blathered on about the merits of speed or dexterity in mid-air sports. After arithmancy, he would let her stack her books one on top of the other into his hands as she scrambled to write just one more note on a piece of torn parchment. It was a balancing act, one put up with the other. 

Teddy smiled, handing her another elbow pad. "You can't tell me it doesn't make sense. I'll be laughing the day you make it as Captain."

"So will everyone else."

Teddy made it all bearable.

His generosity of spirit, his predisposition to drag her to and fro by the sleeve, it was like she'd been claimed by the world's friendliest dog. Everyone liked Teddy, as well. He wasn't a central figure, he hated the spotlight as much as Hermione, but nobody had a bad word to say about him. He seemed to carry some kind of respect on his shoulders, far beyond that of any twelve year old she'd ever met before. 

Nobody said a word against her when she was with him. Teddy was like the barrier between the life she was living, and the life she could have. He held her right there on that precipice, never pushing one way or another. He seemed to instinctively know that she wasn't ready to make a go of it alone, and she knew that he wasn't either. They'd simply be by each other's side until they were ready to hold their own.

Of course, that meant that any time Teddy left her alone- which was often, as he would head to the boy's changing rooms, loos or dormitory- she'd be adrift. She hadn't quite worked up the courage to make any other friends as of yet. She had her eye on a couple of people, but with Teddy everything was easy, natural. They fell into each other's step like siblings. With everyone else, it required an active effort, one she wasn't sure how to go about. 

That, and everyone seemed to know each other.

"-tell Admonia I said hi! We haven't seen each other since that winter in the Alps!"

"-simply must come stay with us for Christmas, the elves are preparing a feast-"

"-could you ask your Aunt if she can grab me a Quick Quotes Quill as well? She did promise me one-"

Once again, Hermione was back to wondering just exactly where all the witches and wizards congregated. Waiting outside the boy's changing rooms, trying not to look out of place, she listened as a group of about six girls gossiped over last summer. Apparently, one of their older brothers had gotten hold of a particularly rude book titled 505 Magical Ways to Please Your Witch, and they'd pored over it until he'd spotted them and hexed them to kingdom come.

"-can't imagine the look on his face! He went as red as a beetroot!"

"That's not even the worst thing I've found in his room, let me tell you."

"Oh God, don't tell me, don't tell me, I have to spend summers with him!"

"Oh well then you'll really like hearing about-"

"AAAAAH, nope! No, no, no! Quick, you! Tell me something entirely innocent!"

It took Hermione a moment to realise she was being spoken to, but after the lingering silence went on for a little too long, she finally cocked her head up and looked at the group. Six girls stood in that way that young girls did, in a circle facing inwards, twisted out to look over their shoulder at Hermione. A clear display, you're not one of us.

"Um, I-" she stammered.

"Cat got your tongue?" The one who'd just spoken to her, a girl with dull brown hair in one braid over her left shoulder, was frowning slightly. 

Hermione laughed shakily. "No, it's just-"

The girl next to Mousy, a tall, dark-haired, pug-nosed thing, gave her a sarcastic sneer. "Sounds like someone's got something they don't want to dish."

All the girls suddenly crowded around her like a flock of birds, pecking at her as she stammered over her words. Mousy looped her arm through Hermione's tugging on her gently as she crooned, "Oooh, tell me tell me tell me!"

"It's really not-" she was so desperately out of her depth.

Pug-Nose crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. "Come on now, we've got you surrounded."

Hermione balked. She should say something. Anything. But words escaped her. She didn't have any siblings, she was an only child. She'd never had the pleasure, or displeasure, of sneaking into her brother's room to find something entirely inappropriate. She barely knew what inappropriate meant, let alone went looking for it. 

"I don't, I-" she could actually feel her chest thump with dread as each second ticked by. 

But they all still stared at her, giggling under their breath like a set of hyenas. She felt like a fish out of water. How was it that she could whip up a quick retort if it was Teddy, but the minute a gaggle of girls surrounded her, her tongue shrivelled up like a raisin? 

"Don't what?" Mousy asked, taking it as a sign of something more exciting that Hermione could barely string a sentence together. "Are you not allowed to tell? That makes it even better!"

Oh God, she thought, make something up. Anything! 

"Ladies, ladies, ladies," Teddy's voice came from behind her, a shining light in the ever-present darkness. "What kind of filth are you subjecting my poor Minnie to?"

Mousy let go of her arm, blushing as she stammered back, "Nothing, Theo! We were just asking-"

Teddy appeared in the spot that Mousy just vacated, looping his arm through Hermione's with a reassuring squeeze. "I leave you alone for one second, and the vultures come swooping in!"

Hermione smiled at him, the thumping in her chest beginning to subside. "I'm a precious commodity, you know."

"Only too well," Teddy grinned and turned back to the girls, who were all watching their exchange with barely veiled interest. "Do you want the short answer or the long answer?"

The girls mumbled in confusion.

"Any answer would do," Pug-Nose muttered.

"Well," Teddy said loudly, his voice carrying through the group, "Minnie here couldn't possibly answer your question, Pansy, because she doesn't have any siblings. She's an only child, so if there was anything naughty to be found, it may well be under her own pillow."

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Hey!"

"Only child?" Pug-Nose, no, Pansy, said.

"That's right, ladies. One of a kind, aren't you?" he nudged her.

Hermione dropped her head gratefully. "Something like that."

Teddy started to pull her away, but Pansy stayed planted firm in front of them. 

"Well wait a second, this is the most we've heard her speak."

Hermione blinked, breathing rapidly. What more did they want her to say? 

"An only child?" Mousy said, "That's awfully sad."

The other girls nodded.

"I mean... you get used to it..."

"Don't be insensitive, Daph," Pansy scolded the mousy girl. "Tracy's an only child, and you didn't give her the same pity treatment."

A girl she guessed was Tracy, a blushing blonde at the back of the group, ducked her face away in embarrassment.

"I don't need pity," Hermione agreed. She took a breath, holding onto Teddy for dear life as she continued. "It's really nothing, I'm used to being the only one in the house. Means I don't have to share."

Teddy laughed. "My point exactly."

"It's not the same for you, though, is it?" the girl called Daph, said. She put a hand on her hip. "You're a Nott."

"No, I'm Nott," he said innocently.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

Daph blinked, confused. "No, I mean, you're a-"

"He's taking the mickey, Daph," Pansy said with a smirk. "What she means is, being an only child in the twenty eight is different. You're carrying on the name, you don't need siblings."

Teddy went slightly tense beside her, but his voice remained light. "And that eases the burden ever so much."

"So, what?" a dark-haired girl piped up from the back. "You a half-blood, or what?"

Hermione's stomach dropped. Here it was. The moment she could no longer hide it from them. She'd made it a couple of weeks without running, she'd even made a friend in Teddy. She'd made a passable example of a witch, but this was always going to end. 

"Pureblood, actually," Teddy piped up on her behalf. Hermione blinked, looking at him in stunned silence. "French descent, if you couldn't guess by the name. You moved over when you were about five, right?"

Her mouth popped open of its own accord, "Precisement."

"Nearly enrolled in Beauxbatons," he continued, with the air of someone rattling off the accomplishments of an admired sibling, "but alas, their loss is our gain."

The girls all looked at each other, and for a moment Hermione was afraid they wouldn't believe him. She didn't know where he'd pulled that one from, they'd never spoken about family before. But when Pansy did a bored shrug and accepted it without question, Hermione could breathe again.

"It's all the same to me," said Pansy, picking her bag up off the floor. "But maybe next time I could hear it from her mouth, not yours."

Teddy bowed his head graciously, but said nothing more as the girls all took Pansy's cue to leave. When they were all out of earshot, Hermione leaned on Teddy's arm with a groan.

"You looked like you could do with saving," he chuckled.

She scrunched her eyes shut. "Why can't you be a girl? Then I'd never have to be alone."

Teddy just laughed and unwound his arm from hers, pulling on her sleeve. She allowed him to guide her back to the castle, as she always did. Happy to be led. 

He didn't know how much truth there was to her words.

In order to avoid any unnecessary conversations on her first night at Hogwarts, Hermione had put off going into the girl's dormitory until she was certain everyone was asleep. By the time she crept through the door, the only bed left was right at the centre of the rest, perched just underneath a portacabin window looking straight into what could only be the Black Lake.

With a sigh, she tiptoed over to her bed, pleased to find her things already laid out on the cabinet and foot of her bed. She was so tired that she dragged the curtains around her bed and collapsed into a heavy, long sleep. Such a long sleep, in fact, that she almost missed first lesson. No-one thought to check on her, or wake her for that matter, so by the time she'd pulled on some clean clothes and jogged to Charms, everyone was already sat down.

"Hey!" Teddy stage-whispered, patting an empty seat next to him.

Relief washed over her as she trudged over to the chair, putting her books down, out of breath.

"Long night?" he asked with a smile.

"You've no idea," she said with a look. 

The divide was there, already. Slytherin students were sat on the back rows, Gryffindor on the front. There was no mixing to be had, even when the opportunity was there. If a single seat was out of place, someone would simply shift it one way or the other to sit with who they belonged. 

Not that it hugely bothered Hermione either way. She was just as socially inept, with or without the House division. It seemed like each house was well-balanced enough anyway. There were some students that took to magic relatively quick, and some that could do with some work. They had sprinters and stumblers in every house.

What really wound Hermione up were the stumblers that pretended to be sprinters. 

For some, it seemed a predisposition borne out of sheer determination. Seamus, an Irish Gryffindor boy, could not perform a single spell without setting something on fire. But it wasn't for lack of trying. He actually seemed more disappointed in himself than anyone around him; Hermione was sure he must've gone through at least eight sets of robes in the first week of classes alone.

Hufflepuffs seemed overjoyed to simply be there, talented or not. They didn't speak up an awful amount during class, barring the odd question, but they could often be seen chatting amongst each other, no doubt swapping little tips and tricks. They seemed to be the house with the least amount of ego. The same could not be said for the Ravenclaws, who dedicated much of their attention to facing the front of class and nodding as though they'd written the syllabus personally.

"It's a swish and flicking motion," said the miniscule Professor, imitating the action with his spindly wand. "A deep trough, bounding towards a burgeoning point."

Hermione sighed, having already perfected the spell on the Hogwarts Express. She felt no need to draw attention to herself until at least a couple of other students had mastered the move, at which point it could be argued that her mastery of the spell was simply down to her being a copycat. 

"They're not as scary as they look, you know," Teddy muttered absent-mindedly as he purposefully performed the motion in the opposite direction. 

Hermione frowned. "Sorry, who?"

"The girls," he motioned his head to the row in front of them where Pansy, Daphne and the other girls all sat wondering aloud how Professor Flitwick climbed atop a broom in windy conditions. "I mean, sure, they come across as snotty, over-privileged cows, but... I've known them most of my life, and I can tell you they're not nearly as bad as you're thinking they are."

"You don't know what I'm thinking about them," Hermione retorted, flipping a page in her textbook to appear busy. 

"They told me you creeped in at around two o'clock last night and didn't show up for breakfast."

Hermione blushed. "Right..." So they were talking about her, now?

Teddy heaved a gentle sigh. "It's, I didn't mean it like that. They weren't talking behind your back or anything-"

"What else do you call it, if the person isn't there in front of them?"

"Look, you're new to them," he continued, unphased. He'd actually flipped his wand round to hold the tip instead of the handle now, which threatened to bring a smile to her face. "We all grew up together, we're familiar. Most of us spent holidays at each other's houses, we know each other's great Aunt's husband's brother's names. Stupid stuff like that. They're curious about you."

Hermione stiffened. "They'll be sorely disappointed by what they find."

"Give them a chance, Minnie," Teddy said, now performing the spell accurately. "That's all I'm asking. Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather that lay on the desk in front of Teddy shivered at his words and slowly, with a bobbing sort of motion, began to rise into the air. Most of the students in the class turned round to notice and either admire or look upon with barely veiled jealousy.

Professor Flitwick clapped his gnarled little hands. "Magnificent, Theodore! Oh, well done!"

Teddy shot her an arrogant wink. She kicked him under the table.

It wasn't like she wasn't trying. She didn't think she was the kind of person to take the easy route out, but there was something to be said about the comfort and confidence that Teddy brought out in her without wanting a single thing in return. If she did the checks and balances, she wasn't entirely sure what she was bringing to the table in their friendship. Teddy was clearly intelligent, charismatic and well-liked. He didn't need her to do his homework, boost his confidence or support him.

In all honesty, she felt a little useless. And if she felt useless with Teddy, what would she feel for someone else? 

There weren't a lot of opportunities to sit and get to know someone this early into classes, either. She wasn't just learning magic, she was learning the language of witches and wizards. Things that seemed so incredibly foreign to her, she had to mould her face into something passive in order not to flag up as an intruder. If she could swallow an encyclopaedia that told her everything there was to know about the magical world, maybe then she could focus her efforts into friendships.

She started making a list of all the things she heard but didn't understand. It was getting rather extensive.

1. Acid Pops
2. Remembrall
3. Porlock
4. Unspeakable (this one really baffled Hermione- why give something unspeakable a word?)
5. Zonkos
6. Hit Wizards
7. Extendable Ears
8. Porkies? Poor Keys?

It was easier back at normal- no, Muggle- school. She knew what bogies were, she knew why you'd get the lergie from the kid that peed in the corner of the pool that one time, she understood how to play tic-tac-toe. Things made sense. She could sit with the other losers under the mossy veranda and make daisy chains to her heart's content. Nobody quizzed her about her life as a Very Normal Human Girl.

God, these people didn't even watch films! Granted, she'd only seen a couple, but it was a rite of passage for kids to mention their top three. How else were you meant to know where to sit at lunch? No, going to magic school was infinitely more difficult. 

It didn't help that every Professor was giving her the same overbearing treatment. The too-long stare of an adult that knows way too much about your personal circumstances. She wished she could crawl under the desk to hide from it sometimes. 

The only Professor who didn't seem to give a damn about her was her Head of House, a greasy, miserable man called Professor Snape. She'd seen him at the staff table, picking at his food unexcitedly. She'd wondered aloud if he might be a vampire, he was that pale.

"Ha!" Teddy barked, dropping his grilled tomato off his fork. "I wouldn't start that rumour."

Hermione pushed her slice of toast around the pool of jam she'd dolloped on. "Have you ever seen him eat, though, Teddy?"

"I don't spend that much time mooning over Snape, to be honest," he said, shoving a mushroom into his mouth.

She rolled her eyes. "Gross! Not what I meant."

Teddy shrugged as if to say, you keep telling yourself that. 

He was an interesting Professor, there was no denying that. She'd met some teachers at the end of their tether before, but she'd never come across one so incredibly knowledgeable in their chosen subject, but also so desperately bored about it. It was like every day was his second choice.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape addressed the class one morning, looking off out the window with a particularly dour expression.

This, Hermione knew. But Snape didn't seem like the kind of teacher that appreciated an offer of knowledge. It seemed more likely that he was content to simply talk into the void, and have the void shut up and listen. 

So, she sat still and doodled in her workbook. She and Teddy were playing Hangman, and she was expending a lot of effort pretending she didn't find it amazing that the cartoons she drew could come to life. When Teddy jostled her with a sharp elbow, she sat up straight, panicking that Snape was heading straight over to her to reprimand her.

But he was heading for Potter.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he snapped, full attention on the bespectacled boy in the second row.

"Um- I, I don't know, sir," Potter stammered.

"Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

"Um..."

The entire class's attention was fixed upon the exchange now. She could hear a few snickers around her, no doubt her classmates finding the conversation entertaining. All she could think was thank God that's not me. He was asking questions beyond the knowledge of a first year, no doubt. There was something about the Potter boy that got under his skin. 

"I don't know sir."

"And what is the difference between Monk's hood and wolfbane?" 

"I- I don't know."

"Pity," Snape said condescendingly to more snickers. "Clearly, fame isn't everything. Is it, Mr Potter?"

Potter's blush deepened, but to his credit, he did not break eye contact with the man. Hermione didn't know what Potter had done to deserve a dressing-down like that, but she decided right then and there to never cross Professor Snape. Being on his bad side didn't seem worth it.

Luckily, Potions seemed to be another thing Hermione could understand readily. Following instructions was a simple enough ask. Even brewing a relatively basic concoction appeared to be quite a big ask for other students, however. 

On her table with Teddy, the Potter boy and his ginger friend, she was perfectly content to leaf from page to page, undertaking each instruction as though mechanised. Chop the root, stack the root, put it in the cauldron.

God, she could not get over the fact that they actually used cauldrons.

Stir this way, wait this long. It didn't take much brain power to automate the motions, that way she could tune into the conversations around her.

"Why's he got it against you, Harry?"

"I don't know, Ron. Could you shut up about it?" Potter muttered under his breath. She could tell he was trying to follow the recipe to the letter.

"Alright, no need to be like that about it-"

A clattering sound broke Hermione from her reverie, and she looked up to see Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle crowded around Potter with amused expressions. The vial that Potter had painstakingly measured out was now toppled over and spilling off the edge of the table. 

"So clumsy, Potter!" Malfoy sneered.

"Oi! You just knocked that over, Malfoy!" the ginger boy, Ron, snapped. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Weaslebee," Malfoy said innocently. "I was simply coming over to see how the famous Harry Potter made his potions."

Ron began to square up to Malfoy just as Professor Snape slithered over to the table. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley, for attempting to start a fight in the middle of class."

"But-" Ron began, face almost as red as his hair.

"No ifs, ands or buts," Snape drawled, surveying the mess on their table. "Unless you're after detention."

Ron looked as though he was about to argue, but Potter elbowed him in the side, muttering something under his breath. Crabbe and Goyle followed Malfoy as he waved a sarcastic goodbye and headed back to their table. 

Hermione looked over at Teddy, who was watching the vial of liquid drop onto the floor with an odd expression. Before she could ask him what the problem was, he continued chopping up his roots. Hermione followed suit.

She'd already decided she didn't like Crabbe and Goyle much. They were her idea of the classic school bullies: bigger and louder than everyone else, obstinate, arrogant and unkind. Crabbe had the build of a stout alcoholic, and Goyle looked like something you'd find stuck on the belly of a ship. Neither of them were lookers, neither of them were particularly smart, but they were brawny. The perfect sidekicks.

Hermione knew bullies took all shapes and sizes. Most of them were just insecure, little losers like the rest of them. She could see why Crabbe and Goyle felt the need to throw their weight about. They'd never come at the top of the class, they'd never be Quidditch champions (which seemed to be incredibly important to most boys), so they took out their feelings on people smaller and better than them.

Malfoy, though. She wasn't sure.

She'd all but avoided him since their conversation on her first night at Hogwarts. He was everything she had supposed he was.

Ten minutes in the common room told her enough about him to know that, yes, Malfoy came from money. He spent almost as much as he had coming in; his mother sent him regular care packages by owl, always accompanied by a sickly sweet note that spoke of her unending pride. Malfoy was also the only child of one of the most prodigious Pureblood families in wizarding history. He was set to inherit a massive fortune when he came of age, his life was all but laid out in front of him. 

His father, Lucius, worked in the Ministry. Apparently, he had a close relationship with the Minister for Magic. Hermione supposed that Lucius must be laying the path for his son to eventually join him in the realm of politics. And it wasn't like Malfoy didn't have the capability. He was arguably as eloquent as Teddy, as uniquely raw in gift as the Potter boy, and quick to learn as Hermione. He just didn't seem to care. 

How could someone with everything they want just throw it all away? It didn't help that Snape seemed to have a bit of a blind spot when it came to Malfoy. Any other teacher, if they caught any whiff of bad behaviour from the Slytherin boys, were all too quick to pounce. Particularly when it came to Potter. But Snape could walk around with a blindfold on and catch more than he did without it.

There had to be something she was missing. 

"What was that all about?" she asked Teddy as they double-hopped the stairs up to Transfiguration. 

"I think it was about brewing Potions," he responded sarcastically, shoving his books into his bag.

She laughed, but pressed on. "No, what is it Malfoy's got against Potter?"

Teddy sighed. "I don't know, Minnie."

They pushed through a pair of double doors leading down a long, empty corridor that overlooked a small green area. She paused, pulling him over to the wall for some semblance of privacy.

"I think you know more than you're letting on," she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and staring into his eyes.

"About Potions? Get in line," he quipped.

"About Malfoy."

"Why do you care what Malfoy thinks?"

"I don't," she snapped, "but you've got to admit, it's weird. Why's he so intent on riling up Potter? Weasley, I can understand, but Potter's not done anything to him. It's like him and Snape have got some unspoken thing against him."

Teddy looked over her shoulder, inhaling deeply as if to remain patient. "Yeah, I've not been paying that much attention if I'm honest."

"I think you have," she countered, "why else would you look so weird that Malfoy knocked Potter's potion vial over?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably and shrugged. "Dunno. Was just a bit uncalled for."

"There's more to it than that, though."

"Minnie, just drop it."

"I don't get it. What's such a big deal that you can't tell me?"

He looked at her then, face set in a concealed, strange way. "You're one to talk."

Her chest spasmed. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

Hermione took half a step back, avoiding his gaze as though he could break through into her mind. He was right, of course. There was plenty she hadn't told him. But that was different, she just wasn't ready to- she didn't know if she ever would be. What if, after all he found out, he dropped her? It wasn't an unlikely scenario. 

"That's different-" she said unsteadily.

"Not really."

"This isn't... I'm not-"

"What? Let's be clear, Minnie. What we're talking about right now, it's gossip," he said firmly. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. "A bunch of unconfirmed nonsense that means nothing to anyone. I don't care why Malfoy doesn't like Potter. I don't care why Snape treats him the way he does. They're not my people. You are. So, forgive me if I'd rather not spend my time wondering why a bunch of people I don't care about don't like each other for whatever reason I couldn't care less about."

Hermione hung her head, shame filling her stomach. "I'm sorry, I just-"

Teddy ran a hand over his face. "No. Don't apologise-"

She looked away. "Let's forget I said anything. Come on, we're going to be late for class."

He grabbed onto her sleeve as she turned, but didn't say much else as Professor McGonagall poked her head out of the classroom. 

"You two, do you require a map to class?" 

Both of them shook their heads. "No, Professor."

"Get to your seats, then."

They nodded and made their way to the door.

Professor McGonagall was another teacher not to cross. She was the Head of Gryffindor house, but it wasn't like Hermione could tell. She treated all of the students as equals. She took and dished out points indiscriminately, weighing each misdemeanour on its merits and drawbacks, a true neutral.

Classes with her were structured, to-the-point and simple to understand. She didn't waste a single second of her time, nor did she rush her lectures. Hermione liked her a lot.

"-hate Transfiguration," whimpered the boy called Neville, two seats down from her.

They had all been given a simple object to transform into another one. An earring into a button, a hairband into a label, that sort of thing. Neville had been handed a pebble and been told to transform it into a spoon, an ask that seemed to be beyond his comprehension. 

Two rows behind, Crabbe and Goyle snickered. 

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to her pencil, which she was aiming to transform into a pipe cleaner. Transfiguration wasn't necessarily her forte, or her preferred lesson so far, but it was hard to not want to do well in a lesson run by McGonagall. There was an implied level of effort one had to display to be there.

"I just don't get why I need to turn a matchstick into a needle," Teddy muttered under his breath, flicking through his book as if the answer would pop out at him.

"You're telling me," she murmured in agreement, "I can't write with a pipe cleaner."

He scoffed gently, pushing his matchstick into the middle of the table. "I think we're overthinking it."

She looked over to the next table, where Neville and a blonde Hufflepuff girl sat frowning at their pebble and coaster. She was about to turn back and agree wholeheartedly, when McGonagall seemed to sense the confusion in the room, and began swiftly walking to the front of class.

All the heads in class slowly looked up as she pulled her wand from her robes and a piece of chalk flew through the air into her hand. "I sense a spot of reluctance this morning," she said briskly, pursing her lips. "I gather there must be more exciting lessons on our minds?"

Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats as she continued.

"Transfiguration is a demanding subject, I'll admit, far beyond a First Year's comprehension of the word. It is complex, governed by fundamental laws and precise measurements of skill. You may be wondering, then, why transforming a rubber into a golf ball is so exhaustingly dull?"

A couple of students, including Hermione and Teddy, laughed amiably.

McGonagall quirked her brow and, quicker than Hermione would've expected of the woman, she launched the piece of chalk across the room towards Crabbe and Goyle. A collective gasp rippled through the air as everyone hopelessly span in their chairs, watching the chalk fly its course.

Crabbe and Goyle's faces clocked onto what was happening too late, flinching haphazardly. Goyle even ducked behind Crabbe, pushing him in front as if to take the full brunt of the attack, but before the chalk made contact with either boy, it burst into a hundred pieces with a puff.

Down, gentle and light, came a flurry of snowflakes. The room sighed in relief, even laughing at the ridiculousness of Crabbe and Goyle recoiling from it.

They turned back to McGonagall.

"What if we lived in a world where accidents didn't need to happen? What if, when you saw the piano coming down to fall on your head, you could turn it into rose petals? And what," she continued, lifting a scroll from her desk and transforming it into a set of jet-black robes, "if you find yourself in need of a quick change of clothes?"

The class oohed and aahed. 

"And what," McGonagall concluded, vanishing the robes from her hand, "if you need an inconspicuous getaway?"

With a small wink, McGonagall's face began to shrink, sprouting with hair. The class gasped eagerly as her head disappeared down the neck of her robes, and the pile of cloth that crumpled up on the floor reformed into a small tabby cat with distinct eye-markings. 

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she only realised she'd grabbed Teddy by the sleeve when she felt it shake as he laughed in disbelief.

"Bloody hell!" Weasley yelped from the other side of the room, to a few scattered laughs.

Transforming back in a split second, McGonagall stood before them again, haughty but nonetheless satisfied that she'd made her point. 

"How do you learn how to do that?" Malfoy piped up from the back of the classroom. 

"When you can learn how to turn that quill into a comb, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said, adjusting her robes, "then, then we'll talk."

So maybe Hermione liked Transfiguration a lot. If she was being really honest with herself, just about every class was fascinating. There was something about being there, doing the things, that she just couldn't get from a book. Not that it made her read any less, of course. Theory was just as important as practical, in her eyes.

Just being at Hogwarts was enough to send her reeling. The changing staircases, the talking portraits, the floating candles. Seeing the castle from outside while she flew wobbly laps on her broomstick was an experience in itself. The towers peeling off into the sky, the sandstone warming the horizon with its dulcet colouration. She'd only ever seen castles in ruin before, to see a fully operational one...

Everyone ran to and from class with an ease she couldn't replicate. Having grown up in a two-storey, terraced house, she'd never been in a place that big before. Every other second she felt lost. All the corridors looked identical, lined with their empty metal statues and elegantly carved gargoyles. It was only by the mercy of a very patient Teddy that she made it anywhere. 

Socialising outside of the Common Room wasn't an option. She felt as if she took one step outside of her weekly routine, she'd get swallowed whole by the castle, spat back out into the Forbidden Forest for being everything un-magical.

The dungeons weren't a hotspot of student activity, thankfully. Anyone who wasn't a Slytherin wouldn't step foot down there. They found it old, cold and creepy. She was inclined to agree for the most part. 

The Common Room itself wasn't so bad. A series of dome-like rooms with high ceilings decorated with moving pictures of constellations, stars shooting across the sky; walls draped in emerald-green glowing lanterns and silk chiffon; thick rugs scattered across the white stone floor. Elegant couches held pristine cushions and soft blankets, nestled in front of a roaring, green fire and low side tables where earmarked books stacked up with quills shoved between the pages. 

It was weirdly cosy. Even the dome with the glass wall, looking out into the deep expanse of the Black Lake. Hermione couldn't see far into the water; they were too low underground to see much, especially in the evening, but the light of the common room shone enough to highlight a few fish and ripples of seaweed floating by. It was calm, soothing.

And there were books everywhere. 

On shelves, on tables, under cushions, books seemed to poke their noses out of every spare space. In the evenings where she and Teddy would leave the Great Hall after dinner, they'd both race down to their favourite curve in the dome, a pair of arm chairs either side of a chaise-longue, close to a hanging lantern and looking out towards the lake. There, they'd sit and read, or sit and talk, wiling away the hours until darkness came.

And she'd watch as he packed his things away and went to bed, ignoring his pointed look towards the girls. She'd sit there, reading some more until the lantern light dimmed enough for her to swap her copy of A History of Magic for Moby Dick. She felt like the ill-fated Ishmael, signing up for a doomed voyage on the Pequod with the ungodly, god-like Dumbledore as its Captain Ahab. 

There she'd be, 'til gone three in the morning, when she was sure everyone had gone to sleep. Only then would she groggily trod her way into the girl's dorm room, feel her way in the dark towards her empty bed and crash out, sleeping soundly until morning.

"Not sleep well?" Teddy asked one weekend morning, sliding a bowl of sugared grapefruit towards her with a spoon as she sat down heavily at the Slytherin table.

She simply grunted, shaking her head as she poured herself a black coffee and re-filled his. 

Weekends at Hogwarts were strange. Most students that were of-age found their fun out in Hogsmeade, the nearby village, leaving the school practically empty apart from first and second years. Everyone else was either holed up somewhere playing chess, or wandering about the castle with nothing to do. 

She and Teddy had the whole length of the Slytherin table to themselves. Only a small set of dishes appeared in front of them, including scrambled eggs, toast, a selection of jams and pastries, and a few bowls of sliced fruits. 

Hermione scooped up a mouthful of grapefruit and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes as the sweetness burst across her tongue. Next to her, Teddy scoffed down another slice of buttered toast, using the crust to mop up the last of his scrambled eggs.

At the staff table, McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore sat in quiet conversation over their steaming mugs of coffee. They seemed to be in disagreement over something, as each kept gesturing sharply as they spoke, as if they were trying to convince one another of something. When Hermione tried to make out what they were saying, Dumbledore caught her eye, and she looked away, blushing.

"You alright?" Teddy asked.

Hermione popped another bit of grapefruit in her mouth to delay her response. She nodded, holding up a finger as if to say, let me finish this mouthful. 

Overhead, a gush of cool air blew a strand of hair over her face, as she watched a beautiful, brown, sleek owl descend down onto the table in front of them. It hooted politely, shuffling towards Teddy with its leg outstretched. On it, a small piece of rolled parchment was tied. 

He frowned, pulling the parchment off its leg and offering it a bit of toast as a thank-you. The bird took the buttered crust in its beak happily and, with another gush of air, took back off up and out of the Great Hall. 

Hermione pulled her Charms essay from her bag, cringing at the blotchy ink and crossings out. Shame there's no magic ink rubbers, she thought, surveying the damage. It was legible, at the very least. She thought she'd made some valid points about the manipulation of opposing forces for levitation without coming across too much like she was arguing Newton's Laws of Motion. For all she knew, Newton was a wizard.

No, it would have to do. It's not like she could hide her heritage from the professors. They seemed to know everyone's business, judging by the looks they cast across the assembly of children, but they didn't seem to want to get too involved.

In Muggle school, this was par for course. Everyone knew the troubled kids, the ones with less to eat at home than for school dinners, or the ones being raised by their older siblings because their parents were in prison. The kids with extra learning difficulties often had a substitute teacher sat next to them every lesson, helping to scribe or explain things under their breath. 

She didn't see any of that here. Here, the professors just let the students be. Surveyed, as if under a microscope. Like an experiment. They were all little mice, running around the maze that was Hogwarts, hoping to stumble across a piece of particularly smelly cheese. She hadn't seen one special needs kid. She wondered if they went to a different school.

The sound of crumpling paper brought Hermione back to the present. 

"Fucking hell-" Teddy grumbled, shoving the piece of scrunched parchment into his robes with an angry sigh.

That was another thing. Swearing. She was used to it at home, though never permitted to swear herself, it replaced every adjective for her parents. They were words that were only whispered at school though, always out of context, always to seem tough. She wasn't prepared for it coming from Teddy's mouth, though.

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head, casting his gaze over to the double doors where a group of other Slytherins bounded in. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, a couple of second and third years Hermione didn't recognise, Pansy and Daphne trailing after them. 

"What's going-"

He knocked his knee into hers, which she took as a sign to shut the hell up. 

Pansy had her arm looped into Malfoy's, harping on his every word as he chatted away with the older students. Crabbe and Goyle took up shop in Malfoy's flank, like a pair of bedraggled bodyguards. The older students had an air of indifference about Malfoy, but a resigned sense of formality and designated respect that Hermione couldn't read. She wished she could ask Teddy what that was about, but his attention was focussed solely on his steaming mug of coffee.

"-had obviously hidden it from Mother, she'd be furious if she knew Father was spending that much on a broom maintenance kit," Malfoy said, his chin high in the air, a grin spreading across his face.

"Does she not know how important it is to you, Draco?" Pansy simpered, taking a seat next to him at the table about ten feet away from Hermione and Teddy.

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Mother would prefer my interests lie in the realm of academia"

Crabbe snorted. "Dun't she know how rich Quidditch players are?"

Malfoy shot him a look. "Obviously, she's not stupid."

"Course not," Daphne jumped in, swatting Crabbe on the arm. "She just wants the best for her only boy."

One of the third years coughed into his sleeve, masking a smirk.

Malfoy took no notice, the smile still playing on his lips. "I reckon I'll make the team next year, after I've trained up a bit. By then, I'll be so good that Mother won't have anything she can say against it."

"You reckon she'll let you play, then?" the third year student with huge teeth said with just the smallest hint of sarcasm.

"Mother doesn't let me do anything," Malfoy snapped, filling his plate with bacon and eggs, "I do as I please. But why rush? I've got all the time in the world."

"Sure," the third year said, smiling slightly at the other older students. 

"We've got a shit team at the moment," a fourth year said, picking lazily at his egg shell. "Could do with some new blood, if I'm honest."

When they all started debating the merits of Beaters and Keepers, Hermione lost interest in the conversation. She did think it was an interesting dynamic though. The older students appeared to be stuck to Malfoy, as if he were some kind of leading figure. But from what she could see, Malfoy offered little more than any other preening first-year. Sure, he was a more attractive prospect than Crabbe and Goyle, but so was a slug.

The more she zoned out of what was being said, the more she could watch their body language. Malfoy sat at the group's centre, gesturing with open arms and lazy affectations that spoke of a child happy to be the centre of attention. Pansy leaned into him, picking breadcrumbs up off the table and subtly wiping them off onto the floor so as Malfoy's place setting was always clean.

Even the older students, who seemed to regard Malfoy as somewhat of a joke, were still all angled in towards him. It was a reluctant sort of respect, the sort spoken about behind someone's back, but never countered up-front. Crabbe and Goyle lingered at his shoulders, stood behind him as if an attack were imminent. Although, what they could do to prevent such an ambush, Hermione didn't know.

She scraped the last of her grapefruit, popping it into her mouth and placing her spoon gently down on the plate. Chewing absent-mindedly, she watched as suddenly the group's attention turned to Teddy. He was looking so adamantly down at his cup that the intrusion didn't register.

She nudged his arm. "Teddy-"

He jumped slightly, looking at her with an open expression. "Huh?"

She inclined her head towards the other students, who were all watching him with interest.

Teddy cleared his throat. "Any reason you're all staring at me?"

The older students smirked.

"We were wondering," Malfoy began around a mouthful of bacon, "if you were up for sneaking into Hogsmeade this afternoon."

"With you lot?" Teddy gestured to the group.

Malfoy nodded, as if he were offering some great prize. "Father's been so eager to hear news of the Notts."

Hermione sat incredibly still, watching out of the corner of her eye as she sipped her coffee. It was hot, scalding hot on her tongue, but she passed off the pained grimace as a sniffle. 

"Hogsmeade," Teddy repeated with a dull tone.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded vigorously. "We're gonna go see the Shrieking Shack."

"We'll probably just hang around," Daphne corrected in a stern voice, "Higgs has found a cut-through in the forest that'll get us in through the back."

The fourth year boy called Higgs nodded. "Me and Goldbrand found it when we were sneaking round back of the oaf's hut."

Hermione's body went stiff. There was nothing she wanted less than to hang around with that group. As much as she thought she might find the girls alright on their own, she wasn't prepared to be laughed at all the way to Hogsmeade and back. Teddy, thankfully, seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Right, well," Teddy sighed, standing up and pulling her with him, "thrilling as that all sounds, I've got more important things to do. Rain check?"

"Important?" Pansy asked, as if there was nothing more pressing than pleasing Malfoy.

"Yeah, you know, homework..." he picked up his bag, "ironing...."

He gripped Hermione's sleeve, giving it a short but desperate tug. Hermione snapped back to reality, shoving her Charms essay back into her bag and throwing it over her shoulder.

"You sure, Theodore?" Malfoy said a little louder. Hermione cringed inwardly. Teddy hated using his full name. "Might do to get out the castle, be around old friends."

"I rather like my new ones," Teddy said through slightly gritted teeth.

For the first time since sitting there, Malfoy cast a quick look in her direction. When their eyes met, a shiver ran down Hermione's neck. It was like he'd forgotten she was there entirely, like he could barely remember the girl he'd made fun of outside the dungeons. We belong there. Of course he'd never meant to include her in that statement.

He gave Teddy a look as if to say, what's so special about her? She looked away, blinking rapidly. If only they knew.

"Minnie can come along, if that's what you're wondering," Pansy said with a sickly sweetness, resting her head on Malfoy's shoulder.

Malfoy looked at her again on hearing the name. "Hermione," she corrected in a quiet voice, "my name's-"

"Look, it speaks!" Higgs shouted, holding a hand to his chest in mock surprise.

The group laughed, Crabbe and Goyle loudest of them all. Her cheeks burned.

"Hermione," Malfoy's mouth seemed to struggle forming the word, "what sort of name is Hermione?"

"Do you not have a middle name, or something? Like May, or Jane?" Daphne piped up.

Jean, she thought. But she didn't want them to call her that either. 

"Aren't you a Granger?" Pansy asked, pushing her short, black hair behind her ear. 

"She's a ranger?" Crabbe squawked, still laughing.

"Granger, you pillock," Pansy snapped, "it's her surname."

"French, apparently," Daphne said in a reprimanding tone.

"Oh, well, excuzes-moi!"

She took a deep breath, steadying the race of her heart. With all of their eyes fixed on her, she could sense the anger radiating off of Teddy like curls of heat. His hand still clung to her sleeve, as if she were about to take off running. She wanted to tell him she wasn't going anywhere, that she was just as furious and uncomfortable as him.

What she really wanted to tell him was to throw the entire dish of scrambled eggs at the lot of them. Ok, maybe not the girls. But the boys, definitely. She wasn't the confrontational type, but something about the smarmy, arrogant look on Malfoy's face riled her up something rotten.

"Come on Granger, don't be such a spoil-sport," he crooned, lazily draping his arm over Pansy's shoulder, "tell your boyfriend to join us. We just want to have a little fun."

Boyfriend? Fun?! 

Before Teddy could open his mouth, she snapped, "You can fuck that sky high."

Without another word, she yanked on Teddy's wrist and stormed away from the table as their mouths hung open in mild shock. She thought she could see Pansy hiding a smirk in the corner of her eye, but she was moving too quickly. 

"You might want to reconsider who your real friends are," Malfoy called, his voice carrying across the hall as they walked, "you never know what's coming round the corner."

"If it's you, I'll walk the other way," Teddy grunted under his breath. 

Once they were out of the Great Hall, his face became twisted. They walked at an uncomfortably swift speed, through the main halls, up a few sets of stairs and down countless corridors before Teddy eventually seemed to have worked off his steam.

He let go of her sleeve, taking an extra few steps to survey the area before letting out an enraged shout and launching his bag down the corridor. He stood still for a moment, shoulders heaving from the angry breaths he sucked in and out. His eyes were scrunched up tight, his mouth turned down in disgust. 

Suddenly, his hand shot into his robes and he pulled out his wand clumsily, pointing it at the opposite end of the room.

"Fucking-" red sparks shot from his wand, sending his bag jumping into the air a couple of feet, "arrogant-" the bag hit the back wall, "prick!"

She flinched as the bag hit the floor with a thud. "Teddy-"

"Don't."

Hermione closed her mouth.

You never know what's coming round the corner. What was that supposed to mean? Were they planning some elaborate prank? Did they know something? Why wouldn't they just tell them outright? And what was with the reconsider who your real friends are? For all they knew, she was as Pureblood as the rest of them, part of the group, whether she liked it or not. They shouldn't have anything to say against her, in theory.

What were they planning to do in Hogsmeade that was so important that they needed Teddy there? Why was Malfoy acting as though his reluctance at friendship was a personal slight? Nobody had to be friends with anyone.

Unless.. unless it was expected. She took a long look at the square set of Teddy's shoulders, rising and falling. Why else would he be so adamantly against it? Maybe because he was told to do it.. The parchment... was that his father getting in touch, telling him to make good with the Malfoy boy, or else? Was it a thinly veiled threat? Maybe their fathers were in business together at the Ministry, maybe the Notts were just as influential as the Malfoys..

"I can hear your mind working from here," Teddy muttered, turning slowly to face her. He looked calmer, albeit still pink in the face. "Has anyone ever told you that before?"

"Told me what?"

"You think loudly."

She frowned. "I don't think so."

"Well, you do," he sighed, stowing his wand back in his pocket and heaving a deep sigh. 

She thought in that moment oddly of Captain Ahab. How he offered to give the first man to sight Moby Dick a doubloon. How the display of him nailing it to the mast incensed Ishmael, Ahab's quenchless feud seemed mine.  

"You and Malfoy have a history," she said, putting the pieces together.

Teddy blinked slowly. "Our families do."

Ahab's quenchless feud seemed mine. Was this what it was like, to follow someone? Teddy's anger seemed to flow through her; she hadn't even realised she'd been taking a side until they were already walking away. And really, what had Malfoy done, except be slightly rude? Maybe he was just one of those kids. A bully's bully, until he grew out of it. But the way Teddy responded to it, it brought something out of her.

It was more than just a disagreement between two students. "Should I know what that means?"

Teddy stepped back until his back met the wall, tilting his head back, looking up at the ceiling. "Not particularly."

"Does anyone?"

"Nope."

"Is there a reason for that?"

"Yep."

"Am I in danger?"

He looked at her, smiling slightly. "You are full of questions."

She didn't want to ask again. "Am I?"

He walked slowly forward, craning his neck as if considering her from head-to-toe. She stood still, transparent under his gaze. 

"Not with me," he finally said.

It almost seemed like he meant it.

Chapter 3: Call Me Granger

The days were endless, we were crazy, we were young
The sun was always shinin'
We just lived for fun

Sometimes it seems like lately
I just don't know
The rest of my life's been just a show

 

---

 

Hermione missed her father's record player.

It was about the only thing she really missed from home. From the Muggle world, really. Wizards had radios of sorts, but they were powered by magic, and they played songs by bands with ridiculous names, like Three Great Rats or Summoning Simon. She'd taken to claiming her voice was akin to that of a banshee to get out of singing along to what the girls claimed were 'classic hits'. 

She thought privately that they'd do much better listening to The Doors. It seemed like such a strange thing to yearn for. Of course music wouldn't transcend from the Muggle to Magical world. They'd never understand the vapid joy of Queen, or Bowie's unnatural tones. They'd never realise Jefferson Airplane were singing about Alice in Wonderland! Patti Smith, Bob Dylan, Kate Bush, Jimi Hendrix... Fleetwood Mac!

"And now, The Bent-Winged Snitches with Crazy Like Nut Clusters," the presenter of Wizarding Wireless Network said with a perky voice that carried across the Slytherin common room.

Hermione groaned. If she had to listen to another song about how witches were as inherently unknowable as allergen-ridden foodstuffs, she'd have an aneurism. Rolling her parchment into a tight tube, she tucked it into her bag and stood with a sigh.

Teddy sat curled up in an armchair, eyes fluttering in his sleep. The candlelight caught on his curls, shaping them like loops of caramel melting into a pool of chocolate. If he was a song, he'd be Golden Brown by The Stranglers. She smirked, draping a blanket over his legs. 

Evenings in the common room were hauntingly beautiful. The evening's moonlight glow couldn't permeate the Black Lake, which left sole responsibility of illumination down to the green-toned lanterns of the common room. What creatures did stalk the depths of the lake couldn't be seen, so there was only the vague sense of being watched. It was cold, too. Unnaturally cold. 

With a shiver, she gathered her belongings and shuffled out to the door. The library would be warmer. Anywhere north of the dungeons would be.

Why, she thought as she traversed her way up multiple sets of changing staircases, thighs burning, did they have to put one of the houses in the dungeons? Talk about isolation. 

Her dinner sat uncomfortably on her stomach. She didn't know who'd been listening to her and Teddy moan about the lack of vegetarian options, but someone had gone overboard the last couple of weeks, laying out nut roasts, tofu scrambles, chickpea spreads and lentil soups. Despite the constant nagging anxiety that she'd be found out as an intruder, she was at least a reasonably well fed one.

Gripping the banister as she walked up to the main atrium, she heaved a huge sigh. Lifts, wizards could do with lifts.

The library was all but empty, as she'd hoped. A couple of lingering Ravenclaws sat huddled in the entrance, poring over their potions books, but they barely spared her a glance as she entered. 

The whole castle was beautiful, but the library was something else. Almost the size of her house, it towered over her with thousands of pristine and crumbling books alike. She could spend hours at a time, dragging her fingers along the spines, and still not get any closer to finding what she needed. It was simply too easy to get distracted in there.

Even looking for something as simple as a Charms textbook led her to tomes detailing the benefits of freshwater and saltwater on elemental transfiguration. Not a word of it went in, but she absorbed it all the same. Her parents had a shelf at home that gave her a similar feeling. Pathria and Beale, Feynman, Schroeder, Griffiths, Poole, Safko. Relativity, quantum physics, statistical mechanics.

Gobbledegook.

But imagine a world where that made sense! Imagine inhabiting a mind that could probe the meaning of things unbelievably miniscule, how they moulded the world. Magic and science, they were two sides of the same coin. Both reliant on the same kind of dedicated study, consistent curiosity and madness. Maybe they crossed over in some ways. She wondered if Newton ever met a wizard. 

Not that it mattered. The wizard that met Newton probably thought him some bumbling ape, yammering on about the pull of the earth. Even if he was one of the greatest scientific minds of his time, to a wizard, he'd still be as dumb as a stump.

But wizards hadn't made it to the moon, she thought smugly. Wizards hadn't made Baba O'Riley.

"It's only teenage wasteland Sally, take my hand," she sang under her breath, pausing at the Wizarding History aisle, "We'll travel south cross land, put out the fire.."

The further and deeper she got into the school year, the harder it was getting to pretend to be of magical birth.

She could read every textbook, learn every first- and second- year spell on the class list, but nothing prepared her for the cultural stuff. The music, the food, the travel, the currency. The stupid little games that kids played in the corridors with their stupid little marbles that tripped her up everywhere she walked. The newspapers with current events she knew nothing about.

There was no teaching that stuff. It came with just being a wizard in this world. The Chudley Cannons weren't weapons of war like Hermione thought, but a Quidditch team! It was Sleekeazy, not Squeak-easy. The green vines that danced around her ankles in Herbology weren't dangerous, they just liked being wrapped around stuff.

How was she meant to pass as a Pureblood witch if she could barely pick up a lacewing fly without gagging? So here she was, putting in extra-curricular time to research her role. And she'd learned a lot.

At one time, according to this book, Muggles had known of the existence of witches and wizards. And they'd hated each other. Hogwarts was supposedly built a thousand years ago as a way to safely train young magical minds away from the distrustful gaze of Muggles. Rowena Ravenclaw was said to have dreamed of a warty hog leading her to a particular cliff overlooking a loch. The Black Lake. With her friends, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin, she built and founded Hogwarts.

There, they'd created a unique and expansive curriculum that all young witches and wizards needed to prepare them for the adult world. Of course, they hadn't always agreed, which was how the houses were made.

Rowena took all the brightest children, believing that intellect would pave the way to a more open-minded society. Godric took the bravest, knowing that if a war were to strike, the wizarding world would need courage. Helga took in those most loyal, of all skill and talent, understanding that unity ruled over division. And Salazar...

Well, Salazar had different ideas. Ambition, cunning, resourcefulness, and determination. He wanted leaders with a high sense of self-preservation, shrewd elitism and a yearning for power. What was he preparing for? Not unity. The antithesis of unity. It was like Salazar created his house to mould a future wizarding society that distrusted its counterparts.

The flashing red emblem of the Thought Police sparked in Hermione's head. Is that what he wanted? 

She frowned, turning the page. How did they know what a twelve year old child would come to be? She didn't feel ambitious, she barely felt in control. Resourceful, maybe. She was certainly soaking up every last bit of useful information she could to best lie through her teeth. Did that make her cunning? Cunning didn't necessarily mean untruthful, but she definitely was.

And then there was the blood status. That still wracked her brains. If Salazar Slytherin could see her now, a Mudblood in his precious viper's nest... How did the Hat let her in? Couldn't it tell? Didn't it know? 

As far as her reading would let her believe, she was the first Muggleborn to make it into Slytherin house. All else had been either Half or Pureblood, and the house had spawned some truly terrifying icons. Gormlaith Gaunt, The Bloody Baron, the Lestranges, Tom Riddle, Rodrick Lyme. The names meant precious little to her, she skim-read most of their profiles with nauseated indifference.

How could a house determine so much about someone's future? Was it an omen; to be placed in Slytherin was to seal your fate as a Dark wizard? Surely not all of them were evil.

Hermione didn't feel evil; like some dark looming mass was hovering over her, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness. She didn't feel good either, though. She was a liar, a fake, a cheat- her very existence was false. And the professors knew it, too. That must be why they always watched her. Maybe they were waiting for her to snap, like a ticking time bomb.

With a pang in her chest, Hermione snapped the book shut, swapping it for another tome. 

This one detailed an extensive history of magical heritage. 'History' being a lax term. Wizards, apparently, still couldn't figure out where Muggleborns came from. There were theories, of course.

Some of them were aggravatingly closed-minded, involving Muggles stealing magic from wizards and somehow giving it to babies to infiltrate the magical world. Some of them were disappointingly dull, that there must be someone of magical heritage in the Muggleborn's bloodline, just simply too far back to be traced. 

Nobody could agree. The only consensus was that Muggleborns were inherently weaker. Less deserving of magic. Less able to wield it effectively. In their eyes, someone of Pure breeding had amassed such a rich history of magical manipulation, that someone born out of the blue could not dream of using it in the same way.

She had to admit, they had a point. There were things that she just couldn't understand, much less perform. Care of Magical Creatures went in one ear and out the other. Flying? She'd give it a miss. Divination! Wasn't that just tarot reading? And just the day-to-day normality of magic, she had nothing for it.

She saw the way other students casually waved their wand to throw all their parchments into their bags. The way they'd whisper a warming charm during flying lessons to stop their hands going numb. The things that growing up in the magical world would just lend someone, free of charge. She had none of it.

The weight of it all came down on her in that moment and, with a loud groan, she let her head fall onto the pages of the open book before her.

There was no way she could keep this up. She should have ran the minute they placed her in Slytherin. How she was meant to pretend to be a Pureblooded witch? She had no idea what that was! Even if she kept herself up every night til past early hours, committing every cultural reference to mind, she'd still be lacking. 

"Are you alright?"

She snapped upright, whirling around in her chair to see a bespectacled, black-haired boy stood about ten feet away, books nestled under his arm wearing a concerned and confused expression. Potter.

"F-Fine," Hermione stammered, running a hand over her face, shoving a few wild curls behind her ear. 

Potter nodded awkwardly, emerald-green eyes darting left to right as if to give her some semblance of privacy. He repositioned the books under his arm, eventually placing them gently down on the table in front of him and taking a seat.

She stayed perfectly still as he spread out his selection of tomes- Hogwarts: A History; Quidditch Through the Ages; So, You've Found Out You're a Wizard- with the air of someone uncomfortable being watched. She wasn't used to seeing him without his gangly ginger sidekick. Without him, he seemed quiet, shy.

She took a breath. "What you reading those for?" she gestured to his selection.

He looked up, startled. "Am I... am I not allowed to take these?"

"No-" she frowned.

"No?" he repeated with an alarmed expression.

"No, I mean," she cleared her throat. Start again, Hermione. "Aren't you the famous Harry Potter?"

He shifted in his seat. "I guess..."

"So what do you need those for?" she pointed to his books again. Her voice sounded weird.

"I guess I'm..." Potter trailed off, nudging the books absent-mindedly. He didn't seem to know how to respond.

"Sorry, I-"

"No, it's just... I'm new to this, I suppose?" 

This didn't track with what little reading she'd done about the famous Harry Potter. Everyone worth their salt in the wizarding world knew his story. Or at least, the basics. As a toddler, he'd managed to defeat the darkest wizard of all time by... well, they hadn't really made that part clear. 

"To what, reading?" 

He frowned slightly, taking her question as an affront. "Funny."

This wasn't going well. Why was she even talking to him? 

"I didn't mean it like that-" she said. How did she mean it? She turned fully round in her seat, attempting to look serious. "Aren't you like... I mean. Didn't you grow up with thousands of admirers? Surely they'd have briefed you on the basics of Quidditch."

Potter's face reddened, and he took to staring at the table. "Not exactly."

Was this a trait of Slytherins as well- putting their feet in their mouth? "I don't understand."

"Did Malfoy put you up to this?" he asked suddenly, frustration etched across his features. 

She blinked dumbly. Why would he think that? She'd stayed scarce as she could from him, hanging onto Teddy for dear life. Was Malfoy saying something about her? 

"Malfoy?"

Potter let out a short sigh. "He seems to have it out for me."

She vaguely remembered Malfoy talking to Potter on the stairs before entering the Great Hall for Sorting. She didn't think anything of it at the time, mainly because she was trying not to stand on a runaway toad, but maybe Malfoy had said something then?

"I don't really have anything to do with him," she said truthfully.

"Yeah," he scoffed gently, "right."

She sat quietly for a moment, thinking. What Malfoy could possibly have against Potter, she didn't know. As far as house divides went, it made sense for the two boys to have somewhat of a dislike, but for Potter to instantly think she was one of his cronies? It didn't sit right with her. No, she was nothing like Malfoy.

"I don't like pasty gits that bully people for no reason," she said, despite herself, almost clapping her hand round her mouth after she said it.

"Me neither," Potter snorted, looking at her with a strange admiration.

She liked that feeling.

She nodded back. "Well. Glad we've got that figured out."

He offered her a small smile. "Yeah."

There was something about that smile that told Hermione he didn't give it out freely. "I'm sorry if I offended you, I just grew up... elsewhere." That wasn't exactly a lie.

The smile faded. "Me too."

What did that mean? She didn't want to be rude, but she found this ten times more interesting than the tomes behind her. This was a real-life wizard, and a famous one at that, and he was talking to her. A Gryffindor to a Slytherin. Almost like they were equals. Like they could get along. Like they could be friends.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, even though she desperately wanted to know.

The smile came back, and she found that she didn't want it to disappear again. "Thanks."

She nodded, wondering if Teddy would feel the same way about the Potter boy. He wasn't arrogant, like her classmates liked to say. He just seemed sad, like he was getting as used to this world as she was. She wondered if reading more about him might shed some light on the confusion, but she felt like now that would be an intrusion.

It must be hard to grow up in the public eye, to have so many expectations on you at such a young age. She had the luxury at least of being a complete unknown. She could carve her own way, her own life, her own story. But Potter? Was he as doomed in Gryffindor as she was in Slytherin? She wondered if he even wanted to be a hero.

He tried, unsuccessfully, to flatten a bit of hair poking up at the back of his head. "You're not like the other Slytherins."

She almost took it as a compliment. "There's plenty of Slytherins that would surprise you."

Potter nodded bashfully. "Same goes for the lions."

If she was judging by the Weasley, he'd be right about that. But she didn't think it'd be right to bring that up right now.

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in a squint. "Have they always been like that?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Your glasses."

They really were awful. Much too large for his small face, scratched on the lenses, sellotaped together at the nose bar. Like he'd got them from someone's uncle and sat on them.

He took them off with a grin, turning the glasses this way and that. "Pretty much, yeah."

She didn't know what it was about him. Maybe it was the reluctance to share private details, a thing she could relate to. Perhaps it was the lingering sadness on his face even when he smiled. Whatever it was, she wanted to give him something. Even if it was something small. 

"Pass them over," she said gently, putting out her hand. 

He frowned, a little suspicious. She tried not to feel hurt by it. 

"I don't bite," she laughed gently.

The grin came back, and he rose to his feet, pacing over to her with a nervous gait. He placed the glasses in her hand, curiosity written across his features. Up close, she could see dark bags under his eyes and the unmistakeable sharpness of someone that wasn't used to eating too much. A pang of sympathy struck her in the chest. Maybe they had more in common than she thought.

Taking out her wand, she let it rest gently against the silver frames.

"Oculus repairo."

The glasses flipped twice over, shrinking slightly at her touch and gleaming in the candlelight. Sellotape leapt off the nose bar, which was now fully repaired, and the glass lenses shone like they were brand new. Happily, she held them up to Potter.

"Wow, thanks," he said, admiration flowing in his voice. He put them on, now a perfect fit. "Where'd you pick that spell up?"

"Oh, just... around," she replied casually, watching as he blinked rapidly.

"You'd think wizards would've invented a balm for short sighted-ness by now," he quipped, stepping back with the same boyish grin. 

She smiled. "Seems they're lacking in a few areas."

He awkwardly back-stepped to his table, eyes not leaving hers. "Tell me about it. From the way they talk, you'd have thought they'd do a Bubble-head and levitate to Mars by now!"

A giggle escaped her, which earned her another grin. For a moment, she basked in it. She looked out the window, which now showed an almost pitch-black sky, littered with glittering stars.

She sighed. "Trust Muggles to do something as amazing as land on the Moon and be so gaslighted as to claim it's a hoax."

Potter gave her a look. "How much do you know about the Muggle world?"

Damn. She hid her blush by pretending to stifle a yawn. It was too easy to speak to Potter, she realised with a start, just like Teddy. She had to watch what she said. She didn't imagine Potter would have nearly the same reaction to her lineage as a Slytherin, but she couldn't put it past him. She didn't really know him, after all.

"Gods, I'm tired," she said through her hands, "might be time for me to hit the hay."

Disappointment fell across Potter's face, and she quashed her guilt. "Oh, alright."

Gathering her books and shoving them onto some random shelf, her thoughts raced. She wished there was some way to mask what she was feeling, some way to control her tongue. A way she could step back, check what she said before she said it. As she was thinking this, a book title flashed before her eyes.

Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency by Franciscus Fieldwake. 

Well, if she could learn to be a witch from scratch, she could learn this. Grabbing the book, she shoved it quickly into her bag before turning back to Potter with a tired sigh. 

"See you round, Potter."

"Tomorrow with Hooch?"

"See you there."

She traipsed past him, thinking of the strangeness of this encounter. Maybe everything the students had been taught about division was an illusion. Gryffindors and Slytherins could get along, at the very least. She didn't think that sitting at their table at breakfast would gain her any friends, but it was a step.

And who knew? Getting to know Potter might help. At the very least he'd offer a different perspective on the wizarding world. He even seemed to know things about Muggles. It made her feel at home. But was that safe? She was nowhere near home, out here on the loch on the edge of a cliff. She was just as stranded as she always had been.

"Um-"

Hermione turned her head, still walking. "Yeah?"

"What's your name?"

"Granger," she threw over her shoulder with a smile. "You can call me Granger."

It seemed only right.

Chapter 4: Expelled, or Worse

It's no secret that a conscience can sometimes be a pest
It's no secret ambition bites the nails of success
Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief
All kill their inspiration and sing about the grief

 

---

 

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch.

Teddy wiggled his eyebrows at Hermione. She wished she could hex him without drawing attention.

“Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –“

Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch’s lips.

“Come back, boy!” she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle – twelve feet – twenty feet. Hermione saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and –

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. Hermione cringed, hand flying to her mouth, and watched as his broomstick rose higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

“Broken wrist,” Hermione heard her mutter. “Come on, boy – it’s all right, up you get.”

She turned to the rest of the class.

“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, dear.”

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

The class stayed appropriately quiet as they walked out of earshot. Then came the laughter, which started as a snort and bubbled until it grew into titters around the group. Malfoy was the first to burst into actual laughter.

“Oh shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati Patil.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy, looping her arm through Malfoy's. “Never thought you’d like little crybabies, Parvati.”

Something glistened on the ground and caught Hermione's attention. She stepped over her broom, frowning in curiosity.

A shadow fell over the glistening in the grass as Teddy leaned down, hand outstretched, to pick it up. It was about the size of an Easter egg, perfectly round and adorned in delicate painted gold flowers. Inside, a red-tinged fog swirled gently.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

He turned it in his hand. "A Remembrall. Must've fallen-"

“Look what Nott found!” said Malfoy as he snatched the object from Teddy's hand. “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

“Give that here, Malfoy,” Potter said quietly.

Everyone stopped talking to watch.

"Or what, Potter?" Malfoy smiled nastily.

Potter shot a glance over to Hermione, who was just as rapt with attention as the group. A flash of red blew into view and Weasley took his place at Potter's side, giving her a filthy look.

She felt it then, the distance between her and Potter. She squinted in the sunlight, just making out his freshly fixed glasses, wondering if he'd told his red-headed friend just who'd done him the favour. An uncomfortable feeling twinged in her stomach- he probably hadn't.

She felt Teddy's hand gently hold onto her sleeve. "Give over, Malfoy," he said in a bored tone. 

But Malfoy wasn't listening; he was observing Potter with the heat of someone intent on proving a point.

"Or what, Potter?" he repeated, throwing the Remembrall in the air and catching it.

"Just give it back," Potter said quietly, still looking at Hermione.

What did he want? Did he want her to step in on his behalf? Did he think that their conversation in the library had changed something? 

Sure, she'd seen beneath the veil, as it were. The myth meant nothing compared to the boy before her. He was just a shy, awkward kid sticking up for someone. And she didn't particularly give a toss what Malfoy thought. She felt sorry for Longbottom. For the name and the Remembrall.

But it wasn't like she could just out herself. If she crossed the line, she'd be putting up a wall, for goodness sake. He'd have to put more of his neck on the line to expect something like that from her. 

Why couldn't she just adopt Teddy's could-care-less attitude? She was an intruder, of course. A sheep in wolf's clothing, but prey nonetheless. To stay safe, she had to make herself even less of a target than she already was. It was cowardly. Cowardly, stupid, childish.

With an eyeroll, she let her gaze fall to the ginger boy standing beside Potter. The faithful lapdog. Easy target.

"What you looking at, snake?" Weasley sneered.

The retort came disturbingly quick to her.

“Generations of inbreeding, probably,” she snapped.

At that, the entirety of the Slytherin class burst into laughter. Even Malfoy snorted, albeit briefly. Pansy cast her an admiring glance. 

Weasley turned a deep shade of red, his fists balling up. "What did you say?"

Potter placed a hand on his friend's chest. "Leave it, Ron."

"My fami- my- we aren't-" Weasley struggled, levelling a shaking finger at her.

"Go on. Spit it out," she snapped, to more laughter.

Teddy gently tugged on her sleeve.

"Leave it," he murmured under his breath.

She was about to argue, when she saw the group's attention turn back to Malfoy as Potter walked a few steps closer.

"Last chance," he said, hand out.

“I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find –" Malfoy grinned, happy the attention was back on him, "how about – up a tree?”

"Give it here!” Potter yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hermione's hair blew across her face as a huge gust of wind rose from the ground up. She shielded her face as she watched him fly up, up, up. He was good.

Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak Malfoy called, “Come and get it, Potter!”

Potter mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush, he pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher. Screams and gasps filled the air as they watched from the ground.

"Oh my Gods!" Pansy rushed to Hermione's other side, face ashen-white, gripping her arm. Instantly, all the other girls in Slytherin ran to form ranks around the girls, all mimicking Pansy's fright.

Hermione watched as Potter turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. 

“Give it here,” they heard him call, “or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

Weasley whooped in appreciation.

"Do you think he's serious?" Pansy asked Hermione, a desperate look on her face.

She looked from side-to-side in a panic. "Uhm-"

“Oh, yeah?” Malfoy yelled, settling back on his broom with an unaffected air.

Pansy was still looking at her. 

"I don't-" Hermione began, and watched as Potter leaned forward, grasping the broom tightly in both hands. 

Uh-oh.

Potter shot toward Malfoy like a javelin, who only just got out of the way in time.

Pansy gasped, now looping her arm through Hermione's and burying her face in her robes. "I can't watch, I can't watch!" 

Potter made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away- the two were quite evenly matched. Potter clearly had not grown up flying broomsticks, but he took to it like a duck to water. And Malfoy flew with the grace of someone privately tutored, all method and practicality. 

She couldn't call it even if she tried, and she wrapped a loose arm around Pansy's shoulders, shooting Teddy a worried glance. He stood at her shoulder, and gave a half-shrug.

"Malfoy's clearly the better flier," he mumbled so only she could hear, "but Potter's got raw talent."

The boys were now flying high enough that the group on the ground could no longer make out what was being shouted back and forth. Malfoy still held the Remembrall, and was flying one-handed, taunting Potter in circles. But Potter was quick, giving him a run for his money.

"They could both do with deflating their heads a bit," she murmured back.

Deflating...

That was it! 

With her other hand not occupied by comforting a still-cowering Pansy, she pulled away from Teddy and dug into her robes for her wand. It still felt odd; like a pen that was too long for her hand and required extra negotiation. She span it in her fingers once, thinking hard.

"What are you doing?" Teddy whispered, grabbing her wrist.

"Go on, Harry!" Weasley yelled, clapping alongside the other Gryffindors.

"Trust me," she whispered back, pulling against his grip.

"What are you going to do?" he persevered, tightening his hold.

"Just be ready," she said, before angling her body in such a way that her casting would be masked from everyone else. 

She'd not searched for her magic yet. She didn't really know where to find it; was it in her chest, did it rest dormant in her mind until it was called upon, or was it running through her pulsing bloodstream with every heartbeat? It hadn't come from her parents, it had come out of nowhere. She still wasn't convinced it belonged to her, at times.

All she knew was that it seemed to flow from her body to her wand like a rushing wave against the shore. Focussing her gaze on the boys still whipping round each other in mid-air, she took a deep breath and willed her magic to come to her.

It was all about balance. For every action, an equal and opposite one. She levelled her wand.

"Gravibus alis."

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Malfoy and Potter shot each other confused looks as their brooms began to dip and wane. A collective gasp rolled across the group as the two boys began to fall, slowly but surely, towards the ground.

All hell broke loose.

Screams of "HARRY!" and "MALFOY!" erupted all over.

The boys clambered to grip onto their brooms, each seemingly attempting to will the air to carry them once again, scrambling for purchase and yelling as they hurtled down, down, down, until a whisper came from Hermione's right ear.

"Wingardium leviosa."

WHOOSH- the brooms halted their descent about four feet from the ground, sending a rush of air outwards. Malfoy managed to regain balance on his broom, looking shaken up but otherwise fine. Potter, however, slipped off the broom and landed in a lump on the ground. 

Hermione felt Teddy's hand graze against her arm as he lowered his wand. They glanced at each other briefly, before Pansy tore away from Hermione and ran towards Malfoy, who was running his hand through his hair in an attempt to look unbothered.

"Draco!" she yelped, throwing herself onto him.

A sea of red and black robes flocked around the figure on the ground. For a split second, Hermione thought she might have messed up. Maybe Potter landed on his head, snapped his neck. She took a worried step towards the group, but Teddy held her back once more.

"Let's not push our luck," he said gently, threading his fingers around her sleeve. 

She was about to argue when a great burst of joyful cheering came from the Gryffindors.

"He bloody caught it! He bloody caught it!"

Weasley, still red in the face, yanked Potter to his feet and started dancing around in a jig.

"That was wicked, Harry!"

"I can't believe you managed that!"

A glint of gold flickered in the sun. In Potter's hand was the Remembrall.

Hermione scoffed despite herself, and caught Potter's eye for the briefest moment. He nodded at her slightly.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Hermione's heart sank faster than they'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. She made her face a mask of indifference, trembling.

“Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –“ Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, “- how dare you – might have broken you neck –“

“It wasn’t his fault, Professor –“

“Quiet, Miss Winters –“

“But Malfoy –“

“That’s enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”

Hermione caught sight of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle’s triumphant faces as Potter left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall’s wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, she just knew it. She wanted to say something to defend him, but there seemed to be something wrong with her voice. 

She never got the chance. By the time Madame Hooch came back, the class was given a stern talking to about being bystanders to bad behaviour.

"What a cow," Pansy returned to Hermione's side, now apparently attached at the hip. 

Hermione hummed, avoiding her gaze.

Lunch came around quickly, and Hermione had barely spoken a word since casting the spell that had caused Potter and Malfoy's brooms to stop hovering. She gulped down a frog in her throat, the beginnings of guilt swirling in her stomach. 

The silver lining was seeing Longbottom's relieved face as the Remembrall was handed back to him at the Gryffindor table. Weasley handed it over, mouth moving with a wide grin, but she couldn't hear what was being said. She watched from the Slytherin table, squinting to see if she could make out any words.

"You're making it obvious," Teddy said beside her in a sing-song voice, filling her plate with lentil bolognese. 

She realised she was almost rising from her seat, and plonked down with a sigh. "Shut up, I'm not."

"Yes you a-are," he sang.

"How are you so relaxed about this?" she hissed back.

He smiled crookedly. "You are the reason that one of the most arrogant gits almost became pate today."

"No, you are the reason," she dug her elbow into his ribs, "if you'd not cast at just the right time-"

"Wouldn't have needed to if you didn't cast yours," he dug back, but gentler.

Her cheeks burned. "It worked, didn't it?"

"What did?" he asked innocently, casting a glance over at the beaming Longbottom.

She pulled her plate closer and dug in with an eye roll. "Alright, point taken."

Teddy twirled a forkful of spaghetti and popped it into his mouth with a wink. 

On the other side of her, Pansy was half-standing like a meerkat. Hermione couldn't figure out what she was looking for until she saw Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle walk into the Great Hall. 

"Took your time," she muttered under her breath, spearing a carrot on her fork and sitting down.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Did Malfoy end up getting in trouble?"

Pansy shot her a look. "No, but Merlin knows he'd deserve it."

This confused her. Pansy seemed to be Malfoy's biggest fan, always simpering after him wherever he went, putting her head on his shoulder and complimenting him every chance she got. That almost sounded... bitter?

"Why?"

"Why? He could have gotten expelled. And for what? A standoff with Four-Eyes and the Weasel?"

Hermione snorted. "They really seem to hate each other."

"Oh, don't get yourself confused," Pansy said, pushing a boiled potato round her plate. "Draco's not as complex as you think."

"No?"

At that moment, the Great Hall went quiet as Malfoy approached the Gryffindor table.

Now that she was paying attention, she realised Potter had returned to his friends, looking bashful but pleased. Longbottom was showing him the Remembrall and pointing out some kind of detail on it when Malfoy sauntered over.

“Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

She couldn't help it. Even though the jab was directed at someone else, Hermione felt heat rushing to her cheeks. 

“You’re a lot braver now that you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you,” Potter remarked coolly.

There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl. Pansy stiffened beside her.

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” Malfoy leaned in. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before, I suppose?”

“Of course he has,” Weasley piped up, wheeling around. “I’m his second, who’s yours?”

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, clearly sizing them up.

“Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.”

"Oh for goodness sake!" Pansy hissed, and a potato went flying across the table into Millicent's lap. 

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Mills," Pansy snapped, crumpling up her napkin and getting to her feet.

"Where you going?" Hermione asked.

"Off to give that git a piece of my mind," she said, tucking her black bob behind her ears and putting a hand on her hip. "Why? Fancy being in the audience?"

Hermione began shaking her head when Teddy blurted out beside her, "Obviously."

With a nasty grin, Pansy began storming off after Malfoy, who had already disappeared from the Great Hall. Teddy shovelled down a few more mouthfuls of bolognese before grabbing Hermione's sleeve and yanking.

"Wait! What-" but it was too late, she was dragged to her feet and off following them.

Gods, Pansy could walk fast when she wanted to. She and Teddy had barely made it out of the Hall just as they saw a flash of jet black hair whip around a corner at the end of the corridor. Picking up the pace to a light jog, they followed along until they were in the huge atrium that led either to the library, upstairs to classrooms, or down into the dungeons. 

"Comeoncomeoncomeon-" 

She bit back a laugh as Teddy dragged her across the atrium, ducking through the crowds and down the darkened hallway that opened up onto a descending staircase. The sounds of rapid feet hitting stone and barely concealed giggles were all that echoed down the stairs as Hermione struggled to keep up.

Just as they came to the stretch of hall that pushed towards the Slytherin common room, they stopped in their tracks. 

There, standing off against each other as if they were in some eighties Western, were Malfoy and Pansy.

"A duel, Draco? Really?" 

"Malfoy gave 'im plenty of chances to back down-"

"Oh shut up, Crabbe!"

"Oi- leave him alone-"

"Crabbe, will you tell your other brain cell to butt out?"

"Eh?"

"Wotcher mean?"

"Enough," Malfoy's voice struck through the bickering loud and clear. "Go, the pair of you."

Crabbe and Goyle huffed, but they retreated down the corridor until the unmistakeable sound of a door clicking told everyone present that they'd gone. Hermione bit her lip, clinging onto Teddy, barely breathing. 

"I cannot believe you-"

"It really isn't any of your business, Pans."

"You think that getting into a duel with Potter makes you big and strong?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"You think that getting in trouble is cool?"

"Sorry, what?"

"You get in trouble, we all do-"

"Snape wouldn't let it get that far-"

"What do you know what Snape would or wouldn't do?"

"Snape hates Potter-"

"Like you do?"

"Like I do."

"What's he even done to you?"

"I don't see you showing the same empathy to the Patil girl."

"Please, Parvati is an idiot-"

"Potter is an idiot-"

"Are you jealous of him, or something??"

"Watch your mouth, Pans, I'm serious-"

"I just don't get it!" Pansy said, actually stomping her foot in anger. The impact reverberated down the corridor. "You proved your point! You're a better flier than Potter, you're better liked than Potter, you're better looking than Potter-"

"That's not exactly hard-"

"You stayed on your broom while Potter fell on his arse-"

"Idiot-"

"We get it! You don't like him, big deal!"

"No, you don't get it, Pansy!" Malfoy shouted back. "Do you want to know what I heard? Wood told Sparks who told Greene who told us that Potter's been made Seeker. A first year! Seeker!"

"IS THIS SERIOUSLY ABOUT QUIDDITCH?"

"You don't understand!"

"Then explain it!"

"First years aren't allowed to be on the Quidditch team; they're too young, too inexperienced. But Potter, smarmy little git that he is, has been made Gryffindor Seeker, all for pulling off that stunt with the Remembrall! I was the one that started that whole thing off in the first place! He just gets everything handed to him on a silver platter! Just because he defeated the Dark Lord when he was a baby! A baby!"

"Oh, I cannot believe-"

Hermione felt Teddy tug on her sleeve gently and she turned to look at him.

We should go, he mouthed. She nodded.

It had been a weird sort of day, Hermione thought, as she lay awake much later listening to Millicent and Tracy sleep soundly (albeit snoring for England). She'd spent all evening avoiding the dungeon corridor until she and Teddy were absolutely certain that Pansy and Malfoy were no longer arguing down there.

Pansy had returned at some point in the night, red-eyed and puffy in the face, refusing to speak to anyone. When Hermione sat up and said her name, the girl had rushed over to Hermione's bed and spent the next hour quietly crying into her shoulder. She wasn't sure how or when it had happened, but she'd made a friend out of Pansy. And she didn't mind it at all. In fact, she quite liked it.

Teddy hadn't come out of the boy's room all night. At the time where he'd usually knock onto the girl's door and say good night, he hadn't shown. She knew he was probably trying to convince Malfoy not to go to the stupid duel, but all the same, she kind of hoped he wasn't. If Malfoy wanted to show himself up and get into trouble, that was his decision.

You get in trouble, we all do.

Something about Pansy's words rang through her head all evening. What did that mean? In terms of house points, she supposed Pansy had a point. But she didn't seem to be the type of girl to massively care about that kind of thing. In all honesty, neither did Hermione. She could hardly take pride in a house she didn't belong in. 

Snape definitely showed preferential treatment to Slytherins. Especially those that had a strong family name. But he didn't go and get Malfoy a place on the Quidditch team. McGonagall did. Was that what had rubbed Malfoy up the wrong way? Did he realise that preferential treatment isn't always equal? She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to wrap her head around it.

She cast a glance over to the alarm clock on her bedside table. Twenty past eleven.

You get in trouble, we all do.

Flipping the covers off her and sitting up, she sighed. She put her slippers on and threw her dressing gown round her shoulders, tightening it around the waist. Tying her hair into a messy bun at the base of her neck, she grabbed her wand and quietly left the room.

A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the sofas into hunched black shadows. She had almost reached the door when a voice spoke from the chair nearest her, “I can’t believe you thought you were going to do this without me.”

A lamp flickered on. It was Teddy, wearing a black bathrobe and a grin.

"Bloody hell!" she gasped, clutching her chest.

He snickered. “If you’re going to go, you have to take me.” he got up, stepping forward. “I’m not going to be left out.”

"Alright, alright," she laughed, pulling him towards the door, "Move it then!"

She pushed open the door and stepped out into the corridor. She was glad in that moment to have worn slippers, because it was absolutely freezing.

"Did you hear Malfoy leave?"

"No," Teddy whispered back as they walked, "I fell asleep for about half an hour, and when I woke up he was gone."

"Crabbe and Goyle?"

"I don't know, they're in another room."

"They don't share a room?"

"Guess not."

"Wait- who's in with you?"

They climbed up the set of stairs leading to the atrium, pausing at the top and craning their necks to check the coast was clear. When Teddy nodded, they crossed the atrium.

"Uh, me, Malfoy, Blaise?"

"Just the three of you?"

"Yeah, why?"

They flitted along corridors stripped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Hermione expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

"Don't know, I just figured you'd all room together."

"I think it's all the Purest-" Teddy began before stopping himself, cheeks turning red.

"What?" she asked, but he nudged her to look forward.

Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Hemione took out her wand in case someone leapt in. The minutes crept by.

“He’s late, maybe he’s chickened out,” someone whispered from the other side of the room.

Hermione shot Teddy a look. Then, a noise made them both jump; a plate or shield fell from a shelf, clanging on the floor as it rolled around.

Hermione took out her wand and matched Teddy's pace as they moved into the room. Shuffling noises were coming from where they'd heard the voice, and she raised her wand when she heard a familiar voice say, "Now!"

The next few seconds were a blur as two figures jumped out from behind a trophy case, wands waving round in the air and shooting red sparks. Teddy yanked on Hermione's sleeve and stood in front of her like a human shield, protecting her from the onslaught that was...

Potter and Weasley. Breathing hard, wands still raised, but stood still now.

"What in Merlin's name-" Teddy began.

"Did he send you instead? Bloody coward!" Weasley bit out, snapping back into motion and levelling his wand at Teddy's chest.

"Wait, wait-" Harry pulled on Weasley's hand, noticing Hermione peeking over Teddy's shoulder. "It's fine, Ron-"

"Fine? Has he sent the whole of bloody Slytherin after us?"

"Be quiet-"

"You can't trust them, Harry-"

Hermione pushed Teddy gently aside and held up a hand. Silence fell as she tilted her head to the side, motioning towards the door.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.”

Filch. It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horror-struck, Hermione waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch’s voice. Weasley's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

“They’re in here somewhere,” they heard him mutter, “probably hiding.”

“This way!” Teddy mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Weasley suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run – he tripped, grabbed Potter around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

“RUN!” Hermione finally yelled, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see weather Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Teddy in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near the Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Teddy panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead.

Weasley was bent double, wheezing and spluttering. “I – told – you,” he gasped, clutching at the stitch in his chest, “I – told – you.”

“We’ve got to get back to Gryffindor tower,” said Potter, “quickly as possible.”

“Malfoy tricked you,” Teddy said to Potter. “You realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.”

Hermione watched as realisation dawned on Potter's face.

“Let’s go,” Teddy said to her, but it wasn’t going to be that simple. They hadn’t gone more than a few paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

A little man dressed in loud, outlandish clothes including a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie hovered in mid-air with a wild, Cheshire grin. Hermione reeled back in horror as the man caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

“Shut up, Peeves," Potter groaned. Peeves? Is that what this thing was called? "– please – you’ll get us thrown out.”

Peeves cackled.

“Wandering around at night, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naught, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please.”

“Should tell Filch, I should,” said Peeves with a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way,” snapped Weasley, taking a swipe at Peeves as Teddy attempted to hold him back- this was a big mistake.

“STUDENTS OUT OF BED!” Peeves bellowed, “STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!”

Ducking under Peeves, they all ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door – and it was locked.

“This is it!” Weasley moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door, “We’re done for! This is the end!”

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeve’s shouts. Hermione's heart thudded in her chest. She was going to get thrown out of school. A school she wanted to run away from not so long ago. The irony of it briefly passed through her mind before she came back to, both palms planted on the locked door.

“I know a spell that can unlock doors,” she panted. “The incantation was – it was...”

"Oh, screw this!" Weasley snapped, and took off running back down the corridor.

"RON!" Potter reached out.

"Minnie.."

"I know it, I know it-"

The footsteps were getting ever closer, and Peeves' voice ever louder as they made their way towards the group.

"Minnie, come on-"

She grabbed her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

“Which way did they go, Peeves?” Filch was saying. “Quick, tell me.”

“Say ‘please.’”

“Don’t mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?”

“Shan’t say nothing id you don’t say please,” said Peeved in his annoying singsong voice.

“All right – please.”

“NOTHING! He haaa! Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you didn’t say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!” And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

“He thinks this door is locked,” Teddy whispered. “I think we’ll be okay – get off, Potter!” For Potter had been tugging on the sleeve of Teddy's bathrobe for the last minute. “What?”

Hermione turned around – and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, she was sure she’d walked into a nightmare – this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far. They weren’t in a room, as she had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Hermione knew that the only reason they weren’t already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Hermione groped for the doorknob – between Filch and death, she’d take Filch.

They fell backward – Hermione slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn’t see him anywhere, but they hardly cared – all they wanted to do was put as much space between them and that monster. They didn’t stop running until they reached the central staircase.

They paused for a moment to catch their breath, clutching at their sides and gasping for air.

"What. The Hell. Was that?" Potter whisper-shouted.

Hermione locked eyes with Teddy through a few loose curls falling across her face. The look he gave her was enough to tell her that he'd seen what she had, and that Potter clearly hadn't. He half-shrugged as if to offer her the opportunity to raise it out loud.

"No idea," Hermione finally responded, leaning against a banister. 

"I mean, what do you think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?"

Teddy scoffed. "Beats me, mate."

When they'd all regained most of their motor functions, the awkwardness returned. 

"I better go," Potter muttered. "Thanks for, well..."

Teddy nodded. "About your mate-"

"He'll probably have gotten back to the common room by now," Potter said, avoiding their gazes.

"Well, we'd better-" Hermione trailed off. "Let's not... mention this to anyone, okay?"

"We could've been expelled."

"Or worse," Hermione said under her breath. 

They did an awkward nod at each other before departing to their separate common rooms, Potter heading upstairs, and Hermione down to the dungeons with Teddy. 

"Did you see what it was standing on?" Teddy whispered as they crossed the main atrium.

She nodded. "The trap door."

They jogged downstairs side by side.

"What do you reckon?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly, pushing the common room door open, "but I suggest we sleep on it."

Teddy hummed thoughtfully, pausing at his bedroom door.

She stopped, suddenly remembering something. "What you said, earlier."

"What?"

"Something about all the Purest- when I asked why you room with Malfoy-"

The same blush from earlier rose in Teddy's cheeks.

"Let me sleep on it," he said after a moment. "Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow."

If it really made him that uncomfortable, she supposed it could wait. She shrugged, not really in the frame of mind to be worrying about social politics when she'd literally seen a three-headed dog monster just minutes ago. 

She shuddered. "Sweet dreams."

Teddy scoffed. "After that? Not a chance."

Chapter 5: Halloween

If there's some living to be done
Before your life becomes your tomb
You'd better know that I'm the one
Unchain your back door
Invite me around

 

---

 

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone’s attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls.

Hermione was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of Potter, effectively knocking his breakfast to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

She bit back a groan as Malfoy stood bolt upright at the table, red in the face and breathing hard. 

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," Pansy murmured, leaning into Hermione, "tell me I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming, and in a minute I'll wake up drooling on my pillow."

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Teddy said cheerfully as he took his seat next to her and began pulling over a tray of veggie sausages. "I heard the professors talking about it this morning. It's exactly what we think it is."

"Urgh!" Pansy moaned, shoving her face into her hands. 

Hermione patted her on the shoulder. "At least it's not caused a scene-"

At that exact moment Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, began storming over to where Potter and Weasley were quickly exiting the hall trying to unwrap the package. Hermione cringed.

"-well, there goes that."

She watched uncomfortably as Malfoy seized the package from Potter and felt it. “That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”

Weasley seemed unable to resist biting back.

“It’s not just any old broomstick,” he said, “it’s a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you’ve got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?” 

“What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn’t afford half the handle,” Malfoy snapped back. “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.”

Before Weasley could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Potter. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,” said Potter, seemingly fighting back laughter at the look of horror on Malfoy’s face. “And it’s really thanks to Malfoy here that I’ve got it,” he added.

With that, he and Weasley headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Malfoy’s obvious rage and confusion.

"Is it over?" Pansy mumbled through her fingers.

"Yup," Teddy reached over the both of them, scooping up a portion of scrambled eggs. "And my, my, wasn't it anti-climatic?"

Hermione tried not to laugh, still patting Pansy's shoulder soothingly. All things considered, it was a brief confrontation. It could definitely have gone worse. And she supposed Potter had a point. Had Malfoy not stolen Longbottom's Remembrall, he wouldn't even be on the team.

Even Hermione, who up until a few weeks ago knew nothing of Quidditch, knew that a Nimbus Two Thousand was an impressive broom. Teddy had already regaled her of the upgrades from the previous model, offering a sleeker and more efficient flying style. 

Not that she cared massively, but it did cause her a slight twinge knowing that Gryffindor had a brand-new broom on their Quidditch team. She didn't think Snape would just up and buy something like that for Slytherin, no matter how competitive he may be. And he was competitive. 

Potions was quickly becoming one of her favourite lessons. It reminded her of Muggle Chemistry. It had the same intrinsic joy to it, mixing things together and marvelling at what they did. Only in the wizarding world, she didn't have to remember the periodic table, which she considered a huge bonus. She supposed it was the easy rhythm of it, the method that soothed her. 

She felt as if she was slowly falling into a pattern at Hogwarts. The dreams of escaping were becoming less and less frequent. She still felt like an intruder, but she felt as though she was beginning to build a mask, one that was enough to convince those around her of her place in this world. The only thing the mask didn't do was convince her.

Still, she couldn't help but stop and admire the sheer magic of it all at times. As she became more familiar with the focus that reactive spellcasting took, learnt the difference between a Chaser and a Beater, and successfully began Transfiguring matchboxes into music boxes, she felt like she was getting more tuned into where her magic came from.

Perhaps it was how busy she became with homework and hanging out with her strange new friendship group of Teddy, Pansy, Daphne and Tracy, but Hermione could hardly believe it when she realised she'd been at Hogwarts two months. 

It almost felt like home.

On Halloween morning, she woke to the smell of pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Teddy hated the smell, but it reminded Hermione of scooping out the innards of the fruit every year with her mum, and it made her feel strangely sad. 

Even better than this, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were all ready to start using the flying charm on much heavier objects, something they'd all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Longbottom's toad zoom around the classroom. Putting the class into pairs to practice, Hermione was relieved to be put with Teddy. He was particularly gifted at Charms, and Pansy was nearby paired with Draco. It was difficult to tell who was angrier about this. Things had been awkward between them since the day Potter's broomstick had arrived.

“Now, don’t forget that nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest.”

It was difficult. Hermione and Teddy swished and flicked, but the cactus they were supposed to be sending skyward just gently floated above the desktop. Hermione got so impatient that she prodded it with her wand and accidentally set fire to it- Teddy had to put it out with his hat before Flitwick saw.

Malfoy, at the next table, was lazily levitating his notebook with ease. It clearly set Pansy's teeth on edge as she faced straight-on, determined to make her vase levitate, but with no luck. Hermione looked away quickly as Malfoy cast his eyes her way. She didn't want any part in their drama.

Weasley, however, wasn't having any luck at all. 

“Wingardium Leviosa!” he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

She smirked as Potter closed his eyes in frustration. Even he found it ridiculous.

"I think you might be saying it wrong, mate," Potter said under his breath.

The large serving platter that Weasley was jabbing his wand at sat completely still.

"Wingardium Leviosa!” he continued, growing a deeper red in the face the more he realised he wasn't succeeding. "Wingardium Leviosa! Wingardium Leviosa! Win. Gardy. Uhmm. Leveeooh. Saaaaaaaaahhhh!” 

Teddy snorted beside her. "Prat."

Crabbe and Goyle, who had also yet to send their objects flying and had absolutely no grounds with which to be speaking, began laughing at Weasley's attempts and mimicking his arm movement. This only made Weasley more agitated.

Hermione watched as Potter slumped back into his chair and locked eyes with her. He shrugged hopelessly as if to say what more can I do?

She sighed. 

Leaning over her table, she said gently, "Try saying it differently. It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

He looked up at her, anger marring his face. 

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” he snarled.

With another sigh, she rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The cactus rose off the desk and hovered about six feet above their heads, twisting in the air slightly. 

“Oh, well done!” cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s done it! Ten points to Slytherin!”

Teddy clapped her on the back, and Pansy shot her a private, sweet smile. Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

Weasley was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

As they all pushed their way into the crowded corridor, Hermione paused against the wall to shove her notes back into her bag. Teddy hung back, ducking as older students came rushing down, late on their way to the next class.

“It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” a voice said angrily somewhere behind her, “she’s a nightmare, honestly.”

That caught Hermione's attention, and she turned round to see Weasley gesturing widely at Potter, who was looking incredibly awkward.

"She's a bloody Slytherin, harping on and nagging someone that's not even in her house. I mean, who does she think she is?" 

Potter caught Hermione's eye over Weasley's shoulder, and the colour drained from his face. His mouth opened to argue, but Weasley continued.

"Just because she knows a few spells doesn't mean she can go running round telling people what to do! She's such a bitch."

Her stomach clenched as thar last word left Weasley's mouth.

Bitch.

She'd heard that word before, many times. It always gave her the same feeling. 

Turning on her heel, she threw her bag over her shoulder and took off running down the corridor, biting back the tears that were threatening to pour down her face.

"Hey! Minnie-" Teddy shouted after her, but he got caught up in the crowd.

Taking the opportunity, she bore down and ducked in between people as they made their way to-and-fro, hiding her face as she went. Breathing hard, she managed to make it down to the far end of the corridor in just a few seconds before bursting out on the other side towards the stairs.

She was so angry. That was what struck her. The audacity of it. She'd done a nice thing, she'd leaned over and given him advice! While other people were laughing and taking the mickey, she'd gone out of her way to give him a hand. And he'd taken it as such a huge hit to the ego that he'd called her...

Her face scrunched up as the tears continued to fall. As she descended the staircase, blotting her damp cheeks, she bumped into Malfoy and Pansy.

"Hey, watch it-" Pansy snapped, then saw as Hermione ducked past the pair. "Minnie? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she called over her shoulder, now at a half-jog as she rounded into the next corridor. God, please don't follow, she prayed.

Pushing into the girl's bathroom, she quickly found an empty stall at the very back and slammed it closed behind her. She threw her bag on the floor and slumped down onto the floor, sobbing heavily. Her chest felt like it was going to explode. She held a clawed hand over her heart, trying to breathe through the pain of it, but as every sob wrecked through her body, she fell deeper and deeper into panic.

Her mind spun. Thoughts she'd been trying to suppress came flooding back in an instant.

The initial joy of discovering she was a witch. The shock of panic when she worried that it was all a dream. The fear of lying her way into Hogwarts. Her parents arguing over bills. Her mum, wiping away dried mascara from her cheeks. The ache in her belly as she watched her dad chuck their dinner into the bin, screaming at the top of his lungs about paying for boarding school. The jolt of inspiration when she thought about creating a fake scholarship.

The unfamiliarity of walking down Diagon Alley. The trembling of her hands as she listened closely to children and their parents depositing money into Gringotts. Her nausea as she approached one of the tellers with a purse full of Muggle money, his displeasure at having to exchange the currency. Her palms sweating as she took hold of wand after wand, certain she'd be found out as a fraud. The numbness when one finally felt right.

She felt the back of her head hit the stall as the images continued flashing before her eyes. Boarding the Hogwarts Express, double checking she'd bought the right robes. Fumbling her way through buying her first pumpkin pastie, mouth dry as she tried to chew. Her heart pounding as they got off the boats. The Sorting Ceremony. Knocking shoulders with Malfoy. Teddy's easy smile. Pansy leaning her head into her shoulder.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heartbeat swelled in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her gasping for breath. 

By the time she came to, the bathrooms had grown dark. 

"Oh my God," she whispered to herself, feeling her heart rate finally come down to a normal level. 

Slowly getting to her feet, she could barely feel her hands as she fumbled around for the door handle. She barely even noticed the sound of heavy dragging coming from the entrance to the bathroom. 

As she rounded the corner, walking slowly towards the sinks, she finally looked up.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to the sinks and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

Mouth dry, Hermione began backing up at a snail's pace, when it noticed her. It blinked a few times, as if it couldn't understand what it was seeing. But when it realised Hermione wasn't disappearing, a low and dreadful grunt came from its mouth.

"Unngh!" it shouted, slamming its club into the sinks with a crash.

With a yell of shock, Hermione backed up against the wall. She felt around in her pocket for her wand, but with a twist in her stomach she realised it had fallen out of her pocket while she was in the stall. 

The troll began advancing, dragging its feet as it clambered its way towards her, club raised.

"Granger!" a voice yelled from behind the troll.

"Confuse it!" another voice.

Hermione finally snapped into action, adrenaline coursing through her body as she ducked back into the stall, shutting the door behind her with a slam. It wouldn't keep the troll out indefinitely, but it might slow it down. 

“Oy, pea-brain!” yelled the voice from the other side of the chamber, and they threw what sounded like a metal pipe at the troll.

She rummaged around under her bag, grabbing at her wand and cringing as she heard smash after smash after smash. The sounds of wood cracking and splintering echoed around the chamber with the grunts of two people attempting to attack the troll.

"Minnie," she heard the voice yell, and finally placed it as Teddy.

The wooden stall suddenly splintered above her with a great crack, and Hermione instinctively ducked as she felt a huge whoosh of air as the troll's club swung over her head and into the wall beside her.

Hermione fell to the floor as wood and tile rained down on her, slamming into her shoulders and legs. She covered her head with her arms as she waited for the worst of it to finish before chancing a glance over her shoulder. The troll snarled down at her, drool dripping from its bottom lip. 

With a yelp, she began scooting along the floor, squeezing underneath to the next stall, and the next. The troll followed her, swinging its club and destroying the stalls one by one as she barely outpaced it. All the while, she heard Teddy and someone else following their tracks, shouting and throwing objects their way in an attempt to distract the troll.

She squeezed underneath the last cubicle and crawled her way to some cover underneath the sinks, whipping her head around.

"Oh my God," she said, recognising the second person. It was Potter.

Teddy ripped a pipe out of the wall, his back to her, and looked as if he was bracing for impact as Potter then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: he took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll’s neck from behind. The troll couldn’t feel him hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Potter's wand had still been in his hand when he’d jumped – it had gone straight up one of the troll’s nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Potter clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club. Pulling out her own wand – not knowing what she was going to do with it- she heard Teddy cry: “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew suddenly out of the troll’s hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over – and dropped, with a sickening crack, on its owner’s head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room shake.

Hermione immediately ran over towards the huge cloud of billowing dust, seeking out her saviours.

To her relief, she saw Potter get to his feet, shaking and out of breath. He offered Teddy- who had fallen backwards to get away from the troll- a hand to get up. He took it, rubbing his head with a look of amazement, staring at what he had done.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

“Is it – dead?” 

Teddy spun around, eyes wide in shock.

"Thank Merlin!" he shouted and bumbled towards her, crushing her in a huge hug that drew all breath from her.

“I don’t think so,” Potter said, avoiding her gaze, “I think it’s just been knocked out.”

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy gray glue.

“Urgh – troll bogies.”

He wiped it on the troll’s trousers as Teddy finally released her, but he didn't let go of her sleeve.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn’t realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll’s roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Quirrell bringing up the rear.

Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Hermione, Teddy and Potter. Hermione had never seen her look so angry- her lips were white. 

“What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Teddy looked at Potter, who was still standing with his wand in the air. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”

Snape gave Potter a swift, piercing look. Potter looked at the floor. 

Then a small voice came out of her throat.

“Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me.”

“Miss Granger!”

Hermione blinked, surprising herself. “I... I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I’ve read all about them.”

Potter dropped his wand. 

“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. Potter stuck his wand up its nose, he distracted the troll from me, and Ted... Theodore knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

Teddy and Potter tried to look as though this story wasn’t new to them. 

“Well – in that case…” said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione hung her head, avoiding eye contact, her heart still racing.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Slytherin for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get back down to the dungeons. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Professor McGonagall turned to the two boys.

“Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a fully-grown mountain troll and lived to tell the tale," there was a long pause as Teddy's grip on her sleeve tightened. McGonagall's eye twitched. "You each win your respective houses five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go.”

They all hurried out of the chamber and didn’t speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

“We should have gotten more than five points,” Teddy grumbled.

“None, you mean, once she’s taken off Granger's.”

"I'm right here, you know," she snapped, but neither of them heard her. 

“Good of her to get us out of trouble like that,” Teddy admitted.

“Mind you, we did save her,” Potter replied, nodding away.

“She might not have needed saving if your mate hadn't run his mouth,” Teddy came to a slow stop in the main atrium, turning to face Potter.

The top of his cheeks underneath his round spectacles turned pink. He dropped his head.

"Yeah," he murmured, crossing his arms. "About that..."

"Leave it," Hermione whispered, tugging on Teddy's sleeve, "it's fine."

Teddy didn't move. 

Potter shifted uncomfortably. "I told him soon as you left, what he said was bang out of order."

"It's fine," she reiterated, louder this time. She nodded towards Potter. "Thanks."

"Then how come it wasn't him that came down to get her?" Teddy continued as if she'd not even spoken. "How come it was just you?"

Potter didn't seem to know what to say to that. 

Teddy had a point. If Potter really had confronted his friend, why had Weasley not been the one to make good on his apology? Maybe he didn't want to apologise, Hermione thought, if he really had meant what he'd said. It wasn't as if his opinion mattered all too much to Hermione. He'd already gone and outed himself as a bit of a prat, in her eyes at least. It was the combination of words that had caught her off guard.

She's such a bitch. The words were so harsh. So familiar.

Teddy nodded, as if he'd come to a similar conclusion. "Appreciate the help, but next time-"

"There won't be one," Potter said firmly. 

There was a very embarrassed pause. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said “Thanks,” and hurried off to their respective dorm rooms.

But from that moment on, Harry Potter became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.

Chapter 6: Best Left Unseen

It's Grim Up North
It's Grim Up North
It's Grim Up North
It's Grim Up North

 

---

 

As they entered November, the weather turned cold. The lake chilled over, with older students attempting to charm their boots into makeshift ice-skates, spinning around the lake's surface no longer than a few minutes before plunging into its freezing depths. Dumbledore had to put a ward up around the lake to put a stop to it. 

The mountains that wrapped around the school turned an icy grey, and every morning the ground was caked in frost. The gamekeeper, a huge and hairy half-giant man could be seen bundled up in a long moleskin coat, fur-lined gloves and enormous leather boots, attempting to salt the walkways. When she asked Teddy why he didn't just use a heating charm, he gave her a look and told her 'he doesn't have a wand'. 

The Quidditch season had also begun, much to Hermione's distaste. It was all anyone could talk about; on Saturday, Potter would be playing in his first match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

"Not that it matters anyway," she told Pansy as they lounged in the common room, playing Exploding Snap. "I've seen house points dished out because a Hufflepuff pronounced Flitwick's name right."

Pansy scoffed, placing a card down. "Sometimes I can really tell you were born in another country."

Hermione looked up, her cheeks warming. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes it's like you have no idea what we're talking about," Tracy- a blonde, petite girl- said from beneath her as she lay there, feet up on the sofa flicking through her book. "Is Quidditch not a big deal in France or something?"

"France plays in the World Cup," Daphne said from beside the fire, warming her hands.

Pansy shuffled her cards. "Thank Merlin your family follows Quidditch, Daph, else I'd have nothing to say when Draco starts waffling on."

Daphne shot her a smile.

Thankful for the brief distraction, Hermione collected herself. Sometimes she got so comfortable that she forgot she was basically winging this entire situation. Being so nonchalant about house points and Quidditch teams could get her caught out.

Grinning as she placed her card atop Pansy's, it erupted in short bursts of flames, indicating she'd won the round. Pansy rolled her eyes and chucked her cards to one side.

"Guess I'm just not competitive," she said with a wink.

But as it happened, she was.

"What is the m-most effective," Professor Quirrell stuttered that Friday afternoon, "d-d-defensive stance?"

The class was divided into two rows, facing each other at either end of the classroom. It was raining outside, and she could see a number of students looking disappointed at the state of the weather, meaning they couldn't sneak out and fly their brooms.

She loved the rain. Rain meant a cosy night in, wrapped in a blanket, reading a book. Sad as it was, it was her biggest comfort. The other Slytherins didn't seem to mind that she had commandeered a small corner of the common room next to the window. There, knees up to her chest, she'd lazily flick through volume after volume on wizarding history, mentally testing herself on it.

Quidditch Through the Ages was her latest read. As it turned out, reading about the sport did nothing to invigorate her interest in it. She learned that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and the fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Teddy nudged her in the arm, and she realised that she'd been staring off into the distance.

"M-m-miss?" Quirrell looked at her, clearly expecting an answer.

He was an odd sort of fellow. Tall, gangly in long robes that almost drowned his entire body; he always seemed to have his hands knotted together, twisting this way and that in an anxious kind of way. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen a white man wearing a turban before, either, but she supposed that wizarding customs must be different than Muggle ones.

Drawing in a breath, she said, "Sorry, what was that, Sir?"

"What is the m-most," he stammered, clearly agitated at having to repeat himself, "effective d-d-defensive stance?"

She felt a bit sorry for him, really. Nobody appeared to be listening, in particular. He didn't hold the same level of presence that McGonagall did, nor did he have the same aura of Snape. Even Flitwick could control a class, if needed. Quirrell seemed like he was fresh out of school himself.

So she thought for a moment, considering her options. "I guess... it depends?" 

Someone snickered further down the room. Turning toward the noise, Quirrell locked eyes with Weasley.

"S-something funny?" he asked, but without any real power.

Weasley shot him a look as if to say, are you serious? But Quirrell just looked at him.

"Right, well..."

"Here we go," Teddy muttered under his breath.

"My dad works at the Ministry-"

And HE says, Teddy mouthed. 

"-you're to as put as much distance between yourself and your attacker-"

As physically possible, Teddy finished.

Hermione smirked.

"Y-y-your father works at the M-M-Ministry?"

Weasley nodded proudly, locks of red hair bouncing with the movement.

"W-w-which d-d-department?"

"Misuse of Muggle Artefacts-"

Quirrell turned back to face Hermione. "Y-y-you were saying?"

"Well," she began, voice trembling slightly from the suppressed laughter. "I'd say it depends on what's attacking you."

Quirrell nodded encouragingly for her to continue.

"Say you're faced against another wizard, maybe some distance would help, but-" she thought about the giant, three-headed dog hidden inside the castle, guarding its mysterious bounty. "Taking a few steps away from a dragon won't stop it setting you on fire."

Teddy and Pansy chuckled under their breath. 

"Precisely! Ten points to S-Slytherin!"

Behind Quirrell, Weasley was fuming.

"W-w-with that in m-mind," Quirrell said, walking to the end of the rows and addressing the class as a whole, "we'll take it in t-turns. Gryffindors, at the ready!"

Opposite her, a girl with with wildly curly blonde hair took up an offensive stance, her wand directed at Hermione's chest. The entire row, she saw, followed suit as they faced the Slytherins down.

"Annnnnd, g-g-go!"

Shots of red sparks jetted across the room, swirling and twisting before attempting to land their mark. Hermione was ready, putting her left foot back and raising her arm in a smooth block that sent the jet flying back where it came from. The girl scowled, clearly annoyed. 

Beside her, she saw that not a single Gryffindor had hit their mark. Potter had come close with Teddy, his sleeve was slightly singed. Teddy looked impressed.

"Aaaaand, S-Slytherin!"

In one fluid motion, she span on her toes and directed a stream of red sparks in a graceful curve that caught the Gryffindor girl off guard, and they burst in her face in hot pops. She clambered back, smacking them away like wasps. Hermione grinned.

"OW! NO FAIR, HE CHEATED!" 

She turned, clearly she wasn't the only one that hit her target. Weasley was bent double, panting and gripping the side of his face as steam billowed from between his fingers. A harsh red tinge began to bloom on his face.

She looked opposite to see Malfoy, his eyebrow raised lazily. "Have you ever considered the possibility that you're just incredibly slow?"

Weasley glared at him as Potter and a few others went over to see how he was. 

"You're a coward, Malfoy," he snapped, rubbing his cheek. "Only attack when there's a teacher nearby? Brave of you."

"Only kick off when you've got your whole house behind you?" Malfoy bit back.

Weasley grabbed his wand and started storming towards Malfoy, but Potter held him back.

"He's not worth it-"

"I didn't forget! You're the only one that didn't show up to that duel-"

"Ron, let it go-"

Malfoy smirked. "Aren't you the one that ran away?"

Weasley opened his mouth to retort, but Quirrell stood in between the pair. 

"N-No fighting in c-class, boys!" he said in his best attempt at putting his foot down. "W-Weeble! Ten p-points from Gryffindor!"

Weeble, Teddy mouthed to her in delight. She bit back a smile.

The rest of class was uneventful. She thought she'd enjoy Defence Against the Dark Arts, it definitely sounded cool when she read about it. Fighting off wizards and dark creatures left, right and centre. But if it was just shooting red sparks and getting into petty arguments, it wasn't really her bag. Thinking about the copy of Dangerous Lookalikes: How To Spot Venemous Tentacula. Devil's Snare and Snargaluff Pods under her pillow in the dungeons, at least Herbologists made their subject sound fun.

She stood out in the freezing courtyard during break, and conjured up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. Pansy, Tracy and Daphne and Hermione huddled around it, getting their hands warm, when Snape crossed the yard. She noticed at once that Snape seemed to be limping. They all instinctively moved closer to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed.

Snape cast a look their way, looking at the flame, but he either didn't care or it wasn't his intended target, as he kept limping towards a group of Gryffindors.

"Personally," Teddy appeared behind Hermione, making her jump. "I think those ten points should have gone to Malfoy for singing Weeble's bumfluff."

"At least it was entertaining," Pansy said, rubbing her hands together. "Quirrell's about as interesting as plucking my eyebrows."

Hermione grinned, moving sideways so Teddy could join them around the flame. "Who would you rather?"

Pansy's eyes shot up. "Minnie!"

"What?" she asked, confused.

"You can't just ask who would you rather about a professor!" Tracy said, her cheeks warming.

Her stomach dropped. "I meant who would you rather have teach Defence! Not, not-"

"I don't know, it kind of sounded like-"

"Shut up, Teddy!"

Pansy grinned, tucking her hands underneath her armpits as she leaned in. "But like... who?"

Hermione jabbed a laughing Teddy in the side. "Who, what?"

"Who would you rather?"

Tracy squeaked out a laugh, covering her mouth.

Hermione blushed. "I- I don't..."

"Kiss, marry, kill," Pansy said with a wicked glint in her eyes. "Snape. Quirrell. Flitwick."

"Oh my God," Hermione groaned, her face in her hands. But she was laughing, too.

"I'd kiss Flitwick," Tracy said to an explosion of giggles. "What? He's the most appropriate height!"

"That's how you measure it?" Teddy sputtered. "On height?"

"I don't think I can play this game," Daphne said, looking queasy.

"Hmm, I don't buy it, Daph-" 

"There's literally no winning in this scenario-"

Teddy paused thoughtfully. "Now, in a toss-up between Sprout, McGonagall and Hooch..."

Hermione hit him again. "Oh come on, we all know you'd say Hooch!"

"What can I say? I like a woman that can handle a-"

"Ew! Gross!"

Pansy pushed Hermione playfully. "Spit it out then!"

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned before rattling off, "Kiss Flitwick, Marry Snape, Kill Quirrell."

There was a brief moment of silence before the entire group burst into wheezing laughter, clutching their sides. When Snape limped back past them and Pansy began humming the Wedding March, they all nearly fell over crying.

“Wonder what’s wrong with his leg?” Tracy asked thoughtfully as the giggles subsided.

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” said Teddy with mock bitterness.

The Slytherin common room was very noisy that evening. Hermione, Pansy, Teddy and Tracy sat together next to a window. Teddy was checking their Charms homework for them. He'd never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but by asking him to read them through it, they got the right answers anyway.

Pansy looked restless. Her eyes kept darting over to where Malfoy sat with Crabbe and Goyle, clearly engaged in an angry conversation. Hermione sighed. Getting up, she told them she was going for a walk down to the staff room.

"You okay?" Teddy asked, looking up from his parchment with concern.

"Yeah, just got a bit of a headache," she said, rubbing her temple. 

She made her way down to the staff room and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again. Nothing.

Maybe Madam Pomfrey had a stock of headache remedies in there? It was worth a try. She pushed the door ajar and peered inside- and a horrible scene met her eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled, three dark holes burrowed deep into the flesh of his calf. Filch was handing Snape bandages soaked in some harsh-smelling ointment.

“Blasted thing,” Snape was saying. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at one?”

Hermione tried to shut the door quietly, but –

“GRANGER!”

Snape’s face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Hermione gulped.

"I was, I was just looking for-"

In a flurry of motion, Snape came towards her, pushing her out of the room and into the corridor, shutting the door behind them.

"What? What?" he snarled.

Kiss Flitwick, Marry Snape, Kill Quirrell. She scrunched her eyes shut for a moment, shaking away the memory before she could dissolve into frightened laughter. That would certainly make Snape take points off his own house.

"I...I... I have a headache, and..."

Snape looked down his long nose at her with a frown. "Madame Pomfrey can be found in the Hospital Wing, Granger."

"I know, I just thought-"

He held up a hand. She saw it was slightly tinged with blood. 

"Wait here."

She stayed perfectly still as he went back inside the room and emerged seconds later, a small bottle in his hand. It was filled with a clear, almost transparent, blue liquid that bubbled slightly on the top. She blinked. This wasn't paracetamol.

He pressed it into her hand. 

She took it, holding it against her chest with a nod and began to back up.

"There. Now go."

She paused for a second, looking at him leaning heavily on his right leg.

"What?"

"Are you..." she hesitated, clutching the bottle. "Are you hurt?"

Snape regarded her with a blank look, fists balled at his sides. He seemed to be considering multiple things at once, and Hermione couldn't help regretting asking him that question. What on Earth made her say that? 

Through gritted teeth, Snape said: "I'm fine. Now get back to bed."

Before she could blurt out anything else stupid, she left, sprinting back down to the dungeons.

“Did you get it?” Teddy asked as Hermione re-joined the group. “What’s the matter?”

In a low whisper, Hermione told them what she’d seen.

“You know what this means?” she finished breathlessly, looking at Teddy.

His eyes were wide, but he didn't answer, shooting a glance towards Pansy and Tracy who were both looking incredibly curious. He simply nodded and went back to his Charms homework.

"Wait, what are you two on about?" Pansy asked.

"Minnie's under the impression that Snape's trying to get Quirrell's job," Teddy answered for her. "Apparently they've been duelling over it for weeks. The other professors are making bets, I hear."

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, letting his tale work its magic on the girls. She went to bed with her head buzzing. Daphne was snoring loudly, but Hermione couldn’t sleep. She tried to empty her mind – she needed to sleep, she had to– but the expression on Snape’s face when she'd seen his leg wasn’t easy to forget.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried foods and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

Teddy poured a ridiculous amount of syrup on Hermione's pancakes, so much so that by the time she got around to eating them, they were reduced to a sugary mush. But that was how she liked them. 

"That is an unholy amount of sugar," Pansy said from further down the table, a spoonful of yoghurt and granola half-way to her mouth.

Try being raised by a dentist, she thought. "What can I say? I've got a sweet tooth."

Pansy raised her eyebrows as if to say suit yourself before returning to her breakfast. She and Malfoy were clearly on good terms again; she nuzzled into him as he popped a slice of toast into a runny egg. Crabbe and Goyle sat opposite, evidently lost without their ringleader. They'd barely said two words to each other all breakfast.

"Well then, scramps," Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, came sauntering down to their end of the table, a hat upturned in his palm. "Place 'em."

Already kitted out in his emerald-green and black- really, Slytherin did have the best colour scheme- robes, skin-tight leather boots, kneepads and elbow coverings, he made for an impressive sight if it wasn't for the abomination going on inside his mouth. All his teeth were overlapped, sticking in various directions as if in disagreement.

The sight put her off her pancakes, and she pushed the plate away.

"Galleon says Pucey scores fifty points!"

"I'll match that-"

"-Sickle on Bletchley missing a wide shot-"

"Oi! I heard that!"

"If I had a Knut for every time someone made that joke-"

"It was one time!"

"But how did your trousers fall down?!"

"-and thennn, two Sickles for Sarkar knocking out one of the ginger idiots!"

"That's easy money, that! I'll raise you five if she belts them both!"

"Come on, squirts!" Flint jingled the now-brimming hat towards her and Teddy. "Cough up, and it better be something with decent odds. Don't try and fob me off like Goyle by putting three Sickles in if Gryffindor wears red."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, sizing up the team. What they lacked in brains, they certainly made up for in brute strength.

Flint was well over six foot tall, and built like a gorilla. The others, Fletchley and Pucey, were equally as muscular. Though Fletchley was a head or so shorter than the rest, she supposed it would make him more nimble in his defensive position. Sarkar and Offill, a pair of short girls with delts the size of hubcaps, balanced out the boys nicely. They held their Beater's bats with a firm grip and loose wrist, a deadly combination. 

Gryffindor, on the other hand... their Chasers were slimmer, more versatile. Johnson and Spinnet couldn't beat Flint and Pucey in a fist fight, but the girls could definitely out-fly them. Wood, the Captain, was a spindly looking thing. The two older Weasley twins- decidedly less annoying than their younger counterpart- had a manic look in their eye that gave away their loose-cannon tendency. They might actually match Sarkar and Offill.

She sighed as Flint rattled the hat once more, locking eyes with Potter. He looked vaguely green, poking at a slice of toast as if it was the last thing on Earth he wanted to eat. 

“Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team,” she said reluctantly, looking between Potter and Higgs- the Slytherin Seeker, a small and twitchy looking boy. 

"Thanks, Granger," said Higgs, jumping as someone leaned past him to grab a canteen of juice.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a few fluffy Sickles. "Four says Potter gets the Snitch."

The table went oddly quiet.

"You're-" Pansy leaned away from Malfoy, her face pale. "You're betting against Slytherin?"

"I'm betting that we lead on points," she corrected, noticing the table staring at her as if she were an alien. "But I think Higgs gets knocked out before he can get the Snitch."

"HA!" Flint squawked out a laugh that caused the table to jump back slightly. "Unlikely."

"I dunno Flint," Teddy chuckled beside her, drawing out two shiny Galleons and popping them in the hat. "Everyone loves an underdog."

Flint's eyes went wide, but he took the bets nonetheless. By eleven o’ clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Teddy and Hermione joined Pansy, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle in the top row. It came as no surprise that they had painted a large banner on what looked to be bedsheets. It said 'Snitches get Stitches' and Tracy, who was good at drawing, had done Potter being whacked with a giant golden ball with wings. Then, someone had performed a tricky little charm so that he kept getting whacked in the head with it.

She tried to avoid eye contact with the crude drawing of Potter, feeling oddly guilty. They were... friends now. He nodded to her in class, and she nodded back. He kept Weasley out of her way and she... well, she hung around people like Crabbe and Goyle.

Hermione didn't have much time to ponder this, as Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor – what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too –“

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor.”

The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

“And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve – back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes – Flint flying like an eagle up there – he’s going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle – that’s a nice dive around Flint, off up the field and – OUCH – that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger – Quaffle taken by the Slytherins – that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger – sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which – nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes – she’s really flying – dodges a speeding Bludger – the goal posts are ahead – come on, now, Angelina – Keeper Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle shot her a dark look, as if she was to blame for this.

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Tracy!”

Hermione and Pansy squeezed together to give Tracy enough space to join them.

“Been watching from down there,” said Tracy, patting a large pair of binoculars around her neck, “It's just not the same as being in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” said Teddy. “Higgs hasn’t had much to do yet.”

“Kept out of trouble, though, that's something,” she replied, pulling her binoculars through her long blonde hair and peering skyward at the speck that was Higgs.

Way up above them, Higgs was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. Potter was doing the same.

“Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Spinnet, and speeds toward the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?”

A murmur ran through the crowd as Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Hermione saw it. In a great rush of excitement both Seekers dived downward after the streak of gold. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch – all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Potter was faster than Higgs – she could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead the pair of them – if Higgs just put on an extra spurt of speed –

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below – Flint had blocked Potter, and his broom spun off course, Potter holding on for dear life. Hermione flinched.

“Foul!” screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the Gryffindor stands, a boy was yelling, “Send him off, red! Red card!”

"What on Earth's he talking about?" snorted Goyle.

Hermione knew what the boy was talking about, but she elected to look equally as confused. 

Lee Jordan was evidently finding it difficult not to take sides.

“So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating –“

“Jordan!” growled Professor McGonagall.

“I mean, after that open and revolting foul –“

“Jordan, I’m warning you –“

“All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I’m sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession.”

Hermione searched the skies until she spotted Potter in his red robes, sitting just out the way of the pitch. He looked like he was catching his breath, and Hermione felt a twinge of relief. 

But it was short-lived. As Potter dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head, it happened. His broom gave a sudden lurch. For a split second, she thought he was going to fall, but he gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees before it happened again.

It was as though the broom was trying to buck him off. But Nimbus Two Thousands did not suddenly decide to buck their riders off. Potter tried to turn back toward the Gryffindor goal posts – she wondered if he was about to call time-out – and then she realized that his broom was completely out of his control. He couldn’t turn it. He couldn’t direct it at all. It was zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

Lee was still commentating.

“Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – oh no…”

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Potter's broom was behaving strangely. It was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as he went. 

“Dunno what Potter thinks he’s doing,” Tracey mumbled, staring through her binoculars. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d lost control of his broom…but he can’t have….”

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Potter all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Potter's broom had given a wild jerk and he swung off, now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Oh my God!" Hermione yelped, clutching at her chest.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Tracy asked.

“Can’t have,” Teddy said, looking equally as disturbed as Hermione. “Nothing interferes with a broomstick in-play except powerful magic – no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

At these words, Hermione seized Tracy's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Potter, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Teddy whispered in her right ear.

Hermione gasped, “Teddy – look.”

Teddy took the binoculars, looking in the direction that Hermione pointed out. His face went pale as he saw what she saw. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"No... no way-"

"Look down!" she instructed, pushing the binoculars down.

Teddy went stiff. There, he saw it. Quirrell, hands clasped, his face a mask of anger and hatred... His eyes were also fixed upon Potter, and he was mouthing along in much the same rhythm as Snape. Only, Quirrell looked determined.

“He’s doing something – jinxing the broom,” said Hermione.

“Minnie, are you sure?” Teddy asked desperately, gripping onto her sleeve.

She hesitated, looking back towards the stands. Was she sure? They were certainly the only two adults capable of performing the kind of magic Teddy had described. But they were both Slytherins, one of them was the Head of Slytherin, for goodness sake! They might be competitive, but she didn't think Snape would want to kill Potter...

"It's a feeling," she said finally.

"A feeling?"

"Think about it," she gently nudged him further away from the group, trying not to be distracted by the sight of Potter dangling from his broom, "whatever that dog is guarding must be pretty damn important to Dumbledore. I'd bet all the money I have that the heads of house know about it. Not only that, but they're in on it. Snape's been limping around the castle for weeks because he's working to protect whatever's down there. But Quirrell-"

"Quirrell's also a teacher," Teddy countered. "He looks like he couldn't say boo to a goose, what makes you think he'd want a student dead?"

She gripped at his lapel. "What if... what if whatever's down there has something to do with Potter?"

He looked dubious. "I don't know..."

"What if Quirrell's too scared to take on the huge, three-headed dog-"

"I can't say I blame the guy-"

A gasp rippled out from the crowd as Potter slid down the length of his broom, struggling to hang on. The other Gryffindors could barely keep up, let alone help him. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Potter safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good – every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

She couldn't say for sure, but she could swear Quirrell was smiling.

That was enough for her. Shoving the binoculars into Teddy's chest, she took off running. She fought her way across to the stand where the professors were scrambling to come up with some kind of plan. Reaching Quirrell, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of his robes.

It took perhaps five seconds for Quirrell to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row – he would never know what had happened.

It was enough. Up in the air, Potter was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

She turned, smiling confidently, when she bumped into Snape. 

As the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff crowds erupted into excited cheers, she froze under her head of house's stern gaze. He looked down his nose at her, mouth curling as if he'd tasted something bitter. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulder and steered her out of the teacher's stands, walking her out of earshot of anyone else.

"- back on his broom, he really is a lucky guy! I guess that's why he's the Boy Who Lived, am I right folks?" Lee Jordan yelled over the crowd.

Snape suddenly stood still, and turned Hermione to face him. She balked under his gaze. All the students went on about how Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of all time, the most intimidating magician to walk this fine Earth. But Snape... he was another level. He radiated power. It was just infinitely more subtle. Like a secret.

"I might ask what you were doing in the teacher's stands, Granger," he began in a drawl. "Did I not think you'd have some clever answer for it."

She remained silent, too nervous to speak.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked sarcastically. He folded his arms across his chest, drawing the length of his robes with them. The resulting effect made him look scarily bat-like.

"I thought... I just-"

"You thought what?" he hissed.

She swallowed. "I don't know. But I thought I saw-"

"Nothing."

She looked up. "What?"

"You saw nothing," Snape said in a cold voice. "You heard nothing, you saw nothing."

"But I-"

"Stay out of it, Granger," he snapped, brows drawn together in a furious frown. "Some things are best left... unseen."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her more than a little shaken up. She walked back to the Slytherin stands numbly, hands trembling with all she'd learned. She didn't even realise the match was over. By the time she returned, the painted sheet had been rumpled up and chucked onto the pitch. The Gryffindor stand was screaming for joy, chanting Potter's name.

“He didn’t catch it, he nearly swallowed it,” Flint was howling as he soared down to the ground, but it made no difference – Potter technically hadn’t broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results – Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty. 

She looked at Teddy in confusion.

"Everyone loves an underdog," he shrugged.

As she walked back out of the stands and across the green with the rest of her gloomy house, she held Teddy back a few paces to speak in private. She explained what had happened when she went over to the teacher's stand. He listened with wide eyes.

"So Quirrell sent the troll in as a distraction on Halloween," Teddy mused. "He didn't want to face the dog. I mean, look what happened to Snape's leg. And tonight, he jinxed Potter's broom..."

"I'll bet you anything Snape was muttering a counter-curse."

"But what could be so valuable down there that he'd risk killing a student in public?" he asked, looking off into the distance where Potter and Weasley were following the gamekeeper into his hut. 

She followed his gaze, humming thoughtfully. "Has to be something powerful."

"Something dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands," he added.

She thought of the look on Quirrell's face as he muttered the jinx that sent Potter's broom into a spin. The way his thin hands clasped together in a strange kind of reverence, almost like he was praying for something. Or praying to something. Teddy was right, the man could hardly swat a fly. So what had him so angry? What did that dog guard that piqued his interest so?

"I wish there was a way we could sneak around Hogwarts," Hermione thought out loud.

Teddy grinned at her words. "You are a witch."

She blinked in confusion. "I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

He stopped, turning to face her, waiting until the last of the Slytherins crossed over the hill that led to the front gates. 

"You might think you're sly, but I'm onto you," he said, crossing his arms. Her heart raced. "I watched you master levitation in less than an hour at the start of term. Something tells me you can wrap your mind around Disillusionment."

A smile started to form on Hermione's lips.

What had Snape said? Some things are best left... unseen.

Chapter 7: The Mirror

While I'm scratching out the eyes
Of a world I want to conquer
And deliver and despise

And right while I am kneeling there
I suddenly begin to care

 

---

 

Christmas was definitely coming.

One particularly chilly morning in late December, the school woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake had now frozen completely solid, and Dumbledore saw fit to remove the ward around its boundaries. Ice-skating became the student's favourite pastime, gliding across the surface of the lake on bewitched shoes, feeling the rush of bitter air run through your hair... it was magical.

The older Weasley twins were punished severely for charming several snowballs to follow Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The other Slytherins pretended to be unimpressed, but Hermione found it hilarious. 

The few owls that battled their way through the storms to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by the gamekeeper- Hagrid, she always forgot his name- before they could set off on their return journey. Hermione had given a vague address to her mother before leaving for Hogwarts, telling her that phone signals didn't always work 'up North', but she was yet to receive any mail. Teddy pretended not to notice.

No-one could wait for the holidays to truly begin. While the common rooms and Great Hall had roaring fires, the corridors had become dreadfully drafty, and a bitter wind rattled the classroom windows. Worst of all were Snape's Potions classes in the dungeons. Her breath rose in a thick mist before her as she measured out powdered spine of lionfish.

“I do feel so sorry,” said Malfoy loudly on the last class of term, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled.

Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Potter as Seeker next. Then he’d realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way he'd managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting him about having no proper family.

He was looking over at Potter as he spoke, but the words might as well have been for her. With no letters and a humongous lie to continue adhering to, she'd already decided it wasn't worth attempting to return home for the holidays. She'd told her mum the boarding school wanted to keep her in for remedials, anyway. 

Her hands were almost numb by the time she scooped up the spine and delicately placed it into her cauldron. She looked down at her Potions book for the next instruction and saw a scribble in the margins: are you staying here for the holidays?

Looking up covertly, she met Teddy's deep chocolate eyes. Nodding, she went about slicing some bark root. 

She heard scribbling as she worked, and looked back down at her book. Fancy some company?

Her heart swelled, and the smile she gave him was beaming. He grinned back and he nudged her playfully before beginning to stir his potion counter-clockwise. Well, she could hardly feel sorry for herself at all now; this would probably be the best Christmas she’d ever had. 

"Mother wants to take me to the Alps," Malfoy drawled on, sneering at Potter's clenched jaw. "But Father thinks Cape Town would be more suitable."

"But where do you want to go?" Pansy simpered- it was the only time Hermione didn't like the girl- hanging on his every word.

"I couldn't care less. I just enjoy having two parents fight over me," Malfoy emphasized that last sentence loudly, his voice carrying across the dungeon. 

Potter clenched his fist, trembling. Weasley was about to chuck a jab over his shoulder when Hermione butted in.

"We get it, Malfoy. You're rich. Give it a rest," she snapped over her cauldron.

Pansy went still, her eyes downward. She clearly didn't want to go against Malfoy or Hermione. 

Malfoy regarded her, his cold silver eyes sending a chill rippling across her chest. He reminded her oddly of a bull shark; there was a dullness in his expression that could convince you he was just a harmless bully, but when he opened his mouth, he could burrow his sharp teeth into you. Deep. He didn't say anything though, he just looked at her with that same dull expression. Almost as though he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It unnerved her.

When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a large puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Weasley asked, sticking his red head through the branches.

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. “Trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to become gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s probably used to.”

Weasley went red, diving at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.

“WEASLEY!”

He let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes immediately.

“He was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.”

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

Pansy stood next to Hermione, seething as Malfoy's blonde hair disappeared from view. "He can be such a prat sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Teddy repeated.

She sighed, rounding on the pair. "I know what it looks like-"

"Looks like he's an arse, Pans-"

"- but you don't know him like I do," she argued, a lock of black hair falling over her cheek. "If you knew... Merlin, if you really knew him..."

Hermione opened her mouth to counter, but snapped it shut as Snape cleared his throat behind them. They took this as their cue to depart up into the Great Hall for lunch, but not before Hermione snuck a quick look back. Snape was giving her an eerily similar look to the one Malfoy gave her during class. Unreadable. Dangerous.

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles. The food was spectacular, as usual, and both Hermione and Teddy were delighted by the range of options available to them: roasted parsnip soup, beetroot and squash wellingtons, goat's cheese tart, pickled red cabbage, cheesy leeks... 

"Whoever's cooking this stuff," Hermione mumbled around a mouthful of pan-roasted sprouts and pistachios, "deserves a raise."

"They wouldn't take it," Teddy mumbled back, stuffing an entire roast potato into his mouth with gusto.

She swallowed, gulping down a mouthful of mulled wine. "Anyone would take a raise."

"Not house elves."

She frowned. Just something else to add to the list of wizarding world mysteries. Tearing her eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree, she looked over at the Gryffindor table.

A number of students were already dressed up in their winter gear, lugging huge suitcases behind them as they hugged their friends goodbye. She saw Weasley bundled up in a coat that was far too long in the sleeves for him, patting Potter on the back as he waved the table goodbye. The twins, in matching sweaters, yanked their cases behind them as they led the way out.

She caught Potter's eye for a moment. He gently nodded in her direction, clearly a show of gratitude for her sticking her neck out earlier in class. Her stomach twisted with guilt; she still hadn't found the right way to approach their strange friendship yet. He might even want nothing to do with her now, simply remaining polite and cordial.

Once the holidays had really started, Hermione and Teddy were having too good a time to think much about Disillusionment and three-headed dogs. They had the entire dormitories to themselves and the common room was all but empty, so they were able to get the good chairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork – bread, English muffins, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Weasley expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work.

Teddy also started teaching her wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Teddy's set was very polished and well-looked after. Like everything else he owned, it had clearly been in the family for a long time – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Teddy knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Hermione played with chessmen Pansy had lent her, and they didn’t trust her at all. She wasn’t a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at her, which was confusing. “Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.”

On Christmas Eve, Hermione went to bed looking forward to the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When she woke early in the morning, however, the first thing she saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of her bed.

She scrambled out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe as Teddy walked into her room.

“Merry Christmas,” he said sleepily as Hermione observed the gifts.

“You, too,” said Hermione. “Will you look at this? I’ve got presents!”

“What did you expect, turnips? Come on, let’s bring them down to the common room so we can open them."

She piled the presents up in her arms and brought them all down to the common room where a couple of third years huddled up in a corner with their gifts, putting on their paper hats and laughing.

They dropped their presents side-by-side and started to open them together.

Hermione picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thin, white and red striped paper and scrawled across it was Hermione Granger, Holdman's Remedial School, Scotland, Pitlochry. She quickly tore at the paper before Teddy could see it, recognising her mother's handwriting. Though quite how the parcel had ended up at Hogwarts, she didn't know.

Inside was a long, thin box that held a beautiful silver necklace. On the most delicate chain- one so fine it looked as though a single touch might break it- a shard of green-black alexandrite sat gently encased within flourishing wild, silver petals. She gasped lightly, one hand over her mouth.

"Wow," Teddy whispered from beside her.

Hermione bit back a sob. "It's my mothers."

He looked at her. "It's beautiful."

"She shouldn't have given it to me," she said hurriedly, shutting it back in the box. "It's the only thing of value she has-"

"Well that's not true at all," Teddy murmured. "She has you."

He continued unwrapping presents as if he didn't just say the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she opened the box again, marvelling at the fine piece of jewellery. Attached to the inside lid was a note. She picked it off, opening it to read: merry christmas. take a piece of me wherever you go, love.

She drew in a trembling breath, gently lifting the necklace. The gemstone caught the light of the fireplace, deepening the green tinge as she turned it this way and that. Teddy helped fasten it around her neck, his deft fingers working the clasp at the base of her head. It tickled.

Feeling the weight of the necklace against her chest, she felt more than prepared to dive into her next parcel.

Wrapped in thick velvet, inside was a sweet little music box that opened up to reveal a fairy twirling on one toe. Only, it wasn't quite a fairy as she knew it. The miniature woman had a greenish tint to her skin, and her ears were uncomfortably long. The card that came with it read: Minnie, take this as a formal invitation (and threat) to please come round mine next Christmas. Love, Pansy. P.S. she bites. The fairy winked at her.

Tracy hadn't bothered wrapping a giant box of chocolates from Honeydukes, a scribbled note reading: Get your sweet tooth round these, -Trace x. Daphne had got her some wand polish, and even Millicent had got her a bookmark that had tiny hands that grabbed to the rim of a page. Hermione's chest grew warmer and warmer with every present she received from her friends.

At the bottom of the pile, two parcels stood out to her. One was wide, square-ish, and another was a more compact box. Both were wrapped in multiple layers of what looked to be The Daily Prophet, tied off with a piece of green ribbon. Beside her, Teddy was actively trying not to look her way.

"You got me something?" she asked, smiling over at him.

He fidgeted. "You might not like it. It was just a stupid idea..."

She scoffed and began unwrapping, and her eyes grew wide. Inside one package was a leather-bound scrapbook filled with empty pages and slide-in pockets. In the other was an off-white camera, fitted with a black wrist strap and clip-on lens cover. 

"Teddy...."

He picked up the camera, turning it over in his hands. "It's not brand new or anything. It's actually mine, so it's a bit old, but... I just figured if you wanted to record some memories, I don't know- bit of a silly idea..."

She leapt on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling in close. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

"Whoa!" he yelped, but immediately started laughing. "I'll get Snape to find us the recipe for developing solution, that way-"

"-the pictures will move!" she finished, squeezing him tight. "I know! You're amazing, Teddy."

He chuckled, patting her on the back. "It's just a camera..."

But he had no idea.

He held up a lumpy brown paper package. "This from you?"

She nodded, suddenly nervous. Instinctively, she leaned forward as if to say something.

"Ah ah ah!" he tutted, holding the parcel out of reach. "My turn."

She wrung her fingers together as he unwrapped what she now realised was the stupidest thing she could have got him. She remembered being so proud that she figured out how to make an order via owl delivery that she didn't even think about what she paid for. Teddy held in his hands a second-hand Walkman, complete with a pair of cabled earbuds.

He blinked, a strange expression crossing his face.

Hermione's heart stuttered. "It's-"

"I know what it is," Teddy said firmly, finally looking up at her. "How did you get a hold of one of these?"

"Owl post," she said feebly.

With trembling hands, she withdrew a few tapes from her pocket: Mama Said by Lenny Kravitz, Woodface by Crowded House, X by INXS and Flesh & Blood by Poison.

She held them out to him. "It goes with these."

He looked from the tapes, to the Walkman, back to Hermione. Then he broke out into the hugest smile she'd ever seen on him. He pulled her close in a one-armed hug, burying his face in her hair as he laughed.

"You're ridiculous," he said into her hair, shaking his head. "Amazing, but ridiculous."

She leaned against his chest with a relieved smile. "You like it?"

As if to prove to her how much he appreciated her gift, they spent the rest of the morning listening to Mama Said with one earbud each. Teddy performed Stop Draggin' Around on air drums to absolute perfection, and before they knew it, they were up and dancing around the common room without a care in the world.

Later in the Great Hall, Hermione had never in all her life had such a Christmas dinner. Countless, juicy nut roasts; mountains of boiled potatoes; platters of veggie sausages; tureens of buttered vegetables, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.

These fantastic party favors were nothing like feeble Muggle ones, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Hermione pulled a wizard cracker with Teddy and it didn’t just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral’s hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings followed the mains. Teddy nearly broke his teeth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice. Snape showed up to the festivities considerably late, looking exhausted and not at all hungry. He left after polishing off a small plate of turkey, wiping what looked like black soot off his brow. She wondered if he was brewing something, even on Christmas.

Hermione watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Hermione's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided. She caught Potter's eye, who clearly found the interaction hilarious, and they shared a brief smile before returning to their respective friends.

When she finally left the table, she was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and her own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Hermione had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris’s Christmas dinner.

Hermione, Teddy and a few straggling Slytherins spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the common room, where Hermione broke her new chess set by losing spectacularly to Teddy. 

After a meal of leftover sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch a few seals chase some fish around the Black Lake through the big window.

It had been her best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of her mind all day. Not until she climbed into bed was she free to think about it: Quirrell, and the mystery of the target on Potter's back. Teddy, who had decided to drag his bedding into her empty dormitory and set up camp on the floor by her bed ("I don't like sleeping alone"), fell asleep almost as soon as he'd pulled the blanket up to his chin.

She'd been reading up on Disillusionment in her spare time. It was a skill not easily learned, as she quickly found out. This kind of charm was in the standard toolbox of any Auror (dark wizard catcher), but it was a tricksy little spell that took some getting used to. She was sure that Teddy could master it in a matter of hours, but she was far too proud to ask him for help.

The best time to practice the charm was at night, supposedly, a time that lent itself easily to covert operations. She'd been dabbling here and there in the dungeons, observing how the charm made her go oddly opaque against the grey stone. She could just about blend in amongst the shadows, and that was being gracious.

She slipped out of bed and wrapped her bathrobe around herself. Suddenly, she felt wide-awake. Looking down at Teddy grunting in his sleep, he saw only moonlight and shadows. Should she wake him? Something held her back. 

The whole of Hogwarts was basically free-roam. Excitement flooded through her as she stood there in the dark and silence. There wouldn't be a better time to practice the charm than tonight. 

Stepping over Teddy, she crept out of the dormitory, down the hall and out of the common room, climbing through the archway.

Where should she go? She stopped, her heart racing, and thought hard. And then it came to her. The library, of course. Disillusioned in there, she'd be able to read as long as she liked. Maybe she'd be able to do some research into jinxes and find out just what Quirrell was doing during that Quidditch game. Better yet, she could read up on how to get past giant, three-headed dogs.

She set off, drawing her bathrobe tight around her as she walked.

The library was pitch-black and very eerie. She conjured one of her little blue flames to look along the rows of books, watching as it floated along in midair, illuminating the volumes as she passed. 

Nothing stood out to her as she walked through each section. Most of what she found were classroom books, exam preparation, a million fiction novels strangely titled like Bungedous Bean and the Strapping Cabbage Green. With a soft sigh, she looked towards the back of the library. Right at the back, immersed in shadows, a red rope separated a set of books from the rest of the library.

The Restricted Section. Of course! Where else would house information about dark spells and dangerous creatures? She whisked away her blue flame, shrouding herself in darkness once more.

Tapping her wand on her head as she'd been instructed, she felt something similar to a slew of thick goo running down her head and face as the Disillusionment spell took hold. It wouldn't hold for long but, looking around at the empty library, Hermione didn't feel too worried about running into someone down here.

Stepping carefully over the rope, she allowed her eyes a moment to adjust to the moonlight in order to read the titles. 

They didn’t tell her much. Their peeling, faded golden letters spelled words in languages she couldn’t understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Hermione's neck prickled. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe not, but she thought a faint whisper was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn’t be.

Well, she had to start somewhere. Setting her wand down carefully on the desk amongst a clutter of books and parchment, she looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large gold and green volume caught her eye. She slowly pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on the desk before her, let it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence. She jumped backwards in terror, but it wasn't coming from her book.

Whipping round, she caught the tail end of a noise, like a book snapping shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. She was about to call out into the darkness, before a flash of light caught her eye. A lamp, falling off a desk in the distance, and crashing onto the floor.

She rushed towards the noise, rounding the corner to see a half-obscured Potter struggling to shove a book back into the shelves. He turned around. Well, she thought he did. His torso appeared to be floating in mid air.

"What the-" she began.

Her eyes grew wide, and she drew in a sharp breath before he held up a hand to silence her. "It's a cloak! It's a cloak!" he whispered, gripping at an unseen material and whipping it to the side. His legs suddenly appeared in view. She looked at his hand and saw a translucent, glittering cloak hanging down. An Invisibility Cloak.

At the exact same moment, they heard footsteps coming from the corridor outside. 

Without thinking, they reached for one another and bundled up underneath the cloak. They passed Filch in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looking straight through them, and Hermione- nestled under Potter's arm- slipped under Filch’s outstretched hand and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in their ears.

They came to a sudden stop in front of a tall suit of armor. They had been so busy getting away from the library, they hadn’t paid attention to where they were going. Perhaps because it was dark, but Hermione didn’t recognize where she was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, she knew, but she must be five floors above there.

Potter made a jerk as if to move off in another direction, when Hermione gripped him by the arm as- out of nowhere- Snape yanked a quivering Quirrell and shoved him up against a nearby wall.

"Severus...I-I thought..."

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape said in a low, intense voice. 

Hermione froze, her grip solid on Potter's arm. They daren't breathe, daren't blink. 

Quirrell stuttered, clearly terrified of the man before him. "W-what do you m-mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," Snape leaned in closer, towering over the Defence teacher like a dark omen. Another set of footsteps came in their direction, and Snape took a small step back as Filch appeared. "We'll have another chat soon...when you've had time to decide where your loyalties lie."

"Oh, Professors. I found this," Filch said, unaware that a confrontation had been taking place. He held up Potter's broken lamp. Hermione felt Potter's arm tremble at the sight, "in the Restricted Section. It's still hot. That means there's a student out of bed."

In unison, they began to back away as quietly as they could. A door stood ajar to their left. It was her only hope. She nudged Potter and squeezed through it, holding her breath, trying not to move it, and to her relief managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything, Potter following suit.

They leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to the professor's footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close.

By this time, the Disillusionment charm had worn off entirely, and she stepped out from underneath the cloak and into the room. It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"What are you doing here?" hissed Potter, coming out from under the cloak and tossing it to one side.

"I might ask you the same question," she retorted, not looking away from the mirror.

She heard him scoff. Her panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch or Snape, she moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at herself in its dusty reflection. She stepped in front of it.

She had to clap her hands to her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She whirled around, heart pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed- for she had seen not only herself in the mirror, but two people standing right behind her.

But the room was empty, barring Potter.

"What?" he asked, seeing her face drained of colour.

She shook her head. Breathing very fast, she turned slowly back to the mirror.

There she was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind her, were her parents. She looked over her shoulder- but still, no one was there. Or were they invisible? Was this the mirror's trick?

"What? What is it?"

Stumbling backwards, her stomach dropping as she passed through the figures without feeling so much as a change in the air, she turned back round to face Potter. He looked quietly concerned.

She fought to catch her breath. "The mirror... it's- I don't know what it is, but..."

He frowned, and without a second thought, he stood in front of it himself. She watched as his cheeks turned pale and his hand flew to his mouth. Unable to resist, she looked back into the reflection. Maybe it would be different now that someone else was stood there with her.

But, no. There they were.

Her mum, a small and pretty woman with soft, curly hair. She walked up beside her, tracing a hand down Hermione's arm and placing a hand over hers. She didn't feel so much as a tickle. Dragging her eyes towards her dad, she saw his likeness; tall, slender, dark-haired and serious. Her stomach clenched in the same anxiety she always felt upon seeing him. But instead of twisting in anger, her father's face went soft as he approached her mum and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Hermione's throat went tight. 

"You see them too?" he whispered reverently, a hand on his left shoulder.

"Y-yeah."

"That's my mum," he said with a gentle smile, "and my dad's the one with glasses. Obviously."

She frowned. "I don't-"

Potter turned around, a misty look in his eyes. "You said you saw them."

"I see my parents," she explained, and locked eyes with her dad in the mirror. He flashed her a winning smile. "Maybe that's how the mirror works... Maybe it shows the future."

Potter turned back round, his shoulders sagging. "How can it? Both my parents are dead."

How long they stood there, she didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and she looked and looked until a distant noise brought them back to their senses. They couldn’t stay here, they had to find a way back. But before she could move, Potter began talking in a low voice.

"I didn't find out until this year. Not all wizards are good. Some of them go bad. A few years ago there was one wizard who went as bad as you can go. And his name was Voldemort-"

Hermione took a short step closer to Potter. She'd come across the name while reading, of course, she even knew a brief summary of why Potter was so incredibly well-known. But to hear it from his voice was unsettling.

"This... Voldemort, he started to gather some followers, brought them over to the dark side. Anyone that stood up to him ended up dead. My parents... alongside others... fought against him, but nobody lived once he decided to kill them. Nobody...not one. Except me. This isn't any ordinary cut on my forehead. A mark like this only comes from being touched by a curse...and an evil curse at that."

"What happened," she whispered, shifting closer, "to Voldemort?"

"My mum stood between us. Voldemort's curse rebounded. She died. Some say Voldemort died, but nobody can truly be sure. That's why I'm famous, why everyone knows my name. I'm the boy who lived," he said numbly. 

"And you can see them? In the mirror."

Potter nodded. "Why were you in the Restricted Section?" he asked, looking over at her sadly.

Suddenly he looked very small, his pale hand still resting on his shoulder as if holding onto something dearly. Her mind turned over, racing from what he'd told her. 

"I was looking for answers," she responded vaguely, picking at a bit of lint on her bathrobe. "To do with you, actually."

"Oh," he said softly, frowning. "I'm kind of an open book. Literally."

She shuffled from one foot to the other.

"I don't know how to really go about this," she gestured to the space between them. "What you did on Halloween, everything that happened with the duel, almost getting eaten by that dog-"

"By Fluffy, yeah."

"Fluffy?"

Potter blinked. "Y-yeah. It uh.. it has a name."

She cleared her throat, thinking of how she'd watched Potter and Weasley go into Hagrid's hut after the match. It must be a pet of his.

"I just don't know what I'm doing, is all," she continued, parking the thought to return to later. "You saved my life. And I feel like I owe it to you to, I'm not sure, give something back? What happened to you at the match... it was messed up, and I've been trying to figure it out. It all seems to be connected somehow; the match, the game, the troll... I just don't know how."

"I've been thinking the same thing," Potter agreed eagerly, finally turning to face her fully.

"I think it has something to do with one of the teachers," she said carefully, encouraged by his response. She didn't want to give too much away. "I think they've got it out for you, and I think the reason why has something to do with whatever that dog- Fluffy- is guarding."

He nodded vigorously. "Me too."

A sudden noise outside the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn’t realized how loudly they had been talking.

“Quick!”

Potter threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. They stood perfectly still, thinking the same thing – did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.

“This isn’t safe – she might have gone for Filch," Hermione said when she was sure the cat had gone. "I bet she heard us. We can’t come back again. That mirror’s getting to our heads. Come on.”

And she pulled Potter out of the room.

The snow still hadn’t melted the next morning.

Waking up with a snoring Teddy beside her bed was oddly comforting. She didn't realise how much she appreciated having company in her room until she went back to being alone. She supposed that this was what it was like for an only child. Looking down at Teddy, she came to the realisation that that was why he'd set up camp near her. He was an only child, too.

Hermione didn't see much of Potter over the next few days. He popped up every now and again in the Great Hall, quickly grabbing a napkin and loading some toast or pasties onto it before darting out. She knew where he was going. Back to that mirror. 

She caught this manic look in his eye, a faraway and distant yearning that spoke of someone mentally elsewhere. With both parents dead, and taken from him so violently, it made sense why he found comfort in the mirror. She didn't want to go back. Seeing her mum and dad had the opposite effect on her than it did on Potter. 

It was hard to think about home, sometimes. With Teddy always close by, and with a million and one new things to learn, she was deeply rooted in the present. Occasionally she'd find herself holding onto the gemstone of her necklace, thinking about the way her mum would brush a finger along her cheekbone when she was sad. Other times she'd hear the harsh snap of Snape reprimanding a student in the corridors and remember her dad.

She chose to bury her feelings. For better or worse. 

Potter seemed to wish to drown in them.

But, somewhere toward the end of the holidays as she was alone and making her way across the atrium one evening, Potter emerged from the stairs to the library. They almost bumped into one another.

"Oh, hey!" he half-chuckled, stepping one way.

She smiled, stepping in the same direction before they bumped into each other again.

"Christ, for a Seeker you're really uncoordinated," she joked, gripping him by the shoulders and moving him aside.

He laughed, and she carried on walking towards the dungeons until she heard him call her name.

"Oh, Granger?"

"Hm?"

"In case you were wondering," he started awkwardly. She stopped at the doorway, resting her hand against the arch. "Not that you would be- but, the Mirror's been moved. Dumbledore shipped it off a couple of nights ago, I'm not sure where. Just wanted to let you know, in case you went looking for it."

Oh. "Okay. Thanks."

"And, Granger?"

"Yeah."

"Ron wouldn't like me asking you this..."

"All the more reason to."

He smiled. "Do you know the name Nicholas Flamel?"

No. No, she did not.

Chapter 8: Flamel

Are you scared?
Tell me your stories
I'm not afraid of who you are

 

---

 

Hermione hadn't told Teddy about the Mirror, and from the sullen look on Potter's face as she occasionally bumped into him in the corridors, she felt more and more confident that she'd made the right decision. She didn't want to put her friend in front something that could potentially scar him; Teddy wasn't forthcoming about his home life anyway. 

The most she'd managed to learn about the Nott family was that they were part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, a select number of Pure blood families that kept their heritage clean. Teddy was an only child to his father, Theodore Nott Sr, and his mother, whose name Hermione could not seem to find anywhere. He was an only child, and lived in a huge manor somewhere close to Bath.

She didn't press him for more information. He'd provided well enough an alibi for her without even asking; the least she could do was respect his privacy, and guard it with her life. She was familiar with that, protecting someone.

Hermione did tell him about Flamel, though. 

"Flannel?" he mumbled groggily around a bowl of cornflakes.

She lightly smacked him on the arm. "Keep your voice down!"

Teddy looked around at the near-empty Great Hall. "No-one's here."

"I know, but still-" she'd decided to leave out the part about Potter having an Invisibility Cloak and the ability to sneak up on anyone at any given moment. She thought that would be too much in one morning. "It's Flamel. Nicholas Flamel- does that sound familiar to you?"

But it didn't. They had almost given up hope of ever finding Flamel in a library book. Even though Teddy was sure he’d read the name somewhere. Once term had started, they were back to skimming through books for ten minutes during their breaks. Potter, who was relaying his updates via pointed looks over the Hall at lunch, had even less time than the other two, because Quidditch practice had started again.

Each Captain was working their team to the bone. Flint came back from every practice, stomping through the common room with a heavily furrowed brow and fresh mud stains on his robes. Pucey, Bletchley and Higgs trailed not far behind their captain, shooting daggers into the back of his head and nursing nosebleeds or black eyes. 

"Don't fucking touch me-" Flint snapped as Higgs gripped him by the shoulder.

Higgs flinched. "Snape wanted to see you after practice."

Flint regarded him with a steely look before storming back out into the dungeons. Even Crabbe and Goyle shrank out of the way as the rest of the Quidditch team made their miserable way to the showers. 

"Trying to catch flies?" 

Hermione snapped her mouth shut and turned back to her chess game with Teddy. 

"No," she mumbled, hastily shifting a knight across the board without paying too much attention. "Just curious what's gotten their robes in a twist."

Tracy sighed deeply from her spot on the couch. "If Gryffindor win their next match against Hufflepuff, they would overtake Slytherin in the house championship for the first time in seven years."

Hermione tried not rolling her eyes. "That's quite the streak."

Teddy caught the slight sarcasm in her voice. "And it all comes down to Quidditch. Fitting, wouldn't you say?"

She scowled at him.

When Flint came bounding back through the common room some time later with an extra spring in his step and news that Snape would be refereeing the match, an odd sort of relief fell over her. At least nothing could interfere with Potter's broom. Even Snape, the consummate Slytherin, would make sure of that. This gave her one less thing to worry about, and as term really began to kick off, she reserved herself to seeking out anything she could related to the name 'Nicholas Flamel'. 

Potter told her that the name cropped up in a conversation with Hagrid, the gamekeeper. Her instincts had been right, Fluffy did belong to the hairy oaf, and he did indeed consider it 'cute'. This didn't help much in her investigation, however. The selection of a three-headed dog to guard this mysterious item offered no more information than the fact that Hagrid had awful taste in pets.

She was careful not to mention this to anyone else, not wanting to implicate them into something beyond their capacity to control. Though Teddy showed Potter a level of dignified respect, she couldn't count on any of her classmates to return the favour. Particularly when they were always getting into fights.

They'd progressed onto casting Protego charms in Defence, and students were now actively encouraged to test out minor hexes to disrupt each other's defences. Quirrell wasn't enough of a presence to dispel any notion of troublemaking, and he seemed to be even more jittery than usual under Hermione's watchful gaze. Nervous as he was, he didn't look Potter's way any more than usual during classes.

Pansy found herself paired with Parvati Patil, Hermione with Lavender Brown, Teddy with Potter, and Malfoy- who'd returned from his holidays in South Africa slightly less pale than usual- was clearly relishing being paired with Weasley. Crabbe and Goyle showed an equal yearning to experiment with offensive spells, twirling their stubby wands in their hands like knives as they stared down Seamus and Dean.

The Lavender girl clearly had something against Hermione, though she couldn't figure out exactly what, judging from the icy glares and shared eye-rolls between her and Parvati. When Hermione cast her shield perfectly, deflecting Lavender's sloppy Bat-Bogey hex, she actually stomped her foot in anger. That earned a snort of giggles from Pansy, which in turn led Parvati to cast a particularly nasty Bee Sting jinx that made Pansy's wand hand swell up like a glove.

Teddy and Potter were reasonably well-matched, sending minor hexes back and forth with an ease similar to that of dancers. Hermione caught herself staring more than once at the way Teddy's wrist gracefully span with his casting, wondering how he pulled off such deft spellwork. When he caught her looking, he winked and pulled up his sleeves.

Following a brief eruption of laughs from one end of the room, she caught Weasley running out of the classroom, hands clinging onto his hair that was now turning a shocking shade of blonde. Lavender and Parvati ran after him, cooing and, with a sigh, Potter followed suit, though he shot a pained look at Hermione as he did so.

"I'LL BLOODY GET YOU FOR THIS!" came Weasley's yell as he bolted out the room.

"W-w-well, we're two minutes to the b-bell, so..." Quirrell stammered, backing awkwardly to the other end of the room, gesturing for the rest of the class to leave.

Teddy picked up Hermione's bag and jostled her out of the door before she could attempt to spy on Quirrell any further. Ignoring the cackles from Crabbe and Goyle, she shouldered her bag and made her way into the corridor.

"I hear blondes have more fun, anyway," Teddy offered, pulling his timetable out of his pocket.

A laugh escaped her as they passed by the fuming group of Gryffindors stationed outside the boy's bathrooms. She tried avoiding Lavender's hot gaze as they walked on, letting Teddy's taller frame guard her face. 

"-snotty little bitch."

She stopped, turning a full one-eighty degrees as she registered the word. The rest of her group stopped with her, standing slightly behind. She felt Teddy's hand graze hers as she locked eyes with Lavender.

"What did you just call me?" she asked softly.

Emerging from the bathroom, Weasley- now ginger once more- was huddled up close with Potter, Seamus and Dean.

“Don’t play.” 

“Say you’re ill-” 

“Pretend to break your leg?”

“Really break your leg-”

“I can’t,” said Potter. “There isn’t a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can’t play at....”

At that moment, Potter seemed to register what was happening, and he stopped.

Lavender tossed her blonde curls, nose in the air. "I said you're a snotty little bitch, and everyone knows it."

Pansy and Tracy tensed up behind her, scoffing lightly at Lavender's insult. Hermione's eyes burned, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, but she clenched her jaw. Somehow the word felt different, coming from another girl. It felt lower, somehow. More... disappointing. 

"Really," Hermione elongated the word in a hiss.

Lavender twirled a curl around her finger, nodding smugly. "Really. A frizzy-haired-"

"Lavender-" Potter warned.

"Stuck-up-"

"Stay out of this Harry," Parvati snapped.

"Brown-nosing-"

"Lav-"

"Snotty. Nosed. Bitch." Lavender finished, blinking her lashes rapidly. 

Hermione grinned wickedly as both Gryffindor girls flinched when she stepped forward.

"I suppose it won't be a surprise then," she said smoothly, raising her wand. "If I go ahead and do this- Calvitium!"

No sooner had the hex left her mouth, driven forward in a powerful purple jet of light, than Lavender's beautiful honey-gold curls fell in a heap on the ground. 

There was a moment of silence.

And then-

"AAAAGGGHHHHHHH!" 

It turned out later, as she was polishing trophies in the tower for detention, that nobody found the excuse: "I'm freelancing as a hairdresser" quite as convincing as it sounded in her head. After all the retaliatory hexes and curses were put to bed by a furious McGonagall, any minor hopes she might have had of finding common ground between Potter's crew and hers were entirely quashed.

It didn't make her feel better that a few innocents got caught in the crossfire, either. How he managed to climb out of the dungeon was anyone’s guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what Pansy called the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower. 

“Where did you even find that curse?” Hermione asked Pansy, wringing out her cloth for the fifth time.

“Malfoy,” said Pansy with a grin. “He said he’d been looking for someone to practice it on.”

“Where was he, anyway?” asked Daphne, furiously scrubbing at a huge silver medal. “He bloody started it.”

“Probably planning something worse,” Teddy said in an undertone. 

Pansy shook her head.

“I told him to stay out of trouble,” she mumbled.

“Someone had to stand up to her, Minnie!” said Tracy, who was teetering on a short ladder, extending over to dab away at a knight's helmet. “She’s clearly used to walking all over people, but that’s no reason to lie down in front of her and make it easier.”

“There’s no need to tell me I’m not smart enough to be in Slytherin, Weasley's already done that,” Hermione said through gritted teeth.

Teddy felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog. 

“You’re worth twelve of Weeble,” he said, handing it over. “The Sorting Hat chose you for Slytherin, didn’t it? And where’s Weasley? In Gruesome Gryffindor.”

Hermione's lips twitched in a weak smile as she unwrapped the frog.

"Gimpy Gryffindor," Pansy snorted.

"Gassy Gryffindor," Tracy chimed in.

"Gobby-"

"No, no, Greasy Gryffindor!"

"Ghoulish-"

"Ghastly-"

"Gelatinous!"

"Gelatinous?!"

"Goofy!"

"Grimy- no- Grizzly!"

"Git!"

Everyone fell over, clutching at their sides as Teddy delivered the final blow: "Gobshite!"

"Ahh," Tracy wiped a tear from her eye. "Stop it! No more!"

"I think we've peaked," Pansy said, doubled over and gripping her stomach. "Everyone in Gryffindor's a Gobshite now, there's nothing for it."

Once she regained her fine motor skills- really, laughter was the best medicine- she bit into the frog. Smooth, bubbly and with little crispy pops, it was a delicious treat. Turning over the packaging, she let her eyes roam lazily over the Famous Wizard card. She got Dumbledore. Unimpressed by his twinkling eyes and slight smirk, she was about to put it down and keep polishing when Teddy snatched it back out of her hands.

"Oi-"

He gasped, staring at the back of the card. 

“I’ve found him!” he whispered. “I’ve found Flamel! I told you I’d read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: ‘Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel’ !”

Hermione's heart flipped somersaults, but it wasn't until they returned to the common room after detention with pruned fingers and sore knees that she dragged Teddy into her reading spot and pulled out the most recent volume she'd been poring over.

“I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”

“Light?” said Teddy with a smile, but Hermione told him to be quiet until she’d looked something up, and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

“I knew it! I knew it!”

“Am I allowed to speak yet?” Teddy said through barely-moving lips. Hermione ignored him.

“Nicolas Flamel,” she whispered emphatically, “is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone!”

“The what?” said Teddy.

“Look – read that, there.”

She pushed the book toward him, and he read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

“Right” said Teddy, when he'd finished reading. “So that’s what was moved out of Gringotts!”

It was Hermione's turn to be confused. "Moved out of Gringott's?" 

Teddy held up a finger.

“Stay there!” he said, and he sprinted down to the dormitories. Hermione barely had time to register his departure before he was dashing back, an enormous pile of newspapers in his arms.

She blinked, mystified, as he pored through various editions until he pulled one out dated just prior to their first day of term.

"There-" he pointed.

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown. Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

"The dog must be guarding Flamel’s Philosopher's Stone," Teddy rambled as she read the article, "I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they’re friends and he knew someone was after it, that’s why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts."

“A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!” said Hermione.

“No wonder Quirrell's after it,” said Teddy. “Anyone would want it.”

“And no wonder I couldn’t find Flamel in that Study of Recent Development in Wizardry,” said Hermione. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

The next morning, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, Hermione and Teddy were still discussing what they’d do with a Philosopher's Stone if they had one. It wasn’t until Teddy said he’d buy his own Quidditch team that Hermione remembered about Potter and the coming match.

“I’m going to play,” she could hear Potter telling Weasley, Seamus and Dean. “If I don’t, all the Slytherins will think I’m just too scared to face Snape. I’ll show them…it’ll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.”

Just as long as we’re not wiping you off the field, thought Hermione.

As the match drew nearer, however, Hermione became more and more nervous. She hadn't found a way to speak to Potter yet about what happened in the corridor. She knew that Lavender's hair was growing back- tufts of golden curls stuck out of her headband like some kind of deranged poodle- but it seemed to be taking its time. The class of Gryffindor would not forget quickly.

Hermione didn’t know whether she was imagining it or not, but she seemed to keep running into Snape wherever she went. At times, she even wondered whether Snape was following her, trying to catch her on his own. Potions lessons were turning into a sort of weekly tango, Snape was so watchful over her. Could Snape possibly know they’d found out about the Philosopher's Stone? Hermione didn’t see how he could – yet she sometimes had the horrible feeling that Snape could read minds.

She knew, when she watched everyone wish Potter good luck outside the locker rooms the next afternoon, that Weasley, Seamus, and Dean were all wondering whether they’d see a re-hash of the last match. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle brought their own drawing this time, of Potter struggling to keep a hold on his broom high up above the Quidditch pitch, which didn't help matters.

She hardly heard a word of Daphne's in-depth match analysis as they made their way towards the stands. Little did her friends know that she had been secretly practicing the Leg-Locker Curse. She'd gotten the idea from Pansy using it on Longbottom, and was ready to use it on Quirrell if he showed any sign of wanting to hurt Potter.

“Locomotor Mortis,” Hermione muttered under her breath as Teddy slipped his wand up his sleeve.

“Relax, Minnie,” he muttered.

“Don't tell me to relax,” she snapped. "This is all my fault."

“I don’t want to burst your bubble, love," he replied calmly, finding her hand under her sleeve and lacing it with his. "But I hardly think you're to blame for a homicidal maniac roaming the school grounds."

She pursed her lips. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"If I hadn't given Brown a buzzcut," she jerked her head in Lavender's direction, who was yanking a bobble hat down over her strangely shorn locks. "We might've made more progress on the Stone. We might've been able to figure out why-"

Teddy pulled her closer to him. "We are first years, Minnie. Why not leave the worrying to Snape?"

Hermione looked up with a sigh. Snape looked even more ominous when he was riding a broom, if that was even possible. In all-black Quidditch gear and sporting an extra-flared cape, he flew stiffly above the pitch with a sullen expression on his face.

She supposed Teddy had a point. Why was she bothering herself with whatever was happening underneath Hogwarts? She was lucky to even be enrolled there, luckier still to have found friendship with her classmates. Why ruin all of that over a silly little mystery? Didn't it seem like something that was more suited to the Professors? Couldn't Dumbledore handle this himself?

"-but if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it’s now. Finish the game before Snape can favor Hufflepuff too much,” she tuned in as one of the older Weasley twins yelled over the roaring crowd. The players were starting to come onto the pitch.

“Blimey, the whole school’s out there!” said Daphne, peering over the stands. “Even – blimey – Dumbledore’s come to watch!”

Dumbledore? she thought, casting a glance over to the teacher's stand. Daphne was right. There was no mistaking that silver beard.

Hermione could have laughed out loud with relief. Potter was safe. There was simply no way that Quirrell would dare to try to hurt him if Dumbledore was watching.

Perhaps that was why Snape was looking so angry as the teams marched onto the field, something that Weasley noticed, too.

“I’ve never seen Snape look so mean,” he told them. “Look – they’re off. Ouch!”

Malfoy poked Weasley in the back of the head.

“Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn’t see you there.”

Malfoy grinned broadly at Crabbe and Goyle.

“Wonder how long Potter’s going to stay on his broom this time? Anyone want a bet? What about you, Weasley?”

To his credit, Weasley didn’t answer; Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because Twin One Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Potter, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch.

“You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?” said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty. “It’s people they feel sorry for. See, there’s Potter, who’s got no parents, then there’s the Weasleys, who’ve got no money – you should be on the team, Longbottom, you’ve got no brains.”

Longbottom went bright red but turned in his seat to face Malfoy.

“I’m worth twelve of you, Malfoy,” he stammered.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter.

“Longbottom, if brains were gold you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m warning you, Malfoy – one more word –”

“Ron!” said Dean suddenly, “Harry -!”

“What? Where?”

Potter had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as he streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

“You’re in luck, Weasley, Potter’s obviously spotted some money on the ground!” said Malfoy.

“Shove off, Malfoy,” a Hufflepuff called Penelope snapped. “You’re just angry that Slytherin’s about to lose the cup.”

“You know, Clearwater, you deserve to be on the Gryffindor Quidditch team more than anybody – you’re poor, Muggle-born, and stupid.”

Hermione's head snapped to the right just as Weasley clambered over the back of his seat to wrestle Malfoy to the ground. All hell broke loose as Dean tried to pull Weasley off while throwing a few punches himself. Crabbe and Goyle looked dumbstruck for a moment before piling in on the madness, clobbering Weasley with their giant ham fists.

"Get off of him!" Pansy screamed, leaping off her seat and yanking Seamus back by his robes.

Malfoy rolled under his seat, struggling to get Weasley off him and give him a black eye at the same time. Hermione barely registered the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Longbottom. Teddy wrapped his arms around Pansy's waist, lifting her off and away from the fight as she kicked and cried. 

Hermione watched as Malfoy lost a grip on his wand and it was kicked by a flailing leg towards Hermione's feet. She watched as he locked eyes with her, clearly expecting her to pass him the wand.

You’re poor, Muggle-born, and stupid.

With no expression, she turned back to face the match.

“Come on, Harry!” someone yelled.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches – the next second, Potter had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

“Ron! Dean! Seamus! Where are you? The game’s over! Harry’s won! We’ve won! Gryffindor is in the lead!” shrieked Parvati, dancing up and down on her seat and hugging Lavender in the row in front.

Potter jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. Hermione couldn’t believe it. He’d done it – the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes. As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, she saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped. She frowned as Dumbledore whispered something in Potter's ear, causing him to break into a huge smile.

Why couldn't she leave it to the teachers? Something greedy in Dumbledore's expression told her that would be a mistake.

Quirrell, however, must have been sneakier than she previously thought. In the weeks that followed he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn’t look as though he’d cracked yet. Maybe Snape's threats were beginning to work, but it didn't help that Weasley had started telling people off for laughing at Quirrell's stutter.

Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Hermione and Teddy would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy was still growling inside. Snape was sweeping about in his usual bad temper, which surely meant that the Stone was still safe. Whenever Hermione passed him these days she gave him an encouraging sort of smile.

Teddy, however, had more on his mind than the Philosopher's Stone. He had started drawing up study schedules and color-coding all his notes. 

“Teddy, the exams are ages away,” said Hermione.

“Ten weeks,” Teddy snapped. “That’s not ages, that’s like a second to Nicolas Flamel.”

“But we’re not six hundred years old,” she reminded him. “Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all.”

“What am I studying for? Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They’re very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don’t know what’s gotten into me….”

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Teddy. The piled so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren’t nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It was hard to relax with Teddy next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Hermione, Pansy, Teddy and Tracy spent most of their free time in the library with him, trying to get through all their extra work.

“I’ll never remember this,” Pansy burst out one afternoon, throwing down her quill and looking longingly out of the library window. It was the first really fine day they’d had in months. The sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there was a feeling In the air of summer coming.

Hermione, who was looking up “Dittany” in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn’t look up until she heard a familiar voice say, “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?”

Recognising the voice as belonging to Potter, she shot Teddy a meaningful look and they casually sidled over to the shelf that separated them and Potter sitting next to Weasley. Through a gap in Sandworms, Sunbeams and So, you want to go to the desert? she saw Hagrid shuffling into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

“Jus’ lookin’,” he said, in a shifty voice that got her interest at once. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” He looked suddenly suspicious. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

Teddy and Hermione exchanged looks.

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” said Weasley smugly. “And we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Philosopher's St –”

“Shhhh!” Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

Teddy frowned, mouthing how did they find that out? Hermione shrugged, leaning closer to the bookshelf to listen.

“There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact,” said Potter, “about what’s guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy –”

“SHHHH!” said Hagrid again. “Listen – come an’ see me later, I’m not promisin’ I’ll tell yeh anythin’, mind, but don’ go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren’ s’pposed ter know. They’ll think I’ve told yeh –”

“See you later, then,” said Potter.

Hagrid shuffled off. Teddy and Hermione followed suit, walking to stand over by the window, pretending to pore over a gigantic copy of Magic Carpets Don't Want to Be Ridden. 

“What was he hiding behind his back?” asked Teddy under his breath.

“Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

“I’m going to see what section he was in,” said Teddy, who’d had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

“Dragons!” he whispered. “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide.”

“Hagrid would probably love a dragon," she whispered back, thinking of Fluffy. 

“But it’s against our laws,” Teddy said, flicking through one of the volumes. “Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It’s hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we’re keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can’t tame dragons, it’s dangerous.”

“But there aren’t any wild dragons in Britain?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course there are,” said Teddy. “Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who’ve spotted them, to make them forget.”

“So what on earth’s Hagrid up to?” said Hermione.

When she snuck out of the dungeons a couple hours later and carefully made her way onto the grounds towards the gamekeeper’s hut, she was surprised to see that all the curtains were closed. Casting a quick Disillusionment on herself, just in case, she crept closer and closer to what she assumed was the living room window. Inside, she could hear the deep rumbling of Hagrid's voice.

"-Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall – Professor Quirrell – an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.”

“Snape?” That was definitely Weasley's voice.

“Yeah – yer not still on abou’ that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he’s not about ter steal it.”

“You’re the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren’t you, Hagrid?” another voice. Potter.

If Quirrell had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything – except, it seemed, Snape's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

“Not a soul knows except me an’ Dumbledore,” said Hagrid proudly.

“Well, that’s something,” Potter muttered. “Hagrid, can we have a window open? I’m boiling."

Hermione ducked down as one of the window panes swung open slightly, backing up a few steps into something hard and warm. As she sucked in a surprised breath, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and face, pulling her back up against Hagrid's hut with surprising fluidity. 

"Shut up," a voice hissed. "I'm not going to hurt you, shit-"

She bit down on the hand around her mouth and jerked out of its hold as quietly as she could, stumbling and falling back onto the grass outside the window.

For a long second she stared at the still-open window, as if Hagrid was going to pop his head out any second and scold her for being out of bed at this hour. But when she heard his voice rumble: "-think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest,” she breathed a sigh of relief.

Her eyes flitted back to the figure that had held her. As it slowly emerged from the shadows, she frowned as a shock of blonde hair and a sarcastic sneer came into view.

"Malfoy?" she stage-whispered.

He offered her a sardonic smirk before holding out his hand. "Up."

With a light scoff, she got herself to her feet. "I'm not a broom, you know."

He held a finger to his lips, tilting his head as if to motion her to come closer to the window. Despite her best efforts to look affronted, the curiosity won her over and she tip-toed over to his side just underneath the window.

“– it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ‘cause their mothers breathe on ‘em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here – how ter recognize diff’rent eggs – what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Hagrid, you live in a wooden house,” she heard Potter say.

But Hagrid clearly wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

All at once there was a scraping noise as something large split open. Simultaneously, she and Malfoy stood on their toes to peek through the gap in the curtains, watching as a baby dragon flopped onto the kitchen table. It wasn’t exactly pretty; Hermione thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body, it had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.

“Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!” said Hagrid.

Malfoy tugged on her sleeve, unnervingly like Teddy did, and she ducked back down under the window with him. 

"What are you doing here, Granger?" he snapped.

Close up, aided with the warm firelight radiating from the window above, she could see a purple-black bruise forming around Malfoy's left eye. He looked angry, like nothing in the world could convince him to calm down. 

"What am I doing? What are you doing?"

"I asked you first."

"Why do you care why I'm here?"

"I don't trust you, Granger," he hissed, leaning closer to her face. His eyes looked damson in this light. "You might hang around Theo as if he's your long lost brother, but something's not right about you-"

"Not right about me?"

"I come from a long line of one of the most respected families in Britain," he continued, unperturbed by her offended expression. "I've shared tea and biscuits with the very best, and I know a fake when I see one."

Her heart stopped. 

She didn't know how long they crouched there for, staring steadfastly at one another.

She morphed her face into something passive. "You don't know what you're talking about-"

The baby dragon banged its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle and both of them jump. The curtains suddenly swished open, and a humongous, smoking oven glove went flying out onto the lawn. Hermione and Malfoy froze in place as a tea towel was wafted over their heads. 

“-aargh! It’s all right, he only got my boot – jus’ playin’ – he’s only a baby, after all-”

She felt Malfoy tug on her sleeve. She yanked him off, sighing in relief as the conversation inside went back to normal.

"-brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him.”

As soon as the tea towel got pulled back through the window, Hermione set off in a low jog across the shaded part of the lawn. She felt midnight tick nearer as she ran up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Through another hall, into the atrium, she was-

"Nearly there!" Malfoy panted from behind her as they reached the door to the dungeons.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost fall over. They shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Weasley by the ear.

“Detention!” she shouted. “And twenty points from Gryffindor! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you –”

“You don’t understand, Professor! Malfoy's out of bed! We were just-”

“What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about this-”

As the lamplight swirled towards the dungeon door, Hermione and Malfoy shaded their faces from the sudden brightness. 

“Well, well, well,” McGonagall whispered, “we are in trouble.”

Chapter 9: Waiting in the Forest

What will I think of me
The day that I die
Saltwater wells in my eyes

 

---

 

Things could've been worse.

Down in Professor McGonagall’s study on the first floor, Hermione, Malfoy, Weasley and Potter sat and waited without saying a word to each other. Hermione was thinking hard. Excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories chased each other around her brain, each more feeble than the last. She couldn’t see how they were going to get out of trouble. They were cornered.

There was no reason on earth that Professor McGonagall would accept for their being out of bed and creeping around the school in the dead of night, let alone being out on the grounds, which was out-of-bounds except for classes. Add Norbert and they might as well be packing their bags already.

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,” said Professor McGonagall. “It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I suppose you think it’s funny that Miss Granger here heard the story and believed it, too?”

Potter caught Hermione's eyes and tried to tell her without words that this wasn’t true, but she could do nothing more than stare blankly back. 

“I’m disgusted,” said Professor McGonagall. “Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before! You, Mr Potter, I thought you had more sense. As for you, Mr. Weasley, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. Both of you will receive detentions – yes, you too, Mr. Weasley, nothing gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.”

“Fifty?” Potter gasped – Hermione numbly realised they would lose the lead, the lead he’d won in the last Quidditch match.

“Fifty points each,” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily through her long, pointed nose.

“Professor – please –”

“You can’t –”

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter," McGonagall said sternly, before turning to Hermione and Malfoy. "And you two. I'm sure Professor Snape would be less than pleased at being awoken at such a late hour for something so trivial. Fifty points each will be taken from Slytherin. Now get back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Hogwarts students.”

Hermione didn’t sleep all night. She could hear Daphne snoring into her pillow for what seemed like hours. She couldn’t think of a way to explain herself. It would be a small comfort at least if she knew Malfoy, like herself, was dreading the dawn. But he'd barely reacted as the sentence was passed, merely narrowing his eyes and tensing his jaw.

A hundred points lost. In one night, she'd single-handedly ruined any chance Slytherin had for the house cup. Hermione felt as thought the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. How could she ever make up for this?

At first, Slytherins passing the giant hourglasses that recorded the house points the next day thought there’d been a mistake. How could they suddenly have a hundred points fewer than yesterday? When they looked over and saw the Gryffindor hourglass significantly emptier as well, there was a moment where students simply looked left-to-right, dumbstruck.

And then the story started to spread: Harry Potter, the famous Harry Potter, the hero of two Quidditch matches, had lost them all those points. Potter and his ever-present sidekick Weasley had been caught out of bed, sneaking around with who other than their sworn Slytherin enemies, Granger and Malfoy?

To her shock and surprise, after the initial indignation at losing a huge chunk of house points, Hermione went from being a nobody to one of the most popular and admired people in Slytherin. Her classmates clapped as she walked past them, whistling and cheering, "Knock him down a peg, Granger!" and "That'll show him!" 

Potter, on the other hand, was suddenly the most hated. Even Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs turned on him, because everyone had been longing to see Slytherin lose the house cup. Everywhere he went, people pointed and didn’t trouble to lower their voices as they insulted him. 

Hermione was almost glad that the exams weren’t far away. All the studying she had to do kept her mind off the guilt. She tried to keep to herself, working late into the night, trying to remember the ingredients in complicated potions, learn charms and spells by heart, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions…

Then, about a week before the exams were due to start, Hermione's new resolution not to interfere in anything that didn’t concern her was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library on her own one afternoon, she heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead. As she drew closer, she heard Quirrell’s voice.

“No – no – not again, please –”

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Hermione moved closer.

“All right – all right –” she heard Quirrell sob.

Next second, Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. He was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight; Hermione didn’t think Quirrell had even noticed her. She waited until Quirrell’s footsteps had disappeared, then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. She was halfway toward it before she remembered what she’d promised herself about not meddling.

All the same, she’d have gambled twelve Philosopher's Stones that whoever Quirrell was talking to had just left the room, and from what Hermione had just heard, they would be walking with a new spring in their step – Quirrell seemed to have given in at last.

Hermione went back to the library, where Teddy was testing himself on Astronomy. She told him what she’d heard.

“Snape’s done it, then!” he replied. “He's put Quirrell off whatever he was planning and told him to shove it up his –”

“There’s still Fluffy, though,” said Hermione, who had checked the third floor corridor and had indeed still heard the dog snoring heavily.

“Maybe Quirrell's found out how to get past him without asking Hagrid,” said Teddy, looking up at the thousands of books surrounding them. “I bet there’s a book somewhere in here telling you how to get past a giant three-headed dog. So what do you think?”

She sighed impatiently, crossing her arms. Go to Dumbledore. That's what any normal student would have done ages ago. She knew that if she tried anything herself she'd be thrown out of Hogwarts for sure. 

But they had no proof. She and Teddy were the only ones who saw Quirrell jinxing Potter's broom during the Quidditch match, and she could hardly go and tell the headmaster that she'd set the man's robes on fire based off of gut instinct. Snape might be patriotic for his own house, but she doubted very much he'd go out on a limb and stick up for two clueless first years. Not to mention how she wasn't even supposed to know about the Stone or Fluffy.

From the sad way he was looking at her, Hermione could tell Teddy was thinking the same thing. 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Minnie?” he asked softly.

“No,” said Hermione flatly, “we’ve done enough poking around.”

She pulled a map of Jupiter toward her and started to learn the names of its moons.

The following morning, notes were delivered to Hermione and Malfoy at the breakfast table. They were both the same:

          Your detention will take place at eleven o’ clock tonight.

          Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

                        Professor M. McGonagall

Hermione had forgotten that they still had detentions to do over the points they’d lost. He half expected Teddy to complain on her behalf that this was a whole night of studying lost, but he didn’t say a word. Like her, he felt she deserved what she'd got.

At eleven o’ clock that night, she said good-bye to Teddy and Pansy in the common room and went down to the entrance hall. Filch was already there – and so was Malfoy. Hermione had almost forgotten that Potter and Weasley had gotten a detention as well, and she registered their presence with a numb surprise.

“Follow me,” said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

“I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he said, leering at them. “Oh yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…. It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out…hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ’em well oiled in case they’re ever needed…. Right, off we go, and don’t think of running off, now, it’ll be worse for you if you do.”

They marched across the dark grounds. Weasley kept sniffing. Hermione wondered what their punishment was going to be. It must be something really horrible, or Filch wouldn’t be sounding so delighted. The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Hermione could see the lighted windows of Hagrid’s hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

Relief showed in Potter and Weasley's faces, but Filch said, “I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it’s into the forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”

At this, Hermione let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

“The forest?” he repeated, and he didn’t sound quite as cool as usual. “We can’t go in there at night – there’s all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard.”

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. “Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?”

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying a large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.

“Abou’ time,” he said. “I bin waitin’ fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Ron?”

“I shouldn’t be too friendly to them, Hagrid,” said Filch coldly, “they’re here to be punished, after all.”

“That’s why yer late, is it?” said Hagrid, frowning at Filch. “Bin lecturin’ them, eh? ‘Snot your place ter do that. Yeh’ve done yer bit, I’ll take over from here.”

“I’ll be back at dawn,” said Filch, “for what’s left of them,” he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Weasley now turned to Hagrid.

“I’m not going in that forest,” he said, and Hermione was pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

“Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,” said Hagrid fiercely. “Yeh’ve done wrong an’ now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.”

“But this is servant stuff," Malfoy chimed in arrogantly, "it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d –”

“- tell yer that’s how it is at Hogwarts,” Hagrid growled. “Copyin’ lines! What good’s that ter anyone? Yeh’ll do summat useful or yeh’ll get out. If yeh think yer father’d rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an’ pack. Go on!”

Malfoy didn’t move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

“Right then,” said Hagrid, “now, listen carefully, ‘cause it’s dangerous what we’re gonna do tonight, an’ I don’ want no one takin’ risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

He led them to the very edge of the forest. Holding his lamp up high, he pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.

“Look there,” said Hagrid, “see that stuff shinin’ on the ground? Silvery stuff? That’s unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

“And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?” said Weasley, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

“There’s nothin’ that lives in the forest that’ll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,” said Hagrid. “An’ keep ter the path. Right, now, we’re gonna split inter two parties an’ follow the trail in diff’rent directions. There’s blood all over the place, it must’ve bin staggerin’ around since last night at least.”

“I want Fang,” said Hermione quickly, looking at Fang’s long teeth.

“All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,” said Hagrid. “So me, Harry, an’ Ron go one way an’ Draco, Hermione, an’ Fang’ll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we’ll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an’ practice now – that’s it – an’ if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an’ we’ll all come an’ find yeh – so, be careful – let’s go.”

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Potter, Weasley, and Hagrid took the left path while Malfoy, Hermione, and Fang took the right.

They walked on in silence, their eyes on the ground. Every now and then a ray of moonlight through the branches above lit a spot of silver-blue blood on the fallen leaves. Fang let out a ragged huff every few seconds, plodding alongside Hermione with a dopey expression. She let her hand trail along his warm coat, smiling slightly as he walked closer.

“Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?” Malfoy asked, as if thinking aloud.

“Not fast enough,” said Hermione. “It’s not easy to catch a unicorn, they’re powerful magic creatures.”

They walked past a mossy tree stump. Hermione could hear running water; there must be a stream somewhere close by. There were still spots of unicorn blood here and there along the winding path.

“You all right, Fang?” she whispered down to the dog. “Don’t worry, we won't let anything hurt you."

"Speak for yourself," Malfoy scoffed. He ignored her scowl. "Granger the stranger, hero of Slytherin. Bet you never saw that- get behind that tree!"

Malfoy grabbed a hold of Hermione's waist and yanked her off the path behind a towering oak. Fang followed suit, tail tucked between his legs. Malfoy pulled out his wand, raising it, ready to fire. The two of them listened, chests rising and falling in sync. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground.

Hermione gently prised herself free from Malfoy's grasp, sliding her wand out from her waistband. Ignoring his fierce glare, she tip-toed carefully around the thick tree, squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.

"I knew it," Malfoy murmured.

She pulled back around the tree. "What?"

"You're not a hero, you're just an idiot," he said, leaning his head back against the bark.

"Well it takes one to know one," she shot back, sliding her wand up her sleeve.

His hand shot out, gripping her forearm. "Don't put it away."

She stopped. "Why, you afraid the big, bad werewolf's coming to get you?"

"That was no werewolf, and it wasn't a unicorn either," he said grimly. "I'd rather not be caught up the Styx without a wand."

Her gaze flickered to his wand, then back to his face. "Well feel free to keep yours to hand, then."

With that she started walking, admittedly more slowly than before, ears straining for the faintest sound. Suddenly, in a clearing ahead, something definitely moved.

“Who’s there?” she called. “Show yourself!”

And into the clearing came – was it a man, or a horse? To the waist, a man, with red hair and beard, but below that was a horse’s gleaming chestnut body with a long, reddish tail. Hermione’s jaw dropped.

"A centaur..." Malfoy whispered.

“Good evening to you, child,” said the centaur with a deep, sorrowful voice. “Were you going to shoot me?”

She looked down at her raised wand. "No, I, um-"

"Can't be too careful these days," Malfoy spoke for the both of them. "There's something loose in this forest."

The centaur trotted gently towards them. “Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?”

“Erm –”

“A bit,” said Hermione timidly.

“A bit. Well, that’s something.” the centaur sighed. He flung back his head and stared at the sky. “Mars is bright tonight.”

"Yeah...” said Hermione uncertainly, glancing up, too. “Listen, I’m glad we’ve run into you, there’s a unicorn that's been hurt – have you seen anything?”

The creature didn’t answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward, than sighed again.

“Always the innocent are the first victims,” he said. “So it has been for ages past, so it is now.”

"Yes but have you seen anything?" Malfoy pressed. "Anything unusual?"

“Mars is bright tonight,” he repeated, while Hermione watched him impatiently. “Unusually bright.”

"I meant anything a bit closer to home," Malfoy murmured under his breath.

Yet again, the centaur took a while to answer. At last, he said, “The forest hides many secrets.”

A movement in the trees behind Ronan made Hermione raise her wand again, but it was only a second centaur, black-haired and –bodied and wilder-looking than the.

“Um, hello,” said Hermione with a frightened squeak. “Everything all right?”

This centaur did not look at them with the same indifference as the chestnut one. He regarded them with a suspicious and slightly angry gaze, before trotting over to stand next to his friend.

“Ronan, I hope you are well?”

“Well enough, Bane" the chestnut centaur, Ronan, replied. "These children have been asking if we've seen anything odd lately."

Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward.

“Mars is bright tonight,” he said simply.

“So we’ve heard,” said Hermione, her shoulders slumping. “Well, we’ll be off, then.”

Hermione led Malfoy and Fang out of the clearing, staring over their shoulders at Ronan and Bane until the trees blocked their view.

"Couldn't give us a straight answer, could they?" said Malfoy irritably.

She patted Fang's head to hide the slight tremble in her hands. She still had some getting used to magical creatures, those centaurs had really caught her off guard.

They walked on through the dense, dark trees. Hermione kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. Their breath came out in little fog clouds before them, obscuring their vision for a brief second before dissipating into the dark. She kept her eyes wide open, her hand laced through Fang's coat, and her wits about her.

They had just past a bend in the path when Malfoy grabbed Hermione's arm.

"Would you get off me?" she hissed, tugging herself free.

“Look!" Malfoy ignored her. "Red sparks, the others are in trouble!”

He was right. Far off in the distance, a crimson glow bloomed over the tree-tops. Hermione went off-balance as Fang went darting out of her grasp and crashing off into the undergrowth.

"Fang-" she called, but it was too late. 

They stood perfectly still, looking at each other, until they couldn’t hear anything but the rustling of leaves around them.

“You think they’ve been hurt?” whispered Malfoy. “I don’t care if Weasley has, personally-"

But if something got Potter…it was her fault he was here in the first place. 

The minutes dragged by. Their ears seemed sharper than usual. Hermione's seemed to be picking up every sigh of the wind, every cracking twig. What was going on? Where were the others?

"Maybe we should go see..." she whispered back at last.

So they set off into the heart of the forest. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Hermione thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. She could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

“Look –” she murmured, holding out her arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Hermione had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and it’s mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Hermione had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made her freeze where she stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered…. Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Hermione and Malfoy stood transfixed, unable to move as the cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal’s side, and began to drink its blood.

In a weird, terrified unison, Hermione and Malfoy began slowly but surely backing away. They placed their feet delicately on the ground behind them, managing to time their steps with each disgusting slurp the cloaked figure took from the unicorn.

Just as they were about to pull out of the clearing...

“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Both of them whipped their heads around to see Weasley stood about ten feet away, bathed in lamplight, screaming like his life depended on it. Throwing the lamp out of his hands, he bolted, just as Potter came into the clearing with a curiously frightened expression.

The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Potter– shimmering unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward them. Potter doubled over in fear, clinging his forehead as if his scar was on fire. 

"Granger, we can't stay-" Malfoy tugged on her sleeve.

The hooded figure walked closer, and closer. Beneath its hood, she could see a mouth with a set of glistening teeth bared in anger.

Raising her wand, she yelled, "Locomotor mortis!" as she heard hooves behind her, galloping, and something jumped clean over her, charging at the figure. A thump came from beside her, but she ignored it, rushing towards where Potter had fallen to his knees.

In the clearing, her Leg-Locker curse had somehow managed to cause the figure to stumble, just in time for a white-blond centaur with a palomino body to go charging directly at him. The figure staggered back, and as the centaur rose to its back legs, it slithered away into the night.

”Are you all right?” said Hermione, pulling Harry to his feet.

“Yes – thank you – what was that?”

When they looked up, the centaur was standing over them. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Potter, his eyes lingering on the scar that stood out, livid, on his forehead.

“You are the Potter boy,” he said. “You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way."

Potter leaned on Hermione for a moment, breathing heavily. "Who are you?"

“My name is Firenze,” the centaur added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs.

"Just a second," she whispered, turning back round. "Malfoy! Malfoy, you coming?"

There was no answer. Her chest panged in fear as she ran back over to the piece of clearing and saw Malfoy laid in a heap on the ground, bleeding slightly from the head. She knelt down, not knowing what to do.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweating.

“Firenze!” Bane thundered. “What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?”

“Do you realize who this is?” said Firenze. “This is the Potter boy. The quicker he leaves this forest, the better.”

“What have you been telling him?” growled Bane. “Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?”

Ronan pawed the ground nervously. “I’m sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best,” he said in his gloomy voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in anger.

“For the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!”

Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in anger, so that Potter had to grab his shoulders to stay on.

“Do you not see that unicorn?” Firenze bellowed at Bane. “Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must.”

And Firenze whisked around; with Potter clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane behind them.

Hermione sat frozen, watching as each creature left the clearing, leaving her and Malfoy behind in the dark woods with just a slain unicorn for company. She looked down at Malfoy, peaceful-looking in his unconscious state, and prised a lock of blonde hair out of the trail of blood trickling down his forehead.

What had she told herself? No more meddling. 

Teddy and Pansy had fallen asleep in their armchairs in the dark common room, waiting for them to return. Teddy shouted something about Venemous Tentacula when Hermione shook them both awake. 

"Where's- where's Draco?" Pansy mumbled, still half-asleep, getting to her feet unsteadily. "Why's he not with you?"

"Don't worry, he's in the hospital wing," she said in what she'd hoped was a calming voice, but Pansy immediately darted out of the common room. "Well. Never mind, then."

Hermione couldn’t sit down. She paced up and down in front of the fire, still shaking.

"Minnie, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

"No," Hermione said, startled by the question. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions."

“That's because it's a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said Teddy slowly. “Only someone who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.”

Hermione stared at Teddy, his face dappled silver in the moonlight.

“But who’d be that desperate?” she wondered aloud. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”

"Yeah, unless-" Teddy paused, running a hand over his face. "Unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die."

"The Elixir of Life..." she whispered.

"The Philosopher's Stone," Teddy agreed. "Hidden under the school at this very moment."

Hermione started putting the pieces together. "So Quirrell wants the stone for himself. He doesn't want to get rich, he needs the Elixir of Life. But, wait. He doesn't look sick, or cursed. Why would he want something to keep him alive if he's already fine? Unless he wants it for something else. For someone else.."

"And all we've got to do is wait for Quirrell to attempt to get the Stone," Teddy finished for her. "To find out who that someone is."

Hermione thought aloud. "And Firenze saved Potter, but he shouldn’t have done so…Bane was furious…he was talking about interfering with what the planets say is going to happen…. They must show that someone's coming back…Bane thinks Firenze should have let this guy kill Potter… I suppose that’s written in the stars as well.”

"And whoever this cloaked guy in the forest was..."

The sky had turned light before they had stopped talking. They went to bed exhausted, their throats sore.

She couldn't think of anybody who'd waited many years to return to power, who'd clung to life, awaiting their chance. In the Muggle world, that was an impossible thing. The only thing she could relate it to was the old tv-film Sometimes They Come Back, about a guy haunted by the ghosts of high school thugs who were killed in a freak accident along with his brother. She didn't much like the idea of a back-from-the-half-dead scenario.

Quirrell wanted the stone for someone else.

And that someone else was waiting in the forest...

Chapter 10: Suitable

You can windsurf into my life
Take me up on a carpet ride
You can make it in a big balloon
But you better make it soon

 

---

 

In return for successfully locating the culprit of the unicorn slayings and learning the purpose behind Quirrell's seeking of the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione was rewarded with lines. In Snape's office. Three hours a week, for three weeks. Not too bad, considering she was used to a lot worse punishment at home. She didn't mind the repetition of it, her overworked brain found it soothing. I will not put my classmates in danger. I will not veer off the beaten track. 

Perhaps she'd have swallowed her pride had she not found the entire concept of this punishment completely unjust. Not only had she found the source of the dark deeds in the Forbidden Forest, she had gone and bloody fought the thing! It wasn't her fault that a teacher wasn't present to see it! Hagrid was too busy hand-holding Weasley, and Firenze took off with Potter on his back before she could clear her throat.

Malfoy barely spent the evening in the hospital wing. Pansy was distraught, of course. Although Hermione did find it incredibly comical that she went from streaming tears at his unconscious form to slapping him silly the moment his eyes cracked open. But Pansy was like that.

But to place the majority of the blame on her? She couldn't stand the injustice. 

The scratching of her quill was the only sound in Snape's office besides the light breathing of her Head of House as he methodically graded essays and papers. With every line, she grew more frustrated. I will not put my classmates in danger. I will not veer off the beaten track. She ground her teeth together, occasionally dipping her quill into the pot of ink at the side of her parchment, none too gently.

I suppose I won't defend my classmates then, she thought angrily as she scribbled away. I suppose I'll just let them be eaten by cloaked monsters in the Forbidden Forest. Far from praising Hermione on her quick thinking and defensive magic, McGonagall had seen fit to consider her the reason her precious Gryffindors were scattered to the wind. Never mind that Hagrid was supposed to be in charge of their care. And she'd already served her detention!

"Could you please," the sudden sound of Snape's dulcet voice made Hermione jump, "refrain from the dramatic sighs?"

Her cheeks reddened. She didn't realise she'd been sighing that loud.

"Yes sir," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

When he finally looked down at his papers again, Hermione loosened a little. 

Snape's office was a weird place. It was like being inside of a snow globe; completely spherical in shape, relatively small with wall-to-wall shelves that curved around housing little bottles, jars of ingredients, potions books, labelled boxes and the like. His desk sat at one side, piled high with parchments and papers. She could see rolled up leather pouches containing various instruments she didn't recognise, dark bone horns that contained cauldron stirrers and sieves, and short metal stands holding uniquely coloured stones.

Hermione sat off to the side at a small desk that had been dragged in from one of the classrooms, her back to the curved wall. It would feel claustrophobic, easily, did Hermione not absolutely adore it. It was like being inside a submarine underwater, safe from whatever was out trawling the ocean. Even the pale green lamps cast a watery glow.

Snape cleared his throat, making her jump again. She realised she'd been sat like an absolute melon, just staring around at the room with her mouth agape.

Snape looked at her with a blank expression, his quill hovering over a vial of ink. "Something the matter?"

Hermione looked down at her parchment. Her lines were all over the place, veering off at odd angles where she'd clearly been so caught up in her thoughts that her pen hand slipped diagonally down the page.

She cringed inwardly, and looked at the clock up on the wall. "Can I go soon?"

Snape looked at the clock with her. "It is only ten past five, Miss Granger. You still have two hours and fifty minutes to go."

Two hours and fifty minutes? "Right, well. I've done loads of pages already..."

He eyed her stack of parchment. "And I suppose they are of an acceptable quality?"

She shifted her arm to cover the worst of the lines. "Yes."

"Professor McGonagall has doled out what she deems to be a suitable punishment," he said after a long pause in which Hermione struggled to maintain eye contact. "I would suggest you complete it to what you believe to be a suitable standard."

She sat up straighter, frustrated. "Was it a suitable punishment, though?"

Snape tilted his head slightly and gently placed his quill into the ink pot. Oh, I've gone and done it now, she thought. He laced his fingers together and rested them under his pointy chin, regarding her with a cold stare.

"Kindly elaborate."

Well, it was too late. 

"I. Just. Think," she began, placing her quill down on the parchment, leaving a dark ink stain where the nib touched it. "It's a bit unfair. I mean, yes, me and Malfoy were caught out of bed after hours. Fine, we got detention. We went into the Forbidden Forest- mind you, the exact place Dumbledore said students aren't allowed- and we got broken off into pairs looking for some evil creature that's been slaying unicorns, and we're expected to.. what? Just send up sparks and hope that Hagrid comes to the rescue? He doesn't even have a wand! So of course, by the time we find this.. hooded.. freak.. we're just a pair of bumbling first years that've barely just learned a levitation spell, and he's coming towards us, teeth glowing in unicorn blood, and I don't know what I'm doing. So I just cast the first spell that comes into my head while Malfoy gets knocked unconscious while a bloody horse jumps over the top of our heads- not that I clocked this at all, I was a bit busy with the bloke floating towards me. And to top it off, Potter off and disappears on the back of a centaur, Weasley's screaming bloody murder and Hagrid's just brought an umbrella, as if the worst he thought would happen was a steady downpour.. and suddenly it's my fault? Just mine! I'm the only one doing lines, and for what? For saving their bloody necks!"

By the end of her speech, Hermione was out of breath. Snape regarded her with the same cold expression, but there was something behind his eyes.

"You were asked to look for a creature that was .. slaying unicorns?" he asked after a while.

She huffed through her nose, her throat tight, but she was surprised to feel no tears rising into her eyes. It was just sheer indignation channelling her temper. 

"Yes," she snapped. "A task truly befitting a first year, wouldn't you think?"

There was another long pause as Hermione's heart rate slowed, her breathing steadied. She picked up her quill again, dipping it into her ink pot and rest her hand on the edge of her parchment. I will not put my classmates in danger. I will not veer off the beaten track. She'd found the repetition soothing. Now the words mocked her. 

Snape sat back in his seat, his gaze drifting across the room. She felt a brief pang of embarrassment at her outburst. He wasn't exactly the kind of teacher one could have an emotional blow-up at. Snape wasn't warm like Professor Sprout or Flitwick. She'd get no coddling from her head of house. 

Strangely, she didn't want coddling. Just having the words out there meant her frustration no longer weighed on her; it was like it held no more power. She'd spun the incident round and round in her head, and the moment it finally all came out she felt .. peaceful. Calm. Oddly numb. Because she knew she was right. And being right meant she had faculty over what needed to be done next. The Sorting Hat popped into her head.

Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.

A smirk rippled across her lips. Maybe she wasn't so out of place.

"I will repeat my earlier comment," Snape's voice once more interrupted her musing. "Professor McGonagall has doled out what she deems to be a suitable punishment. And I would suggest you complete it to what you believe to be a .. suitable standard."

She looked at him, clueless to his words for a brief second. He quirked a brow and went back to grading his papers. Hermione looked down at her ink-stained, messy parchment. Yeah, she thought, this is suitable.

She placed her quill in the ink pot and gathered her things before making her way to the office door. She paused.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

She hesitated. "I know it's not any of my business-"

"Correct."

"- but if I had to guess, I'd say whatever was in that forest, whatever it was that was slaying unicorns. I think .. well I think it was a person."

He looked up at her. "What makes you say that?"

"Its teeth were glowing .."

"Do people's teeth usually glow?"

An image popped into her head; a younger Hermione, perched up on a white counter watching as a large figure bent over a person laid back in a chair. The figure pulled back, reaching for an instrument. She was just tall enough to see the person in the chair, their mouth forced open with plastic discs, and a bright, green light emanating from their mouth. 

"No..," she responded after a moment. "But they were human teeth. And, well. Logic dictates.."

Snape's eyes flickered for a moment, but he simply quirked his brow and returned to grading his papers. Hermione stood there for a moment, watching him skim-read the pages in his snow-globe office. She wondered what would happen if someone came in to shake the globe. Would it snow, or would it rain? 

Hermione spent the next few days avoiding anyone who'd been in the Forest that night. Malfoy was easy enough; he'd all but returned to his normal smarmy, arrogant self, strutting about the castle as if he'd personally paid for it. She caught him sometimes looking at her out the corner of her eye, but by the time she looked his attention was elsewhere. She didn't know how to feel about it. 

Exams were just around the corner, and everyone was feeling the panic. Even people like Ernie MacMillan, who loudly proclaimed himself to have a near-eidetic memory, had the pinched expression of someone burning too much midnight oil. Her notes were a mess; Teddy had to keep quietly waving his wand to rid her parchment of the countless ink blots and crossings out. 

Truth be told, her mind was elsewhere. At night she dreamt so frequently of glowing teeth and angry men that she'd barely slept a wink. She holed herself up at the back of every class, head in her hands, doodling away during lectures. Her quill kept drawing long, black cloaks and hooded faces. Pansy was giving her worried looks. Tracy gave her weak smiles. Daphne was none the wiser.

Whenever Hermione wasn't in class, she was tucked away in a corner somewhere in the castle with Teddy, playing card games or reading the most ridiculous chapters of The Simplicity of Orcanomics: Aggressive Negotiations aloud until they clutched their sides from laughing. His subtle panic about the upcoming exams was endearing to her; his marks were among the best in the year, even without his worrying.

"Do you think we should be making revision timetables?" Teddy thought aloud in the common room one evening.

Hermione caught Tracy's eyes widening and hid her smile. "Whaddya mean?"

"I could charm them to give reminders," he mused, scratching behind his ear with a quill feather. 

Pansy shot her a look that clearly said, shut this down.

Luckily she didn't have to, as that was the moment Crabbe and Goyle stumbled into the common room squawking like a pair of vapid birds. Goyle's robe tails were emitting little puffs of smoke, and Crabbe was chasing him around, attempting to douse the smoke with water spurts from his wand.

"Will you both shut up?" Daphne shouted from behind her book.

"He got me, he bloody got me!" Goyle ranted, whipping his robe back and forth, but that only seemed to make the smoke worse.

Hermione snorted as the Quidditch team emerged from their dormitories, robed up for practice, and stopped to watch the fiasco. Flint observed the pair with a dull expression, front teeth hanging over his bottom lip in disgust.

"Would you just stay still?!" Crabbe yelled.

"I'm on fire, I'm on fire!"

Hermione and Teddy looked at each other, a slow realisation dawning.

Could it be ... ?

"Oh for fuck's sake," Flint snapped from across the room. "Finite!" 

The puffs of smoke instantly dissipated, leaving behind the faint smell of burnt fabric in its wake. Goyle stopped whipping his robe and collapsed onto a nearby seat, breathing heavily. Crabbe stood aside, red in the face, as Flint and the rest of the Quidditch team paced out of the common room, shooting both boys filthy looks of disdain.

Hermione snapped her book shut and stood up, walking over to where Goyle sat.

"Are- are you..." she realised with a smidge of panic that she'd never actually spoken to Crabbe or Goyle. "You alright?"

"M'fine," he mumbled dismissively, waving her away.

She stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes darting from Teddy to Goyle. "W-what happened?"

Goyle cracked an eye open and regarded her suspiciously. She smiled innocently at him, hoping to come across as merely inquisitive and sympathetic to his condition.

She wasn't sure how it read on her face though. Maybe she just looked constipated.

"It was that bloody ginger twat," Crabbe answered, stuffing his wand back into his robes. "Said it was payback, or something."

"Scarpered pretty fast when I swung for him, though," Goyle said with a smirk.

"S'cos he didn't have his scrawny little mates with him," Crabbe said darkly. "I'd love to deck that specky git."

"It was just him on his own?" she asked.

"Looked that way," Goyle shrugged.

She looked at Teddy, knowing he was thinking the same thing. It was Weasley's way of getting back at Hermione for getting him and Potter into trouble. He was sending them a message, a very loud and clear message. Weasley was staking his claim and asserting dominance. 

"We haven't even done anything to him, though!" Crabbe snapped.

Everyone looked at him.

"This week," he amended.

It was enough to put her on edge for the rest of the week. For all she knew, Weasley knew all about Potter's invisibility cloak and was using it to stalk Slytherins into quiet corners with goodness knew what up his sleeve. As she travelled between classes, she kept checking over her shoulder so frequently that Pansy asked if she was developing a twitch. Her dreams morphed between hooded figures and translucent ones, all hunting her down slowly but surely.

Her nerves were shot by the time she sat her first couple of tests.

McGonagall made them turn a mouse into a snuff box, and said she would deduct points if anybody's box showed even the faintest hint of a whisker. Hermione's hand trembled as she cast the spell, but she managed to do it fairly successfully. The snuff box she created was mottled white and grey like the mouse, but had become somewhat marble in texture. McGonagall nodded and scribbled down what she hoped was a decent passing grade.

Flitwick had them charm a pineapple into doing a tap dance across the classroom. Hermione, who had seen enough Fred Astaire VHS' to last her a lifetime, had no problem conjuring this image in her head. Her pineapple even sprouted little green feet. It tripped up a couple of times, but Flitwick seemed suitably amused by the demonstration. Another pass, she hoped.

History of Magic was an absolute shambles. By the time Professor Binns had read through the instructions on the front of the paper, Hermione's eyes had glazed over entirely. She came to around three quarters of the way into the exam and hurriedly etched down some answers she pulled from the back of her head. Although she wasn't convinced that they were entirely factual. More likely than not a fail.

Professor Quirrell had come down with a cold shortly before the practical test, so he'd resorted to writing instructions onto a squeaky chalkboard and sniffling into a handkerchief as he watched students cast various defensive spells whilst being attacked by randomly appearing objects. Hermione, who was completely on edge, found her anxiety a strange advantage for this. She managed to deflect all the objects thrown towards her, so she was certain of a pass.

Between exams, recurring nightmares, looking out for nefarious ginger Gryffindors, and 'writing lines' in Snape's office once a week, Hermione felt absolutely suffocated. She was keen to enact some kind of revenge for Weasley's antics, wanting to focus all of her energies on one single nemesis, but she was too tired to think about it clearly. 

It was the day before Herbology exam, and Professor Sprout was desperately trying to regain the attention of the class. Teddy joined her at the back of the greenhouse, acting as a human shield as Hermione agitatedly ground up root of asphodel in a mortar and pestle, sending stalks flying in every direction.

"Did you just never get taught?"

Hermione shrugged, tired and frustrated. 

"I got taught." She replied, hoping Teddy would get the hint and return to his work. But he didn't, he just stood there as stalks hit his chest and looked at her with a soft expression. "I got taught," she repeated more firmly. "My parents aren't gardeners, for goodness sake. I didn't grow up with a green thumb. These things are a nightmare to grind, anyway. Stupid things."

She shoved aside her equipment with a sigh, pulling off her gloves. Teddy quickly took over, expertly grinding the stalks with a bouncing motion that reduced them to a fine powder in no time.

"Nobody with an ounce of self-respect loves Herbology," Teddy pressed her, "I just don't know how someone gets by without the basics."

"I'm sorry, the basics?"

"What was the first potion you learned how to make?"

"I thought we were talking about Herbology."

"They go hand-in-hand-"

"Oh my God-"

"Answer the question!"

"What is your problem?"

"What's the first potion you learned to make?" Teddy was like a cat with a ball of yarn. 

"I don't bloody know," she hissed under her breath as Professor Sprout sent them a dirty look. "What does it matter?"

He stopped grinding and turned to look at her. In the chaos of students shouting and laughing over one another, Professor Sprout darting back and forth trying to instruct them, all Hermione wanted to do was blend in. Even when it was just Teddy looking at her, she felt a spotlight over her head.

"Wiggenweld," he said softly. "If anyone asks you that again, you say Wiggenweld."

She looked at him, not understanding. "Sorry, what?"

"The other day you told Flitwick that the Engorgement Charm made you hungry-" he said, leaning towards her. "And you called Cornelius Fudge the 'Prime Minister'. I don't think anyone's paid too much attention, but if I've noticed..." 

Hermione went stiff as a board. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just-"

"When combined with wormwood," Professor Sprout suddenly appeared towards their end of the class, "Mr Nott and Miss Granger, powdered root of asphodel produces .. what potion, exactly?" 

Hermione's mind went blank as she stared at Sprout's eager, wrinkled face. She urged her mouth to move, remembering something vague about asphodel growing in the underworld, but her mind was spinning.

It could be mistaken for a slip of the tongue. Calling the Minister for Magic the 'Prime Minister' wasn't that far of a reach.. but it was the way Teddy said he'd noticed. Noticed what? Had he noticed the fact that she'd been lying since the moment she arrived at Hogwarts? If he knew she was lying, what was he doing? Why did he jump in and make up the story about her French family? Why was he telling her about the Wiggenweld? 

"Draught of Living Death," Teddy answered for her, returning to his mortar and pestle.

"Fantastic, Mr Nott! Five points to Slytherin!" Professor Sprout grinned as a few Gryffindors groaned. "The rest of you might want to pay attention to these little nit bits. They might serve you well in your upcoming exams!"

Whatever Professor Sprout went on to lecture the class about, Hermione heard none of it.

She tried pressing Teddy for what exactly he meant by I've noticed it, but his mouth remained tightly sealed. There was little she could do but resign herself to her fate. Once Teddy picked a lane, it was impossible to coax him out of it. So she'd retained nothing by the next day, and when Sprout asked her to identify the magical plants with reactive qualities to the elements, she could barely point and grunt. Great, she thought, I'm becoming Crabbe. 

They were all required to wait outside the greenhouses until everyone finished their practical exams, on short little benches overlooking the Hogwarts grounds. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, warming up an otherwise chilly day. Hermione leaned her head back against the greenhouse glass, closing her eyes for what felt like the first time that week. In the soft breeze that carried the occasional flapping of bird's wings and cricket chirps, she allowed herself to be swept into a half-slumber. 

She was in the forest again, but this time she was alone.

Hermione whipped her head around, taking in the impossibly tall, gnarled trees stretching out to cover the night sky, leaving her bathed in silky darkness. Before her was the low, curved dirt path smattered in silver, glistening pools of blood. Despite her inner discomfort, her feet began to guide her down the path.

Twigs cracked underneath her feet as she pushed through the brush, the moonlight catching at odd angles that made her feel as though she was stumbling aimlessly. But before she could feel truly lost, she heard it. The distinct wet, slurping sound of a mouth moving against something. Her chest seized, knowing what she was about to confront.

There, in the clearing, a devastatingly beautiful unicorn lay felled against the dirt, its soft mane cascading over crispen leaves. Its front leg was bent at an odd angle, as if it was caught still running, and it simply lay down for a moment. At its neck, a hooded, cloaked figure hunched over greedily. Its unnaturally long, pale fingers gripped into the smooth fur of the unicorn's body, as if squeezing it dry. 

She thought she could hear shouting. Perhaps it was the others. 

Well, if they were coming for her, it was too late. Because the hooded figure snapped its head up, thick blood dripping down its chin. She froze, utterly still. The figure slowly started to rise up from the ground, trembling, and glided in her direction with a sickening grace. She willed herself to move, to run, to blink, but she could barely even breathe. The figure bared it's teeth-

"-ke up!"

They were definitely human teeth; as the figure drew ever closer, she could see it clear as day. A full set, overlapped but straight, glistening in the blood of the fallen unicorn. They were bared in an awful growl, angry, dishevelled. 

"-ione!"

Her shoulders began to shake with barely concealed terror as the figure came to a stop before her. It loomed tall above her. Male, definitely. Slim, tall, but a man. Her breath caught in her throat, a sinking feeling in her stomach, as the figure slowly reached up towards its head. Saliva pooled in her mouth, she felt sick, she felt like she was going to vomit. The figure wrapped its fingers around its hood and began to pull-

"MINNIE!"

As if she was coming up from underwater, she sucked in a gigantic breath, shock racing through her system. She clambered to her feet, blinking rapidly in the glaring afternoon sun. 

A blurry Teddy stood before her, hands gripping her shoulders in what looked like concern. 

"Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly.

She shook her head. The nausea hadn't left her, and her tongue curled against the palette of her mouth.

"-king arsehole!" 

She barely caught the end of Pansy's screech as two figures barrelled into view in front of her, chased by several others. A shock of blonde and ginger hair, shortly followed by jet black. She caught her breath, unable to speak- her mouth felt oddly full- watching as Malfoy wrestled Weasley to the ground and began delivering swift punches to his stomach. Red and green robes flapped in the air as opposing students pointed fingers.

"- him to get off!"

"Well, if Weasley hadn't-"

"-he's going to kill him!"

"-sake grow up, Brown-"

"-going to get in trouble for this-"

"-someone just stop-"

Teddy gave her an odd look before turning round to join the fray. He pushed past a gaggle of Gryffindor girls screaming at Pansy and wrapped his arms round Malfoy's shoulders, dragging him off Weasley.

""GET OFF OF ME!" Malfoy shouted.

Weasley regained his senses and rose to his feet, shoving up his sleeves.

Before he could approach, Potter stood in front of him. "Ron- Ron! Stop!"

"He's a foul, slimy git!" Weasley argued, attempting to push past Potter to no gain. "He attacked me!"

"Yeah, because you went for one of theirs first!" Potter shouted back.

One of theirs?

"LET GO OF ME, NOTT!" Malfoy was still kicking out.

"He's not worth it," Teddy was saying. "He's not worth it."

Malfoy finally managed to shove Teddy off, but he made no move towards Weasley. The gaggle of students took a staggered breath, waiting to see what would come from this argument. Hermione swallowed, her mouth dry.

"You don't just attack someone that's unarmed!" Malfoy shouted, jabbing a finger towards Weasley. "You're a coward, that's what you are!"

Weasley turned beet red, but Potter shoved him in the chest. Dean and Seamus were looking at her funny, but she couldn't figure out why. 

"Enough, Ron! We're going," Potter said, casting a guilty glance back at Hermione. "You've done enough."

Most of the Gryffindors followed suit after that, following Potter away from the greenhouses and back into the castle. Pansy rushed over to Malfoy, checking him for any sign of injury.

Hermione stood there, dumbfounded. What was that all about?

She felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she met the stunningly beautiful blue eyes of a Slytherin boy that had barely made a peep since Sorting. He looked at her with a quiet compassion and jerked his head, motioning for her to follow him. She frowned.

"I'm Blaise," he said, and she finally placed him.

He was one of the boys that roomed with Teddy and Malfoy. A pureblood, and from the rumours, was the son of an incredibly gorgeous and successful actress. She opened her mouth to respond, but was confused to feel oddly stuck. Her hands raised to her mouth and horror struck her chest.

"Yeah, don't try speaking," Blaise said softly, "he got you with a pretty nasty curse."

It all fell into place. How her half-dream featured the shouts of her classmates, how Teddy looked so frightened. The fight, the strange glances she was getting off people. Her fingers rest on her two front teeth. But they weren't really her teeth. They had grown at an alarming rate, protruding past her bottom lip in a sickening curve that was oddly reminiscent of a sabre-tooth tiger. 

"It's okay," he soothed her, placing a hand on her back and guiding her into the castle, "try not to panic. I've fallen prey to this one many a time, and its easily fixable. Uncomfortable, but not permanent."

She squeaked behind her hands, hiding her face as they passed through the main atrium and up towards the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was in deep conversation with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape by the time her and Blaise burst in through the front doors. The teachers looked mildly alarmed at the state of Hermione's teeth, but they did not act like she was going to die any second, which brought her some comfort.

Madam Pomfrey sat her down on a bed with a mirror and went to work, shrinking her teeth bit-by-bit as she held back tears. She wasn't particularly vain, but the way her classmates looked at her..

Blaise stood politely off to the side, observing Madam Pomfrey's wand work with interest. Once her teeth were back to a normal size- slightly smaller, if she was being honest- Hermione finally drew in a fresh breath. 

"Thank you," she said, to both Blaise and Madam Pomfrey.

"Would either of you like to tell me," she had quite forgotten McGonagall and Snape were still stood there. McGonagall had her arms crossed as she demanded, "exactly how Miss Granger came to be at the receiving end of that particular hex?"

Hermione hesitated. She could tell the truth. Weasley had attacked her while she dozed off in the afternoon sun, it led to a huge fight, and here she was. But that would implicate her friends, as well. Blaise looked at her with those brilliant blue eyes, soft and compassionate. With a streak of mischief.

"I don't know Professor," she responded after a beat, "I was having a really vivid dream, though. About teeth."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Are you suggesting that your dream manifested into reality?"

"I'm not sure," she replied innocently. "The exam stress must be getting to me."

McGonagall sighed for a moment, looking oddly sympathetic. She turned to Snape.

"Cancel any further detentions with Miss Granger," McGonagall said primly. "The poor girl clearly needs some real sleep."

Snape bowed his head.

Hermione took that as her cue to be dismissed. With a brief look at Blaise, they both walked towards the doors. Before they rounded the corner, Hermione caught the tail end of their conversation.

"-I suppose Miss Granger fulfilled her detentions to an acceptable standard?"

Snape gave Hermione the briefest glance before turning back to McGonagall.

"They were ... suitable."

Chapter 11: Red

I think it's one of those déjà vu things
Or a dream that's tryin' to tell me somethin'
Or will I ever stop thinkin' about it

I don't know, I doubt it

 

---

 

"We should just wait 'til after dinner, follow them into the loos, then beat the shit out of them," Crabbe announced, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Hermione couldn't shake off the bizarreness of their situation. She gripped the arm of the settee as she looked around at their weird motley crew; Teddy, at her side as always; Pansy, opposite her on the other sofa; Malfoy, his blonde head in her lap as he stretched out along the length; Blaise sitting on the arm flicking through a book; Crabbe and Goyle, perched on the divan back-to-back; Tracy, leaning against Hermione's legs; and Daphne, cross-legged on the armchair in the corner. 

If she knew that all it took to make friends was to be hexed while half-asleep, she'd have worn herself out much quicker. That being said, the entire scenario was unexpected, to say the least. 

She didn't know what went down while her and Blaise were in the Hospital Wing, but when they returned later, suddenly near enough the entire class was surrounding her. She thought it might be a temporary show of strength against the other houses to not mess with them, but when someone so much as looked her way, a distinct unanimous glare was shot back. 

"That's what I like about you Crabbe," Malfoy said, staring up at the ceiling. "Your erudition."

Crabbe grinned. "Really? Thanks!"

"He's being sarcastic, Vince," Tracy said, charming her homework to turn into a paper swan.

Goyle elbowed Crabbe in the ribs and snorted out a laugh.

Pansy sighed. "They know we'd beat them in a fight, that's why they're only going after us one at a time."

"But we're good at fighting," Goyle argued, puffing up as if to further punctuate his brawn.

"They'd be expecting that," Teddy pointed out. "I mean, what have we done the last couple times they've caught us off guard? We've all just piled on, saved the thinking for later. We're hardly proving ourselves the cunning Slytherins, are we?"

"A fight would be too obvious, anyway," Blaise agreed, leafing through his book. 

Teddy nodded. "We need something that plays to all of our strengths."

Silence fell as they all considered this. Hermione chewed on her thumbnail, still preferring the idea of a surprise jumping. Still, the thought of her friends- God, it was weird to consider some of these people friends- getting hurt, it was enough to get her mind working.

"Teddy's the best at Charms," she thought aloud, watching Tracy's swan glide across the coffee table. "Pansy, you're best at Transfiguration- your snuff box was unreal. Crabbe and Goyle, you'll make fantastic Beaters next year, I'm sure of it. Tracy, you're the one that made those coloured sheets that can un-muddle old runes. Malfoy, you're by far the best at Defence. Daphne, there's not a single person that can beat you at Exploding Snap, and Blaise- if you're not a Mediwizard in ten years, I'll eat my own shoe..."

Hermione looked up to see all eyes on her. "Um.."

"Didn't realise you thought that much about us," Goyle said, a slight blush to his cheeks. 

Pansy laughed. "She talks in her sleep, you don't know the half of it."

Hermione threw a pillow at her, which she deftly dodged. 

"Well now Minnie's all but laid out our future endeavours," Teddy grinned at the rising pink on her neck. "I should say there's something we could all contribute here. Although we haven't really learnt anything useful in class yet and, sorry Daph, but I don't see how Exploding Snap is going to help us put the Gryffindorks back in their place."

Daphne shrugged from her place on the floor. 

"It has to be something big," Malfoy gestured, his arms wide. "Something better than the beaver teeth."

"I think you'll find they were suitably large," Blaise murmured.

"You've got a sister, don't you?" Pansy asked Daphne.

"Yeah but, we don't do stuff like that in our house," Daphne replied vaguely. 

Teddy leaned back with a sigh. "This would be so much easier if they weren't always together, you know? Like one, big, insufferable blob."

Hermione scratched her head, wracking her brains. He was right about that. Wherever Potter went, Weasley was likely to follow. And so went the rest of the class, whether they realised it or not. 

"I bet Weasley doesn't let Potter tie his own shoelaces," Malfoy said with a smirk.

"Can you imagine waking up during the night for a glass of water and Weasley's just-" Tracy held her hands out in front of her. "-there."

Pansy snorted. "Oh, you're going for a piss, Potter? I'll come, I'll come!"

"No, come on. Let's be serious, guys," Teddy interrupted the laughter spreading across the group. "They don't piss together. Weasley holds it for him."

This sent everyone off into fits of laughter.

"-no, Potter, let me wipe it for you-"

"-let me fold your pants tonight, Potter!"

"-it's not fair, Longbottom got to brush your teeth last night-"

"-I'll polish your glasses-"

"-I'll cook your eggs-"

"-I'll clip your nails-"

"-I'll shower for you-"

Hermione laughed until tears were streaming down her face. Then she froze, and gripped Teddy's arm.

"What? Ow!" Teddy yelped, a bit taken aback.

"I've got it!" she said excitedly. "Or, at least, I think I do. Crabbe, can you get into Hogsmeade undetected? Great. I'll make a list..."

The next morning, Hermione was in such a good mood that she spread four slices of toast with four different toppings. Teddy watched her, slightly worried at the manic look in her eyes, but amused all the same. She smushed her peanut butter and jam toast together and ate it like a sandwich, savouring the crunchy-sweet delight. The Great Hall was all but empty, apart from the first-year Slytherins. Other students were starting to trickle in, but it was quiet at this time in the morning. She needed it to be like this, so their presence could be accounted for. 

Pansy took a seat opposite Hermione. "Blimey, what flavour jam is that?"

Hermione looked down at the green slice. "Kiwi."

"Right," she cocked a perfectly plucked brow. "Think I'll stick to the granola."

"So wait," Teddy leaned over her, topping up the coffee in her mug. "Explain it to me again?"

Hermione waited until a few more people huddled up around the central group, providing them with a decent coverage should anyone be eavesdropping.

"I got the idea from this book I read," she lied smoothly. She didn't want to have to fumble her way through another slip-up where she accidentally described the first scene from Carrie. And besides, it was technically a book before it was a film. "I've just.. tweaked the details a bit."

"Oh shut up, Minnie, it's genius!" Tracy squeezed in next to Pansy, grinning.

"If it works..." she mumbled into her toast.

"Um, excuse me!" Pansy raised a hand to her chest in mock offence. "Are you doubting my skills? Where's Pansy, you're the best at Transfiguration?"

"Your part will be fine, it's my bit I'm not so sure about..." Hermione wrung her hands.

"What bit?" Teddy asked, nudging her mug towards her.

She took a sip. "I thought it would be best if I kept you boys out of it-"

"Fine by me," Malfoy said, dipping his toast into some egg.

"-because us girls," she emphasized, "are often underestimated."

"Too right," Tracy nodded.

"Suffice it to say," Hermione continued, ignoring Teddy's betrayed expression. "Pride always comes before a fall. And the Gobshites-" a few people snickered at the nickname for the Gryffindors, "- are in for a big fall."

"Shhh! I think that's them!" Pansy whispered.

The group scattered, spreading out along the table. Hermione settled back into her toast and coffee, engaging in mindless chatter with Teddy as the rest of the school filtered in for breakfast. All was perfectly normal, until a series of shouts could be heard coming closer and closer to the entrance. Hermione held her breath, focussing on the golden glint in Teddy's chocolate eyes, willing herself not to look too quickly.

"- HAVE TO TELL MCGONAGALL!"

"-RON IF YOU GO IN THERE, EVERYONE WILL SEE-"

"I DON'T CARE, I'M NOT SPENDING THE REST OF THE DAY LOOKING LIKE THIS!"

The laughter began as a light trickle, peppered with a few shocked gasps. Then, as the entirety of the Great Hall looked up from their food to register what was going on, everyone burst into fits of laughter. It was instantaneous, and absolutely glorious.

All one of the first-year Gryffindors were now a bright, beaming red.

From head to toe, their skin dyed a brilliant crimson that stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of black robes. Potter, Weasley, Seamus, Dean. Lavender, Parvati, Fay, Leanne. The only person who'd managed to escape that fate was Longbottom, who was already digging into his Cheerios by the time his classmates stormed into the hall.

Weasley sped-walked all the way through the hall, ignoring the howls of laughter, and made his way up to the Professor's table. 

"FIX ME."

"Excuse me, Mr Weasley?" McGonagall asked primly.

"Someone's turned us red, Professor," Dean wrapped an arm around Lavender, who was hiding her face in a napkin.

"I can see that," she replied shortly. "But that does not give Mr Weasley the right to make demands-"

Weasley turned to Dumbledore impatiently. "CAN YOU FIX US?"

Hermione tried her best to keep the mildly surprised expression fixed upon her face as Dumbledore tilted his head this way and that, admiring her work. She bit into her cheek when he reached out and poked Weasley's nose.

"Hmm. How odd." 

Weasley's eye twitched. "Odd? I'm bright RED!"

Teddy coughed into his fist. 

That caught Weasley's attention. 

"You!" he pointed at Teddy. "YOU LOT DID THIS! TURN US BACK!"

"Mr Weasley!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "Mr Nott and his friends have been here eating their breakfast since six thirty. Do you really suppose they had the time to disappear, cast this..." she looked Weasley up and down. Hermione had to bite her cheek again. "... hex .. and make it back to the Great Hall completely unnoticed?"

She could swear steam was coming out of Weasley's ears, he was so enraged. The only thing was, the entire Great Hall was laughing, meaning Weasley was hardly able to point fingers. It could've been anyone.

"So you're not going to do anything? I look ridiculous!" Ron shouted, but he could see he was losing the battle.

"I see no difference, myself," Snape interjected smoothly, nursing a cup of coffee.

"I'm sure that whomever placed this curse upon you," Dumbledore said genially, "no doubt created a failsafe, should their intended effect last longer than presumed. Otherwise, I see no option but for you to simply... wait it out."

"You want us to spend the rest of the day like this?" Seamus gestured to his red skin.

"Think of it as a little gesture of house pride," Snape said.

With that, Weasley turned on his heel and stormed out of the hall. Everyone in his class but Potter followed suit, angrily shouting the entire way. Hermione released the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, allowing a grin to spread across her face.

"Yes! Bloody yes!" Tracy hissed across the table.

"You absolute beauty!" Teddy whispered in her ear, and she blushed.

The immense satisfaction she felt was compounded by the laughter around her. Weasley really was a git, he'd cursed her when she'd been completely unawares. He'd had it in for her since day one. If anyone deserved this little prank, it was him. Him and that Lavender girl, both of them were as bad as each other. The more Hermione thought about it, the more vindicated she felt.

She looked up across the hall, laughing along with her friends, and caught the eye of Potter. He was sat down, maintaining some level of composure, allowing Longbottom to pass him a carton of milk. He subtly shook his head.

She looked down at her toast, which had long gone cold. 

"-and I transfigured the shower heads, so by the time we put the powder in.." Pansy trailed off in her explanation, catching the change in Hermione's demeanour. "You alright?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, just.. feel annoyed we didn't get them all."

Pansy grinned and returned to her elaborate, dramatic re-telling of the prank. She shoved the rest of her toast into her mouth and chewed, grinning along at the appropriate moments. She didn't like the cold feeling spreading across her chest, the pangs of guilt that tweaked her every time she glimpsed across the hall. She didn't feel bad, necessarily. It was complicated.

The dye slowly washed off, and Gryffindors returned to their natural colouration in less than a couple of days. Weasley was so angry that it was hard to tell what was dye and what was just him. Lavender and Parvati holed themselves up in Gryffindor tower unless they had to come out for an exam. It was nice to have some peace and quiet, at least.

As Hermione was wrapping up her Potions exam- for which she was confident she'd brewed a Draught of Living Death to near perfection- she found herself to be the last person in the dungeons. It was raining softly outside, pattering gently against the stone. She looked around to see her friends had all gone without her, and recalled them whispering to her about the common room before they left.

With a sigh, she put out the fire beneath her cauldron and began packing away. As she wringed out her cloth and swept it across the desk, clearing off the last bits of chopped root, a quiet shifting caught her attention. She looked up. Snape was slowly pulling a book off the shelf, handling it with incredible care. She stayed completely still, watching as he turned a page littered with rough notations in the margin. 

"Ingenious," he said softly, making her start a little. "The combination of alchemy and transfiguration. Elegant, but simple."

Hermione couldn't tell if he was talking to himself, so she just quietly continued packing her things away.

"Not a lot of wizards think outside the box, Miss Granger," Snape continued, and she paused once more. He closed his book with a snap and returned it to the shelf, turning to look at her. "Much less seek to bind the normal with abnormal. Strange, isn't it? What happens when passion, pure or otherwise, leads our decisions. You may be interested to know that there will be no permanent side effects to your little prank. I can assure you that Mr Weasley and his friends are quite well. Their pride is a little wounded, however.."

Hermione avoided his gaze. "I'm not sure I know what you're-"

 "Mr Weasley seems to have the idea that a certain handful of first-year Slytherins are to blame for his unfortunate .. appearance," he continued, looking down his nose at her like some unbecoming bird of prey. "Many a name were cast out in anger. Draco Malfoy .. Miss Parkinson .. Theodore Nott .."

She took a small step forward. "It was me, sir. I did it." As much as this bond with her classmates was so newly-forged, she couldn't bear the thought of betraying her friends. As long as they let her in, she wouldn't deny them for the world. "After the thing with the teeth, I.. well, he seems to have it in for me, sir. I don't want to take that just lying down."

Professor Snape looked at her blankly. "So this entire scheme .. it was your creation?"

"Yes, sir. I acted alone."

She could see why other students had trouble looking Snape in the eye. His gaze had a glassy quality to it, almost like an impenetrable wall stood between him and whomever he directed his attention to. Like Disillusionment for the eyes. She knew the look well, it was the same expression her mother wore, one that Hermione had tried to adopt but never quite managed.

He considered her for a moment, his face an unreadable mask. In some ways, she preferred it like that; she couldn't bear it when someone's feelings rose to the surface, she never knew how to navigate it. All the other professors, barring Dumbledore, were like an open book. Frustration, anger, disappointment. Like a deck of cards, she could read them at length.

But Snape .. "Spirit is an important quality in a witch," he spoke, leaning against his desk, arms folded. "Spirit drives us, directs us. Our magic could not do without it. But control.. that is what remains to temper us. Passion is the suffering and death of all control. If we seek to strengthen our magic, we must do so with authority and command. If we don't, we endanger everyone around us. Particularly those that are not aware of the hand you have been dealt."

She froze, hands clenched. The hand you have been dealt ...

He continued, eyes fixed on her. "You are a gifted witch, Miss Granger. Only a fool would deny it. But do not sacrifice logic for passion; you will waste the only gift you will ever be given," Snape averted his gaze to her vial of completed potion. "Even if it was only given by chance."

She realised that the cool feeling spreading across her hand was from her tight grip on the cloth she still held, its moisture dripping from her knuckles.

"Yes, sir." Hermione nodded, wanting more than anything for the conversation to be over.

Snape rose from the desk, picking up the vial and holding it to the lantern light. "The amber sheen .. how did you produce it?"

"Cross-cutting the roots," she replied in barely a whisper, her cheeks aflame. "It lets the pressure from the stem release-"

"-release a more consistent flow of liquid," Snape finished for her. The corner of his eye twitched, as if in slight pain. "Strange, that you should know that."

Her cheeks darkened. Why, because I'm a Mudblood?

"Must've read it somewhere."

"You must have," he repeated softly, placing the vial back into its holder. "Did you not think that prudent to share with your friends?"

Her throat was beginning to tighten with all the feelings burning inside her. Was he talking about the roots, or her roots? She swallowed, but her throat remained dry as she avoided his gaze.

"I didn't know it would work until I did it," I don't think they'd believe me if I did. "It was pure .. instinct." Shame.

Snape frowned slightly, as if he could hear her true words. "And now you know."

"And now I know," she echoed.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. She hurriedly grabbed her belongings, not trusting herself not to burst into panicked tears at this confrontation. Hermione barely held it together as she shoved her books into her bag and made towards the door.

"Miss Granger?"

She turned at the door, looking over her shoulder. "Yes?"

Snape was far enough away that his face was drenched in half-shadow, marring his expression.

Quietly, so soft that she could convince herself she didn't hear it, Snape replied.

"Your secret is safe with me."

Chapter 12: Where You Go

Too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meanin' when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

 

---

 

Normally on Saturdays, the boys- and Daphne- would go watch Slytherin quidditch practice out in the stands, and the girls would stay behind in the common room engaging in what the boy's disrespectfully called 'Girl Talk'. Most of the boys, Teddy and Blaise excluded, seemed to think that while they were off discussing flight physics and team strategy, the girls were back in the dungeons, what? Knitting? Swapping gossip?

It drove Hermione spare. And while, yes, there might be the occasional titter tatter- what's life without a little gossip?- farbeit for them to realise, but the girls had bigger things on their minds. Blaise wasn't the confrontational type, however, and he seemed equally as happy observing quidditch practice as he did leafing through a book with the girls. 

Teddy tackled things differently.

"People will tell you that it's just your average gossip or even a colloquial term for general socializing between women, but you can't let them fool you. They're looking to upend society."

"Shut up, Nott," Crabbe lamented, rolling his eyes.

But Teddy wouldn't give it up. "What you call 'Girl Talk' is just a rudimentary phrase for cabal-esque meetings to discuss geopolitical tensions that can be leveraged to spark a cascade of life-changing events. World War One? That was Girl Talk. Cuban Missile Crisis? Girl Talk. Moon landing? Girl Talk."

Goyle scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Teddy moved in close to the pair of them. "It was only a year or so ago that I realised it. I've been listening in on them ever since and, while granted I can't make out all of the particulars, I did happen to overhear two words in particular that shook me to my very core."

Hermione and Pansy stifled their laughs as colour drained from the boy's faces.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Two words?"

"Two words," Teddy nodded. "Blood. Magic."

Crabbe and Goyle mouthed the words back, dumb shock registering in their faces.

"The end is coming for us all, friends," Teddy said ominously, clapping them both on the shoulder and then exiting the common room with a wink towards the girls. 

Truth be told, it was far too hot- even in the dungeons- to be sitting around inside on a day like this. Nobody needed convincing, so after gathering up a couple of blankets and books, they all trudged out of the castle and onto the green where they set up for the day. Tracy set up a pair of umbrellas while Pansy lay out the blankets, and Hermione threw a set of pillows down. 

Whipping off her jumper, she rolled her shirt sleeves up and lay under the warm sun, basking in its golden light. Pansy popped her head on Hermione's lap- always her second choice after Malfoy's- and set about making one of the longest daisy chains she'd ever seen in her life. 

"Do you still get hot summers in France?" Pansy asked lazily, threading together two stems.

Hermione fiddled with her shirt button. "We live down in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, right down in the South East, so we'll probably see a good amount of sun."

"Must be a pain to travel back and forth," Tracy commented, ripping her parchment into neat little squares.

"Yeah, why didn't your parents just send you to Beauxbatons?" 

Hermione frowned. "Where's that?"

Pansy flung out a hand. "Somewhere French, I don't know. It'd just save you a lot of hassle, is all."

"I just had my heart set on Hogwarts," Hermione mumbled. She hated how easily lying came to her now. "You know how it is."

Pansy talked more about this 'Beauxbatons' place for a while, commenting on how her arse would look exceptionally good in their silken-blue uniforms. When Tracy mentioned she'd have to give up her long-standing tradition of black-and-green, Pansy quickly shut up. 

They could see quidditch practice from here, albeit a cut-off version. Every now and again, Hermione would spot a broom dipping in and out from the top of the stands, chasing a Quaffle or dodging another flyer. It was a bit like counting sheep. She wondered if they ever played close to the ground. It would certainly make for a more interesting viewing experience. 

Groups of students were flocking out onto the grounds in droves now, giggling on their way down to the lake or starting up games of frisbee. A group of older Ravenclaws sat not too far from their little group, adorned with books of course, and were studiously squinting in the sunlight. One of them, a very pretty Asian girl, was pressing a book into a boy's chest. Hermione could hear him laugh, and watched as he shoved the book back in the girl's direction.

After some pouting, the boy's shoulders sagged in resignation and he took the book, turning out to face the green. He was a very handsome boy, with thick brown hair that fell in gentle waves down his head, piercing green eyes and high cheekbones. 

"High on a hill in an enchanted garden," he began to read in a soothing voice, "enclosed by tall walls and protected by strong magic, flowed the Fountain of Fair Fortune .."

Once a year, an 'unfortunate' was allowed to find their way to the garden, bathe in the water of the fountain and win 'fair fortune forever more'. Obviously, this garnered boatloads of attention from people- magical and otherwise- and people would travel far and wide to gain entrance to the garden. 

Three witches in particular- Asha, 'sick of a malady no Healer could cure'; Altheda, 'robbed and humiliated by a sorcerer'; and Amata, 'full of grief and longing'- decided that three minds were better than one when it came to reaching the fountain. When dawn broke, a crack in the wall appeared, and Creepers from the garden reached through, pulling the witches into the beautiful garden. But Amata, who had been entangled in the armour of a Muggle knight, inadvertently brought through a fourth competitor.

Since only one would be allowed to bathe in the fountain, the first two witches were upset that Amata had brought the knight along. But the knight- aptly named Sir Luckless- knowing he had no magical power, announced his intention to abandon the quest. Amata thought this silly, and invited him to tag along.

On their journey, they encountered three challenges.

First, a 'monstrous white worm, bloated and blind' who demanded proof of the group's pain. After several fruitless attempts to attack the beast with magic, Asha's tears of frustration finally satisfied the worm, and they were allowed to pass.

Second, they faced a steep slope and were asked to pay the 'fruit of their labours'. Try after agonizing try, the group hiked their way up the hill to no avail. Finally, the hard-won effort of Altheda as she cheered her friends on and wiped sweat from her brow, got them past the challenge.

At last, they faced a stream and were asked to pay 'the treasure of your past'. All magical attempts to float or leap across the stream were fruitless, until Amata used her wand to extract the memories of the lover who abandoned her, dropping them into the water. This allowed them to pass.

As the group made their final journey towards the fountain, Asha suddenly collapsed. She was in such unbearable pain that she could not move, let alone make it to the fountain. She begged her friends not to move her, telling them to go on without her. With quick thinking, Altheda mixed a powerful potion in an attempt to revive her, but the concoction did one better. It cured Asha of her malady, and she no longer needed the fountain. Altheda, realising that she had the power to cure others, knew that she also no longer needed the waters of the fountain.

Amata, having washed away her regrets for her lover, was finally able to see him for what he was. Turning to Sir Luckless, she declared that she no longer needed the fountain's water, and offered him his turn as a reward for his bravery. The knight, abound in his rusted armour, bathed in the fountain and flung himself at Amata's feet, begging for her hand and heart. Amata realised that she had finally found a man worthy of her.

The four set off, arm-in-arm, and the four friends lived long, happy lives, never realising that the fountain's waters carried no enchantment at all.

"How romantic!" the pretty girl exclaimed, hands clutched to her chest.

"If you forget the part where she married a Muggle at the end, that is," another girl smirked.

The handsome boy closed the book. "It's just a story."

"A story that's becoming all too common these days."

Hermione felt a blush rising into her cheeks, and untucked a few curls from behind her ear to fall across her face. The movement caught the boy's attention, and he looked at her, seeing the pink colouring her face. She looked away.

The boy was right, it was just a story. And yet, something about the three witches adopting Sir Luckless felt way to close to home to ignore. Yes, she'd always known something was different about her. She'd been able to make strange things happen- bad things, if she was angry enough. But she didn't know what it was, or how to control it. 

For a while there, she thought she might get sent to a hospital. She hated the idea. Even now, with the sun warming her skin and Pansy's weight on her thigh, if she closed her eyes, could she convince herself it was real? If that letter hadn't arrived through her letter box, at just the right time, she'd have surely been carted off to the loony bin. It was just a matter of time.

How long could she have gone on, the Muggle in rusted armour, forever haplessly falling into strange circumstances? Giving bullies burns without even touching them? Making her peeping Tom neighbours grass die overnight? Bursting the street's water pipes all because her dad ... Strange enough for people to avoid her, admissible enough to ignore. 

No, it was real. It had to be real. Even she couldn't dream up something this fantastical. It was all in the timing. And she'd made it, hadn't she? She only had to return one summer a year, try not to draw notice to herself, keep her head down. But even Sir Luckless was dragged into misadventure. She wondered what form her beasts would take.

"I'm starving," Hermione said to no-one in particular.

"Mhmm," Pansy hummed from her lap, clearly half-asleep.

Luckily, a break in practice had been called, and the boys were soon trudging their way over to the group.

"Ladies," Teddy said with a bright grin, flopping down next to Hermione. "How goes the war council?"

"I really wish you wouldn't joke about that," Tracy said, charming her squares of paper to hover in a cloud. "You're gonna give Vince nightmares or something."

Teddy barked out a laugh. "Are we convinced that Vince is sentient enough to dream?"

"You don't need to be sentient to dream," Blaise sat down the other side of Hermione, folding his legs so as not to kick a half-asleep Pansy. "Mammals, birds, and even some reptiles and invertebrates can dream."

"Who you calling an invertebrate?" Goyle scowled as he sat down on the grass.

"I'm more surprised you can pronounce it," Blaise said with a straight face.

"Come on, wake up," Malfoy nudged Pansy with the foot of his shoe, blocking the sun.

Pansy moaned and snuggled closer to Hermione.

"Right, well," Malfoy mumbled, taking a seat at Hermione's feet, "she's all yours."

Hermione smiled, brushing a lock of dark hair out of Pansy's face.

"Anyone else starving?" Crabbe asked.

Everyone nodded.

That began a whole debacle. Waking a sleeping Pansy was no easy feat, and when Hermione did, she got an earful. Unluckily for her, Hermione actually found Pansy's anger very endearing, and within seconds they were linking arms towards the Great Hall. There, they feasted on brightly coloured salads, buttered potatoes and various thick sandwiches until they were fit to burst.

Then back outside they went, lounging in the afternoon sun. Tracy started a game of Exploding Snap and held true to her crown, beating every single one of them. Blaise levitated his book above his face and lazily flicked through the pages. Pansy added to her daisy chain, looped it thrice around on itself and hung it round the neck of a blushing Goyle, which made them all fall about laughing.

A chill picked up in the air just as the sun was beginning to set, but life felt so perfect in those moments that Hermione refused to move. She wanted to drink up every last minute of the sunshine, captured in this bubble for a lifetime. She didn't want to think about what would happen when exams were over. The journey she'd have to make back home. What awaited her there.

No, she wanted to stay on this field forever. On this field, with her friends.

Nothing ever stays the same, however, and one-by-one, her friends retreated back into the castle. She watched them go, filing in with the other students that had long since decided it was much too chilly to stay outside for the evening. Tracy took her umbrellas, Pansy wrapped a blanket around her and Blaise gathered all the books as he bid Hermione a good night.

Soon, it was just her and Teddy.

They hadn't been alone together since the Herbology exam. Not that they'd been avoiding one another exactly, but Hermione wasn't exactly keen to restart the conversation they'd been having. 

What's the first potion you learned to make? 

"I don't bloody know," she'd hissed under her breath. "What does it matter?"

Wiggenweld, he'd said softly. If anyone asks you that again, you say Wiggenweld. I don't think anyone's paid too much attention, but if I've noticed...

The clouds were doing that thing where they rippled in layers, like meringue. She watched as a flock of birds dove in and out of the tufts of white, imagining herself at those dizzying heights, looking down. Would she see herself as she is now, or merely a speck on the expanse of green?

With a shiver, she sat up. Teddy handed her the jumper she'd discarded, and she took it thankfully.

"How long do you plan on staying out here?" he asked.

She shoved her head through the neck hole. "Dunno. It's Sunday tomorrow, so it's not like I have to be up."

He nodded. "You ready for exams to be over?"

She looked at him. Small talk wasn't really their bag.

"I guess.." she let her voice trail off as she rolled her sleeves down. "Now that I look back, they weren't actually that bad. I needn’t have learned about the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or the uprising of Elfric the Eager, though."

"You could look more cheerful," he chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

"We'll find out our results by the end of next week- we'll find out how badly we've done. For now, there's nothing to worry about."

"Exactly why I plan to stay on this patch of grass," she planted her hands on the ground either side of her firmly, "for as long as humanly possible. If there's no tomorrow, there's no next week. If there's no next week, there's no exam results. No finding out I'm actually too stupid to be a student here."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I'm serious," she frowned at him. He looked so easy-going, laid back in the evening sun. She envied him. "What if they have a special ceremony for students that got the lowest marks? What if we're made to walk right into the Black Lake and be eaten by the Giant Squid?"

Teddy laughed, his eyes crinkling. "I'm afraid you'll have to get in line."

"Excuse me?" she scoffed. "You really think you're going to end up failing?"

"Not me!" he guffawed. "I mean you'd be hard pressed to find anyone with lower marks than Crabbe and Goyle!"

She looked away. "You don't understand."

Teddy finally sat up. "Oh, come on-"

"I'm not saying it because I'm insecure-"

"I never said you were."

"I genuinely don't believe .."

"What?"

She couldn't finish the sentence. I genuinely don't believe I belong here. It sounded painfully whiny, even to herself.

Hermione shook her head. "Ignore me. I'm just stressed."

The sun was just barely peeking through the trees now, casting long shadows across the green. The lanterns outside were starting to turn on, illuminating the dark path down towards the stadium and beyond. All was quiet and still, aside from the chirping of crickets and calls of birds high up above. 

"What are you doing over the summer holidays?" Teddy asked carefully.

She watched as a raven landed on the ground and began stomping rhythmically into the dirt. If she thought it was hard lying to Pansy, it was nearly impossible with Teddy. How can you lie to someone who created the story themselves?

"Skiing in the Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, I suppose," she said numbly. 

"There is somewhere to go home to, right?" 

She nodded, not looking at him. 

The raven stopped its stomping, burying its beak into the dirt before pulling out a grubby little worm. Hermione's eyes narrowed, watching as the worm barely caused a struggle, and the raven took back off into the air. 

"Will you be alright?"

She wanted to snap at him. Tell him to mind his own business. Stick his nose somewhere else. But that was the funny thing about lying, Hermione thought, it wasn't borne of a lack of honesty. It was all about her lack of courage. Maybe that's why the hat couldn't put her in Gryffindor. At her core, all she was, all it came down to.. she was a coward. 

She wasn't so much lying with words as she was with silence. An awful feeling burned in her stomach, somewhere between guilt and foreboding. When she didn't answer, Teddy simply caught her hand in his and held it tight. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the feeling. 

"Our Manor is huge," Teddy said, running a thumb across her palm. "Over fifty rooms, all decked out in fancy furniture and wardrobes full of clothes. We've got a whole hospital quarter, a basement for fine wine and spirit storage. A ballroom, bar, even an inside water feature. My parents sleep in the East Wing. They've got an entire library and concert hall. You know where I sleep?"

She shook her head.

"Servant's quarters," Teddy whispered. "It's the place I feel least alone."

"That's why you camped out with me over Christmas," Hermione replied slowly, feeling her shame ebb away. Being so focussed on herself, she'd forgotten she wasn't the only one with problems. "You were lonely."

He smiled at her sadly. "If it were up to me, I'd..."

"What?"

Teddy's expression changed. "Is that Potter?"

She turned around and, sure enough, there he was. Potter, bundled up in his robes, scuttling his way down the walkway that fell past the stadium and curved towards the forest. What on Earth was he doing out, alone, when it was so close to curfew? 

Before she could even suggest it, Teddy was already helping her to her feet, and they began their pursuit. Hermione kept checking over her shoulder every few seconds, but thankfully it didn't seem like anyone was following them. She held onto Teddy's hand tightly as they followed Potter all the way down to the groundskeeper's hut.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.

“Hullo,” he said, smiling. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?”

“No, I'm in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something." Potter sounded out of breath. "You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?”

“Dunno,” said Hagrid casually, “he wouldn’t take his cloak off.”

Teddy pulled her towards a large tree, about twenty feet from the hut. They hid behind it, poking their heads out to listen.

“It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s Head – that’s the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”

“What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?”

“Mighta come up, yeah…he asked what I did, an’ I told him I was gamekeeper here…. He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after…so I told him…an’ I said what I’d always really wanted was a dragon…an’ then…I can’ remember too well, ‘cause he kept buyin’ me drinks…. Let’s see…yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an’ we could play cards fer it if I wanted…but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn’ want it ter go ter any old home…. So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy….”

“And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?” Potter asked, evidently trying to keep his voice calm.

“Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d’yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy’s a piece o’ cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus’ play him a bit o’ music an’ he’ll go straight off ter sleep – I shouldn’ta told yeh that!” he blurted out. “Forget I said it! Hey – where’re yeh goin’?”

Teddy pulled her up against the tree as Potter sprinted back the way he came, past the treeline and up towards the castle. 

"Minnie," Teddy started.

"I know, I know-"

He pulled her behind the tree again, in case Hagrid came wandering. "Tell me I heard that right."

She nodded vigorously. "Fluffy .. music .."

"What do you want to do?" he asked, brushing a twig off his shoulder.

"What do I want to do?" she repeated, wide-eyed. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm sorry," Teddy broke out into a mischievous grin. "Did you think you had a choice?"

"A choice? I don't-"

"Where you go," he jabbed a finger towards her. "I follow."

An incredulous laugh escaped her lips. "Sorry, what?"

"Let me break it down for you, Granger," he said, still smiling. She didn't like it when he called her Granger. "A leader is one who knows the way, goes the way, and shows the way. You might not like it, love, but that's you."

Her head jerked slightly, registering his words. "But I don't-"

Teddy sighed, rolling his eyes. "But I don't want to be a leader, blah blah blah. Haven't you noticed a thing since you got hexed? You're untouchable. We surround you because we admire you, even if a few of us are too pig-ignorant to admit it. Have you really never wondered why I am always at your side? Even when I don't necessarily want to be? It's because I know I ought to be."

She blinked, trying to process what he'd said. Yes, she'd noticed people were always around her. She knew Teddy was always at her side. But, in truth, she hadn't given it much of a thought. That's what friends did, right? Wasn't it just-

"-if you say the words 'house loyalty', I swear I will scream," he interrupted her stream of thought, arching a brow accusingly. 

"But it's Malfoy.. Pansy, you. You're the ones everyone looks to!" she argued.

"And where are we looking?"

"If this is about being book smart-"

"Merlin, help me!" Teddy rubbed his hands over his face. "Trust is earned, respect is given, and loyalty is demonstrated. You have given all of that, to us, without question-" he took a step closer, dropping his voice low, "-look, I know you're keeping something from us, from me. I haven't asked because I don't want to know. Not because I'm scared, or because I think it will change things, but because that's how we operate. You have poured your faith into me, as your friend, to do right by you. You've given us your trust, and we see that. We won't break that- I won't break that, not for the world. Keep everything to yourself if you want, because I will guard it with you."

Your secret is safe with me.

"Teddy..."

"I know, I'm unbelievable," he grinned. "Now what are we going to do about this Stone?"

Chapter 13: Fire and Ice

I pictured a rainbow
You held it in your hands
I had flashes

But you saw the plan

 

---

 

At the foot of the first set of stairs, they spotted Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

“Oh, let’s kick her, just this once,” Teddy whispered in Hermione's ear, but she shook her head. As they climbed carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turned her lamplike eyes on them, but didn’t do anything.

They didn’t meet anyone else until the reached the staircase up to the third floor. Peeves was bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip. They quickly darted behind a huge curtain.

“Who’s there?” he said suddenly. He narrowed his wicked black eyes. “Know you’re there, even if I can’t see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?”

He rose up in the air and floated there.

“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.”

Teddy gripped her arm, as if he'd had a sudden idea.

“Peeves,” he said in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.”

Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock. He caught himself in time and hovered about a foot off the stairs.

“So sorry, your bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir,” he said greasily. “My mistake, my mistake – I didn’t see you – of course I didn’t, you’re invisible – forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir.”

“I have business here, Peeves,” croaked Teddy. “Stay away from this place tonight.”

“I will, sir, I most certainly will,” said Peeves, rising up in the air again. “Hope you business goes well, Baron, I’ll not bother you.”

And he scooted off.

“Brilliant, Teddy!” whispered Hermione.

A few seconds later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor – and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Hermione said quietly, "Potter's already got past Fluffy."

"Or someone else has," Teddy echoed ominously.

Seeing the open door somehow seemed to impress upon them what was facing them. 

“If you want to go back, I won’t blame you,” she said.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Teddy. "I'm not letting you do this alone."

"No, I guess not," said a voice behind them.

Hermione and Teddy jumped, whirling around to see Potter standing about ten feet away, gripping his cloak.

"Bloody hell Potter, give us a warning!" Teddy shout-whispered.

"What are you two doing here?" Potter asked, taking a step towards them cautiously.

Hermione put a hand on her hip. "Did you forget we found Fluffy together?" 

"No, I- wait. How do you know it's called Fluffy?" 

"We know enough," Teddy cut her off before she could reply. "We know that whatever's after the Stone needs to get past Fluffy, and we know how they plan to do it. Now, before we get into who-knows-what-and-how, can we go bloody stop this thing from happening?"

Potter paused, confusion in his emerald green eyes. "But you're-"

"What? Slytherins?"

He nodded vaguely.

"Well spotted. Now, are you coming, or not?"

That seemed to snap Potter out of whatever reverie was going on in his head. 

“I'm coming,” he said with a nod, and walked past them to push the door open.

"Wait!" Hermione hissed, grabbing him by the arm.

Potter jerked away. "What?"

She looked down, and he understood. With a whirl, he drew his invisibility cloak over the three of them. Teddy, confused, began shaking it off before Hermione gave him a sharp shake of the head. He relented.

As the door creaked, low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog’s noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn’t see them.

“What’s that at its feet?” Hermione whispered.

“Looks like a harp,” said Teddy.

“Someone must have left it there,” said Potter.

“It must wake up the moment you stop playing,” said Hermione. “Well, here goes…”

With a wave of her wand, Hermione set the harp playing. It wasn’t really a tune, but from the first note the beast’s eyes began to droop. She hardly drew breath. Slowly, the dog’s growls ceased – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

They slipped out of the cloak and crept toward the trapdoor. They could feel the dog’s hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.

“I think we’ll be able to pull the door open,” said Potter, peering over the dog’s back. “Want to go first, Nott?”

“Not particularly.”

“All right.” Potter gritted his teeth and stepped carefully over the dog’s legs. He bent and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, which swung up and open.

“What can you see?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Nothing – just black – there’s no way of climbing down, we’ll just have to drop.”

Hermione climbed over the dog's tail and looked down through the trapdoor. There was no sign of the bottom. With a deep inhale, she lowered herself through the hole until she was hanging on by her fingertips. Then she looked up at Teddy and said, “If anything happens to me, don’t follow.”

“Where you go..” Teddy warned her.

“See you in a minute, I hope….”

And she let go. Cold, damp air rushed past her as she fell down, down, down and –

FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump she landed on something soft. She sat up and felt around, her eyes not used to the gloom. It felt as though she was sitting on some sort of plant.

“It’s okay!” she called up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, “it’s a soft landing, you can jump!”

Teddy followed right away. He landed, sprawled next to Hermione.

“Eugh, what’s this stuff?” were his first words.

“Dunno, some sort of plant thing. I suppose it’s here to break the fall. Come on, Potter!”

Potter jumped and had landed on Hermione's other side.

“We must be miles under the school,” he said.

“Lucky this plant thing’s here, really,” said Teddy. 

“Lucky!” shrieked Hermione as the distant music stopped. There was a loud bark from the dog above, but they were too far down and in too tight a space for the beast to reach them. “Look at you both!”

Potter leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall. He had to struggle because the moment he had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around his ankles. As for Teddy and Hermione, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

Potter had managed to free himself before the plant got a firm grip on him. Now he watched in horror as the two Slytherins fought to pull the plant off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.

“Stop moving!” Potter ordered them. “I know what this is – it’s Devil Snare!”

“Oh, I’m so glad we know what it’s called, that’s a great help,” snarled Teddy, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

“Shut up, I’m trying to remember how to kill it!” said Potter.

“Well, hurry up, I can’t breathe!” Hermione gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around her chest.

“Granger, how do I kill it?” Potter asked frantically.

“Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare…what did Professor Sprout say? – it likes the dark and damp –”

“So light a fire!” Teddy choked.

“Yes – of course – but there’s no wood!” Potter cried, looking quickly around the room.

“HAVE YOU GONE MAD?” Teddy bellowed. “ARE YOU A WIZARD OR NOT?”

“I’ve got it!” said Potter, and he whipped out his wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of blue flames towards the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two Slytherins felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.

“Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Granger,” said Potter as they him by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.

“Yeah,” said Teddy, “and lucky she doesn’t lose her head in a crisis – ‘there’s no wood,’ honestly.”

“This way,” said Potter, ignoring Teddy's jab, pointing down a stone passageway.

All they could hear apart from their footsteps was the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passageway sloped downward, and Hermione was reminded of the Fountain of Fair Fortune. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, she remembered the worm guarding the way to the fountain. If they met a worm, a fully-grown worm…

“Can you hear something?” Teddy whispered.

Hermione listened. A soft, rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.

“Do you think it’s a ghost?”

“I don’t know…sounds like wings to me.”

“There’s light ahead – I can see something moving.”

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceilings arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

“Do you think they’ll attack us if we cross the room?” said Potter.

“Probably,” said Hermione. “They don’t look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once…well, there’s no choice…I’ll run.”

She took a deep breath, covered her face with her arms, and sprinted across the room. She expected to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at her any second, but nothing happened. She reached the door untouched. She pulled the handle, but it was locked.

The other two followed her. They tugged and heaved at the door, but it wouldn’t budge, not even when Hermione tried her Alohomora charm.

“Now what?” said Hermione.

“These birds…they can’t be here just for decoration,” said Potter.

“There’s something odd about them,” said Teddy.

They watched the birds soaring overhead, glittering – glittering?

“They’re not birds!” Teddy said suddenly. “They’re keys! Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean…” he looked around the chamber while the other two squinted up at the flock of keys. “…yes – look! Broomsticks! We’ve got to catch the key to the door!”

“But there are hundreds of them!” Hermione exclaimed.

Teddy examined the lock on the door.

“We’re looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.”

Teddy and Potter each seized a broomstick and kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. They grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it seemed almost impossible to catch one.

Not for nothing, though, was Potter the youngest Seeker in a century. He clearly had a knack for spotting things other people didn’t. After a minute’s weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, Hermione saw he spotted a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole.

“That one!” he called to Teddy. “That big one – there – no, there – with bright blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side.”

Teddy went speeding in the direction that Potter was pointing.

“We’ve got to close in on it!” Teddy called, not taking his eyes off the key with the damaged wing. “Potter, you come at it from above – Minnie, make sure it doesn't dip down – and I’ll try to catch it. Right, NOW!”

Potter dived, Teddy rocketed upward, the key dodged them both, and Potter streaked after it; it sped toward the wall; Hermione slowed it down a little by hovering another key in its way. She quickly maneuvered it out of the way as Potter leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand. 

They landed quickly, and Potter ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

“Ready?” Potter asked the other two, his hands on the door handle. They nodded. He pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn’t see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces. Harry, Teddy and Hermione shivered slightly – the towering white chessmen had no faces.

“Now what do we do?” Potter whispered.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Teddy. “We’ve got to play our way across the room.”

Behind the white pieces they could see another door.

“How?” said Hermione nervously.

“I think,” said Teddy, “we’re going to have to be chessmen.”

Teddy walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight’s horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

“Do we – er – have to join you to get across?”

The black knight nodded. Teddy turned to the other two.

“This needs thinking about…” he said. “I suppose we’ve got to take the place of three of the black pieces…Now, don’t be offended or anything, but Minnie.. you're not that good at chess –”

“I'm not offended,” said Hermione quickly. “Just tell us what to do.”

“Well, Potter, you take place of that bishop, and Minnie, you can take the queen’s place.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to be a knight,” said Teddy.

The chessmen seemed to have been listening, because at these words a knight, a bishop, and the queen turned their backs on the white pieces and walked off the board, leaving three empty squares that Potter, Teddy and Hermione took.

“White always plays first in chess,” said Teddy, peering across the board. “Yes…look…”

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Teddy started to direct the black pieces. They moved silently wherever he sent them. Hermione's knees were trembling. What if they lost?

“Potter – move diagonally four squares to the right.”

Their first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.

“Had to let that happen,” said Teddy, looking shaken. “Leaves you free to take that bishop, Minnie, go on.”

Every time one of the men lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Teddy only just noticed Potter or Hermione were in danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

“We’re nearly there,” he muttered suddenly. “Let me think – let me think…”

The white queen turned her blank face toward him.

“No, Teddy,” Hermione said gravely, looking at the board.

“Yes…” he said softly, “it’s the only way…I’ve got to be taken.”

“NO!” Hermione shouted.

“That’s chess,” Teddy shrugged, as if it was no big deal. He shot her a grin. “You’ve got to make some sacrifices. I take one step forward and she’ll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Potter!”

“But –”

“Do you want to get to the Stone or not?”

“Teddy –”

“But, Nott, I can –” Potter started, but Teddy ignored him.

“Look, if you don’t hurry up, they’ll already have the Stone!”

There was no alternative.

“Ready?” Teddy called, his face pale but determined. “Here I go – now, don’t hang around once you’ve won.”

He started to step forward, reaching the square, and the white queen pounced. She struck Teddy hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed, but they stayed on their squares – the white queen dragged Teddy to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.

Shaking, Potter moved three spaces to the left.

The white king took off his crown and threw it at his feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear. With a desperate look at Teddy, they  ran to help.

“What if he's -?” said Hermione nervously.

“He’ll be okay,” said Potter, clearly trying to convince himself.

With trembling hands, she placed her fingers on Teddy's neck. Yes, a pulse was there. But when Hermione spotted the trickle of blood running down his thick curls, she took a shuddered gasp.

"Granger, we have to go-"

"We can't just leave him!" she snapped, tears brimming in her eyes.

"He'll be fine-"

"How do you know that? How can I trust-"

"Trust, really?" Potter ran a hand through his hair. "After you dyed my entire class bright red?"

"You deserved it!" Hermione snapped.

"No, Ron did," Potter countered. "Everyone else was just collateral."

"So, what? Go on ahead without me, then!"

"I can't!"

"Why not? Let's face it, Potter," she wiped a tear off her face angrily. "We're not friends. You saved me from the troll, I took on whatever was in that forest. We'll call it even-"

"I can't do this alone," he interrupted. "I can't.. I can't face him alone.."

She rolled her eyes. That's what he was worried about? Facing Quirrell? 

"Give it a rest, Potter-"

"HE KILLED MY PARENTS!"

Hermione's hand froze cupping Teddy's cheek. She blinked, another tear escaping. Did he ..? She looked at him, truthfully for the first real time. She stared into his bright green eyes, glistening behind his dust-caked glasses, urging her to understand. 

"Potter-"

"Oh for Christ sake, call me Harry!"

She jumped, shuffling a little backwards. It was strange. Maybe she'd been trying to fight it this whole time without even realising it; the consummate Gryffindor, the one that fell in step with every other brave, courageous, pig-headed lion in that house. He was her entire opposite. Where she hid, he was open. If she withdrew, he pulled you in. In a split second, she realised it- they needed each other.

"What do you think's next?" she asked softly.

He visibly relaxed at her question. “We’ve had Sprout’s, that was the Devil’s Snare; Flitwick must’ve put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell’s spell, and Snape’s…”

She looked down at Teddy. Still breathing, she reminded herself.

"We'll come back for him," Potter- Harry, said gently.

With one last glance, Harry and Hermione charged through the door and up the next passageway.

They had reached another door.

“All right?” Harry whispered.

“Go on.”

Harry pushed it open.

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to fight that one,” Harry whispered as they stepped carefully over one of it’s massive legs. “Come on, I can’t breathe.”

She pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next – but there was nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

“Snape’s,” said Harry. “What do we have to do?”

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn’t an ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.

“Look!” Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry looked over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione let out a great sigh and Harry, amazed, saw that she was smiling.

“Brilliant,” said Hermione. “This isn’t magic – it’s logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck in here forever.”

“But so will we, won’t we?”

“Of course not,” said Hermione. “Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottled: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.”

“But how do we know which to drink?”

“Give me a minute.”

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.

“Got it,” she said. “The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire – toward the Stone.”

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

“Which one will get you back through the purple flames?”

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.

“You drink that,” said Harry. “No, listen, get back and get Nott. Grab brooms from the flying-key room, they’ll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy – go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig- my owl, bright white- to Dumbledore, we need him. I might be able to hold him off for a while, but I’m no match for him, really.”

"Potter, we're going together or not at all."

“But Hermione – what if You-Know-Who’s in there?”

“Well – you were lucky once, weren't you?” said Hermione, pointing at his scar. “You might get lucky again.”

He shook his head, as if she was crazy, but relented. Harry picked up the tiny bottle and did a weak cheers motion before drinking half and passing it to Hermione. When the liquid passed her lips, it felt like she was drinking ice.

Before she could finish her mouthful, Harry turned and walked straight through the black fire.

It was indeed as though ice was flooding her body. She put the bottle down and walked forward; she braced herself, saw the black flames licking her body, but couldn’t feel them – for a moment she could see nothing but dark fire – then she was on the other side, in the last chamber.

There was already someone there.

It was Quirrell.

Chapter 14: Going Home

What goes up comes down

Now now girl

 

---

 

Quirrell smiled. His face wasn’t twitching at all.

“Me,” he said calmly. “I wondered whether I’d be meeting you here, Potter.”

“But I thought – Snape –”

“Severus?” Quirrell laughed, and it wasn’t his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an overgrown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering Professor Quirrell?”

“But Snape tried to kill me!”

“No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend," Quirrell pointed a steady finger towards Hermione, who was now descending the stairs, shaking. "Miss Granger set me on fire at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I’d have got you off that broom. I’d have managed it before then if Snape hadn’t been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.”

Harry looked back at her, then back at Quirrell. 

“Snape was trying to save me?” he asked her, fear growing in his face.

She nodded shakily. "I didn't think he-"

"Didn't think I knew?" said Quirrell coolly. “Why do you think Snape wanted to referee the next match? He was trying to make sure I didn’t do it again. Funny, really…he needn’t have bothered. I couldn’t do anything with Dumbledore watching. All the other teachers thought Snape was trying to stop Gryffindor from winning, he did make himself unpopular…and what a waste of time, when after all that, I’m going to kill you tonight.”

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry and Hermione.

“You’re too noisy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you’d seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone.”

“You let the troll in?”

“Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls – you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight up to the third floor to head me off – and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn’t even manage to bite Snape’s leg off properly. Now be quiet."

She struggled against her bindings, but it was no use. The rope burned into her skin where she tried to wriggle free. One wrong move, and she'd go tumbling down the stairs. She could see Harry coming to a similar conclusion before sending her a panicked look. It was only then that Hermione realized what was standing behind Quirrell. It was the Mirror.

“This mirror is the key to finding the Stone,” Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. “Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this…but he’s in London…I’ll be far away by the time he gets back….”

“We saw you and Snape in the corridors –” she blurted out.

“Yes,” said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. “He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I’d got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me – as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side….”

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

“I see the Stone…I’m presenting it to my master…but where is it?”

Hermione shot Harry a look. They had to play for time, and the best way to do that was to keep Quirrell talking.

“But Snape always seemed to hate me so much,” Harry added.

“Oh, he does,” said Quirrell casually, “heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you dead.”

“But I heard you a few days ago, sobbing – I thought Snape was threatening you….”

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell’s face.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I find it hard to follow my master’s instructions – he is a great wizard and I am weak –”

“You mean he was there in the classroom with you?” Harry gasped.

“He is with me wherever I go,” said Quirrell quietly. “I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it…. Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.” Quirrell shivered suddenly. “He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me…decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me….”

Quirrell cursed under his breath.

“I don’t understand…is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?”

Hermione's mind was racing.

What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, she thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to?”

She tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around her ankles were too tight: she tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored her. He was still talking to himself.

“What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!”

And to Hermione's horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

“Use the boy…Use the boy…”

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

“Yes- Potter – come here.”

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

“Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.”

Harry looked desperately towards Hermione before walking toward him.

You have to lie, she thought desperately. You must look and lie about what you see!

Quirrell moved close behind him. Harry closed his eyes, stepped in front of the mirror, and opened them again.

The silence was unbearable. Hermione lay there, head resting against the sharp edge of a step, tensing her core so as to not fall further down. She watched as an array of emotions played across Harry's face. Confusion. Disbelief. Fear. She breathed evenly, knowing that any false move on her part would get them both the stick.

“Well?” said Quirrell impatiently. “What do you see?”

Harry screwed up his face.

“I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore,” he said numbly. “I – I’ve won the house cup for Gryffindor.”

Quirrell cursed again.

“Get out of the way,” he said. As Harry moved aside, he shot a look at Hermione. But he hadn’t walked five paces towards her before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn’t moving his lips.

“He lies…He lies…”

“Potter, come back here!” Quirrell shouted. “Tell me the truth! What did you just see?”

The high voice spoke again.

“Let me speak to him…face-to-face….”

“Master, you are not strong enough!”

“I have strength enough…for this….”

Hermione watched as Harry froze, as if Devil’s Snare was rooting him to the spot. He couldn't seem to move a muscle. Petrified, they watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. What was going on? The turban fell away. Quirrell’s head looked strangely small without it. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

Hermione would have screamed, but she couldn’t make a sound. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. Was this...

“Harry Potter…” it whispered.

Harry twitched, his face entirely pale. "Voldemort.." he whispered.

“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapor…I have form only when I can share another’s body…but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds…. Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks…you saw faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest…and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own…. Now…why don’t you give me that Stone in your pocket?”

Harry stumbled backward, falling onto the step by Hermione.

“Don’t be a fool,” snarled the face. “Better save your own life and join me…or you’ll meet the same end as your parents…. They died begging me for mercy….”

“LIAR!” Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrell was walking backward, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

“How touching…” it hissed. “I always value bravery…. Yes, boy, your parents were brave…. I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight…but your mother needn’t have died…she was trying to protect you…. Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain.”

“NEVER!”

Harry sprang toward the flame door, but Voldemort screamed “SEIZE HIM!” and the next second, Hermione watched as Quirrell’s hand closed on his wrist. At once, as though being burned alive, Harry yelled, struggling with all his might. He bumped into Hermione, whose ropes had magically fallen clean off of her, and they went tumbling backwards as Quirrell advanced on them. She held on tight as Harry gripped his forehead in agony, and she reached for her wand, raising it before her.

But Quirrell stopped. Suddenly, he hunched over in pain, looking at his fingers- they were blistering before his eyes.

"Wha-"

“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” shrieked the face again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Harry clean off his feet, landing on top of both of them, hands around Harry’s neck. Hermione gasped for air underneath them, watching as her wand rolled down the steps towards the Mirror.

“Master, I cannot hold him – my hands – my hands!”

And Quirrell, though pinning Harry to the ground with his knees, let go of his neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms – Hermione could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

“Then kill him, fool, and be done!” screeched Voldemort.

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry reached up and grabbed Quirrell’s face –

“AAAARGH!”

Quirrell rolled off them, his face, blistering, too, and then Hermione knew: Quirrell couldn’t touch Harry's bare skin, not without suffering terrible pain – their only chance was to keep hold of Quirrell, keep him in enough pain to stop him from doing a curse.

Hermione jumped to her feet, gasping for breath, and caught Quirrell by the arm. She lunged downwards, hanging on as tight as she could while Harry wrapped his hands around Quirrell's neck. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw her off, he kicked her in the chest- winding her. By this point, Quirrell's skin was emitting actual smoke, and she couldn't see- she could only hear Quirrell’s terrible shrieks and Voldemort’s yells of, “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” and other voices, maybe in her own head, crying, “Harry! Harry!”

She felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from her grasp, knew all was lost, and felt herself shoved backwards into blackness, down…down…down…

She blinked. She was somewhere dark, and her head was banging like a drum.

She blinked again. The darkness fell into crisper view, and she could make out ripples in the black. They were robes. But what were they.. ?

"She's awake!" a voice whispered, and the darkness twirled before her.

One final blink and her eyes cleared. The stern face of Professor Snape was looking down at her.

"Finally decided to join us, have you?" he drawled.

Hermione stared at him. Then she remembered: “Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, quick –”

“Calm yourself, you are a little behind the times,” said Snape. “Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

“Then who does? Sir, I –”

“Miss Granger, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

Hermione swallowed and looked around her. She realized he must be in the hospital wing. She was lying in a bed with white linen sheets, and next to her was a table with a vase of wild flowers and a pot of kiwi jam.

"I believe Miss Parkinson thought you would find it comical," Snape commented, gesturing towards the jam.

"How long have I been in here?"

"Three days. What happened down in the dungeons is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

She sat up straight, suddenly terrified. "Teddy!"

"Mr Nott," Snape corrected, "is perfectly well."

She sighed, relieved. “But sir, the Stone –”

Professor Snape sighed. "Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. Dumbledore arrived in time to prevent that, at the very least."

At the very least? "So, it's gone?"

"The Stone has been destroyed."

“Destroyed?” said Hermione blankly. “But Nicolas Flamel –”

"He and Perenelle have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."

Hermione sat there, lost for words. 

“Sir?” said Hermione. “I’ve been thinking…Sir – even if the Stone’s gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who – he's going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?”

Snape looked out the window. Hermione was surprised to see it was evening time, and a gentle fall of soft rain pattered against the high panes of the hospital wing. She got the feeling she'd asked something out of turn, judging by the way Snape's jaw set.

"No," he said after a long pause, gritting his teeth. "He has not."

Hermione nodded, but stopped quickly, because it made her head hurt. Then she said, “Sir, there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me…”

Snape looked at her sharply. "No."

She blinked, bewildered. "No?"

He exhaled harshly. "Not today. Not now."

And Hermione knew it would be no good to argue.

Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was a nice woman, but very strict.

“Just five minutes,” Hermione pleaded.

“Absolutely not.”

“You let Professor Snape in….”

“Well, of course, that was Professor Snape, quite different. You need rest.”

“I am resting, look, lying down and everything. Oh, go on, Madam Pomfrey…”

“Oh, very well,” she said. “But five minutes only.”

And she let Teddy in.

“Minnie!”

Teddy looked ready to fling his arms around her, but Hermione was glad he held himself in as her head was still very sore.

“Oh, Teddy I was so worried –”

“The whole school’s talking about it,” said Teddy with a wide grin. "What really happened in there?"

It was one of those rare occasions when the true story is even more strange and exciting than the wild rumours. Hermione told him everything: Quirrell; the mirror; the Stone; and Voldemort. He was a very good audience; he gasped in all the right places, and when Hermione told him what was under Quirrell’s turban, he yelled out loud.

“So the Stone’s gone?” he asked. “Flamel’s just going to die?”

“What happened to you?” said Hermione, eager to change the subject.

“Well, I got back all right,” said Teddy. “Took a while to come round, but I knew the minute I looked around me that you guys must've made it – and I was dashing up to the owlery to contact Dumbledore when I bumped into him in the entrance hall – he already knew – he just said, “Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?’ and hurtled off to the third floor.”

“D’you think he meant him to do it?” asked Hermione suddenly. 

“Maybe,” said Teddy thoughtfully. “He’s a weird man, Dumbledore. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. It’s almost like he thought Potter had the right to face Voldemort if he could….”

“Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right,” said Hermione grimly. “Pitting us off against one of the Darkest wizards of all time.. how is Potter?"

Teddy rolled his eyes. "School hero, as expected. To his credit, he keeps trying to tell people we were down there with him, but everyone's got heart-eyes for The Boy Who Lived. Listen, you’ve got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Gryffindor won, no surprise – you missed the last Quidditch match, they were steamrolled by Ravenclaw without Potter – but the food’ll be good.”

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over.

“You’ve had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT,” she said firmly.

Hermione made her way down to the end-of-year feast alone that next night. She had been held up by Madam Pomfrey’s fussing about, insisting on giving her one last check-up, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Gryffindor colours of red and gold to celebrate their winning the house cup. A huge banner showing the Gryffindor lion covered the wall behind the High Table.

When Hermione walked in there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. She slipped into a seat beside Teddy across from Pansy and Malfoy at the Slytherin table and tried to ignore the fact that people were standing up to look at her.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

“Another year gone!” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts….

“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Slytherin, with two hundred and sixty-two points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Gryffindor, four hundred and seventy-two.”

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Gryffindor table. Hermione could see Ron Weasley banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

“Yes, yes, well done, Gryffindor,” said Dumbledore.

Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall’s hand, with a horrible, forced smile. In the chaos that reigned since the announcement, Harry caught Hermione's eye and she knew at once that he felt similar to how she did. This didn't make her feel any better.

She had almost forgotten that the exam results were still to come, but come they did. To their great surprise; Hermione and Teddy and Malfoy had the best grades of the first years. Even Crabbe and Goyle scraped through, their good Charms mark making up for their abysmal Transfiguration one. They had hoped that Weasley, who was almost as stupid as he was mean, might be thrown out, but he had passed, too. It was a shame, but as Teddy said, you couldn’t have everything in life.

And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (“I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,” said Marcus Flint sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross Station.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in threes and fours so they didn’t  attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

“You must come and stay this summer,” said Pansy, “all of you – I’ll send you an owl.”

“Thanks,” said Teddy, “I’ll need something to look forward to.”

People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:

“Bye, Harry!”

“See you, Potter!”

“Still famous,” said Hermione under her breath, shooting Harry a look.

Harry looked back at her as if to say, not where I’m going, I promise you.

She, Teddy, Pansy, and Malfoy passed through the gateway together.

“There he is, Mum, there he is, look!”

To Hermione's great dismay, it was another Weasley, a younger sister by the looks of it, but she wasn’t pointing at her brother.

“Harry Potter!” she squealed. “Look, Mum! I can see –”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”

Hermione snorted a laugh.

“Ready, are you?”

A tall, olive-skinned man towered above her, moustached and frowning. His dark, curled hair sat underneath a velvet hat, and he wore a three-piece suit that looked like it cost more than a train. 

"Yes, Father," Pansy said blandly. She looked tense for a moment, before turning to Hermione. "I'll see you after summer. Write to me."

She nodded, and returned her hug warmly. The man gave her one last look before placing a hand on Pansy's shoulder and guiding her away.

"Are your parents not picking you up?" Malfoy asked, waving towards a pair of tall, blonde people that were definitely his mum and dad.

"Yes, later-" Hermione fiddled with the strap on her suitcase. "They're coming from France. Time difference and all that."

"Right," Malfoy responded, grabbing his bag and clapping Teddy on the back. "See you."

She watched as he walked over to the blonde couple, who looked her way once before carting their son off into the station. 

"You gonna be alright getting home?" Teddy asked.

"Yeah," she said uncertainly. 

"If you need a lift or something-"

"It's fine," she forced a smile onto her face. She pulled him into a hug, wishing she could tell him everything right then and there. Letting go felt actually painful. "I'll be fine."

He nodded, squeezing her hand tight, before making his reluctant way towards a man in a plain black suit. When the man bowed slightly, Hermione realised it must be his chauffeur. She cringed inwardly, but sent him a reassuring smile and wave as he left the platform.

She looked up at the clock. It read 11:45. 

Gripping her suitcase handle, she trudged her way to the information desk.

"Excuse me."

The lady behind the desk craned her neck to look down at her. "Yes, dear?"

"Can I order a taxi here?"

"Certainly dear, but- where are your parents?"

"Stuck in traffic," she lied smoothly. "They told me to grab a taxi and meet them halfway."

"Oh, alright," the woman started pushing papers around to make room for a telephone. She pushed her stubby fingers into the keys. "Uh, where should I tell them it's going?"

"Hampstead Heath," Hermione said. "I'm going home."

 

---

 

END OF BOOK 1

Chapter 15: BOOK 2: THE CHAMBER

Notes:

thank you all so much for your kind words on the first book!! prepare yourselves for another big, big, mess !!!

Have we got what it takes to advance?
Have we peaked too soon?
If the world is so great
Then why does it scream under a blue moon?

 

---

 

Hermione squinted at the scroll in her hand, ducking under the multi-coloured umbrellas outside Florian Fortescues.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

          The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk

          Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

          Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Whoever this Gilderoy Lockhart was, thought Hermione with a cringe, they were certainly self-important. With a sigh, she turned her gaze towards Flourish and Blotts. A humongous queue was building outside, mixed with students and adults alike, all tottering around on their tip-toes trying to crane their neck for a glimpse inside. She did not want to join that queue.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people, jam-packed with prospective and elder students all jostling around trying to get their equipment for the year ahead. Hermione adjusted the purple-beaded bag dangling off her wrist, desperately wishing she was already at Hogwarts and therefore allowed to try out an Undetectable Extension Charm in peace and quiet. Alas, she would have to continue ordering direct to school.

Reluctantly, she took a deep breath and walked towards the book shop. Any other day, any other weather, she'd have loved to spend endless hours poring over every ink-splattered volume, leafing through different potions and ancient tales. Being without magic for the summer had nearly driven her mad. Not to mention just being home..

"Skip the queues with us, Granger," a drawl came from her right. Malfoy, stood between two tall, blonde adults. "They're only lining up to see Lockhart, and I really couldn't care less."

Malfoy was the spitting image of his father, especially now that he'd grown a few inches over summer. Tall, somewhat lean and sharp. His father wore his platinum hair long, straight and perfectly styled. His mother had hers in pin curls tight to her head, and wore a dour sort of expression.

"Sure," she said agreeably, and allowed Malfoy to lead her into the shop.

"Hello, by the way." 

"Hello to you too," she smiled.

"Mother," he raised his voice. His mother looked down at them. "Granger here summered in France. Cote d'Azur, wasn't it?"

Welcome back, indeed. "Yes. Hello, Mrs Malfoy."

Mrs Malfoy gave her a small smile. "Likewise."

"France, you say?" Mr Malfoy thundered across the din as they entered the store. "We've not ventured much to the Southern Coast, ourselves. Tell me, is the French Riviera as warm as they say?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "We're more the skiing type, Mr Malfoy."

"Ah, I see."

Once inside, she followed Malfoy upstairs while his parents queued to order his school books. The upstairs wasn't so crowded and, leaning over the balcony, they could watch and laugh as crazed fans approached the signing desk for Gilderoy Lockhart.

"That's Lockhart? What a prat."

She had to agree. Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at onlookers, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the Daily Prophet –”

Above them, a large banner stretched across the upper balcony:

GILDEROY LOCKHART

Will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

Today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

It seemed that everyone's mum had a bit of a fancy for Gilderoy Lockhart, though quite frankly Hermione couldn't see the appeal. He had the kind of Cheshire cat grin that didn't quite reach the eyes, and she thought that anyone under 70 didn't really have the right to be going round writing autobiographies. 

"Why does he smile like he's got something stuck in his teeth?" she asked aloud, tilting her head.

"Maybe to distract from what's not going on behind the eyes," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Oh Merlin..."

"What?"

Malfoy just rolled his eyes and pointed. Harry and, it seemed, every single Weasley had just approached Lockhart's table. The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned bright red as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

When he finally let go of Harry’s hand, he tried to sidle back over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly to his side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge –” The crowd applauded again. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry was suddenly presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room.

Hermione shook her head, laughing. "He can't go anywhere, can he?"

"Not without a spotlight."

"You know, some might say you're jealous," she said playfully as they headed back downstairs.

"Of what? Being a specky little git?" Pansy appeared, enveloping Hermione in a warm hug. "Merlin, it's good to be back. I've been going spare at home. Which reminds me, you didn't write!"

"Too busy waxing lyrical with Nott, I imagine." Malfoy wrapped an arm around Pansy's shoulder. 

"What?" Pansy exclaimed, gently slapping Hermione on the arm. "Are you really telling me that our dear Minnie was cooped up all summer writing smut?!"

Hermione's cheeks burned. "What? No!"

"It was quite the other way around," Teddy's voice said from behind her, and she felt his arm loop around her waist as he leaned over and whispered, "Good to see you, love."

"You're both foul," Pansy declared. "Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned romance?"

"Oh, we're way beyond that," Teddy quipped. He was at least a few inches taller now. "Minnie and I have always had a .. special bond."

"Stop it, both of you," Hermione snapped, but she was grinning along.

"Ugh!" Daphne groaned, lumbering into the group, carrying an armful of bags that looked incredibly heavy. "I hate the new school year."

Hermione looked at her. "You must have at least two of everything."

"Yeah, well.." Daphne trailed off, shrugging towards a small, blonde girl behind her.

"Oh my God, Tori!" Pansy squealed, yanking the girl into the fold.

"Who's Tori?" Hermione whispered to Teddy.

"Daphne's little sister," he whispered back. 

She wouldn't have guessed. While Daphne had mousy, fine hair that was pulled into a low bun, and a sharp face with arched brows, Tori was all softness; her heart-shaped face framed by luscious blonde curls that peaked at her brow, cheekbones and jaw. She reminded Hermione of a Cabbage Patch doll with the fullness of her cheeks, and the sweetness behind her eyes.

Tori melted into the hug with Pansy, dancing a little jig on the spot. "I missed you this summer!"

"We desperately need to go back to Jumeirah," Pansy said, gripping the small girl by the shoulders with a grin. "Get some colour in those cheeks of yours!"

Hermione thought she saw Daphne roll her eyes, but when she glanced over, she had a neutral expression. "I didn't know your sister was joining us this year," she said. 

"I almost forgot myself," Daphne replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Tori, this is Minnie-" Pansy shoved the girl directly in front of her. "Minnie.. this is Tori."

Hermione gave the girl a polite smile, but before she could react, Tori leapt into her arms with a squeal. 

"Oh, my," she mumbled, catching the sprite before she fell backwards. "Hi, I guess."

Tori batted her long eyelashes. "What are they?"

"Huh?" she frowned.

"Oh shit girl," Pansy cut in, gripping Hermione's jaw and turning her head to face her. 

Hermione pawed at her face. "Christ, what?"

Teddy unhooked his arm from around her waist and gently pulled aside her hair. "I think she means those, dear."

Then it clicked.

Over summer break, Hermione had been struggling for things to keep her mind busy. She'd all but devoured all the books she smuggled back home, which she'd deftly hidden underneath her mattress away from any prying eyes, and as much as she liked her human life, she was seeking something a little more .. magical. So, on a Sunday evening while both her parents were at church she dug around in the freezer for an old bag of peas. Once she had those, she snuck upstairs into her parent's room and her mum's cupboard drawers. 

She'd asked for her school skirt to be altered just the week before, and she'd watched where her mum put the kit. Gently, so as not to disturb the contents of the drawer too much, she'd fished out the padded zip bag that contained a set of fine needles. She selected one that she thought would do the job and rushed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. 

With all the bravado she could muster, she pressed the bag of frozen peas behind her ear and rammed the needle into the lobe. Knowing that at any moment both her parents could come home had burned away any fear, and what remained was soaked up in adrenaline as she pierced the skin and heard the needle hit a pea with a gentle tap.

Blood poured from the lobe, and a hot feeling spread across her ear, but she felt surprisingly fine. Once she settled down after the initial excitement, she removed the peas and gently threaded a fine loop of metal through the wound. Negotiating around the torn flesh was uncomfortable, but manageable. By the time she'd done the other ear, she was surprised to see a rather pleasing result.

A pair of small, hooped earrings.

Naturally, she'd worn her hair down for the remainder of the summer; which wreaked havoc in the heat, but it was worth it. She felt like she needed something. Not something to set her apart from her class per se, but something she could identify as truly her own. So much of her first year at Hogwarts had been living a lie, she wanted something honest. And there was nothing more honest than pain.

"Oh, right," she smiled, adjusting her braid. "These things."

"Wowzers!" Tracy exclaimed, joining the group with Blaise.

"Oooh, are we doing jewelry now?" Blaise said, ogling at Hermione's ears. "I've wanted a nose stud for ages, but mum won't let me. She says why ruin perfection?"

"Ah yes, but you're not just a pretty face are you Blaise?" Teddy grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Malfoy tapped Blaise on the side of the head. "Yep, all empty in there."

"This," Blaise countered, "coming from the man who said he didn't mind working overnights because he's a necrophile."

"Oh that's why it's called a graveyard shift," Hermione put a finger to her lips, suppressing a giggle.

Teddy laughed. "Ugh, I missed you."

"I missed you too," she grinned back.

"We are so piercing my tongue this year," Pansy said enviously.

Crabbe and Goyle showed up shortly after, brandishing brand-new buzzcuts that had everyone falling about in laughter. When Teddy wrapped his arm around Crabbe's neck to give him a noogie, even Ravenclaws that were passing by had a giggle. It fell to Daphne to mollify them- she'd grown weirdly close to Goyle over the summer, apparently- and she set about praising them in a loud voice for looking 'tough' in their new style.

"Tough?" someone snorted nearby. "More like potatoes left out in the sun."

Of course, it was Weasley. Never one to let sleeping dogs lie, he lingered nearby casting disgusted glances towards the group. Daphne told everyone to ignore him, which they would have had it not been for the unfortunate collision of a certain pair of parents.

“Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley.”

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Malfoy's shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids…I hope they’re paying you overtime?”

Raids? Hermione wondered, as the smorgasbord of gangly, red-headed Weasley children gathered behind their father. One of them stood out to her; a short, long-haired and doe-eyed little girl carrying a cauldron full of books. She must be the little sister, she thought.

Mr Malfoy reached into the girl's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well enough for it?”

Mr. Weasley flushed.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said.

“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to the gaggle of children, joined by a few of the Gryffindors now including Harry Potter. “The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower –”

There was a thud of metal as the little girl's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from the tall twins; a short, plump woman was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; “Gentlemen, please – please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all –

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up –”

Hagrid- of all people- was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding the little girl's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

“Here, girl – take your book – it’s the best your father can give you –” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Malfoy and swept from the shop. Malfoy scowled at the Weasleys before following his father. Hermione exchanged a brief grimace with Harry before she followed along after her friends.

"What on earth was that all ab-"

"Not now, Minnie," Teddy whispered, tugging her along as they matched stride with the group.

Hermione's mind was spinning. What disgraces the name of wizard.. What did Mr Weasley mean by that? Clearly she was missing something, but by the look on her friend's faces, she couldn't outright ask. 

Mr Malfoy was whispering animatedly to his son, cheeks red and brow furrowed. Malfoy had his head down, nodding along, shoulders tense. Hermione watched them closely; it was like the father was chastising the son. But for what? If anything, Mr Malfoy had been the start of that incident. Why he had something against the Weasleys- however understandable- it had nothing to do with his son.

So engrossed was she in their interaction, she jumped as Teddy gripped her by the crook of her arm and pulled her to a stop. 

"What?" she asked, looking at him with a frown.

"Not down there," he said.

She hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings much, but as she gathered her senses, she looked. They were on the other side of Diagon Alley now, a darker, more sinister side. Mr Malfoy had led his son down a winding alley bathed in shadows, where the walls jutted out like teeth.

Ahead, a nasty window display showcased shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other. Feeling jumpy all of a sudden, Hermione drew closer to Teddy. An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles told her this was in Knockturn Alley. 

"What's down there?" she whispered to Teddy.

"Nothing you want," he replied simply.

They waited for some time at the end of the alleyway, tense and uncomfortable. As an aged witch emerged in front of them, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails, Hermione couldn't help but stare at her mossy teeth. She had so many questions, but it didn't look like any of her friends particularly wanted to answer.

When Malfoy emerged from one of the shops looking tense, Hermione looked down at her feet. Whatever had just happened in that shop, it clearly wasn't good. 

It was a subdued group that headed back down Diagon Alley. Teddy grabbed her by the sleeve and dragged her around every shop until he got everything on his list, and then some. Hermione gritted her teeth as the change in her pocket grew lighter and lighter. Keeping up with her friends was surely going to get worse every year. 

When Pansy suggested the girls all go get their hair done at the salon, she had to draw the line. Even if money was no object, she could not bare to see the look on her parent's face if she came trawling back next summer with a new style. 

"Oh, but the things we could do..." Pansy twiddled a lock of Hermione's hair around her finger. 

"Some of us are just fashion-averse, Pans," she smiled.

Pansy gave her a look that made her feel like this conversation was far from over, but she mollified slightly when Hermione offered to stop and buy her an ice-cream float at Fortescues. Hermione got herself one with lemonade, and basking in the sun with sweet treats and friends made her feel like the summer she'd spent back home had been worth it.

"How was France, Minnie?" Daphne asked.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, you know. Je ne sais quoi."

"What are French boys like?"

"I don't know... French?"

"Merlin, you sweet summer child," Pansy rolled her eyes. "She means, are they fit?"

"Uhhh..." Hermione struggled for a moment to come up with the idea of a French boy in her head, but all she could picture was a moustache and beret. "They're alright, I suppose."

"I'm so jealous," Daphne muttered, staring off ahead where the boys were jostling together over a bag of sweets. "I bet they're all really mature, as well."

Pansy sighed dramatically. "If I wasn't already engaged, I'd-"

Hermione spluttered. "Engaged?"

Daphne snorted, swirling her ice-cream sundae with a ridiculously large spoon. "Yeah, who isn't?"

She sat, dumbstruck for a moment. "Wait.. you're all engaged?"

Pansy, Daphne, Tracy and- to her horror- Tori all nodded. 

"I don't know what you're freaking out about," Pansy grinned, swiping a blob of whipped cream and popping it into her mouth. 

"Do people not get married in France?" Tori asked innocently.

Hermione's head span. "No! I mean, of course they do, it's just-"

"They don't get promised off at ten years old?" Daphne finished her sentence.

She looked around at her friends. "I guess.. not where I'm from..."

Engaged? Hermione could barely imagine herself brewing a flawless Wiggenweld, let alone donning a white dress and marching down the aisle to some faceless man.. She'd read enough about pureblood customs to furnish herself with the basics, but nowhere in the Hogwarts library did it mention 'arranged marriage'- in fact, it mentioned precious else than blood purity.

And how come none of her friends had mentioned this before? She supposed they must've all felt it was completely natural, normal even. Not worth talking about, something that was just known. It didn't need to be said. But if all the girls were engaged, that must mean... 

"Wait, who?" she finally managed to blurt out.

"Draco and I have been engaged practically since we were born," Pansy said airily, pushing her straw down into the lump of melted ice cream at the bottom of her glass. 

"Lucky you," Tracy muttered. "I'm promised to Gregory Goyle, if you can believe it."

"You could do a lot worse," Daphne said defensively. 

"I know, I know," Tracy waved her off.

"Mum's given me to Blaise Zabini," Tori whispered, her cheeks reddening. "He's not said more than two words to me since the announcement."

"Announcement?"

Pansy sighed, slurping up the last of her drink. "Every year a girl reaches maturity, the families of the Sacred Twenty Eight get together and cast a marriage pool. I've heard it said that there's often bidding on the more desirable objects. Ten thousand galleons is a pretty standard starting dowry, but most of the Twenty Eight are minted, so it wouldn't surprise me if we were looking at the hundred-thousand mark. Bids are made against the dowry depending on a few things. Blood purity, of course, social standing and any other attractive qualities the girl possesses. Kind of like a talent show, but without ever having to perform. Anyway, once the bids are passed, whoever makes the most appealing offer then wins the girl."

Maturity ... objects ... attractive qualities ... Hermione's head felt oddly heavy.

"For mine, I got brought into the announcement," Pansy continued, not sensing Hermione's despair. "The Malfoys shook hands with my parents, and that was that. Draco prepared me a necklace, one from his mother's collection. Kind of like a promise ring. We each signed a binding contract to court one another until we turn seventeen. At that point, we'll get married."

"I've never even kissed a boy," Tori whispered.

"It's not that hard," Pansy put a hand on Tori's shoulder.

Hermione couldn't believe it. All of the girls she was sat with right now, all of them, had been sold off and bought at auction like .. like cattle! She didn't know how things went in the Muggle world, but she knew the age of consent was sixteen, which meant 'maturity' had to be somewhere around there as well. But not ten years old! 

And for this to be completely normal .. for there to be some dark, shadowed room where a bunch of powerful adults put down ridiculous amounts of money to buy the most 'attractive' child .. Hermione felt sick. What exactly made a child attractive to these people? Why were they treating them- her friends- as if they were off to slaughter? Why put a value on their head like that? Why bid at all?

"I wasn't brought in. I just got Goyle come up to me over lunch and tell me we were engaged," Tracy said miserably as she picked the leaves off her strawberries. "No big song and dance about it."

She didn't want to ask, but she had to. "How much .."

"How much did we go for?" Pansy grinned, her eyes glittering. "My dowry sits at around 1,250,000 Galleons."

Hermione's mouth went dry.

"I'm somewhere around 475,000," Tracy added.

"650,000. I think," Tori bit her lip.

"Don't forget interest," Daphne murmured. "I'm around 700,000. But don't quote me on it."

Dropping her straw into her now-empty glass, Hermione sat back, speechless. Of all the archaic customs to hold onto in this day and age, selling a girl off .. 

"What if you fall in love with someone else?" she finally managed to get out.

"Have an affair, I suppose."

"Pansy!"

"What? It was a joke, obviously."

She looked over at the boys. Malfoy was lazily throwing sweets into the air and catching them in his mouth; Crabbe and Goyle were playing Exploding Snap; Blaise was thumbing through a small book; and Teddy was staring up at the clouds. She wondered if they had any idea what her friends had been subjected to, if they really understood the cost. She didn't even fully grasp it, but that was because she was a Muggle.

Good God, she thought. How am I going to swing this one? 

"I feel a bit left out," she spoke after a while, going for light and playful. "Is Vince available?"

Tracy laughed jovially. "Millicent's nabbed him, I'm afraid."

"Drat," she smiled.

"Why don't you just ask your parents to set you up with one of those French boys?" Pansy asked, as they gathered their things and walked back towards the boys. 

Hermione sniffed. "At this rate, it might just have to do."

The rest of the afternoon went smoothly enough. Hermione was invited to dine with the Parkinsons that evening, which she smoothly declined, saying she was incredibly tired from her long journey (this was partly true). She left most of her friends at the top of the high street, waving them off as she headed towards the Leaky Cauldron.

She'd written to them, ahead of her arrival two weeks ago, in the style of some well-bred parents wanting their child to gain a sense of mortality. In the letter, she expressed that Hermione- a dreadfully spoilt child- was in need of a grounding exercise, one that was bought with hard work and firmness of mind- have her pay her dues in elbow grease and we will thank you endlessly.

It was a risk, but it had paid off. The owner of the Leaky Cauldron, a gentleman called Tom, was amused by the letter she'd written and had accepted the offer without much argument. So, she'd packed up early and hopped on the cheapest train- which unfortunately meant a lot of changes- up to where she needed to be. 

Ever since, she'd been earning her room and board, plus a little extra pocket money, by scrubbing dishes and assisting the gnarled cook down in the kitchens. It was sweaty work, and she often wondered why they didn't just expedite the process with magic, but she didn't complain. She had a room in the staff quarters which was moderately clean- albeit loud with the trains passing by- dinner every night and she was building up the money she'd lost over first year.

Tom even said he'd put in a good word for her in the Hogsmeade bar scene, which Hermione thought was incredibly sweet of him. 

She was just about to turn the handle of the staff entrance to the Leaky when a "Hey, Minnie!" caught her attention. 

Turning round, she caught sight of Teddy running up to her. "Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What uh, what were you doing?"

She looked at the handle and back at him. "Must've been on autopilot," she said. "Wrong door. What's up?"

"Right. Well, I was wondering.." he rocked on his feet slightly. "It's stupid, really. You turned down dinner with Pansy, I just thought you were being polite."

"I was, a little bit," she admitted. "Is that what you want, to have dinner together?"

"Not exactly. I just .. we've got a couple of days here until we need to catch the train up to school, and my folks have stuck me in a hotel."

"That's nice."

Teddy smiled sadly. "Yeah. Whole floor, just for me, aren't I lucky."

Hermione folded her arms. "What is it?"

"Look, I just had a bit of a rough summer," Teddy rubbed the back of his neck. "More than a bit rough, actually. I don't really like being alone, and the size of the place is starting to get to me a bit."

"You want me to stay with you?"

"Only if you want," he muttered, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. "I don't sleep so good if there's no-one with me. Christmas last year was like peace I've never really known. I know everyone kind of likes to do their own thing, but I was hoping-"

"Of course I'll stay with you," Hermione said firmly. 

"You will?" Teddy's eyes widened with hope.

"Yes."

"Oh, uh. Great!"

"I just need to tie some stuff up where I am, get some bits done," she said vaguely. "Then I can come to yours."

"Brilliant!" Teddy grinned, passing her a card for the hotel he was staying at. "It's room 508. I'll see you later?"

She nodded, pocketing the card, and watched as he happily bumbled away. 

That evening, the dinner rush was particularly busy. Hermione dropped two plates while she was scrubbing them, which earned her a dirty look from the chef. Keeping her head down for the rest of the night, her hands were red-raw from all the hot water and soap. When she finally clocked off and collected her payment for the night, she pulled together a small bag of things from her room and left via the staff door to Teddy's hotel.

If she expected Fawlty Towers, she was dead wrong. Even in the glow of the moonlight, this place radiated wealth. A huge marble arch accented the front double-doors, adorned either side with humongous, lush plants in beautiful pots. The windows were tall and wide, encased in smooth marble, pillars jutting upwards to support the next level. 

The receptionist gave her a quizzical look as she walked through the front doors. Hermione pulled back the loose strands of hair behind her ears, knowing she must look in a right state after her shift. She clambered into the elevator, smiling to herself as she realized the fifth floor was the top one, and when the doors finally opened into a gorgeous, bespoke penthouse apartment, it was all she could do to not burst into tears.

A large, L-shaped couch was tucked up against the far window that overlooked the city, draped in soft blankets and cushions. To its right, a spotlessly clean black marble-top kitchen sat under hanging lanterns, casting a golden glow about the space. There were coffee tables low to the ground, shaped like water droplets, holding large canteens of liquid that shimmered in the light. 

Walking in, she felt incredibly out of place in her patchy jeans and jumper. 

"Hello?" she called, her voice ringing throughout the penthouse.

Teddy rounded the corner, looking all kinds of wealthy in a pair of pressed slacks and a loose shirt he hadn't been wearing earlier. He smiled and jutted his head in the direction of a short hallway that led towards a gigantic silver-themed bedroom with huge floor-to-ceiling glass patio doors and floating candles that bobbed lazily around like they were floating on water.

"I can grab the pillows from the couch and put them on the floor there-" he gestured to the generous floor space by the bed.

She cut him off. "Don't be stupid, we'll share."

Teddy ran a hand through his hair, smiling. "Yeah, figured you say that. If you change your mind.."

"I won't."

"But if you do-"

"Which I won't."

"The offer's there. Just say the word."

"Can I use your bathroom?" she asked.

After a quick freshening up in one of the most gorgeous bathrooms she'd ever seen in her life- who knew showers could have a 'rain' setting- Hermione changed into a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt, tying her hair back in one long braid down the back of her head. 

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, she felt oddly exposed. 

"Ad-eye-das," Teddy murmured, reading the logo on her shorts.

She laughed. "It's Adidas. A sport brand."

"A Muggle brand."

"Am I supposed to want 'Mrs Wimberton' printed on them instead?" she diverted.

Teddy snorted. "Nike was created by a wizard, you know."

"You don't say."

"And Gucci. Hermes, Valentino, Prada. Burberry," he listed. "So's Chanel, but.."

"But what?"

Teddy plopped down on the bed, and Hermione joined him. "There was the whole thing with the, uh-"

"Nazis?" Hermione finished.

"Yeah," he responded uncomfortably. "Not the greatest press."

"Did your family ever.."

Teddy folded his legs. "Ever what?"

"I mean, there must be stories."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Does any of it have to do what was down Knockturn Alley?"

"There are," Teddy began, pulling a pillow into his arms, twiddling with the tassles, "a lot of dark places in the world. Knockturn Alley doesn't even scratch the surface. Sure, they've got their fair share of dark, mysterious objects; the shopkeepers will always try and peddle you a cursed goat collar or something, but there's what you see.. and what you don't. But I get the feeling you're not interested in purchasing giant's fingernails."

"No," Hermione said carefully.

"There's stuff that the books in Hogwarts library won't teach you. You know how they say history is rewritten through the victor's eyes? Wizards have an uncanny way of letting the past just simply... disappear. So, while you might find the odd tale here and there- which will give you a general gist, but not the full picture- there's an awful lot of blank spaces. Plot holes."

One of the patio doors was slightly ajar, and it sent a chill through the room.

"And what pieces am I missing, exactly?"

"One of them's sat right in front of you," he smiled sadly.

Hermione thought for a while. 

If last year had taught her anything, it was to expect the unexpected. Somehow, she'd been selected- or found, rather- to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; something that was not only completely impossible in the Muggle world, but openly laughed at. Magic was something that a guy with a pencil moustache performed to kids on caravan holidays, not something tangible or real.

No, magic was impossible. Not only that, it was looked down upon. Kings before her time even feared it, so much so that they set about on witch hunts; tracking down innocent people and burning them at the stake for their supposed crimes.

Did that mean at some point, Muggles knew? It would make sense. It would explain why an entire population had been gaslit into believing they never existed in the first place. 

But why was it only women? Surely wizards existed back then, too. Maybe they were better hidden. Maybe they had more protection.. Maybe.. maybe they struck a deal. In return for keeping the non-magical and magical people segregated, Muggles could villainize witchcraft all they wanted- hell, they could hunt them down to the edge of the world and drown them in a shallow puddle. As long as the secret was safe. As long as it was stamped out.

And who'd believe it? Women? Doing magic? Hah! Stick them in an asylum and drill a nail into their brain, then put them back in the kitchen where they belong. 

The world could go on, all it took was a small sacrifice. But that sacrifice must have had a ripple effect. So many women, so many girls, gone in the blink of an eye. How were they supposed to go on, with so much diversity lost? The only choices would be to die out, or.. furnish a superior bloodline. Purebloods.

Hermione knew this... Voldemort.. hated Muggle-borns. She knew there was a war, and that the wizarding world had triumphed. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, just a baby when he brought down one of the darkest wizards of all time. But it wasn't just Voldemort. He couldn't have managed all this on his own. He had followers- people like Quirrell who devoted their entire life to serving him and his ultimate purpose.

Voldemort wouldn't have been the only person that resented Muggle-borns from springing up all over the place. All that careful crafting and preening of bloodlines, all that selective breeding between families to create the ideal wizarding race. The fact that a child could just spontaneously have everything they'd worked so hard to maintain, that it came out of nowhere, it must have been devastating. 

That meant that even with the death of someone like Voldemort, his message still lived on. And with last year's events- Quirrell harbouring Voldemort's face on the back of his head- it only meant one thing. Just like his message, Voldemort had not been killed all those years ago.

Harry Potter hadn't vanquished the Dark Lord. He had merely postponed him. And now, he was pushing his awful way back into the world. And he had help. 

Hermione looked up at Teddy, who had the expression of someone holding a ticking time-bomb. 

"The Sacred Twenty Eight..." she murmured. "They're not just traditionalists, are they?"

Teddy shook his head.

She felt sick, but she had to say it. "You're trying to bring him back.."

And the worst thing was, Teddy didn't disagree.

Chapter 16: Silver Voice

Don't ask them why because life is short
And before you know you're feeling old
And your heart is breaking
Don't hold on to the past
Well that's too much to ask

 

---

 

Pansy twisted her hair this way and that, braiding both sides of her hair down into one long plait that ran down her back. Her mother's necklace rest against her breastbone like a dead-weight, rolling every time her head jutted forward. 

"I wish you'd let me cut it," Pansy said dreamily, pulling a few loose hairs out of the braid to frame Hermione's face.

She smiled at her friend in the mirror. How could she have ever thought that Pansy was strange looking? The way her nose turned up at the end, her upper lip puckering as if she was always about to speak. She was beautiful. "Not while we're on a moving train," Hermione grinned, pulling the braid across her left shoulder. 

They walked out of the small bathroom and back into the main hall of the Hogwarts Express train. It felt smaller than last year, somehow. Students lingered in the causeway, swapping cards or trinkets from their summers at home or abroad. Compartments were jam-packed full of beady-eyed first-years, piling up all their schoolbooks with the same sort of anxiety Hermione felt just one year ago. 

One year. And so much had changed.

It wasn't as if the train was purposefully divided between houses, but there were just some places that Slytherins sat, and Gryffindors didn't. Hermione was more than a little bit relieved to see Weasley was missing from the gaggle of students; but when she noticed that Harry was also noticeably absent, she got a weird sense of foreboding. What had they gotten into now?

It was strange, she didn't massively mind the other Weasleys. Sure, their eldest brother Percy was a total swot and teacher's pet, but the twins were usually good for a laugh. She thought she could just about tell them apart by now- Fred was the one with more freckles, and George was the one with a slightly rounder nose. Both of them were currently making Whizz-bangs erupt underneath everyone's seats, which Hermione found pretty funny. When Fred caught her laughing, he actually gave her an appraising smile.

At the far end of the train was where the Slytherins resided. It seemed to be weirdly colder down the front- she couldn't tell if she was just making that up- and the lights seemed to be toned a slight shade of green.

There was no chaos in the Slytherin compartments; sure, the odd fight or two broke out, or a prank sometimes went haywire, But for the most part, it was subdued. Hermione found it both calming and unsettling. Especially given what she'd learned over the past couple of days.

"Ladies," Marcus Flint- the Slytherin Quidditch Captain- nodded at them as they passed through the train.

"Why's he being pally all of a sudden?" Pansy asked out the side of her mouth.

"Not a clue," Hermione whispered back, but offered Flint a polite tilt of the head.

"Excuse me, girls!" the trolley lady bumbled about behind them, pushing her squeaky cart through the causeway. "Coming through!"

Pansy gave Hermione a light shove onto the row of seats they were closest to and, with a yelp, she fell backwards onto Teddy's lap. He caught her by the waist and laughed in surprise.

"Hey!" Hermione squeaked.

Pansy jumped in after her, letting the trolley lady pass by. "What? We were practically here already."

Just as she wriggled to slide off of Teddy's lap, Blaise slid onto the row beside Pansy, forcing them all to scooch further against the wall of the train. She deftly shifted around until she was perched delicately on Teddy's legs, but she was blushing slightly.

"Why they don't just organize a few Portkeys, I'll never know," Blaise groaned, rubbing his neck. "I hate trains."

Malfoy scoffed from across the booth. "They can barely organize a Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, let alone a Portkey."

"Hey, that's a point," Pansy pulled out her book list. "Wonder who our Defence teacher's going to be this year."

"It'll probably be that Lockhart tosser," Malfoy said, staring out the window as the hillscape rushed by. "Knowing our luck, he'll be completely useless."

"Not to mention, he's practically in love with Potter," Daphne- who was squished in between Malfoy and Goyle, looking incredibly uncomfortable- added.

Blaise looked over at the booklist. "Well, he certainly seems to have the experience."

"Running round looking for leprechauns at the end of rainbows, you mean?"

"I just don't get why Snape's never got it," Teddy said, resting his hands respectfully on the seat either side of his legs. "Surely he's the most qualified out of all of them?"

"Qualified..." Malfoy echoed with a dull expression. "You could say that."

Tracy and Crabbe squeezed onto the ends of the booths, which meant Hermione had to rest against Teddy in order to make enough room for the group. 

"I was just surprised we got let back at all."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

Tracy leaned in conspiratorially. "Mum and dad have been arguing all summer. They're trying to keep it low-key in case I overhear them, but they're not exactly subtle. They keep talking about Hogwarts not being safe anymore. Like something bad's going to happen."

"Something bad is always happening at Hogwarts," Malfoy waved off, frowning.

"They think things are getting worse, though. Like last year," Tracy trailed off.

Hermione averted her gaze as Teddy tensed underneath her. Last year, she had- with Harry and Teddy's help- put a stop to Lord Voldemort's scheme to gain access to the Philosopher's Stone, a rare magical object that made the user immortal. She was never quite clear on what the rest of the student body actually knew about those events, but she wasn't willing to bet.

"What about it? Some crackpot teacher finally broke under the stress of one of the shittest jobs in Hogwarts and we're expected to be up in arms about it? He was a lunatic-" Goyle chuckled.

"And he had a stupid hat," Crabbe laughed.

"I don't think Tracy's making reference to Quirrell's fashion choices, Greg."

"I know, I'm not stupid!"

"I never said you were, I just think-"

"Who says Hogwarts isn't safe?" Tori spoke up quietly, having silently joined them at the foot of the table.

Daphne sighed. "It's nothing, Tori. Go back to your friends."

"I'm not a kid, Daph! Tell me what's going on!"

"It's just a bunch of conspiracy theories," Pansy said comfortingly. From her pocket, she pulled out a Chocolate Frog and handed it to the younger Greengrass sister. "Ghost stories. Old wives tales."

Tori turned the chocolate over in her hands nervously. "So nobody's going to die?"

Daphne sighed louder this time. "For goodness sake, kid! No-one is going to die. Now bugger off!"

With a look of despair and embarrassment, Tori tottered back down the train. 

"You're so mean to her," Blaise commented.

"She's a baby," was all Daphne replied.

The rest of the train journey was tense, to say the least. Teddy got numb legs halfway through the journey and jokingly said that he and Hermione should swap places. When she took him up on the offer, he excitedly plonked down on her lap with such vigor that she yelped out loud. Blaise bought a round of pumpkin pasties for everyone, but Hermione just picked at hers.

Pretty soon it was time for them all to disembark and be taken by carriage up to the castle. Hermione didn't even question the fact that there was nothing pulling the carriages, she was far too tired by that point to even quirk an eyebrow. Teddy kept up his lap-swap bit on the carriage as well, and when the wheels rolled over a particularly large bit of rock and he went flying into Blaise's arms, the eruption of laughter was enough to ease the tension.

By the time they rocked up to the Great Hall, they were all joking around so much that Percy Weasley- who was now apparently a Prefect- was shooting daggers at them from across the way. Innumerable candles were hovering in midair over four long, crowded tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle. Overhead, the bewitched ceiling, which always mirrored the sky outside, sparkled with stars.

Through the forest of pointed black Hogwarts hats, Hermione saw a long line of scared-looking first years filing into the Hall. Tori was among them, easily visible because of her bright blonde hair. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with her hair in a tight bun, was placing the famous Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers.

Every year, this aged old hat, patched, frayed, and dirty, sorted new students into the four Hogwarts houses (Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin). Hermione well remembered putting it on, exactly one year ago, and waiting, petrified, for its decision as it muttered aloud in her ear. For a few horrible seconds she had feared that the hat was going tell her to pack her bags – but she had ended up in Slytherin, along with Teddy, Pansy, Tracy, and the rest of her friends.

The Hat cleared its throat and began to sing:

"A thousand years and still I sit
Upon your heads, a perfect fit.
I read your minds, I know your heart,
And place you where you’ll learn your part.

So listen close, and do not jest—
I sort you true, and know what’s best.
But as I sort, I’ve come to see
The danger in what once made three…

Four founders built this hallowed school,
Each with a dream, a house, a rule.
Yet while they stood for different things,
Their pride now pulls on tangled strings.

Brave Gryffindors seek out the fight,
And charge ahead with all their might.
Wise Ravenclaws, with minds alight,
Will chase the truth from day to night.

The loyal Hufflepuffs endure,
With patient hearts and motives pure.
While cunning Slytherins aspire
To rise through will and wit and fire.

But this I warn: beware the walls
You build around your common halls.
For secrets fester deep inside—
And not all truths are safe to hide.

Some snakes wear masks, and some wear none;
Some fight with silence, others run.
Some lions sneak, some badgers bite—
It's not just black, or green, or white.

So let this song be more than lore:
The house you’re in is not the war.
For danger brews beyond the feast—
And not all monsters are released.

If one of you should walk alone,
A silver voice, a heart unknown—
Then look not twice at blood or name,
But how they play the Sorting game.

I sort to teach, not just divide.
But unity takes strength—and pride.
So wear your colours, hold them true…
And watch for beasts that whisper too.

"Still think I'm just banging on about conspiracy theories?" Tracy whispered.

Nobody replied.

A very small, mousy-haired boy was called forward to place the hat on his head. Hermione's eyes wandered past him to where Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, sat watching the Sorting from the staff table, his long silver beard and half-moon glasses shining brightly in the candlelight. Several seats along, Hermione saw Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in garish robes of aquamarine. And there at the end was Hagrid, huge and hairy, drinking deeply from his goblet.

“Hang on…” Pansy muttered to Hermione and Malfoy. “There’s an empty chair at the staff table…. Where’s Snape?”

Hermione craned her neck to see, and there was indeed an empty seat where Snape would usually be sat.

"Weird," she said, "maybe he's just late."

But he didn't show up for the rest of the feast. Hermione did her best to not flit her eyes back and forth from the staff table, but she couldn't help it. She felt weirdly attuned to Professor Snape, like he had her best interests at heart. Your secret is safe with me... She was fairly certain he knew what all the other teachers knew, and he wasn't going to share it with anyone. That made him safe in her eyes.

Once she was full to the brim of puttanesca pasta, garlic bread, trifle and hot chocolate, Hermione followed her house down through the atrium and into the dungeons, feeling incredibly sleepy. The fires in the common room were burning with cold, blue flames that made the whole space feel as if it was underwater. 

Pansy made her promise to not take her hair out of the braids until the next morning. Hermione agreed without much argument, walking up to her favourite spot in an armchair by the huge glass window that looked out into the Black Lake. Teddy darted into the chair before she could blink, and jokingly patted his lap. With a tired sigh, she fell onto him and curled up her knees. 

"How long's this bit going to last, then?" she asked, resting her head against his shoulder.

Teddy chuckled. "As long as you or I find it funny."

She rolled her eyes, but leaned into him all the same. She supposed after the last few days, it should make sense that it felt natural. After each shift at the Leaky, she'd trudge over to Teddy's hotel and curl up into bed with him, where they'd sleep in 'til the next morning and head out to finish off their shopping. Their conversations were long, often done in the pitch black of the night, where it felt like they were both wearing protective masks.

She'd woken up a few times during those nights from nightmares of tall, pale stalker-ish men in dark robes hunting her through a forest at midnight. They held torches in their hands with purple flames, darting behind every tree in search of her. She'd press herself firm against the bark of a tree, closing her eyes as she heard them move closer and closer. Mudblood, you can't hide..

Hermione woke up in cold sweats, gasping for air, her back muscles twitching as if they were still pressed up against the tree. She was prone to nightmares as a child anyway, but it's not like she needed new material to haunt her subconscious every night.

She leaned back, watching the black expanse of the lake ripple against the glass. "It's going to be weird, not sharing a bed."

"I know. There's always an open invitation," Teddy replied, pulling at a loose thread on the armchair.

"I know," she echoed.

"Tell me what you're really thinking."

Hermione sighed. She cast a quick look around the common room; there were a few students lingering around here or there, reading up the last chapters of a book or chattering away in some corner. None of them seemed particularly interested in either of them, so she shifted in the chair until she had her legs draped over Teddy's lap, so she'd be facing him in some capacity. Out of all their conversations, they'd skirted around one topic in particular. 

"How many of them.. know?"

"Who, out of our friends?" 

She nodded. 

Teddy ran a hand through his hair, something he did when he was either stressed or embarrassed. "It's not so simple as just knowing. You know how you grow up, and bit by bit, you learn to talk? Language isn't something you come to know as a concept, it's just understood. The same way we don't even think of breathing. That isn't to say its completely unconscious, but a lot of kids like us grew up being told the same thing."

"The Twenty Eight?" she asked.

"Yeah. When you're born into a family like that.. a dynamic, or system.. it's hard to tell the wood from the trees. If you don't know any better, if you spend all your life cooped up inside one of those mansions.." Teddy did a light chuckle, but his eyes were sad. "If you knew what it was like to grow up there. A hundred empty rooms, perfectly decorated, perfectly polished and preened. Libraries stacked to the ceiling with every tome imaginable. Food delivered to the table in an instant, elves waiting on you hand and foot. You couldn't want for anything, it was all right there in front of you. And better yet, there were other kids like you, too. And they could come over, or you could go to theirs, and it would be the exact same. You stop questioning things. You start expecting that this is the kind of life everyone must have. So by the time you get to somewhere like Hogwarts.."

"Everyone else is weird," Hermione finished for him, nodding. 

"Exactly. But more often than not, you're lucky. Even if they're not in the Twenty Eight, they'll still have some idea of what a modest life is. The wizarding war taught people to play their cards close to their chest, so if you do end up making friends outside of the circle, well. Turns out they're not actually that bad. It's the radicalists you've got to look out for. The ones that oppose your way of living with every fiber of their being. You'll be told it's jealousy, these people who grew up on nothing but scraps just want what you've got. But you know it's something deeper than that. Or at least, you'll have the feeling," he paused, clearing his throat, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. "The same way we don't think of blinking while we breathe. They're just two things that naturally happen at the same time. It's only if you pay attention to it that you end up finding it a bit strange."

"So, some of them might know," she reasoned, frowning in thought. "But they don't quite get it yet."

"Yeah," he said in an exhale.

"But how come you know so much?" 

"Accident. Pure chance, more like. Some people are more outspoken in front of their children than others."

"And all of this is behind closed doors, I imagine?"

"That's not to say that walls don't have ears," he countered, scratching his neck. "They have to be careful who they choose to be.. outspoken.. in front of."

"So that whole thing with Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley..."

"Lucius Malfoy is a different case."

"How so?"

"You heard him say a couple of things that were kind of..."

"Brash?"

Teddy laughed. "Brash, yeah. We'll go with that. Well. The Malfoy family is one of the richest, if not the richest, family in the Twenty Eight. Don't ask me how they hoarded all that gold, because I guarantee most of it isn't exactly clean. Anyway, with that kind of wealth, you can afford to let the veil down in public a little bit. They're the kind of family with influence, with power. They're all buddied up with politicians and ministers, slipping gold into pockets to get their own way. Lucius Malfoy can afford almost anything."

Hermione tilted her head. "That must be how Pansy's dowry is so big."

Teddy blinked. "How do you know about the dowries?"

"Pansy told me. She said her dowry was over 1.2 million Galleons. Then all the girls started comparing."

"1.2 million sounds about right," Teddy looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I bet that was a weird conversation."

"It was like something out of Pride and Prejudice," she joked. "They all gawked at me when I said that sort of thing didn't happen where I come from. I think Tracy's jaw was almost on the floor."

"There's a lot of Pureblood traditions like that."

"I know, but just the thought of Tori being married off to someone at ten years old is ridiculous!"

"It's a security blanket for most people."

"It's a way of keeping the bloodlines secure, you mean."

"We all grew up with each other, it's the sort of thing that just felt inevitable."

"I don't know, if I found out I was engaged to Vince, and the moment I turned seventeen I had to prance down the aisle towards him, I think I'd vomit."

"Well, luckily you don't have to worry about that."

Hermione snorted. "Yeah, but poor Millicent."

"Poor Millicent." Teddy echoed.

Chapter 17: Gilderoy Lockhart

Well it's the same room
But everything's different
You can fight the sleep
But not the dream

 

---

 

The next day, things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Hermione and Teddy sat down at the Slytherin table next to Pansy and Tracy, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. 

“Mail’s due any minute – Should be getting my new set of quills.”

Hermione had only just started buttering her toast when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. Across the hall, a big, lumpy package bounced off Longbottom's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into a jug, spraying all the Gryffindors with milk and feathers.

Malfoy snorted, sliding onto the bench next to Pansy. Hermione noticed he had dark circles under his eyes as he poured himself a black coffee. She wondered if his conversation with his father was still playing on his mind. She didn't get the chance to ask, as a huge owl flew gracefully down onto the table in front of her, dropping off her package of books for the year ahead. 

"This is why you're the smart one," Blaise nodded towards the package as Hermione slid the books into her bag.

She smiled, trying to choose between marmite and jam for her toast topping when a piercing screech rang through the hall.

“- STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE –”

The yells, a hundred times louder than any noise Hermione had ever heard, made all the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see where the noise was coming from. 

"What is that?" she said, her hands clamped over her ears.

"Howler! Brilliant!" Teddy grinned.

She turned towards where he was looking, and across the way she could see Weasley sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

“- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUHGT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD HAVE DIED –“

Hermione giggled as she saw Harry try very hard to look as though he couldn’t hear the voice.

“- ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED – YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”

A ringing silence fell. A red envelope, which had dropped from Weasley's hand, burst into flames and curled into ashes. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

"So that's why they weren't on the train!" she exclaimed, returning to her toast. 

Teddy smirked. "Sounds like they nicked the Weasley-mobile and got caught red-handed."

Hermione bit down on her toast and jam, suppressing giggles.

But they had no time to dwell on this; Professor Ministra was moving along the Slytherin table, handing out course schedules. Hermione took hers and saw that they had double Charms with the Ravenclaws first. They left the Great Hall together, crossing out into the main courtyard where a lot of the core studies classes were located, and made for Professor Flitwick's classroom. 

Charms was Teddy's happy place, and Hermione could see why. The classroom itself had high ceilings, deep redwood benches arranged in a 'U' shape around a central presentational teaching space. The windows braced open to receive the rising sun, gently warming the classroom as they all took their seats and watched their professor toddle over to his desk. 

"Now, what would one do-" Flitwick perched happily on a pile of books, gesticulating to the class, "if one were to be caught in a duel?"

Hermione liked being in classes with the Ravenclaws; not only were they a welcome intellectual challenge, but they refrained from making obstinate, stupid jokes all the time. If they were mixed in with Gryffindor, they'd be hearing things like 'stick your wand up their bum' or 'keg them before they turn round'. 

One of the Patil twins- Padma, she thought- raised her hand politely.

"Yes, Miss Patil?"

"First you'd have to assess the threat and risk," she explained in a very Ravenclaw-like fashion, her classmates nodding along. "Consider the impact factors at play. Is your opponent larger than you, quicker than you, more skilled? Then it'd be a case of analyzing which spells would be most appropriate in the situation. Are you outside? Is weather a factor? Are you dueling at height? Everything comes into calculation."

"Very astute of you," Flitwick beamed, bright with admiration. "But how might one consider all of these factors in a mere split second? Mr Boot?"

"Terry," the brown-haired, round-faced boy amended, lowering his hand. "Well, some of it's got to be gut reaction. Sometimes you just get a sixth sense about somebody, and it's your body's way of making all of those calculations in rapid succession."

"Ohoho! You're quite right, Mr Boot, quite right. But the question remains unanswered." Flitwick twisted his moustache with a mischievous smile. "Say you were to be caught by surprise, as Mr Boot says. An enemy approaches from the dark, his wand drawn, a spell already forming on his lips. He's had significantly more time to plan ahead than you- what small, simple thing can you do to take back the edge?"

The class fell silent for a moment. 

"You've got to delay them," said Blaise, staring down at his notebook with an odd expression.

Flitwick clapped his gnarled hands together in delight. "Fantastic! Ten points to Slytherin! What Mr Zabini has so acutely picked up on is the fact that, in a duel, every second counts. As much as planning and preparation can help you master the bulk of the fight, it's often about who starts out on the front foot. So! Today we will be learning the Disarming Spell, Expelliarmus."

Later, as they crossed the vegetable patch and made for the greenhouses, Hermione couldn't help but notice the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings. She wondered what had caused so much havoc that it needed bandages. 

Teddy rotated his wrists as they walked. "That disarming spell's got a nifty little flick to it."

"I can't imagine it's a popular move in combat," Hermione mused.

"I don't know, there's something to be said about doing the unexpected."

She hummed along, watching Pansy's black bob dance around in front of her as they descended down towards the greenhouses. There were four greenhouses in total; huge, dusty-blue arched glass buildings with ivy (and God only knew what else) crawling up the sides. 

Professor Sprout, the squat little witch that taught Herbology, today wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair, and she looked frustrated. Hermione couldn't figure out what got under her bonnet already until she saw Gilderoy Lockhart emerge from one of the greenhouses behind her, rubbing his hands together genially.

“Oh, hello there!” he called, beaming around at the assembled students. “Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she it! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels…”

“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled.

There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before – greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Hermione caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. She followed her friends in, barely catching the end of Lockhart's final words to Professor Sprout:

“-don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts!"

Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle branch in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Hermione had taken her place between Teddy and Pansy, she said, “We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody's surprise, Padma Patil's hand was first in the air.

“Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,” said Padma, sounding as though she had swallowed the text book. “It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state.”

“Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw,” said Professor Sprout. “The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?”

Terry Boot's hand narrowly missed knocking over a plant as it shot up eagerly.

“The cry of a mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,” Terry said promptly.

“Precisely. Take another ten points,” said Professor Sprout. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young.”

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Hermione, who didn’t have the slightest idea what Terry meant by the “cry” of the Mandrake.

“Everyone take a pair of earmuffs,” said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn’t pink and fluffy.

“When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,” said Professor Sprout. “When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right – earmuffs on.”

Hermione snapped the earmuffs over her ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Hermione let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedling, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

“Five to a tray – there is a large supply of pots here – the compost is in the sacks over there – and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it’s teething.”

She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Hermione, Teddy and Pansy were joined at their tray by Padma and Terry.

“Terry Boot,” he said brightly, shaking Teddy by the hand. “Know who you are, of course, Theodore Nott…. And you’re Hermione Granger – I still haven't got over your prank on the Gryffindors,” (Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too) “- and you’re Pansy Parkinson. Your dad's the one that owns that speakeasy down in London.”

Pansy didn’t smile, but returned his handshake.

“That Lockhart’s a bit of a wally, isn’t he?” said Terry happily as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost. “Awfully self-absorbed chap. Have you read his books? I’d have died of fear if I’d been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but oh no! He somehow managed to stay completely cool and work a little joke in. Super realistic. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother was disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think she’s even worse….”

Hermione was once again reminded why she liked Ravenclaws as she watched Padma set to work methodically on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had mage it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it wither. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. 

After that they didn't have much chance to talk, but when she caught Padma mouthing, "Fat git," as she spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot, Hermione shot her an appreciative grin.

By the end of the class, Hermione, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Slytherins hurried off to Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Hermione had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of her head during the summer. She was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all she managed to do was give her beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding her wand.

Pansy was not suffering from any such ilk. Her wand, always perfectly polished, cracked and sparked at all the right times during her spellcasting. Every time she transfigured her beetle into a coat button, Professor McGonagall gave her a satisfied nod of the head.

Hermione was relieved to hear the lunch bell. Her brain felt like a wrung sponge. They went down to lunch, where Hermione's mood was not improved by a rather pitiful looking Ploughman's and tureen of pineapple juice. She picked at the wilted lettuce until she finally shoved the plate away from her.

“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Teddy.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione with a groan.

And she was right to be dreading it. Not only were they going to be subjected to Lockhart's self-obsessed drivel for the next hour and a half, but they were sharing the class with the Gryffindorks. It hadn't escaped Hermione's notice that even with the merest mention of Lockhart, all the Gryffindor girls would set about swooning like.. well, schoolgirls.

“Why,” demanded Blaise, seizing Daphne's schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little hearts?”

Daphne snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.

They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Pansy was waving her wand around aimlessly. Teddy and Blaise stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before everyone became aware that they were being closely watched. Looking up, Hermione saw the very small, blonde-haired Tori staring at Blaise as though transfixed. 

“All right, Minnie? It's Tori,” she said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “I’m in Slytherin, too. D’you think – would it be all right if – can I sit with you?” 

"Sit with us?" Hermione repeated blankly.

“Yeah, if that's alright,” said Tori eagerly, edging further forward. “I know I'm the year below, and you probably have loads better to do, but," she drew a great shuddering breath and said, "the girls in my dormitory started a rumor that my first kiss was with a house elf- which is nuts because we don't even have one at home- anyway, they're telling all the teachers that I'm sneaking down to the kitchens every night to meet up with one of them-" 

Hermione closed her book and leaned forward. "They're saying you kissed a house elf?"

Tori nodded, twisting her hands together.

"Is that really the best they can do?" Hermione snorted. 

"Not an ounce of originality," Pansy agreed, rolling her eyes.

"Right, well," Tori mumbled, her lower lip trembling. "I'm just not feeling super welcomed at the moment and it'd be really good if," she looked imploringly at Hermione, "maybe I could hide out with you guys until it blows over? And then, I promise, I'd get out of your hair. I'll be invisible. No-one will even know I'm here."

"Just ignore them," Daphne sighed passively as she watched Malfoy and Blaise send gusts of wind through a pile of fallen leaves. "They'll get bored eventually."

Hermione didn't have any siblings but she was fairly certain that, if she did, she'd do more than simply tell them to ignore their bullies. 

“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?”

Loud and scathing, Malfoy’s voice echoed around the courtyard. He was now stood right behind a tiny, weedy boy carrying an old-fashioned style camera, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry and a group of Gryffindors stood opposite, looking awkward.

“Everyone line up!” Malfoy roared to the growing crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” said Harry angrily, his fists clenching. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

“You’re just jealous,” the weedy boy piped up, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck.

“Jealous?” said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening in. “Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” said Weasley angrily, pushing through the crowd to stand next to Harry. Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

“Be careful, Weasley,” sneered Malfoy. “You don’t want to start any trouble or your mummy’ll have to come and take you away from school.” He put on a shrill, piercing voice. “If you put another toe out of line –”

A knot of Slytherin fifth years nearby laughed loudly at this.

“You leave them alone, Malfoy,” said Lavender Brown angrily.

“Oh, look! Brown would like a signed photo, Potter,” smirked Malfoy. “It’d be worth more than her and Weasley’s houses combined –”

Weasley whipped out a wand that looked as though it had been Spellotaped, pointing it towards Malfoy. "Listen here-"

“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, “Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!”

Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry shot a glare as Malfoy slid smirking back into the crowd.

“Come on then, Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, beaming at the weedy boy. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”

The boy fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“Off you go, move along there,” Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry.

Malfoy returned to the group, looking rather self-satisfied.

Hermione rolled her eyes and threw her bag over her shoulder. "You're more than welcome to sit with us, Tori," she told the girl, who was scrambling to gather her things together. "But a word to the wise; if you're looking to steer clear of bullies, you'd be better off sticking it out on your own."

Malfoy scowled at her, and with that, they all set off towards Lockhart's classroom. They were the last to arrive, or "fashionably late" as Pansy called it, and Hermione took a seat towards the back of class, in the row just ahead of Harry. Malfoy scoffed and lumbered off to the front with Crabbe and Goyle.

"You probably shouldn't have called him a bully," Teddy remarked as he settled in next to Hermione.

"He probably shouldn't have acted like one," she retorted.

Pansy slid in on Hermione's other side. "-great, now he's going to be in a mood for the rest of the day."

She sighed irritably. "How is it that I'm the one getting the flack here?"

"Malfoys have a fragile ego, Minnie-"

"You could've fried an egg on his face when you called him that," Teddy leaned closer, trying to keep their conversation private. 

"And I'm supposed to pander to him, am I?"

Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled meekly.

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books – well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in –”

When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have thirty minutes – start – now!”

Hermione looked down at her paper and read:

1.      What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?

2.      What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?

3.      What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

          54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

“Tut tut – hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year of the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves a bit more carefully – I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He gave them another roguish wink. Teddy was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Pansy was rolling her eyes and looking down at the floor, not wanting to look at Lockhart; Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Lavender Brown, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention.

“Miss Hermione Granger…” Hermione gave a start at hearing her name before looking up at Lockhart. “For my greatest achievement, you seem to have written down getting a position at Hogwarts. Surely my greatest achievement must have been in one of my books such as Travels with Trolls or Gadding with Ghouls. But I think I understand. You believe this is my greatest achievement because not only do you get to meet me, but you also have the privilege of me serving as your professor.”

“Actually, I wrote what I wrote because it is impressive to me that a person like yourself would be able to get a job teaching at Hogwarts at all,” said Hermione bluntly.

Teddy snorted with laughter along with several other boys, but all of the Gryffindor girls gave her a sour look.

“Yes, well, moving along –” Lockhart said, shooting her a dirty look before continuing to examine the papers. Lavender jumped in her chair when he mentioned her name.

“…but Miss Lavender Brown knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions – good girl! In fact” – he flipped her paper over – “full marks! Where is Miss Brown?”

Lavender raised a trembling hand.

“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “Excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so – to business –”

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

“Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

In spite of herself, Hermione leaned around her pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Crabbe and Goyle had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.”

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

Goyle clearly couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror.

“Yes?” He smiled at Goyle.

“Well, they’re not – they’re not very – dangerous, are they?” Goyle choked.

“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Goyle. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

“Come on now – round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.

The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Hermione, Teddy, Harry, and Weasley, who were almost at the door, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you four to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.

“Can you believe him?” roared Weasley as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.

“He’s completely mental,” said Harry angrily as he grabbed the pixie off of Ron’s ear and threw it into the cage.

“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione sarcastically, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands on?” said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. “Granger, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing –”

"Peskipiksi Pesternomi sounds more like a pizza topping than a spell!" Teddy grumbled as he grabbed a pixie out of mid-air.

“Rubbish,” said Hermione with fake enthusiasm. “You’ve read his books – look at all those amazing things he’s done –”

“He says he’s done,” Weasley muttered, and Hermione realized with a sense of dread that this might be the first time they'd ever agreed on something.

Chapter 18: The Marque

Notes:

Gang, I have been soooo busy at work. Appreciate the patience for this, more chapters to come now that I've figured out my new schedule!

Caught up in your wishing well
Your hopes inside it
Take your love and promises
And make them last

 

---

 

Hermione didn't see a lot of Harry over the next couple of weeks; it seemed that he was doing his best to avoid the combined attentions of Professor Lockhart and the little first-year Colin, always gripping his camera firmly between his two tiny fists.

As much as she wanted to find out how he spent his summer- wondering if it was just as miserable as hers- she found his reduced visibility a welcome break; it meant less preening and silliness from Lavender and her ilk, which was easily one of her least favourite things to witness in the corridors. Unfortunately, this also meant Crabbe and Goyle became considerably braver.

"It's not like I haven't tried getting along with them," she hissed to Teddy as they squeezed onto the end of the Slytherin table for dinner. They'd been kept an extra couple of minutes behind in Professor McGonagall's class for accidentally transfiguring their table into a warthog, which promptly ran rampant around the classroom crashing into things. "It'd be alright if they were dumb and essentially harmless, like Longbottom. At least then I'd be sympathetic. But they're not, are they? Look what they did to that Hufflepuff last week!"

Teddy grimaced and looked over his shoulder. The first-year girl in question was still sporting a bright green, bulbous nose from Goyle's experimental hex.

"I'm not saying you have to like them-"

"Funny, it sounds like that's exactly what you're saying."

"Let me finish," Teddy said sternly, pouring out a glass of juice and placing it before her. She pursed her lips. "We can't afford to leave each other behind. Merlin knows they're stupid, they're crass-"

She cut in. "They attack first, ask questions later."

"Believe it or not, Minnie, I agree with you." Teddy sighed. He rubbed his forehead. "This isn't a me versus you thing. Look..."

Hermione glanced down the table.

Malfoy had his head down, pushing beef chunks around in his bowl of stew absent-mindedly as Crabbe and Goyle chattered away either side of him. If she stripped it all back, she could pretend they were just a bunch of kids. But as she observed closer, she saw Goyle was loading a chunk of potato into a slingshot, taking aim and flinging it across the Hall towards Colin Creevey. It splattered on the back of his head, and the room roared with laughter.

She looked back at Teddy. "You were saying?"

He tore off a hunk of bread and lathered it in butter angrily. "Forget it."

Teddy was still annoyed with her by the time they went to bed, which she never liked. She flopped down on her bed in a huff, fidgeting with the buttons on her green tartan pajamas. Tomorrow she'd apologize, but tonight she was far too haughty to give it a second thought. Besides, she knew she was right. No matter how Teddy defended them, she couldn't quite bring herself to comprehend just why she should be on their side.

"-says: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em! Uhh, Minnie?"

Hermione blinked, looking across the room. "Huh?"

Tracy was braiding her blonde hair back behind her ears with a sharp grin. "Y'know I think you might be right, Pans."

"I often am," Pansy added, applying a generous layer of moisturizer to her face. "It's a burden and a blessing."

"What do you mean?" Hermione frowned.

"She means you're a bit self-involved," Daphne murmured, already tucked up in her quilts, sporting a silver sleep mask.

Pansy laughed. "Bit blunt, love."

Daphne rolled over to face the wall. "Tell me I'm wrong, though."

Hermione's cheeks flushed. "Thanks a lot, guys. Real confidence boost, that."

"Oh relax! We still love Pansy even though she doesn't shut up," Tracy quipped, wrapping a soft ribbon around the ends of her hair. "We still love Daph, even though she's a bit of a stone-faced bitch-"

Daphne snorted. "Too right."

"Everyone's got flaws," Tracy continued, starting to braid the other side of her hair. "If I'm honest, we were beginning to think you didn't have any. You're what we in the business like to call squeaky clean."

She flushed even deeper. "I'm not squeaky clean!"

"Indignance in her voice. Such a beautiful sound," Pansy grinned.

"I'm not!"

"Oh, please." Daphne whipped off her mask, sitting up to face her. "Born and raised in the south of France at some beautiful chateau with pretty pink unicorns prancing about? You positively reek of privilege."

Was that how she really came across? She couldn't do anything about her accent, she just grew up that way! And the elocution? If they all knew how hard she worked to pronounce her words properly, getting a stutter caned out of her...

"Don't get me wrong, you fit right in," Daphne continued, waving her mask around to include the rest of the girls. "What Hogwarts student doesn't come from money? Most families make a sizeable donation before their kids are even born, just to secure a place!"

Hermione balked. "Donation?"

"The Greengrass estate hands over about seven thousand Galleons a year to the school-"

"Yeah, we're just under that at five and a half," Tracy chimed in.

"How much do the Parkinsons-"

"Ten. Or just around that."

Christ alive. How did she not know this? Hermione pictured her local bank, where inside there sat a small bond of around £500 from her parents, slowly gaining around 0.2% interest a year. She didn't know the conversion rate just yet, but that barely even scraped the surface of what her friends were handing over to the school. She slumped down onto her pillows, feeling utterly defeated.

"What?" Daphne laughed, "did you think you just got in on pure talent, love?"

"No," she whispered, wondering how she even got in at all.

"Did your parents not tell you about the donations?" Tracy asked softly, twisting her braids into a low bun.

She shook her head.

Tracy and Pansy shared a look. Daphne smoothed her sleep mask out on the quilt in front of her, looking awkward.

"It's not your fault, Minnie," Tracy said after a brief silence. "You didn't grow up here, your parents probably wanted you to stay humble."

"I mean, you're welcome to grow a stupidly fat head about it," Daphne smiled blankly. "It's about time, anyway."

There was a soft whistling sound and a thump as a pillow launched across the room and hit Daphne in the face.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

Tracy folded her arms. "Can't you see she's having a revelation or something?"

Pansy crossed the short distance between their beds and sat beside her. "As much as I hate to admit it, Minnie.. Daphne's right."

"Ha!"

"It doesn't mean she's still not an arsehole-"

"Oi, bugger off!"

Pansy shot Daphne a stern look. "You're still one of us, if that's what you're worried about."

Hermione looked up at her friend. Pansy had the kind of brilliantly blue eyes that made you feel as though you were caught adrift at sea, looking across the expanse of water in all its magnificence just to surrender to the gentle lapping of it. They were the kind of eyes that drew a person in.

She suddenly had the distinct urge to tell her everything; her blood status, her family history, how she got here. Only... only, it was too dangerous. As much as she saw honesty reflected in Pansy's gaze, she couldn't help but feel like this wasn't the time. 

"I am?" she said weakly.

Pansy tilted her head slightly, brows furrowing. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

"Who?" Hermione frowned.

"Never mind, it's not important." She shared another look with Tracy before placing a hand on her knee. "What is important, however, is making you feel as though you truly are one of us. Normally, we'd save this 'til Halloween- just gives it the right kind of mood, you know- but I'm afraid needs must."

"Oooh, are we rushing for pledge?" Daphne shot up out of bed.

"Pledge? What do you-"

"They won't let us rush before October, Pans-"

"Oh, trust me," Pansy's smile slowly built into a full Cheshire Cat grin. "They will."

Ten minutes of sneaking and an awful lot of poking later, Hermione found herself in one of the strangest and most precarious positions of her life.

Wrapped in a ginormous Slytherin-green robe that dropped to pool on the ground, she'd taken up a kneeling position outside the furthest dorm room in the dungeons. Either side of her, Pansy and Tracy; behind them, Daphne and Millicent- who'd wandered in to bed halfway through their preparation and was unceremoniously dragged along for the ride.

After a few moments of just kneeling there in silence, she jabbed Pansy in the ribs.

"Ow!" Pansy slapped her on the thigh.

"What are we doing?!" she hissed through her teeth. 

Pansy lowered her head. "Just wait!"

Daphne poked her in the back. "Shhhh!"

Shooting her a glare over the shoulder, Hermione resumed her stoic silence. In front of them, a large wooden door remained firmly shut. It didn't even sound as if there was anyone inside when Pansy knocked, three times in counts of six. She hadn't been told anything else about just why they were perched outside someone else's dorm room, or why indeed everyone else looked so incredibly excited.

Hermione’s knees pressed into the cold stone, and as the silence stretched on, her mind replayed what Pansy explained earlier.

To “rush” meant more than simply being chosen; it was a probationary state, a testing ground. From now until Halloween, they'd be pledges, their every move observed, their worth measured against standards the older girls never spoke aloud. The tests would come in forms both expected and hidden—difficult charms that probed precision, curses that dared them to tread on dangerous ground, and rituals so steeped in secrecy they might never be uttered beyond those chamber walls.

Some would challenge skill, some would measure nerve, and some, Pansy had hinted with relish, would test how much a girl was willing to endure for the sake of belonging.

It wasn’t just that, though. Those who passed gained privileges others could only guess at. Extra protections, whispered secrets, power that even professors quietly acknowledged. Within Slytherin, a girl with her crest was untouchable.

And the cycle continued: once they reached fifth year, it would be their turn to take pledges, to decide who among the younger students was worthy of initiation, who would be offered the same protection and the same peril. The thought wound tightly in Hermione’s chest. This was no childish game, no idle tradition. It was a pact, a legacy, a hidden order moving beneath the surface of the House. 

Her knees were just beginning to hurt when the door suddenly flew open, and there stood- rather intimidatingly- a group of fifth-year girls in satin pajamas looking down their noses at them. They filled the doorway like a tribunal: their leader, dark-haired Selene Vaisey, leaned against the frame with arms crossed, while the others fanned around her with thin smirks and raised brows.

Vaisey- sporting a baby pink set with a thick layer of rosy cream under her eyes- blinked her ridiculously long eyelashes and roamed her eyes over them. Her full lips twitched.

“Well, well,” she drawled, looking down at the three on their knees. “If it isn’t Halloween, then why are my stairs crowded? What do you want, squirts?"

She felt Pansy take a deep breath before saying, "You can put us off until Halloween if you like, but you and I both know that by then, half the year will be scrambling at your door. We’re the ones you’ll want, and you know it. Better to claim us now before the others even think of trying.”

One of the fifth-years laughed, sharp and cutting. “Merlin, Parkinson, you sound like you’re trying to sell yourself at auction.”

Pansy’s lip curled. “I don’t sell what isn't worth buying.”

The older girls traded looks, amused.

“You want girls who will crawl to your door when you call? Then take the others in October. But if you want girls who understand power, who know how to seize it early… we’re already here.” 

One of the fifth years — tall, with pale hair brushed to a gleam — tilted her head with a bored expression. “You know the rules. Rushing happens on Halloween. Not before. Rules are rules.”

Another smirked and added, “And Slytherins, of all people, don’t ignore rules. We make them work for us. If you’re already too impatient to follow, maybe you don’t belong.”

Pansy’s face flickered with just enough indignation to look genuine, before smoothing into confidence. She clasped her hands in front of her, demure in pose but sharp in tone.

“Of course rules are followed,” she said, her voice smooth as polished silver. “But only by those they’re meant for. Rules are nets for the common fish, not the serpents who know how to slip through.”

The pale-haired girl arched a brow. “Is that what you think you are, Parkinson? A serpent above the net?”

Pansy allowed herself a smile — small, deferential. “I was raised to recognize the difference. Purebloods don’t wait at the back of the line. We know what we are owed, and we claim it before someone else does. That is following the true rule: protect your own blood, your own House, your own standing.”

A ripple of approving laughter went around the group.

Selene, their leader, lounged back against the doorframe, studying Pansy with narrowed eyes. “Confident words for someone on her knees.”

Pansy’s lips curved. “Confidence is the only reason to kneel, Selene. It’s not begging if you know you’ll be admitted.”

That drew a hiss of surprise, and then more laughter — cruel, delighted, impressed. Even Selene’s mouth twitched, though she quickly smothered it.

Selene finally leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “Very well. Maybe you do understand how this works. But clever mouths only carry you so far. The rest you’ll have to prove.”

And then one of them—Cassiopeia, sharp-eyed and unsparing—turned her attention fully to Hermione.

“And you,” she said, voice like the tip of a knife. “You’re an… import, aren’t you? France, was it? We don’t know your family. Funny, that.”

Hermione felt the weight of every gaze snap to her. A crackle of suspicion ran through the room. She smoothed her robes with deliberate calm, heart pounding against her ribs. This was it—the moment she was supposed to falter, to be caught out. But she raised her chin, adopting the cool hauteur she had seen on Pansy and Daphne a hundred times.

“My family,” she said, every syllable measured, “believes in discretion rather than noise. We don’t throw ourselves into society columns like some others”—her eyes flickered deliberately toward the gaudiest girl in the group, earning a ripple of mocking laughter from the fifth-years—“but we have old blood. French, yes. I was raised in Lyon until last summer. The Grangers do not crave attention, only respect where it is due.”

One of the older girls snorted. “Respect is earned. Not borrowed from a name none of us have ever heard.”

Hermione smiled thinly. “And yet here you are, considering whether I might earn yours.”

The air prickled at her boldness. A dangerous silence fell.

"Curiosity betrays interest. Interest… betrays fear of being outshone," Hermione tilted her head slightly, her mask of poise unflinching. Inside, she burned with a strange exhilaration. "Truthfully, I wasn’t even aware of this little ritual until Pansy explained it to me.”

That earned her a ripple of stiffened shoulders, a flicker of narrowed eyes.

A blonde fifth-year leaned forward, lips twitching. “Little ritual?” she repeated, the words sharp as a pin. “Do you mean to say you think this beneath you?”

Hermione regarded her coolly, as if weighing whether the question even merited an answer. “I thought it unnecessary, yes,” she said at last. “My family never wasted time with… theatrics. You were measured by what you could accomplish, not by how prettily you begged at a door.”

A hiss of offense darted through the older girls. One folded her arms; another sneered. “Then why are you here at all, Granger? If you think it all so silly—”

Hermione cut her off before she could finish, her voice slipping into something silken, dangerous.

“Because Pansy was persuasive. And because, frankly, I realized something she hasn’t said aloud: you don’t need another girl who can bow and scrape and play at tradition. You need someone who can see what others miss. Someone who can speak plainly, who can think around rules instead of through them. Someone you’d rather have inside your circle than outside it, wondering what she might do with the knowledge they hold.”

The room seemed to still. One of the fifth-years shifted uneasily, her glare faltering into something closer to appraisal.

Hermione’s lips curved—barely. “So I’ll ask you plainly. Do you want another sycophant? Or do you want me?”

For a beat too long, no one moved. The only sound was the faint crackle of the enchanted sconces on the walls. The fifth-years’ glares hadn’t vanished, but something in them had shifted—an unease, a grudging recognition.

Selene tilted her head, eyes narrowing at Hermione. “You realize you’ve just insulted every single one of us.”

One of the girls, narrow-shouldered with pale, hawkish features, leaned forward. “That’s Slytherin thinking,” she said bluntly. “Cold, calculating. You don’t bow to the current—you make it. That’s why we rush, Granger. To prove we’ve got the spine for it. And you—” her lip curled into a smirk “—you just proved it without lifting a finger.”

For the first time, the hostility drained from the circle. The air felt taut, electric, like a game had just ended and no one was sure who had actually won.

Selene broke the silence, voice dry but edged with something like respect. “Fine. You’re in. But don’t think for a second it means we like you. It means you’ve shown you’re worth the trouble.”

Hermione inclined her head, as though she’d expected nothing less. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Cassiopeia finally broke the silence, her lacquered nails drumming once against her knee. “Very well,” she said coolly. “We’ll take the bids.”

A flicker of triumph darted across Pansy’s face before it vanished under her carefully practiced sneer.

“But,” Selene cut in, her voice low, smooth, and dangerous, “don’t mistake this for acceptance. We’ll test you. On Halloween, you’ll prove yourselves. If you fail, we’ll take other pledges. And if you fail…” she let her gaze sweep across both of them, “you won’t be invited to rush again. Not next year. Not ever.”

The words landed like a lock snapping shut.

Pansy lifted her chin, her pride too sharp to let hesitation show. “Fine.”

Hermione didn’t bother disguising her calm. She simply said, “Agreed.”

Selene’s wand was in her hand almost lazily, though there was nothing lazy in the flick she gave. A white-hot streak of magic leapt from the tip and struck Hermione square in the sternum.

The pain was searing, intimate, as though a snake made of fire had curled itself against her skin and sank in its fangs. Hermione’s muscles spasmed; the air punched from her lungs. But she forced herself utterly still.

Her eyes locked on Selene’s, unblinking.

Selene’s lip curled in the faintest smile as a burn carved itself into Hermione’s chest, the heat finally ebbing to a simmer.

When it was Pansy’s turn, Cassiopeia’s spell seared across her skin in a hiss of smoke. Pansy gasped sharply, but when her eyes darted toward Hermione and saw her perfectly still, jaw set like iron, she clamped her mouth shut and endured the rest in silence.

The ritual done, the hallway smelled faintly of charred cloth and singed skin. Selene twirled her wand between her fingers and said, almost idly, “Now you’re marked. But remember—the mark isn’t permanent. Fail, and it’ll burn itself right back out.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. The corner of her mouth twitched—not in pain, but in something dangerously close to defiance.

“Then I won’t fail,” she said simply.

The heavy oak door thudded shut, wards sealing it with a sharp snap of green light. For a moment, the five of them stayed kneeling in the torchlit corridor, shadows thrown high on the stone walls. The silence was thick, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

Pansy was the first to exhale, a sharp little laugh that sounded more like a hiss of triumph.

“Well,” she said, smoothing the front of her robes as she rose gracefully to her feet, “that went better than it could have.”

“Better?” Daphne whispered, wide-eyed. “They branded you. Both of you.”

Hermione finally stood, the heat from the fresh serpent-burn still searing beneath her ribs. She tugged her robes close to hide it, though the skin beneath still throbbed with each heartbeat. She schooled her face into composure, because showing weakness now would be the worst possible move.

“It’s just flesh,” she said coolly, almost as though remarking on a paper cut. “Scars fade. Reputations don’t.”

Tracy let out a low whistle. “Merlin’s sake, Granger. You didn’t even flinch.”

Hermione’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp but unreadable. “Selene was watching for that. If I’d whimpered, I’d have already failed. They don’t want pledges—they want survivors.”

Pansy’s lips curved into a sly smile, approving. “See? That’s exactly it. Most of the little half-wits in our year will faint at the idea of kneeling outside a door, let alone carry the mark. That’s why we’ll be in before them. We belong.”

Daphne glanced nervously at the sealed door, as though expecting the fifth-years to come storming back out. “But… if you don’t pass on Halloween—”

“Then it won’t matter,” Hermione cut in, her tone crisp, decisive. “We’ll pass.”

The others turned toward her, surprised at the certainty in her voice. Pansy’s smile widened, all satisfaction.

Hermione adjusted her robes again, almost primly, as if the ritual had been nothing more than an exam question she’d already solved. Her eyes flashed in the torchlight. “They said they’ll need us. They weren’t lying. All we have to do is make sure they remember it.”

The hall seemed colder suddenly, the shadows deeper, though it might have been the aftershock of the magic still burning in her chest.

Pansy slipped an arm through hers, like a queen claiming her general. “Oh, we’ll make them remember.”

The five girls drifted down the corridor together, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Behind them, the serpent burned like a secret brand of loyalty—or perhaps ownership. None of them spoke again until they reached the stairs to their dorm, but the silence between them wasn’t awkward.

It was electric.

Chapter 19: Mudbloods and Mindgames

I'll lose my sanity
Tryin' to measure your intentions
What do you want from me?
How much will it be?

 

---

 

WhathaveIdone whathaveIdone whathaveIdone?!

Hermione clutched her quilt up against her chin, heart racing as she watched the sun rise behind the sheer, emerald drapes of the dorm room. Beside her, Pansy snored in shallow breaths; Tracy kicked her blanket clean off the bed, snorting in her sleep; Daphne lay completely still, curled into a ball. She even cast a look over at Millicent, but even she was dead to the world.

What were you thinking?! she chastised herself. You've barely begun blending in, now what? You want to add even more scrutiny? 

She shivered slightly. What if she was being watched right now? She scanned the room, looking for anything out of place before mentally slapping herself across the face. Stupid! No-one could make it into each other's dorm rooms without permission. Even so, she felt oddly suspicious about the curtains twitching in the breeze. Yes, the window was open, but all the same...

It was too early to get ready for class. Breakfast wouldn't be served in the Great Hall for another hour and a half, judging by the gentle light pouring into the room. With a labored sigh, Hermione rolled over, plumping up her pillow with her fist. If she'd never had that little argument with Teddy, she wouldn't have ended up being strong-armed into rushing to be a pledge. God, it was like something out of an American high school movie! 

But she had to admit, something had quite taken her over as she knelt before Selene Vaisey and her gaggle of girls. 

Was it excitement? She wasn't sure. As she gently rubbed the still-sore burn mark on her sternum, she considered it something akin to dark delight. Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born, had managed to speak in the same tongue as her Pureblood counterparts. She'd convinced the fifth-years that she was worth watching. She'd twisted the truth to suit her desires.

She'd come a long way from wanting out of Slytherin. She wanted in, and badly. 

With a sigh, she flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. It was still too early to get ready, but it wasn't too early to get up. After a leisurely shower and dressing into her weekend clothes- a pair of flared jeans and turtleneck sweater- she decided, after looking out the window, it was perfectly fine weather to take a walk.

The castle was eerily still as she made her way up and out into the grounds. Most of the portraits were still half-asleep, and she swore she saw a house-elf polishing a frame before she blinked and it was gone. Maybe it didn't want to be seen.

The air was crisp and cool, holding the kind of morning dew that gently wound the curls escaping her bun even tighter. She pulled her sleeves over her fists, mooching down past the vegetable patches and out across the green, admiring how the baby-blue sky blended with gentle oranges as the sun crawled into view.

For a while, she just stood there, taking in the silence. It was nice to be out of the dungeons; as much as it felt like their own private space, the lack of natural light sometimes made her feel like an insect under a rock. Like someone, one day, might lift the rock and observe her with disdain. Like one of those pill bugs she always found in her back garden at home.

Did Hogwarts feel like home? She supposed it did, in a strange sort of way. Here, she could relax. She could have a second helping. She could make a bit more noise than necessary. But in the same breath, she was forever being assessed. Her behavior, her demeanor, her attitude. That was a lot like home.

As she crossed the courtyard, she caught laughter in her periphery. Looking out, she could see a gaggle of black-and-red robes rushing into the Quidditch stadium. Of course, she'd forgotten the teams practiced this early in the mornings. 

Curiosity overtook her. As much as she saw flying as a sort of means to an end, she found something freeing in watching a game. So, with a small smile spreading across her face, she walked over towards the stadium.  Peeking inside, she saw the Gryffindor team flying quick loops around the pitch, trying to knock each other off their broomsticks.

She watched as the team captain rubbed his temple in frustration, yanking the Beater bats out of their box and launching them into the air for the Weasley twins to catch as they shot by. "Can we please get into some kind of formation?"

Hermione suppressed a grin as she snuck up into the stands, taking a seat just out of view. 

"Fat chance, mate!" one of the twins shouted as he lobbed his bat across the pitch.

The other twin caught it and launched his right back. "It's the first practice of the season!"

"Yeah, Wood-" a girl said as she strapped her kneepads on tightly before jumping onto her broom, "some of us don't have the Peaks in our backyard to practice on."

"How many times have I told you, it's the Highlands! Not the Peaks!" Wood shouted back, snapping the box shut.

"Very different thing, Angelina," one of the twins chimed in, "Wood's only mentioned it about a thousand bloody times!"

Hermione finally spotted Harry, who seemed to be making himself appear as small as possible behind Wood. When she finally heard clicking behind her, she realized why. Colin Creevey was sitting in one of the highest seats, his camera raised, taking picture after picture, the sound strangely magnified in the deserted stadium.

“Look this way, Harry! This way!” he cried shrilly.

“Who’s that?” said one of the twins.

“No idea,” Harry clearly lied, jumping onto his broom and putting on a spurt of speed that took him as far away as possible from Colin.

“What’s going on?” yelled Wood, frowning, as he skimmed through the air toward them. “Why’s that first year taking pictures? I don’t like it. He could be a Slytherin spy, trying to find out about our new training program.”

“He’s in Gryffindor,” Harry shouted back quickly.

“And the Slytherins don’t need a spy, Oliver.”

“What makes you say that?” said Wood testily.

“Because they’re here in person,” said one of the other girls, pointing.

For a moment, Hermione froze. She was so well concealed by the lower seating, she was sure the team hadn't noticed her. But, as she followed the girl's line of sight, she saw as several people in green robes walked onto the field, jet-black broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!”

Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry and the twins followed.

“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Now all the girls had come over, too. Hermione was disappointed to see there were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering.

“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker.’”

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy. It was Malfoy.

Hermione's hand shot to her mouth.

“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of hid own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps” – he smiled nastily at the twins, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives – “sweeps the board with them.”

None of the Gryffindor team said anything for a moment. Malfoy was frowning so hard, his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”

Ron Weasley, Lavender, and Parvati Patil were crossing the grass to see what was going on. Hermione took this as her cue to shuffle down out of the stands and make her way towards the group.

“What’s happening?” she heard Ron ask Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” she heard Malfoy say.

“Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms his father’s bought our team,” Flint said smugly.

As she ducked underneath the drapes that led out onto the pitch, she saw Ron gape, openmouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

“Good, aren’t they?” said Malfoy smoothly.

"Take a picture," Marcus Flint shot Hermione a grin as she came to stand next to him, ogling at the brooms, "it'll last longer."

One of the other boys draped an arm across her shoulders. "Oh, no. I think Creevey's got that covered."

Colin had run down from his seat and was now dancing alongside the Gryffindors with his camera. The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

“Maybe the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too," Flint leaned against his brand-spanking new broom with a cold smirk. "You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Colin piped up sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”

The smug look on Flint's face flickered.

Malfoy stepped forward, a dark look on his face. “No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.” 

Time seemed to stop, even as there was an instant uproar. Hermione, still tucked under one of the Slytherin boy's arms, locked eyes with Harry as the word found its landing place between them, somewhere on the grass. She watched as colour pricked in his cheeks, indignation flashing in his eyes, and knew that something irretrievable had just fallen at their feet. 

Her stomach sank as Flint dove in front of Malfoy to stop the twins jumping on him, one of the girls shrieked, “How dare you!”, and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoy’s face.

All the while, little Colin Creevey's normally perky face fell into grey as the words still lingered in the air. Filthy little Mudblood. Her heart ached with the weight of it, like an anchor had just dropped down, down, down. She felt suddenly unsteady on her feet, warmth rushing to her neck and cheeks as everyone else burst into action. 

Just her and Colin stood completely still. 

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and time sped up. Hermione jumped as a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” squealed Lavender.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

“We’d better get him to Hagrid’s, it’s nearest,” said Harry to Lavender and Parvati, who both nodded bravely, and all of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

“What happened, Harry? What happened? Is he ill? But you can cure him, can’t you?” Colin squeaked. Ron gave a huge heave and more slugs dribbled down his front.

“Oooh,” said Colin, fascinated and raising his camera. “Can you hold him still, Harry?”

“Get out of the way, Colin!” said Harry angrily as he and Lavender supported Ron out of the stadium.

The last thing she saw was Harry shoot a glowering look over his shoulder towards Hermione as if to say, see? 

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist. The boy who'd slung his arm around Hermione was rolling on the floor, cackling uncontrollably.

Her breath was coming in shallow, rapid gasps. The stadium was beginning to get more visitors now, made up of older Slytherin students and a couple from other houses that had paid a visit or perhaps, like Hermione, had woken up early and decided fresh air was a good idea.

She spotted Selene Vaisey and the other fifth-year girls take up a whole row not far away from her; ogling the scene with interest.

When Flint noticed them, he straightened up sharpish, clapping his team mates on the back. "Right, lads! No more pissing about!"

The team took in the crowd gathering around them and wiped away their tears before hopping onto their brooms.

"Want to jump on the back, Granger?" Flint called to her.

She jumped, looking over to him. Malfoy seemed to only just notice she was there.

"What? No."

"Then I'll only ask nicely this once-" Flint grinned toothily. "Get off my pitch."

With a shaky nod, she backed away until she was suddenly running full pelt across the grounds and back down into the dungeons and slipping into her bed just before Pansy's alarm went off with a shriek.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. 

She was sure at one point she sat in the library turning the pages of a massive book, but by the time she returned it to the shelf she realized she hadn't taken a single word in. Tracy dragged her into the Great Hall for a quiet lunch, where she felt the burning hot gaze of the Gryffindors towards the Slytherin table.

Hermione wanted to speak to someone about it. Teddy would be ideal. Unfortunately, he still seemed to be in a mood from yesterday, and she wasn't about to sidle up next to Pansy- who was currently leaning on Malfoy's shoulder with a simpering grin. 

She walked by Colin Creevey in the corridor on her way to the courtyard and felt the sudden urge to wrap him up in a gigantic hug. He looked more than a little crestfallen, and his camera- which was usually taking up space in his two tiny hands- was now hanging forlornly at his side as he slumbered off to sit with his friends. 

Filthy little Mudblood. She cringed every time the words came back to her. She knew that the wizarding world held particular ideals towards those not of 'pure' blood, but from her most recent studies it had seemed that there was something akin to progress in that realm. Yes, she had noticed how half-bloods were a little less popular than their Pureblood counterparts, but being in Slytherin, she hadn't come face-to-face with any discrimination until now.

And it was discrimination, wasn't it? It had sounded so easy and lithe coming from Malfoy's mouth. As if it were second nature to belittle those who didn't have the right kind of breeding. In truth, Hermione had not been prepared for that moment at all. It was like being on a highway at night; there was always the chance she would make the journey without a hitch, but if she fell asleep, she'd crash before she knew it. And she crashed hard.

Luckily, everyone was up to their own thing at the weekends. The older students went out into Hogsmeade, which left most of the younger children out in the green spaces or lingering in the courtyards. 

Hermione found herself pacing in the corridors, climbing flight after flight of changing staircases, hoping somehow to get lost in the castle. But whenever she felt as if she might not know her way back, a portrait or statue of armor would pop up and she'd remember where she was. Trapped in a castle, trapped in a lie. 

That was why she found herself surprised as her feet led her back down, far down into the dungeons. She didn't quite know what she was looking for until she was stood outside a deep-black, wooden door. Professor Snape's office.

After a minute or so of just staring blankly at the door, she was about to hightail it back upstairs when it slowly creaked open.

Inside, the air was cool and damp, faintly tinged with the sharp bite of herbs and the acrid tang of simmered potions long since bottled. Dark shelves lined the walls, groaning under the weight of leather-bound volumes and stoppered jars filled with things best left unexamined—slimy roots suspended in viscous liquid, pale animal bones, and substances that seemed to shift when looked at too long.

A fire glowed low in the grate, casting restless shadows that shivered across the stones like living things.

Behind his desk sat Professor Snape, a silhouette of stillness amid the clutter. His black robes pooled around him as though stitched from the same darkness that haunted the corners of the room. He leaned back in his chair with the poise of someone who never fidgeted, long fingers steepled together as his black eyes fixed on Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he drawled as she stepped inside. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hermione felt a blush rise into her cheeks. "I... I don't know."

One did not so much enter Snape’s office as trespass into his lair; she got the feeling that he'd granted entry out of pure curiosity than anything else.

"Why don't you take a seat while you... figure it out?" 

He lifted a finger and a short stool slid across the floor. 

With a small smile, she sat down. "I'm sorry, Sir, I truly don't know why I bothered you-"

"I hear you've rushed to become a pledge," Snape said smoothly, looking at a piece of parchment on his desk with feigned interest. "Yourself and Miss Parkinson must feel suitably prepared to make such a bid."

She fidgeted. "I suppose so.."

"You don't strike me as the kind of student that does anything they are.. unsure of," he remarked, remaining almost entirely still.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips. "No? That's strange. I feel uncertain of everything, almost all the time."

Snape looked unmoved. "Be that as it may, I would advise caution in this particular endeavor. Earning the crest is not for the faint of heart."

Hermione looked down at the floor, studying the way the rug beneath Snape's desk frayed at the seams. She tried to imagine him as young as her, but she struggled to form the mental image. Why couldn't she be as unaffected as him? How did he do it? Surely that would help her hide.

"Sir," she began, a pinprick feeling of nerves spreading across her chest. 

Professor Snape looked up, resting his chin on his fingers and regarding her coolly. 

She closed her eyes, heart racing. "You told me last year..."

Her heart fluttered, cold saliva rushing into her mouth. She couldn't do it, surely she couldn't. 

"You said..."

But who else could she speak to? She swallowed hard.

"You said that my secret.. it was safe with you," she said in a half-whisper. If she was wrong, if she'd misunderstood... Her eyes shot open. "I just need to ask. What did you mean by.. my secret?"

There was a long pause as Professor Snape's expression stayed perfectly still.

It was as if all the air in the room had been sucked out, and she held her breath tight, knowing that any moment she could suffocate. Just when tears started to form behind her eyes, he shifted in his seat. He flicked his hand- the sudden movement made her jolt upright- and the door behind her slowly shut, sealing them both in. She thought she heard him whisper something under his breath before he leaned forward on the desk.

“There are… mechanisms older than this castle that govern who is permitted to set foot within it,” Snape said, his dark eyes fixed on Hermione with unsettling precision. “A tower you will not find, locked by enchantments even the Headmaster does not trifle with, houses the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance. The moment a child first betrays their magic—whether in a fit of temper, or by accident—the Quill stirs. It seeks to inscribe their name in the Book. But the Book will not be deceived. It judges whether that spark is enough, whether the child possesses true magical potential. Only then is the name written, and only then are they… marked for Hogwarts.”

Hermione sat perfectly still, her mind racing.

“This process,” Snape went on, his tone clipped, “is absolute. It does not falter. The names of Muggle-borns are inscribed just as readily as those of old wizarding families. And it spares us the embarrassment of Squibs being mistakenly educated beyond their limits. The Book and Quill are infallible. They have never erred.”

It was then, with a sick drop in her stomach, that Hermione understood. He had known. He had always known. Every professor had. From the moment her name appeared in that Book, her bloodline—or lack of one—was no secret within the staff.

Snape’s expression, however, was unreadable. There was no sneer in his words, no curl of contempt at his lip. Only that low, silken voice, cutting through the dimness.

“No Muggle-born has ever been Sorted into Slytherin,” he said at last. “It is… unheard of. Salazar Slytherin himself would turn in his grave.” His eyes flickered like dark embers catching light. “But you were Sorted.”

For a moment he leaned back, the folds of his robes pooling across the desk like spilled ink.

“And so,” he said softly, with finality, “I intend to protect you.”

Face burning like the sun, she looked away. "I don't understand."

"Luckily, Miss Granger, I don't require your understanding," Snape said in his low tones, as if reading out an instruction from a book. "Your blood status will remain private so long as you wish it to be. I'm aware you have already fabricated quite the story to explain away any questions."

Her shoulders dropped. She wanted to ask why—why he of all people would care, why he would shield her from what his House whispered about her, why he looked at her now not with hatred but with something closer to grim resolve. But his gaze, sharp as a curse, forbade the question.

He did not explain.

And she did not dare ask.

"Sir," she whispered, her breath hitching. "He called Creevey.. he called Creevey a Mudblood."

Snape's eye twitched. "Who?"

"Malfoy."

"Today?"

"This morning. On the Quidditch pitch."

He considered this for a moment. "And how do you wish to proceed?"

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I cannot stop you if you decide to make a stand against this kind of... behavior.. but understand, this will isolate you from your peers in such a way as cannot be recovered from."

"So I'm supposed to just let it happen?"

Professor Snape frowned. "You must understand, child, that the time for making a stand is not now."

"Then how do I bear it?" she asked desperately, her throat tightening. "How do I make it in a House that detests me? How do I pretend that this doesn't bother me? How am I supposed to stand by while other people get hurt?"

"Yes, it is quite the precarious situation, Miss Granger," Snape said smoothly, clasping his hands together. "But you were sorted into Slytherin, not Gryffindor. If you wish to go around saving the day, you might as well attach yourself to the Potter boy and have done with it."

"But it's not right!"

"There isn't a single thing that is either right or wrong. All you have are the choices you make. But right now, you are limited as to what you can feasibly accomplish," Snape leaned forward on the desk once more. "You cannot change the way the world works, Miss Granger. Those that stand by are not always to be demonized."

She rose from her stool, clenching her fists. "We're soldiers, are we? Just taking orders. Look how that's got us in the past-"

"And look how long it took to overturn it," he replied firmly. His eyes glinted in the firelight. "You have barely made it onto the board, and already you act as if you were a pawn. I've seen games last as long as a lifetime, moving so unbearably slow that you could barely see the changes. If you measure everything by its nobility, you will find yourself walking in blind. In time, you will come to understand the real meaning of change; how incremental it is, how unbearably small."

The muscles in her jaw twitched. "I can't pretend, Sir. I can't pretend any of it-"

"I don't expect you to."

She stuttered, the wind taken out of her sails. "B-but I thought you wanted me to suck it up?"

For the third time, Professor Snape waved his hand, and a book peeled itself from one of the nearby shelves and floated down onto the desk between them. As he span it slowly round to face her, she read the title: Guide to Advanced Occlumency by Maxwell Barnett.

She looked up. "Occlumency?"

"Sit back down, Miss Granger. We have a lot to discuss."

Chapter 20: Enemies of the Heir

I'll reach out my hand to you
I'll have faith in all you do
Just call my name and I'll be there

 

---

 

A sudden change in weather arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup Potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.

Marcus Flint’s enthusiasm for regular training sessions, however, was not dampened, which was why Pansy was to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon, returning to the dungeons, drenched to the skin and splattered with mud. "How in Merlin's name are you supposed to cheer people on if you can't tell who's who? It's sheets of rain out there, I'm half convinced I was watching the wrong house!"

It was a testament to their friendship that Hermione didn't simply burst out into fits of laughter. Instead, she snapped her copy of Guide to Advanced Occlumency shut, slipping it under a sofa cushion and pulled out her wand.

"Come here," she said, all seriousness. Pansy stomped over to her, squelching as she went. "Just hold still a moment."

She performed a quick air-dry charm she'd picked up off a third-year girl the other day, returning Pansy's robes into their former crisp state. 

"No, no," Pansy mumbled as Hermione levelled her wand at her drenched hair. "I can sort that."

"It'll take two seconds."

"It's fine, I have to comb it in a certain way-"

"Pansy, get a grip, will you?"

"Minnie, don't-"

It was too late, and as Hermione waved her wand just-so, Pansy's dead-straight, jet-black hair turned into a huge ball of dark fuzz.

"Oh my-"

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO!"

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

"I swear, I didn't mean-"

At that exact moment, Selene Vaisey and her gaggle of girls swanned into the dungeons, chattering away. When they locked eyes with Pansy's wild mane of hair, they burst into shrieks of laughter.

Pansy paled.

"Here, let me-"

"I SAID I COULD DO IT MYSELF!" Pansy shouted, and ran off in the direction of the dorm room. Hermione watched her go, still fighting the urge not to giggle herself. She had to admit it, Pansy always kept her on her toes. 

Vaisey and her friends were still laughing when Hermione turned back around.

"Ohhh, I needed that!" Selene said, wiping imaginary tears from her eyes. "Especially after Professor Binns.."

"Tell me," Cassiopeia said between giggles, "has her hair always been like that, or is it just since you joined?"

All the humor left Hermione's body. She'd gotten little jabs about her hair before, but it had never really sunk beneath the surface. But for Pansy, to whom image is almost everything, that entire scenario must have been her worst nightmare. 

"Merlin, what a thought," Selene grinned, tossing her perfect ponytail over her shoulder. "Don't tell me it's contagious, Granger."

"You tell me, it happened when you lot walked in," Hermione said blandly.

Cassiopeia's eye twitched slightly.

"You know, we're still watching you, squirt."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to say-" Hermione smiled sweetly. "You guys don't need to watch me shower-"

Cassiopeia flushed bright red. "What are you talking about?"

"Well someone's been hovering outside my cubicle for days, now, and-"

"No-one's watching you shower!" 

"She's taking the piss, Cass-"

Cassiopeia's face darkened. "You little shit."

Selene ignored her friend, taking a step forward. "Go get your friend fixed up."

Hermione started a little. "What do you care?"

"In the Marque, first impressions count," Vaisey explained. "It might have escaped your notice, what with being barely out of nappies, but influence starts with the eyes. Walk around with frizzy hair, buck teeth and knobbly knees, and you might just find yourself running the risk of being ignored forever."

With that, the fifth-years straightened up and walked oh-so-gracefully off to their dorm rooms. She had to admit, they'd given her food for thought, even if she did consider it to be primarily vain at its core. When Hermione eventually joined Pansy in their room, she was dragging a comb through the ball of fuzz atop her head, tears flying freely.

She lingered, her back pressed against the door, trying not to invade on the vulnerable moment for at least a few seconds before she pressed further into the room. "Pans..."

Pansy hiccupped. "What? I suppose they told you- hic- that we're out of the- hic- Marque?"

"Oh, love..."

Hermione walked over to where her friend was sat on the edge of her bed before a levitating mirror. She sat down, looking at the dried mud on the bottom of Pansy's shoes.

"Whatever. It's their- hic- loss," Pansy stuttered, trying to work the comb through a particularly knotted chunk of hair.

"It's going to take a lot more than that to get us kicked out the Marque."

Pansy turned to look at her, tears brimming. "You mean- hic-"

She nodded softly. "They're just your standard run-of-the-mill she-devils."

Slowly, Pansy placed her head on Hermione's shoulder with a sigh. "What a bunch of bitches."

"Rancid."

"Moronic."

"Harpies."

"Toads."

"Cheuksin."

"What?"

"Korean toilet ghost."

"You're so weird."

Pansy barely even flinched when Tracy came in a few minutes later, tailed by a drenched Tori and moody-looking Daphne. Once all the laughter had trailed off, Hermione set about casting drying charms on everyone's clothes and Pansy called down to the kitchens for some hot chocolate. Within half an hour, they were all wrapped up in blankets next to the radiator, sipping their drinks and laughing. 

Turns out, Pansy had been using Sleekeazy since she was about seven. "I'd never put two and two together, because my mum's always had straight hair, but I found a few empty bottles in one of the spare rooms and dad made me promise not to tell."

"I don't get what's wrong with having curly hair," Tori said with a frown.

"It's less about the hair than it is about the whole image," Pansy sighed, swirling her drink around in her mug. The Malfoys are white-blonde, hawkish. The Notts are all chocolate and curls. The Greengrasses are soft, sandy. Parkinsons are supposed to be sleek. Smart. I guess a ball of fuzz doesn't exactly represent that."

"It's only fuzzy because you've cut it short," Daphne pointed out, pulling her blanket around her chin.

"Dad hates it long," Pansy said in a half-whisper.

Even though they were far underground, heavy rain could still be heard lashing against the stone of the castle. It made them feel as though they were in some kind of cocoon; held together by the weight of their blankets and steady rhythm of breath.

"I hate my cheeks," Tori said after a while, "they make me look like a chipmunk."

Tracy sighed. "I hate how tall I am."

"Why didn't I get blessed with thick hair?" Daphne snapped.

"What? You want the hassle of having to style it every day?"

"At least when you pull yours back, you don't look like a boiled egg!"

"My nose turns up at the end, like a pug."

Hermione smacked her mug down on the ground. "Okay, what is this? What's happening here?"

All the girls turned to look at her.

"Everyone is weird, everyone is unique. Pansy, yes, your nose turns up at the end, but you've also got a slight point to your ears that makes you look like an actual real-life pixie- Daph, I would kill to have hair as soft as yours, it makes you look super elegant when you wear it back. Tori, you literally look like a doll, I won't hear anything about cheeks or chipmunks! And Trace, if you keep banging on about how gloriously long your legs are in front of some of the shortest girls in the year, I will end you-" 

Pansy put her mug up to her lips, concealing a smirk. "Alright, Granger, we get it. We're gorgeous."

"I'm serious!" Hermione seethed, as everyone started to giggle. 

"We know you are love, and it's adorable," Tracy gave her a beaming smile.

"Then why are you all laughing at me?" she huffed.

"Because you're talking like a Hufflepuff," Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

Hermione opened her mouth to fire back when Pansy cut in, her voice unusually flat.

"You know what my mother said to me when I turned ten? She said I had exactly one year to learn how to sit like a lady before I embarrassed the Parkinson name."

Tracy groaned. "You got twelve months? Lucky. My grandmother used to balance books on my head at six."

"At least your gran cared about posture," Daphne muttered. "Mine told me I was 'developing early' and to stop hugging the house-elves because it made me look common. I was nine."

Tori’s fingers tightened around her mug. "My uncle once said my cheeks would make me a ‘perfect blushing bride.’ I think he meant it as a compliment."

Hermione nearly dropped her drink. She stared at their faces — no one else even blinked.

"So," Pansy said bitterly, "you see why hair matters. Or cheekbones. Or legs. It’s never just about how we feel, Minnie. It’s about how they’ll use us. A family is only as strong as its daughters look."

Hermione swallowed, throat dry. "That’s—horrible. You’re not show ponies to be trotted out for—"

But Daphne cut her off with a sharp little laugh. "Of course we are. You think the Greengrasses will stay soft and sandy forever by accident? It’s strategy. Our mothers marry us into families that need that look. Tall and poised? Good for diplomacy. Sweet and doll-like? Good for looking innocent at parties. Sleek and sharp? Perfect for intimidating rivals. They decide what we’re worth before we’re even born."

Hermione looked from face to face, unsettled by how casually they spoke of it, how matter-of-fact. Pansy noticed her expression and nudged her shoulder.

"Don’t look at us like that, Minnie. It’s not all bad. We learn fast. We survive faster."

Tracy smirked, trying to cut the tension. "And if the worst comes to it, we hex anyone who calls us boiled eggs."

Later, when the laughter had thinned into yawns and the blankets lay in a tangled heap around them, Hermione found herself wide awake. Pansy had dozed off with her head against Daphne’s shoulder, Tracy was murmuring in her sleep, and Tori’s mug sat half-finished on the floor. The storm outside had gentled into a steady drizzle, tapping against the walls like the ticking of a clock.

Hermione pulled her knees up beneath her chin and hugged the blanket closer. The warmth of the radiator did nothing for the cold unease twisting in her stomach.

She kept replaying their voices in her head — matter-of-fact, resigned, almost blasé as they traded stories of how their mothers and aunts had measured their worth in posture, in hair texture, in how marriageable their bodies would appear in ten years’ time.

It was shocking, yes, but what disturbed her most was how normal it seemed to them.

In her parents’ house, no one had ever spoken about her future in terms of cheekbones or skirts. They had cared about grades, manners, whether she brushed her teeth. If anything, her mother used to laugh when Hermione tried to mimic the girls in glossy magazines.

She remembered the sting of being scolded sharply for interrupting at the dinner table, the way her father’s voice would turn icy if she dared contradict him in front of guests. How her mother’s expression tightened if Hermione laughed too loudly during family gatherings — as though joy itself could be improper.

And school. Always school. Marks below ninety were “sloppy.” Careless mistakes in arithmetic meant no television for a week. Once, when she’d spelled a word wrong in a spelling bee, her mother had made her copy out the entire dictionary entry ten times, her hand cramping until she cried.

The Grangers hadn’t cared about hair or posture, but they had polished her into something else — a little soldier of excellence. Speak when spoken to. Sit up straight. Don’t embarrass us. Always perform, always prove.

Hermione closed her eyes. Maybe that was why she fit here, among girls trained to be ornamental, to be flawless. She knew, in her bones, what it was to be moulded. To be loved only when she was perfect.

But down here in the dungeons, cleverness was a footnote. Kindness was irrelevant. Here, a girl’s value could be broken down into the curve of a nose, the length of a leg, the shine of her hair — the sort of checklist her parents would never dream of writing, but which these girls had absorbed as naturally as learning to walk.

And they trusted her enough to say it out loud.

Hermione pressed her forehead against her knees, guilt and dread coiling together. They saw her as one of them — another daughter raised under the same rules, another pureblood girl being trained like a prized instrument for the future. If they ever learned the truth — that she had no ancestral name, no family image to uphold, that she was a Muggle-born intruder who had stumbled into their world — would they feel betrayed?

The thought made her chest ache.

She lifted her head at the sound of Pansy shifting in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. Hermione reached out and tucked the blanket more securely around her friend’s shoulders, almost tenderly. Whatever else could be said about Slytherins, they had let her into their cocoon. For better or worse, she was part of it now.

But as she lay back against her own pillow, staring up at the green-lit canopy, one truth settled in her heart like a stone: if surviving here meant playing the game of appearances, Hermione would have to learn the rules fast. And she could never, ever let slip just how little pedigree she truly had.

The quiet of the dorm was broken by a thunderous banging on the door.

“Oi! Parkinson! Greengrass! Granger!”

The girls startled, blankets falling away. Hermione blinked groggily, still heavy with half-formed thoughts, until Teddy's muffled voice bellowed again:

“You lot have to come now! You’ve got to see this!”

Pansy groaned, clutching her pillow. “Merlin, Nott, what—”

But something in his tone made Hermione sit bolt upright. He wasn’t sneering, or mocking, or taunting. He sounded… urgent. Breathless.

By the time she scrambled to her feet, Pansy and Tracy were already halfway to the door, tugging on slippers and pulling blankets around their shoulders. Teddy stood in the corridor, pale and wild-eyed, his hair damp from the rain that still seeped through cracks in the castle.

“Come on,” he hissed, jerking his head. “Upstairs. You have to see.”

They followed, footsteps echoing in the empty stone passageways, their nightclothes flapping about their ankles. Hermione’s skin prickled with unease. She could hear it before they reached the entrance hall — a rising chorus of shouts, high-pitched shrieks, the unmistakable sound of someone crying.

Then they rounded the corner.

The sight rooted Hermione to the flagstones.

Mrs. Norris hung stiffly from a torch bracket, suspended by her tail. Her glassy eyes bulged, her limbs rigid, as though frozen mid-leap. And splashed across the wall in thick, glistening letters, red as spilled blood:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

The girls pressed closer together instinctively, shoulders knocking. Pansy made a strangled sound, half-gasp, half-sob. Daphne’s face went white, all her earlier poise vanished. Even Teddy, who had dragged them there, hovered at the edge of the crowd with his jaw clenched, as though uncertain whether to watch or run.

Hermione could not move. The storm that had raged outside now seemed to have seeped into the castle walls, a damp chill sinking into her bones. She looked from the cat’s frozen body to the words smeared across the stone, and a thought colder than the dungeon floor whispered through her mind:

Hermione’s eyes flicked across the crowd instinctively — and caught on Harry.

He stood near the front, just a step behind Ron and a pale-faced Ginny. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that the knuckles showed white. His eyes weren’t just wide with shock, like the others. They were fixed on the words, burning with something deeper, rawer — fear, fury, Hermione couldn’t tell which.

For a heartbeat he looked… almost guilty.

Hermione’s stomach twisted. Everyone else was gawking, whispering, recoiling at the horror of it. But Harry looked as though the message had been written for him alone.

She moved closer through the crush, brushing past Tracy and Daphne, unable to stop staring at him. He didn’t notice her; he hardly seemed to notice anything, his whole body taut like a bowstring. When a Ravenclaw beside them muttered, “Enemies of the Heir… what does it mean?” Harry flinched, as though struck.

Why?

Hermione’s mind scrambled. He was Muggle-born’s best friend, wasn’t he? The Heir’s supposed “enemy” by every definition. But the way his eyes lingered on the frozen body of Mrs. Norris, the grim set of his mouth as though he already knew the end of this story—none of it made sense.

Pansy tugged at Hermione’s sleeve, hissing in her ear, “Don’t stare. You’ll draw attention.”

But Hermione couldn’t look away. For the first time since she’d been sorted into Slytherin, she realized she might not know Harry Potter at all.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

“Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

It was Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat. 

Everything suddenly seemed to click.

If this was a warning, it was meant for her.

Chapter 21: Do No Harm

Would you know my name
If I saw you in Heaven?
Would you be the same
If I saw you in Heaven?

 

---

 

“What’s going on here? What’s going on?”

Attracted no doubt by Malfoy’s shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in horror.

“My cat! My cat! What’s happened to Mrs. Norris?” he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

“You!” he screeched. “You! You’ve murdered my cat! You’ve killed her! I’ll kill you! I’ll –”

“Argus!”

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past all of the students and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

“Come with me, Argus,” he said to Filch. “You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley.”

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

“My office is nearest, Headmaster – just upstairs – please feel free –”

“Thank you, Gilderoy,” said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. “It was definitely a curse that killed her –" Lockhart babbled as they walked, punctuated by Filch’s dry, racking sobs. "Probably the Transmogrifian Torture – I’ve seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn’t there, I know the very counter curse that would have saved her…”

Professor Snape looked up at the writing on the wall with a grim expression, as if he were committing every word to memory.

"Professor.." 

He snapped back to reality. "Return back to your dormitories, all of you."

And so they did.

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Mrs. Norris. Filch kept it fresh in everyone’s minds by pacing the spot where she had been attacked, as though he thought the attacker might come back. Hermione had seen him scrubbing the message on the wall with Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, but to no effect; the words still gleamed as brightly as ever on the stone. When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.”

The youngest Weasley seemed very disturbed by Mrs. Norris’s fate. According to Tori, she was a great cat lover.

“But she hasn’t really got to know Mrs. Norris,” Tori explained bracingly. “Honestly, we’re much better off without her. Stuff like this doesn’t often happen at Hogwarts, they’ll catch the maniac who did it and have him out of here in no time. I told her, I just hope he’s got time to Petrify Filch before he’s expelled.-"

The attack had also had an effect on Hermione. It was quite usual for Hermione to spend a lot of time reading, but she was now doing almost nothing else. Nor could Pansy, Tracy or Daphne get much response from her when they asked what she was up to, and not until the following Wednesday did they find out.

Hermione found Pansy and Teddy at the back of the library, measuring their History of Magic homework. Professor Binns had asked for a three-foot-long composition on “The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.”

“I don’t believe it, I’m still two inches short….” said Pansy furiously, letting go of his parchment, which sprang back into a roll.

“Hermione’s done four feet seven inches and her writing’s tiny,” said Teddy, measuring the large writing on his parchment to be four inches short.

“Where is she, anyway?” asked Pansy, grabbing the tape measure.

“Not sure, she's here somewhere though” said Teddy, pointing along the shelves. “Looking for another book, probably. I think she’s trying to read the whole library before Christmas.”

"What's going on between you two?" Pansy asked.

Hermione paused at the end of the shelves, hand against the wood. 

“Dunno why you care. Seems like she's happier in your company anyway,” said Teddy, scribbling away, making his writing as large as possible. 

"Don't be an idiot, Nott," Pansy swatted him with a newspaper. "Is it that hard to say you miss her?"

Hermione emerged from between the bookshelves. She felt irritable listening to that conversation, and at last was ready to talk to them.

“All the copies of Hogwarts, A History have been taken out,” she said, sitting down next to Pansy across from Teddy. He looked slightly confused at her appearance, but masked it quickly. “And there’s a two week waiting list. I wish I hadn’t left my copy at home, but I couldn’t fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books.”

“Why do you want it?” Teddy asked casually.

“The same reason everyone else wants it,” said Hermione, “to read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What do you want that for?” said Pansy.

“That’s just it,” said Hermione, biting her lip. "I can’t find the story anywhere else –”

Crabbe and Goyle joined them at the end of the table.

“Minnie, let me read your composition,” said Goyle desperately, checking his watch.

“No, I won’t,” said Hermione, suddenly severe. “You’ve had ten days to finish it –”

“I only need another two inches, come on –”

The bell rang. Goyle and Hermione led the way to History of Magic, bickering.

History of Magic was the dullest subject on their schedule. Professor Binns, who taught it, was their only ghost teacher, and the most exciting thing that ever happened in his classes was his entering the room through the blackboard. Ancient and shriveled, many people said he hadn’t noticed he was dead. He had simply got up to teach one day and left his body behind him in an armchair in front of the staffroom fire; his routine had not varied in the slightest since.

Today was as boring as ever. Professor Binns opened his notes and began to read in a flat drone like an old vacuum cleaner until nearly everyone in the class was in a deep stupor, occasionally coming to long enough to copy down a name or date, then falling asleep again. He had been speaking for half an hour when something happened that had never happened before. A student put up their hand. Hermione, to be exact.

Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deadly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

“Miss – er –?”

“Granger, Professor. I was wandering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice.

Crabbe, who had been sitting with his mouth hanging open, gazing out of the window, jerked out of his trance; Tracy's head came up off her arms and Millicent's elbow slipped off her desk.

Professor Binns blinked.

“My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his dry, wheezy voice. “I deal with facts, Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk snapping and continued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers –”

He stuttered to a halt. Hermione’s hand was waving in the air again.

“Miss Grant?”

“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Professor Binns was looking at her in such amazement, Hermione was sure no student had ever interrupted him before, alive or dead.

“Well,” said Professor Binns slowly, “yes, one could argue that, I suppose.” He peered at Hermione as though he had never seen a student properly before. “However, the legend of which you speak is such a very sensational, even ludicrous tale –”

But the whole class was now hanging on Professor Binns’s every word. He looked dimly at them all, every face turned to his. Hermione could tell he was completely thrown by such an unusual show of interest.

“Oh, very well,” he said slowly. “Let me see…the Chamber of Secrets…

“You all know, of course, that Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago – the precise date is uncertain – by the four greatest witches and wizards of the age. The four school Houses are named after them: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, far from prying Muggle eyes, for it was an age when magic was feared by common people, and witches and wizards suffered much persecution.”

He paused, gazed blearily around the room, and continued.

“For a few years, the founders worked in harmony together, seeking out youngsters who showed signs of magic and bringing them to the castle to be educated. But then disagreements sprang up between them. A rift began to grow between Slytherin and the others. Slytherin wished to be more selective about the students admitted to Hogwarts. He believed that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families. He disliked taking students of Muggle parentage, believing them to be untrustworthy. After a while, there was a serious argument on the subject between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and Slytherin left the school.”

Professor Binns paused again, pursing his lips, looking like a wrinkled old tortoise.

“Reliable historical sources tell us this much,” he said. “But these honest facts have been obscured by the fanciful legend of the Chamber of Secrets. The story goes that Slytherin had built a hidden chamber in the castle, of which the other founders knew nothing.

“Slytherin, according to the legend, sealed the Chamber of Secrets so that none would be able to open it until his own true heir arrived at the school. The heir alone would be able to unseal the Chamber of Secrets, unleash the horror within, and use it to purge the school of all who were unworthy to study magic.”

There was a silence as he finished telling the story, but it wasn’t the usual, sleepy silence that filled Professor Binns’s classes. There was unease in the air as everyone continued to watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

“The whole thing is arrant nonsense, of course,” he said. “Naturally, the whole school has been searched for evidence of such a chamber, many times, by the most learned witches and wizards. It does not exist. A tale told to frighten the gullible.”

Hermione’s hand was back in the air.

“Sir – what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“That is believed to be some sort of monster, which the Heir of Slytherin alone can control,” said Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged looks.

“I tell you, the thing does not exist,” said Professor Binns, shuffling his notes. “There is no Chamber and no monster.”

“But, sir,” said Blaise, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?”

“Nonsense, Nutini,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing –”

“But, Professor,” piped up Pansy, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it –”

“Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Perks,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore –”

“But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t –” began Blaise, but Professor Binns had had enough.

“That will do,” he said sharply. “It is a myth! It does not exist! There is not a shred of evidence that Slytherin ever built so much as a secret broom cupboard! I regret telling you such a foolish story! We will return, if you please, to history, to solid, believable, verifiable fact!”

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

The Great Hall buzzed louder than usual that afternoon, spoons clattering against plates, voices echoing off the enchanted ceiling. No one was talking about homework or Quidditch anymore. The words on the wall had eclipsed everything.

Hermione sat wedged between Pansy and Tracy at the Slytherin table, staring down at her shepherd’s pie, listening.

“It’s obvious,” Pansy said, tossing her hair as though this were a debate she’d already won. “Slytherin meant Muggles. Who else? They’re the ones who don’t belong.”

Tracy nodded firmly. “And their spawn. You can’t have magic suddenly cropping up out of nowhere. It’s wrong.”

Hermione’s fork stilled mid-air. Her pulse quickened, though her expression never shifted. She’d trained herself not to.

Across the table, Blaise leaned back lazily, unimpressed. “You’re both thinking too small. Muggles don’t even get into Hogwarts, do they? But Squibs? They’re living proof that blood doesn’t guarantee anything. That’s who Slytherin would’ve wanted out. No wonder no one talks about them.”

A murmur went around the group. Goyle tapped his fingers on the tabletop, eyes sharp. “Or maybe it wasn’t about wizards. Think about it — goblins, elves, centaurs. They’ve got magic, don’t they? If Hogwarts is supposed to be for wizards, what’s stopping a centaur from demanding lessons? Imagine them in Transfiguration. We’d be extinct in a generation.”

That set off a few uncomfortable laughs.

And then Malfoy, lounging with the smugness of someone who believed the entire Hall should be listening, drawled, “You’re all missing the point. Everyone knows what he meant. Muggle-borns. Mudbloods. Filthy blood polluting the castle. My father said the Chamber is Slytherin’s greatest legacy, and if it’s been opened, well—” He smirked. “Maybe Hogwarts will finally be cleaned up.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched, but she forced herself to keep her face calm, eyes on her plate. A smear of gravy blurred in front of her vision as she fought to steady her breathing.

Pansy hummed thoughtfully, prodding her potatoes. “Muggle-borns… I always wondered how they just appear. Like weeds in a garden.”

“Not weeds,” Blaise corrected coolly. “Accidents.”

The laughter that followed rang in Hermione’s ears. She curled her toes in her shoes, gripping her fork tighter. Every word sliced closer than the last.

But she couldn’t flinch. Couldn’t reveal a thing.

As the sniggers died down, Teddy leaned forward, plucking a grape from the fruit bowl and rolling it between his fingers as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Thing is,” he said idly, “none of us actually knows what Slytherin meant. The legend’s vague on purpose. Maybe he hated Muggle-borns. Maybe Squibs. Maybe creatures. Or maybe,” he smirked faintly, eyes flicking to Malfoy, “he just wanted to make sure everyone argued about it for the next thousand years.”

A ripple of laughter ran around the table — but softer this time, uncertain. Blaise tilted his head, intrigued; Pansy narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Malfoy looked annoyed at having his neat certainty undercut.

Hermione watched Teddy closely. His tone was easy, almost lazy, but there was calculation underneath — the way he’d neither confirmed nor denied any target, keeping his opinion just out of reach. Enough to diffuse tension, enough to protect himself.

And — enough to protect her.

She felt the realization sink in like warmth spreading through chilled fingers. They hadn’t spoken properly since their spat the week before; she’d half expected him to leave her to the wolves. But here he was, straddling the line so perfectly it might as well have been deliberate.

Hermione lowered her gaze quickly before anyone caught the flicker of gratitude on her face. She speared a piece of pie, pretending to focus on her meal, but her chest felt lighter. 

When lunch had concluded, Hermione lingered near the shelves, pretending to re-pack her bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Teddy spread out over the bench, stretching his legs out like a cat claiming its territory. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say a word, just started flicking his wand idly to send a deck of Exploding Snap cards hovering in lazy circles.

She crossed the hall, hands clasped behind her back, and stopped just beside him. “Interesting tactic,” she said lightly.

His eyebrow arched. “Tactic?”

“Convincing half the table that Slytherin wanted us all to argue forever.” She tilted her head. “That was clever.”

Teddy gave a noncommittal shrug, eyes still on his cards. “Someone had to keep Malfoy from crowning himself the Heir of Slytherin by dessert.”

Hermione allowed herself a small smile. “Well, it worked. He sulked all through pudding.”

“Good. His face makes me lose my appetite.”

They shared a flicker of amusement before silence settled between them again. Hermione shifted her weight, then leaned a little closer, lowering her voice.

“It didn’t go unnoticed.”

That made him glance at her, the barest ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t do it for you.”

“Of course not,” she said smoothly, matching his grin. “Wouldn’t dream of suggesting it.”

For a moment they simply looked at each other, the unspoken truce hanging comfortably in the air. Then Teddy flicked his wand, and the cards swooped together into a neat stack, landing with a snap on the table. Hermione had just placed her bag over her shoulder when Teddy's voice floated after her.

“You ever wonder,” he said lazily, “why we’re all sitting around gossiping instead of actually looking?”

She turned back. He hadn’t moved from the bench, but his gaze was sharper now, glinting in the candle light.

“Looking at what?” she asked cautiously.

“The scene of the crime.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mrs. Norris. The writing. Everyone else saw it once and ran screaming. But we could go back. Take a proper look. Maybe there’s something they missed.”

Hermione hesitated. Every sensible part of her wanted to scoff, to tell him it was reckless, that Filch would have them skinned alive if they were caught. But the words stuck in her throat.

Because the other part of her—the part that had grown sharper in Slytherin, the part that couldn’t leave a puzzle alone—thrummed at the idea.

“You think we’ll just find clues lying around?” she asked, folding her arms.

“Stranger things have happened.” Teddy gave a thin smile. “And you’re curious. Don’t bother denying it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t deny it.

He rose from the bench with deliberate laziness, pocketing his wand. “Come on, Minnie. You can’t tell me you don’t want to see it again.”

Hermione lingered, glancing toward the open doors to the Great Hall. Pansy and the others would already be in class upstairs, tracking star maps with Professor Sinistra. Going with Teddy meant risk—detention at best, exposure at worst. But then she remembered the chill of those blood-red words, the strange guilt in Harry’s eyes, the hollow laughter at lunch when Malfoy spoke of purging Muggle-borns. If there was something to find, she needed to know.

She let out a quiet breath. “Fine. But if we’re caught, you’re taking the blame.”

He smirked. “Naturally.”

Together, they slipped toward the exit, the Great Hall quiet behind them.

“D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Teddy asked as they walked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, frowning. “Dumbledore couldn’t cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be – well – human.”

As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened. They stopped and looked. The scene was just as it had been that night, except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket, and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message “The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened.”

“That’s where Filch has been keeping guard,” Teddy muttered.

They looked at each other. The corridor was deserted.

“Can’t hurt to have a poke around,” he continued, dropping his bag and getting to his hands and knees so that he could crawl along, searching for clues.

“Scorch marks!” he said. “Here – and here –”

“Come and look at this!” said Hermione. “This is funny….”

Teddy got up and crossed to the window next to the message on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the topmost pane, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside.

“Have you ever seen spiders act like that?” she said wonderingly.

"No, but check this out. Remember all that water on the floor? Someone’s mopped it up,” Teddy said, walking a few paces. “It was about here, level with this door.”

He reached for the brass doorknob but suddenly withdrew his hand as though he’s been burned.

“What’s the matter?” said Hermione.

“Can’t go in there,” said Teddy gruffly. “Girls’ toilet.”

“Oh, Teddy, there won’t be anyone in there,” said Hermione, standing up and coming over. “That’s Moaning Myrtle’s place. Come on, let’s have a look.”

And ignoring the large OUT OF ORDER sign, she opened the door.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom she had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks. The floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders; the wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. When she reached it she said, “Hello, Myrtle, how are you?”

Teddy moved forward to look. Moaning Myrtle was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” she said, eyeing Teddy suspiciously. “They’re not girls.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, stepping forward. “I just wanted to show them how – er – they?"

Myrtle nodded gloomily, and pointed behind Teddy.

The door creaked suddenly. Both of them froze.

Harry stepped in, wand lit, his expression startled at the sight of them. His eyes darted between Hermione and Teddy, suspicion flickering across his face like a stormcloud.

“What are you doing here?” he asked sharply.

Hermione straightened, clutching her wand tighter than necessary. “We’re—looking. For anything unusual. Clues.”

Harry gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Funny. That’s exactly what I’m doing.” His gaze shifted to her, colder now. “Though I don’t know why I should compare notes with you.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“I heard what Malfoy said to Creevey.” His voice dropped, dangerous in its softness. “You didn’t even flinch, Hermione. Didn’t lift a finger. Not a word.”

Her stomach twisted, the accusation cutting deep. “I—there were reasons. I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t what? Stand up to him? Or is it easier now, being down here with the snakes?”

Theodore cleared his throat smoothly, stepping in before Hermione could fire back. “Potter,” he said lightly, “you’ll find we don’t all sing from the same hymn book. Malfoy enjoys the sound of his own voice more than anyone, but it doesn’t mean the rest of us are taking notes.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “And what about you?”

Theodore’s smile didn’t falter, sly and measured. “I prefer to keep my opinions to myself until they’re worth something. Safer that way, don’t you think?”

Hermione cast him a quick glance—an odd mix of gratitude and confusion—while Harry continued to study him, as if trying to decide whether that was honesty or trickery.

“I wish people would stop talking behind my back!” said Myrtle, in a voice choked with tears. “I do have feelings, you know, even if I am dead –”

“Myrtle, no one wants to upset you,” said Hermione, hiding the fact that she completely forgot about her presence. “Harry only –”

“No one wants to upset me! That’s a good one!” howled Myrtle. “My life was nothing but misery at this place and now people come along ruining my death!”

“We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anything funny lately,” said Hermione quickly. “Because a cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween.”

“Did you see anyone near here that night?” said Harry.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Myrtle dramatically. “Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself. Then, of course, I remembered that I’m – that I’m –”

“Already dead,” said Teddy helpfully.

Myrtle gave a tragic sob, rose up in the air, turned over, and dived headfirst into the toilet, splashing water all over them and vanishing from sight, although from the direction of her muffled sobs, she had come to rest somewhere in the U-bend.

Harry and Teddy stood with their mouths open, but Hermione shrugged wearily and said, “Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle… Come on, let’s go.”

The three of them slipped back into the corridor, the bathroom door creaking shut behind them. For a few steps, none of them spoke—Hermione caught the stiff set of Harry’s shoulders, the way his hand twitched on his wand as if he were walking through enemy territory.

Finally, Harry exhaled, sharp and reluctant. “Look. I don’t like this, but if you’re both poking around too, you should know what I’ve found.”

Hermione’s heart gave a little leap—her old friend’s voice breaking through the wall of suspicion, just for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked quickly.

Harry glanced sideways at her, then Teddy, as though weighing whether either of them deserved the words. “It’s not much. But Hagrid told me the Chamber’s been opened before. Fifty years ago. Someone died. The school nearly shut down.”

Hermione’s breath caught. She’d pored over Hogwarts: A History a dozen times, and that detail wasn’t there. “Fifty years…” she whispered. “Do you know who died?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Only that it happened.”

“Who can it be, though?” Hermione said a quiet voice, “who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts?” 

“Let’s think,” said Harry in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?”

“If you’re talking about Malfoy –”

“Of course I am!” said Harry. “You heard him – ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’ – come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him –”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” said Hermione skeptically.

His jaw tightened. ““Look at his family,” said Harry. “The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants. His father’s definitely evil enough. They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries! Handing it down, father to son….”

Teddy made a thoughtful sound, folding his hands behind his back as they walked. “Malfoy does enjoy drama,” he said mildly. “If he knew something concrete, I expect he’d have shouted it from the Astronomy Tower by now. But…” He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “It’s useful to let people believe you know things. Keeps them guessing.”

They had just reached the end of the corridor when Harry slowed, turning back to face them. His green eyes were bright, sharp, weighing them both as though they were suspects under interrogation.

“I’ll tell you this much,” he said, voice low but firm. “I’m not stopping. Whoever’s behind this—whatever’s in that Chamber—I’ll find out. With or without your help.”

Hermione felt her mouth open, the words rushing up before she could stop them: We’re on the same side, Harry, can’t you see that? But he didn’t give her the chance. He spun on his heel, cloak snapping like a banner in the torchlight, and strode down the passage. His footsteps echoed until the corridor swallowed him.

Hermione shut her mouth, her throat tight. The words she hadn’t spoken clung to her chest like smoke.

Beside her, Teddy gave a soft whistle. “Charming fellow, isn’t he?”

Hermione shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it. Her eyes drifted back to the direction Harry had gone, heart aching with the distance between them.

“You know,” he said, almost casually, “I haven’t been sleeping well. Not since you stopped speaking to me.”

His expression was smooth as ever, but his eyes betrayed the shadows beneath.

“…Me neither,” she admitted quietly. The words surprised her as they left her mouth, but they felt like truth. “It’s awful. Like walking around with a missing piece.”

Teddy gave her a sidelong glance, then let out a breath. “Then let’s not do it again. Whatever happens, whatever we find out about this Chamber or anything else—we don’t turn on each other.”

Her chest tightened. “A pact,” she whispered, nodding. “We’ll never harm one another. No matter the circumstances.”

The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “Sounds terribly dramatic. Should we seal it with an Unbreakable Vow?”

Hermione gave him a scandalized look, then laughed—an unsteady, bubbling sound that broke the tension like sunlight piercing storm clouds. “Absolutely not. You’re ridiculous.”

They finished out the rest of their classes side by side, the knot in Hermione’s chest easing just a little each time their shoulders brushed or their gazes met. At dinner, they shared glances across the table, subtle but steady.

Later that evening, when the dormitories had begun to settle into muffled quiet, Teddy caught her by the sleeve and pulled her along the darkened corridor. He smirked at her wide eyes, holding a finger to his lips as he slipped her into the boys’ room. The air was heavy with the warmth of sleeping bodies, snores and sighs rising in the dark. Most of the boys were fast asleep, curtains drawn tight. Teddy guided her to his bed, tugging the enormous emerald-green curtains closed around them, shutting out the world.

In the small, cocooned space, he stretched out and patted the mattress beside him. Hermione hesitated only a moment before climbing in. The soft mattress dipped, and the warmth of his presence pressed close, steady and grounding.

Neither of them spoke; words felt unnecessary. The tension of the last week ebbed away, replaced with the quiet rhythm of shared breath. Within minutes, exhaustion claimed them both, pulling them into the first deep, peaceful sleep they’d had in days.