Chapter Text
Chapter III:
Hermione's POV:
Hermione kept her face expressionless as she lowered herself gracefully onto the stool. "My, my, my," a voice which she assumed belonged to the hat sounded in her ear, "you, my dear, are quite the enigma. Intelligent and talented, you'd make a fine Ravenclaw if it wasn't for the fact you'd scare them stiff!" Hermione's lips twitched slightly at that.
"Yes, not Ravenclaw... You're very loyal, but only to a very small handful of people and you've got quite the vindictive streak so most certainly not Hufflepuff! Hmm, Gryffindor or Slytherin? You're certainly brave, but you're just as cunning and ambitious. You've got quite the mind for politics too... I don't usually put muggleborns in Slytherin, but I really think you'll do best there."
"I agree." Hermione murmured.
"Yes, you truly do. Definitely SLYTHERIN!"
She ignored the moment's silence before the hesitant clapping, making her way over to the Slytherin table and sitting across from the blonde on the train- Draco Malfoy. Ignoring her new Housemates, she kept her eyes on the sorting- or, to be more specific, on Harry.
When it was his turn to go up his face was pale and she smiled at him, the best gesture of support she was currently able to give.
Harry Potter... she'd spotted him wandering through King's Cross Station and later placed him as the famed Boy-Who-Lived, recognizing him due to the fact he looked very much like the photographs of his father she'd seen in one of the history books she'd read, but that was something she'd noted only after she shared a compartment with him. Because it hadn't been the Boy-Who-Lived she'd noticed; it had been a scrawny boy whose skin was pale from not receiving enough sunlight, whose growth was stunted from lack of food and who wore glasses that had been repaired with sticky-tape and clothes that practically drowned his slight frame.
In other words; at best a neglected boy, at worst an actively abused one.
She'd followed him sedately, correctly deducing from the owl that he, too, was a wizard and wondering why he didn't seem to know where to go. She'd then watched suspiciously as a family of redheads talked loudly about muggles and Hogwarts in a way that seemed entirely unnatural, almost like they were actually trying to get the boy's attention.
She'd moved close enough to hear what they were saying and became even more suspicious when she learned that the boy didn't know how to get onto the platform. It had been written on her letter- why hadn't this boy been told?
Her ever mistrustful mind had then ran through several scenarios, before settling on the most likely explanation given the evidence– for some reason, someone had wanted the boy to run into the family of redheads. Her suspicions had grown further as one of the children, Ron Weasley, tried to sit with them- all the other compartments were full, her arse!
Insensitive git, she thought, narrowing her eyes at the boy who was still standing in line and waiting to be sorted. She would figure out exactly what that Weasley family was up to, she decided- and she'd find out how that meddlesome, manipulative headmaster was involved too!
Harry had been under there an awfully long time and she was actually starting to worry when; "SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted. Hermione snapped her gaze straight over to the headmaster, wanting to catch his reaction. The old man's eyes widened then narrowed, giving credence to her assumption that, yes; Dumbledore had definitely been trying to get Harry sorted into Gryffindor.
Again, the question was why?
Harry sat down next to her looking shaky and she ran through several simulations in her mind, looking for the words that would comfort him most. She wasn't sure of the level of physical abuse Harry had suffered but his appearance practically confirmed he'd suffered from severe neglect, therefore the emotional abuse levels were likely just as high. "I'm proud of you." She decided on, keeping her tone soft and warm. Yes, she thought, watching Harry heave out a sigh of relief- that had been just right.
The headmaster got to his feet once the last handful had been sorted (Ron Weasley had gone to Gryffindor where the rest of the red-haired family were already seated) and gave a great, beaming smile. One that definitely did not reach his eyes as he glanced over the Slytherin table. "Welcome!" he said, arms held wide, "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! Thank you!"
People clapped and cheered, but Hermione wasn't one of them. By her side, Harry wasn't either. "He looked at me funny," Harry murmured as they both turned back to the table, Harry with wonder in his eyes at the suddenly filled plates before them, "he's not happy about me being in Slytherin."
"No," she agreed, "he's not."
Unused to the massive amounts of food, Hermione chose several slices of thick, buttered bread to nibble on before sitting up straight, face washed clean of emotion as Draco Malfoy started speaking. "I have to say, I'm a touch surprised you're here, Granger." He drawled.
"I must have more magical blood then I realized," she responded to his careful baiting with a bland smile, "obviously if I was a muggleborn, I wouldn't be in Slytherin." There were several noises of agreement and attention was turned to Harry instead.
"I don't think anyone expected you to end up in Slytherin, Potter," Draco said, with a laugh.
"No," one of the older boys said, "Everyone expected the golden boy to be a Gryffindor."
"I don't know if I'm exactly a golden boy." Harry answered with a wry smile and Hermione held back her own smile at his answer. He'd caught on to the Slytherin House politics very quickly, it seemed. She hoped he could keep it up.
"No," the same boy chuckled, "obviously you're not. I'm Marcus Flint, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Harry smiled and Flint actually smiled back.
"You any good on a broom, Harry?" he asked. Hermione felt Harry stiffen slightly beside her and answered for him.
"You'll have to wait and see." She winked at Flint. Harry gave her a thankful look as the attention turned to her.
"So, Hermione Granger. You're a Halfblood, right?"
"Judging by the strength of my magic I suspect so, but I never knew my parents." She told him, keeping to her story. It was even more important that they believed her now then it had been before. The snake pit was not the safest place for a muggleborn.
"How did you and Potter meet?" The girl she recognized as the owner of the cauldron and books she'd stolen, the one with a pug-like face, asked- Pansy Parkinson, Hermione recalled from the sorting.
"The same way most people meet, I expect," she told Parkinson with a very fake smile, "we said hello."
Iago chose that exact moment to make his appearance, sticking his head out from under her cloak and giving sharp hiss, clearly unimpressed with the fact she'd failed to offer him any food.
"Oh my god, that thing is hideous!" Parkinson screeched, eyes wide with horror as she completely forgot to keep badgering for answers that didn't concern her in the face of Iago's... less then typical appearance.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the annoying girl and summoned a miniature sausage from a tureen of them with a flick of her wrist. It was a basic skill she'd mastered years ago, moving things with her special talent- her magic- to help with her... prestidigitation. Magic had been a useful aid when it came to thievery, though she'd always been careful not to use it as a crutch.
Iago was satisfied by his sausage and Hermione was equally so- the casual use of her wandless magic hadn't been a spur of the moment decision because she'd known it would not go unnoticed. It showed she was obviously powerful and by their own standards she therefore could not possibly be a muggleborn- not without them having to contradict themselves and one of the core basis of their biased beliefs. In reality, she suspected if any of these children had grown up unaware of what their magic really was and had a lot of free time on their hands (or have a desperate need for something to distract themselves from the agony that was slow starvation) they'd figure out how to use their magic for the neat little tricks she'd taught herself through exploration and a lot of trial and error.
"Iago doesn't take any shi-any rubbish from anyone." She scratched said cat behind the ears and he made a rusty purring noise.
Conversation was carefully polite and Hermione avoided making small talk the best she could. At one point, Harry made a sudden hissing noise, clapping a hand to his head, and she frowned.
"What is it?" she asked, voice low.
"N-nothing," he replied and she raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with his answer. He sighed. "I... my scar hurt when I looked over at the teachers."
"Cursed scars don't tend to hurt for no reason," she noted quietly, "which professor?"
"The one with black hair that's kinda greasy," Harry answered.
"That's Professor Snape, our Head of House. He's a decent sort, really. Any others?" she pressed, "I haven't read about cursed scars before but delayed effects might not be uncommon."
"Um, Quirrell. The guy in the turban." Harry said after a pause, "When he turned away."
"I'll do some research," she decided, "and Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"I probably wouldn't tell anyone if I were you. Not yet, anyway."
"Agreed." Harry nodded before giving her a small smile. "I've told the only person I actually want to, anyway." Hermione had to fight her cheeks going pink, startled by the boy once again; the first time having been when he'd denied her offer of a magical oath– one that, almost ironically, she'd offered up with the intention of giving him the impression she was trustworthy, even though she was anything but. And now she actually felt the need to live up to the far too freely offered trust– and if Harry wasn't so bloody genuine, she'd have felt like he was manipulating her!
After dinner, the first years followed their House prefects to their new common rooms and Hermione stuck close to Harry, aware of his nervousness. Her own anxiety was buried deep under a blank mask of stoicism. Fear was a vulnerability– if you showed even a hint of fear living on the streets then you were eaten alive. Hermione had a feeling the snake pit was going to be similar in that regard.
The Slytherin Common Room was grand looking; all sleek furniture, low burning fireplaces and a number of green and silver banners decorating the walls. All the first years lined up looking nervous as Snape entered, cloak billowing out behind him. Absently, Hermione wondered if he cast a spell to create that effect. It was very dramatic and regal and she'd quite like to use the spell herself.
"Here in Slytherin, we have three rules," Snape started without so much as a 'welcome'. "Rule one- do not get caught." His gaze swept over them all, lingering momentarily on Harry. "Rule two- House problems stay within House quarters. Once outside of these walls, a united front will be presented. Rule three- do not become predictable."
The rules set in place were quite defensive, Hermione noted. Slytherin had definitely acknowledged its place as the 'enemy' and had consequently provided for as such.
On the streets, Hermione had lived by a set of rules too, rules thought up and followed by her fellow street rats in order to protect themselves and each other and to regain some uniformity in a world without any:
We don't steal from our own
Keep hitting them until they stop hitting you
First come, first served
Fear is a vulnerability
She had a feeling that most of their rules could apply to Slytherin house perhaps equally as well.
"First years," Snape continued, "if you have any questions or problems you will take them to a Slytherin prefect. Any rule breakers can expect to be punished harshly." Their Head of House gave them one last assessing look, eyes once again lingering briefly on Harry, before exiting.
"Well," she told Harry, smiling slightly, "that's certainly one way to make an impression."
With the exception of Parkinson, who'd yet to make any sort of good impression on her, Hermione's dorm mates weren't bad. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis seemed to be old friends and they both seemed to know Parkinson too. Millicent Bulstrode and Lilyan Moon were both quiet and courteous which was always good when sharing close quarters with someone. Well, she assumed the same applied when those close quarters were a dorm room instead of an abandoned factory or dried up sewer duct or whatever else served as 'base' at the time.
With Iago curled up next to her, Hermione relaxed into the four-poster bed and tried to enjoy what she'd considered a rare and luxurious treat for practically as long as she could remember. Except it turned out to be less of a treat then she'd expected. The bed was too soft. Too soft and too warm under her skin and face, and every dip and curve of the mattress and slide of the sheets felt like it was trying to drive her mad.
When morning came around, Hermione (which she still felt odd calling herself) was the first one up in her dorm, having slept poorly. And even if sleeping on the ground beneath her too-comfortable bed would have meant she wouldn't be so tired being singled out by her peers was certainly something she wished to avoid.
Hermione dressed quickly for the day, wrestling her flyaway curls into two tight braids before making her way down to the Common Room where she was pleased but unsurprised to see Harry already up, sitting on one of the leather sofas with a book open on his lap.
"Good morning," she greeted him and he smiled brightly at her, setting the book aside and quickly standing.
"Hi," he said enthusiastically before blushing slightly. Hermione's lips twitched. Honestly, Harry was quite adorable. He had the biggest, greenest eyes she'd ever seen, made even bigger by the thinness of his face, and he was almost as petite as she was. But she knew that her appearance, at least, was deceiving in its apparent vulnerability. She wondered whether Harry's was too, but doubted it. He just seemed to have this—this innocence about him, one that she couldn't deny was drawing her in.
Together, they made their way up to the Great Hall and tucked in to the delicious spread before them. Only a scattering of students were present at the early hour and even fewer professors. One of those professors was their Head of House. Snape, she noted, was looking at Harry in a very odd sort of way. His expression appeared... indecisive, if she had to guess.
By the time they'd finished breakfast, the rest of the professors- or at least the ones who had been present at the feast the night before- had arrived and the four Heads of Houses were starting to make their way over to their respective House tables, large stacks of parchment floating behind them.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Snape drawled as he stopped a few feet before them. Hermione thought he was addressing them and opened her mouth to respond when two of the slips of parchment from the pile zoomed out, floating over to hover before them. Curious, Hermione plucked it out of the air and examined it.
"Oh," she smiled, realizing it was her timetable. "Thank you, sir."
"Thank you." Harry echoed. Hermione gave him a sharp look and he quickly added, "um, sir," with a light blush. To his credit, Snape looked more amused then anything else and the indecisive expression from before gone, the feeling having either dissipated or been hidden under the mask Hermione recognized.
Kindred spirits, she'd told Harry they were, and Hermione had a feeling Professor Snape was a kindred spirit too. One learned to recognize their own kind. There were shadows in the eyes of those who'd suffered; shadows and invisible scars painted across them that only the likeminded could recognise.
"Our timetables are the same," Harry said, looking over at hers, his face relieved. She smiled back at him.
"Excellent. We've got Herbology first- shall we go collect our books?" The corner of Harry's mouth twitched slightly and Hermione playfully mock-scowled as he answered in a pompous voice,
"We shall."
They were first to arrive at the greenhouse where Professor Sprout was waiting. Pleased to see some 'enthusiastic learners' as she called them, she was happy to answer Hermione's questions about the beginnings of Herbology and its uses in modern magic.
Hermione found herself fascinated by the healing properties ordinary Muggle plants could have when mixed together with the aid of magic and she couldn't help thinking how beneficial they could be to the runaways and homeless people out there who couldn't afford any actual medicine or risk a visit to the hospital to get treatment.
The first and only time she'd ever suggested going to the hospital, the reaction had been immediate.
"Janey, we go to hospital, they'll get the cops involved and the cops, they'll tell us they'll do what's best for us and catch us up tight." Lacey had said with her voice as anguished as her face as she stitched up a stab wound with dental floss while Hermione had tried to stem the blood flow with an old shirt and ignore the screaming and crying of Rooster, the boy they'd been trying to save. "They'll catch us, put us in homes an' then it's lies and belts an' men in the night an' worse an' you can't–" Lacey's voice had broken then and, needless to say, Hermione had never suggested it again; not even when she'd had to watch people bleed to death in front of her or succumb to sicknesses that with the right medicine could have been easily treatable.
Rooster was the first person she'd seen die.
He'd been a fourteen year old boy, tall and thin with a shock of red hair, sly eyes and a knife-sharp grin. Personally, she'd liked the sticky-fingered boy– he had been clever, with a cutting tongue and a biting sense of humour. He'd helped teach her pick-pocketing tricks and had given her sticks of gum when she got them right. He'd then bled out in front of her and died with his blood sticky on her hands as she'd tried to hold him together.
He might have been the first person Hermione had seen die, but he'd turned out to be far from the last.
When the rest of the class arrived down at the greenhouses, Professor Sprout launched into a lecture and they started their first lesson in how to take care of the strange plants and fungi Hermione knew didn't exist in the Muggle world- or, at least, the Muggle world wasn't aware that it existed there.
As the day progressed, both she and Harry became increasingly aware of the irritating attention Harry was gathering. Whispers seemed to follow Harry wherever he went and people craned on their tiptoes to get a glimpse of him when lined up in the hallways. Harry was mortified by the attention and Hermione, frustrated by it, vowed to find a way to stop the nonsense.
Iago, who rarely left his perch of her shoulders, helped slightly by glaring and snarling at anyone who got too close.
Charms, their second class of the day, was taught by a tiny little wizard called Professor Flitwick who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of the class he took the roll and Hermione had to cough to hide her laughter as, when he reached Harry's name, he let out an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.
Hermione and Harry both quickly figured out that there was a lot more to magic then waving your wand and saying a few funny words, which she occasionally translated from Latin to English to Harry who seemed interested in her knowledge of the obscure language.
Despite her lack of official schooling, Hermione had spent countless hours of her life in public libraries, most of which had functioning toilets and all either heated or air-conditioned depending on which time of the year it was. It also meant she'd had a lot of time to read, picking up a widespread amalgamation of knowledge over the years. Learning enough of the language to read Virgil's 'The Aeneid' in its original Latin, a book series she'd remembered her mother owning and being fond of, had been an endeavour that took the better half of six months. Her mother had always loved the Greco-Roman histories– Hermione had actually been named for a character in Ancient Greek mythology, the only child of Helen of Troy.
She didn't tell Harry any of that, though– for all she enjoyed his company, Harry was still a stranger to her and most things to do with her parents were a vulnerability she guarded closely.
Their last class of the day was quite interesting from Hermione's point of view as she'd always been a bit of a history buff and enjoyed reading about times long past– 'The Aeneid' being a prime example of her true dedication in this area. Harry, and every other student in the class it seemed, did not share her interest. Indeed, at the end Harry complained to her about how he'd struggled to even stay awake in the face of the monotone recitation of facts.
She could admit that the ghost who taught it, Professor Binns, was a little dry but the subject matter in and of itself was fascinating. Harry had given her a look when she explained this out loud and she gave up and said she'd figure out a way to replicate her notes for him.
With their day coming to an end, they managed to find themselves hopelessly lost while trying to return to the Slytherin Common Room. After wandering around the school for nearly an hour they came across a locked door. Hermione rattled the doorknob and let out an aggravated sigh of frustration, preparing to turn and continue on with Harry, when a loud voice exclaimed "Ah HA!"
Spinning around, she and Harry came face to face with the caretaker of Hogwarts, Argus Filch. The man smiled greasily at them and Hermione was about to explain that they were lost when he spoke first. "Trying to force our way into the forbidden corridor, are we? Brave little first years, aren't we?"
Swearing in her head, Hermione plastered on her most innocent expression and was about to start bluffing her way out of this when something startling happened.
A meow by their feet made Harry and Hermione look down to where Filch's cat sat. It was a scrawny, skeletal looking thing, with dust-colored fur and bulging, lamp-like eyes. Hermione's heart instantly melted. On her shoulders, Iago perked up and meowed back to the cat.
To Hermione's surprise, the caretaker's cat scampered over then stood up on its hind legs, hooking it's claws in Hermione's robes to balance as the two cats appeared to have a full conversation with each other, mewing back and forth.
The three humans blinked, just watching the spectacle, until Iago jumped down onto the floor beside Filch's cat and the two felines intertwined their tails before wandering off. Hermione blinked.
"Did... did that just happen?" she asked. To her surprise, the caretaker let out a wheezing laugh.
"That's the ugliest cat I ever saw," he told Hermione, "'e's perfect for Mrs. Norris." And with that, the caretaker turned around and shuffled off.
Harry and Hermione traded bemused looks and then hurried off in a different direction before their good fortunes ran out.
-
-
Severus's POV:
Severus had called Draco Malfoy, the son of one of his oldest friends, to his office after the first full day of the school year. He had Potions with the Gryffindor and Slytherin First years in three days and he needed to prepare himself for dealing with the Potter brat. Also, he was curious to see how the wily young Miss Granger was faring- a muggleborn in Slytherin was quite... unusual, to say the very least.
"Draco," he greeted the young boy as he entered his office.
"Good afternoon, sir," Draco smiled up at him.
"How are you enjoying Hogwarts so far?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"It's brilliant!" Draco replied enthusiastically, eyes lighting up. Severus allowed the boy to carry on about his first day for a few minutes before directing the conversation towards the two he was most curious about.
"Tell me, Draco, what do you think of the young Mr. Potter and Miss Granger?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Potter's quiet," Draco shrugged, "hasn't left Granger's side much. Barely said two words to us in our dorm last night or this morning. Didn't really speak up in class either."
"And Miss Granger?" Severus prompted.
"Granger's not bad for a Halfblood." Draco admitted, "She's really, really powerful. She can levitate and summon stuff without speaking or using a wand. Plus she mastered everything in class today on her first try."
Halfblood? Severus hid his amused smile. Oh, that girl was clever- clever and sly. She'd obviously realized the... unsavory aspects of being a muggleborn in Slytherin and had acted accordingly. He wondered, though, how in Merlin's name she'd managed to convince a House that was, he could admit, full of Pureblood snobs that she had magical ancestors.
"Very well. You may go, Draco." He nodded, dismissing his godson then watching as the young blonde left.
"And the mystery thickens." He murmured, quietly to himself with a wry smile.
-
-
Harry's POV:
Harry found that the week passed by quickly. He really enjoyed his classes and found that he was actually quite good at them– especially with Hermione instructing him how to improve whenever he struggled at anything– and he was relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else like he'd first feared.
The professors all seemed nice, at least the ones he'd met anyway, though Binns was undoubtedly the dullest 'person' he'd ever met. He enjoyed Charms, enjoyed looking up at the night sky with his telescope during Astrology, enjoyed working in the greenhouses during Herbology and even enjoyed Transfiguration, which was run by the stern Professor McGonagall whose opening speech had been a warning that if they messed around in her class they would "leave and never come back".
Defense Against the Dark Arts was treated like a joke by most of the year and indeed Quirrell wasn't exactly an astounding teacher, but Harry felt an odd draw towards the man that he couldn't quite explain. Hermione had also, much to his delight, managed to produce several actually instructive books on DADA that he'd enjoyed reading after finishing his homework.
So yes, he was enjoying his classes and even more then that, he was enjoying Hermione's friendship. Slytherin seemed full of indirect, discrete power plays, which confused him to no end, but Hermione seemed to navigate her way around them easily. She was supportive, friendly and seemed genuinely happy to spend time with him.
In fact, if it weren't for the Gryffindors, Harry would say Hogwarts was perfect.
The first time he was confronted with Ron Weasley and his mates, a muggleborn called Dean Thomas and a halfblood, Seamus Finnegan, he'd been waiting outside the girl's loo for Hermione to emerge and was surprised by their offensive stance.
"Potter," Ron sneered, a rather ugly expression on his face. "A slimy snake! You're a traitor and we're going to show you what we do to traitors!"
Harry had learned two very important things when it came to dealing with bullies, courtesy of his cousin- he either had to run or turn the other cheek. Harry was fast and could often outrun Dudley and his gang but he had a feeling that these three wouldn't quite be so easy to escape from.
That left turning the other cheek. Harry took a deep breath was preparing himself for the inevitable when Hermione stormed out of the bathroom, her eyes as sharp as shattered glass. Harry almost flinched away from her just by pure instinct upon witnessing the look of pure fury and loathing on her face.
"If you try this shit ever again and I swear on my mother's grave I will curse you within an inch of your life!" she hissed, her voice low and icy. Ron tried to sneer at her but it was obvious that he was intimidated as he took a few steps back. Dean and Seamus, too, looked uncertain. They had, after all, heard about the amazing Granger- the first year at the top of every class with a talent unmatched by any of her classmates. Hell, they'd even shared a few classes with her. She wasn't someone to trifle with.
"And what are you going to do about it?" the redhead tried bluffing.
"What are we going to do about it, more like." A smooth voice interjected. Harry jumped slightly at the sudden appearance of Draco Malfoy and his posse but he couldn't say he wasn't glad to see them. He remembered Professor Snape's words- a united front will be presented- and in that moment he couldn't be happier about having been sorted into Slytherin.
"Why are you defending her anyway?" Ron hotly demanded of Malfoy, "She's a muggleborn!" Harry froze slightly, half expecting all the Slytherins to turn on Hermione, but instead Hermione took control of the conversation with ease.
"Oh yes, I'm definitely a muggleborn," she said, her voice scathing, "a muggleborn whose scores have outdone several generations of Hogwarts students, including all Purebloods. A muggleborn who's powerful enough to do this-" Hermione raised a hand towards Ron, who tried to take several hasty steps back, but found himself frozen in place with Hermione advancing on him, a chilling look on her face, "-but I dare say that's either highly unlikely or impossible."
"It's impossible," Draco scoffed, "no mudblood could ever be as powerful as Granger."
"Indeed," Hermione nodded, "although, I must admit that Muggle violence does have its attraction." She said in a thoughtful voice, before pulling her fist back and punching Ron square in the nose. Ron let out a shrill screech of pain, falling on his butt as Hermione canceled whatever magic she had holding him in place. "Do not ever go near Harry again." She warned before turning and striding back to Harry.
To his surprise, she then held out her elbow. "Shall we?" she asked an for the first time, Harry touched her, tentatively linking arms with her. He could feel her twitch slightly at the contact and he too felt uneasy for a heartbeat, but then the moment passed and he came to the realisation that with Hermione he was safe. She wasn't going to hurt him.
He couldn't help the large, beaming smile that crossed his face as he answered her, mimicking his previous response. "We shall." And then they walked to their next class, Harry just about buzzing with excitement. Part of him wondered if it would be possible for Hermione and Dudley to run into each other...
Or even better... "How did you do that freezing thing?" He asked her, "could you teach me it?"
"Most of my little tricks I figured out through trial and error," Hermione said and Harry was surprised by how serious her eyes had turned, her mouth setting in a grim line. "Remember how your accidental magic apparated you to the roof to escape your cousin?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, a bit confused. Hermione's eyes turned dark and, he couldn't help but think, dangerous.
"The first time I performed that particular piece of magic was as accidental as your apparating." She said, very quietly. Harry swallowed, not really needing her to elaborate on a situation where she'd been so afraid of someone that her magic had literally frozen them in place. "I figured out how to replicate the effect," Hermione added, her eyes losing the dark edge they'd gained as she'd revisited what was clearly a painful memory. "It's not very strong- it only lasts about a minute at most and I suspect a fully trained witch or wizard wouldn't be affected by it at all. But I've always found that for scaring people by not only making myself seem far more powerful but also rendering them powerless, it is gloriously effective."
Thinking about Ron Weasley's face, Harry couldn't help but grin and agree.
And yes, that was the first and last time that Ron ever threatened to 'teach him a lesson' but it hadn't stopped the redhead from glaring at him every time they passed each other, or the snide comments traded. It also seemed that the animosity towards Harry had spread beyond Ron when a fourth year Gryffindor had cursed him. Hermione had performed a counter-curse, a general one she'd looked up in the library for just such an occasion- the incantation was 'finite incantatem' and she'd promised to teach it to him- her face almost white in her fury, before she'd disappeared.
The fourth year in question had ended up in the hospital wing less then an hour later, having been temporarily blinded. When Harry asked a now returned Hermione how she did it- because he honestly had no doubt it was her- she gave a secretive smile and told him that the boy wouldn't bother him again. And so far he hadn't, and there'd been no other physical attacks.
Of course, the whispers of "Dark Lord in training" and "traitor to the Light" and "evil, slimy serpent" didn't exactly lift his moral, but the Slytherins seemed to enjoy it and his House was surprisingly protective of him, even the upper year levels. Hermione was also being treated with a great deal of respect by their housemates- especially after the incident with Ron and the fourth year. Apparently they approved of the viciousness of her retaliation, her cunning in not being caught, her just hospitalising a Gryffindor in general and her loyalty to her fellow Slytherin.
It was at the end of the week that Harry and Hermione made their way down to the dungeons for their first ever Potions lesson. Much to Harry's dismay they had to share it with the Gryffindors- which meant he had to put up with two and a half hours in close proximity to the House that believed him to be a "traitorous snake". Of course, seeing the steely glint in Hermione's eyes as they entered the classroom did make him feel better. Hermione was the best friend anyone could have- she was tough and loyal with a streak of vindictiveness that he had to admit made him feel touched when she turned it against those who'd wronged him.
The potions classroom, Harry decided as he and Hermione entered it, was by far his favourite, in a macabre sort of way. The classroom, which was situated in a dungeon located even further below the castle then the Slytherin Common Room, was filled with pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the room. The students entering after him were shivering, giving him the impression that the room was quite cold but he'd long since realized that her years on the streets had given Hermione the ability to wandlessly and wordlessly cast warming charms which she'd automatically applied to them both as they walked in.
It was one of the first spells she'd truly mastered doing on command, she'd told him the other day. Winters were icy cold and while she spent any time that she wasn't picking pockets in heated public libraries, the night times that she spent holed up in some makeshift shelter or other, sometimes with a few other street kids, the only real source of warmth came from her magic.
Hermione lead them over to one of the tables near the front and had her ink, parchment, textbook and quill all neatly laid out in front of her and her cauldron sitting neatly by her side before Harry had even opened his book bag.
He was slightly surprised when Iago stuck his mangy head out of her satchel to grumble at Hermione- lately the fleabag cat had been spending a majority of his time with Mrs. Norris. To both his and Hermione's delight, this had made Filch behave in an almost friendly manner towards them; when they were lost he seemed happy to point them in the right direction and they'd even shared a conversation or two- about the cats, of course.
Professor Snape swept into the classroom, his robes billowing out behind him in a somewhat intimidating manner, and Harry shrank back in his seat slightly and internally cursed how nervous he was. Hermione gave him a soft, calming smile and under the table her hand gently grasped onto his, a contact that no longer had him automatically tensing. To his surprise, he found it did help with his nerves and his hand seemed to squeeze tighter around here without him realising it, centring himself with her steady presence.
Snape started the class by taking the roll, pausing for a moment on Harry's name with his gaze flicking over to him, before he continued on. Harry got the oddest sensation that he'd just dodged a bullet.
His Head of House's lecture was quite entrancing and Harry found himself leaning forwards slightly in his seat to listen. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape said, in a voice barely above a whisper, "as there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Harry noted out of the corner of his eye the looks that Ron and Dean were trading and the derisive twists of their mouths as they whispered to each other but most of his focus was on the professor before him.
"Weasley," Snape suddenly barked, causing the redhead to jolt, "since you seem to know this subject well enough that you don't feel the need to listen in on my lessons why don't you tell me what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood."
Harry gained a great deal of pleasure watching Ron sit there with a stumped look on his face. He could hear the snickering of the other Slytherins and Hermione, too, seemed darkly amused. "I told you he was a good sort," she murmured quietly to Harry.
"You don't know? Pity." Snape sneered at Weasley, "Can anyone else tell me?" Hermione tilted her head to the side, as if considering whether or not to answer, before raising her hand. "Miss Granger?"
"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death." Hermione said without pause or inflection.
"Two points to Slytherin," Snape said, before turning back on Ron. "Let's try again, Mr. Weasley. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Ron flushed an ugly red, obviously unable to answer this question either. To Harry's surprise, he actually could- he'd joined Hermione the night before in covering (or re-covering in her case) the first few letters of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. The book was arranged in alphabetical order and though Harry wasn't sure exactly how a bezoar counted as either herb or fungi, they'd gone over 'A' to halfway through 'E'.
He wondered if he should put his hand up and then took a deep breath, steeling himself before raising his hand, pleased to see it was only trembling slightly. "Mr. Potter? Have you, perhaps, managed to bother to actually opening a book before entering my classroom, unlike Mr. Weasley here?" Snape drawled. Harry felt his cheeks go a bit pink and he cleared his throat.
"Um, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat." He tried not to stammer. "Sir." He quickly added as Hermione nudged him with her knee. Snape gave him another one of those intense stares before nodding coolly.
"Two points to Slytherin. How about one last try, Mr. Weasley. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"I don't know," Ron scowled, "we weren't told we needed to remember any of this stuff!"
"Tut, tut- clearly you don't possess the skills of your brothers in potions." Snape said silkily and Harry instantly realized that his Head of House had hit Ron exactly where it hurt most. Ron turned a brilliant shade of red and he glared furiously at Snape.
Harry had to say, he was extremely grateful that he wasn't in Ron's shoes right now. "I think that will be three points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for not being able to answer any of the questions and another three for your disrespect. Now can anyone answer the question?"
Harry turned to Hermione as one of the other Slytherins raised their hands to answer. "Why do you think he's picking on Ron?" he whispered, "not that I'm upset about it." Hermione gave a quick grin.
"I've heard Professor Snape is quite protective of his snakes," she whispered back, "I can't imagine he's too pleased with the way Weasley is treating you."
"Oh," Harry said, surprised, "I always got the feeling Snape didn't like me very much- er, Professor Snape." He quickly corrected himself as Hermione raised an eyebrow. He was half expecting her to wave away his thought as ridiculous but instead she looked thoughtful. Harry's lips twitched as he realized he recognized that look- it was the 'I've just had an idea or I'm about to anyway and I'm not saying anything yet in case I'm wrong but I never am' look. Okay, he added the last part but the rest was true.
"Yes, I did get that impression too."
They were all paired up and set to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. Harry was delighted to realize he was actually a fair hand at potions- so far, anyway- and didn't need any added instructions from Hermione. It was probably all the practice he'd had cooking for the Dursleys.
Snape swept around the room in his long, black cloak, watching them all weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs and criticizing almost everyone except Draco, who he seemed to like. Harry and Hermione managed to escape any criticism and even though Snape didn't point out to the class the perfect way they had stewed their horned slugs like he had with Draco, he did give them a short nod of approval.
Hermione was just collecting a phial of their finished potion when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. One of the Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom, had somehow managed to melt the cauldron he and Seamus Finnegan were working with into a twisted blob and the potion contained in it was seeping across the stone floor and burning holes in people's shoes.
Hermione had reacted quickest, yanking her and Harry up onto their stools which left them the only ones with their shoes fully intact. The Gryffindor boy had been drenched in the potion and Harry felt sorry for Longbottom as he moaned in pain, angry red boils springing up all over his arms and legs- Longbottom was one of the only Gryffindors who never gave him any grief.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Finnegan, before rounding on Weasley. "You- Weasley- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."
Harry had to admit that he didn't really blame Weasley when he opened his mouth and started protesting, but at the same time he didn't feel any pity for the boy as he ended up with a detention.
In fact, as he walked out of the dungeon, Hermione by his side, he announced to her that Potions was his favorite subject so far. He didn't notice Hermione turn slightly to smirk at someone behind them as he enthusiastically started a step-by-step recount of the entire lesson.
-
-
Severus's POV:
Severus raised an eyebrow at the cheeky smirk Granger shot him before she turned back around to continue listening to Potter. The clever girl had picked up on his mixed feelings about her friend, apparently, and was just as amused as he was that Potter had declared Potions his favorite subject.
As he strode on, he reflected over the lesson, not unlike Potter was though with a great deal less enthusiasm then the boy. He'd expected to hate Potter, had expected the little brat to be a carbon copy of his father. Indeed, before the sorting his suspicions had been confirmed as the boy was almost identical to how Severus remembered his father being at that age, but then the boy was sorted into Slytherin and the foundations of his beliefs started to crumble.
Potter was quiet, well behaved, attentive in class and genuinely seemed to enjoy learning. According to Draco the boy was mild-mannered, consistently polite and didn't go about hexing people in the corridors- even when people tried to hex him. Draco thought it rather weak of the boy but Severus' thoughts were darker in nature and if he was correct then he couldn't blame Potter at all.
Either way, he was reluctantly glad that Potter had Granger there to help him. The girl was a force to be reckoned with; intelligent, powerful and very talented. She had more awareness, and therefore control, over her magic then most fourth years even. Which was one of the main reasons he wasn't surprised that the girl had gotten the better of the fourth year Gryffindor who had cursed Potter (it wasn't proven, of course, but everyone knew it was her). Granger had quite the streak of vindictiveness and apparently a talent for using simple spells to cause significant damage. The 'lumos' to the Gryffindor's eyes had not only left him blinded for three days but also completely unable to identify his attacker.
He was also impressed with how she had managed the Weasley boy. Not only had she put in place a powerful deterrent for the red-haired boy to not attack Potter but she had actually trapped her fellow Slytherins in a position where they'd have to believe she was a halfblood as to consider otherwise would uproot their belief system about muggleborns being less powerful, and she'd done it without them even noticing. Her display of power, loyalty to her house and ruthlessness had also put her in high regard with the older Slytherins.
The girl was quite the little evil genius and he very much approved. He also approved of the broken nose she'd given Weasley. Vicious little thing, Hermione Granger was. Very, very vicious and very, very clever. Severus couldn't help but snort- to think Albus had been trying to get Harry to become best friends with the Weasley boy! Granger would be the one to keep the boy alive better then Weasley could ever hope to. He could already tell that the girl was the sort of person to do whatever it took to take care of and protect those she took under her wing and somehow Harry Potter had been the one she'd chosen.
Entering the headmaster's office, Severus didn't bother to announce himself, knowing the old man would be aware of his presence anyway with the eavesdropping spells he had in place outside the entrance of his office.
"Ah, Severus!" Albus exclaimed happily as he walked through the door, "just who I was looking for!"
"Save it, old man," Severus sighed, sitting down heavily. "Just say what it is you want to ask."
"Of course, my dear boy," Albus said, his expression now serious. "It has now been almost a week since the start of the school term. What are you thoughts on Miss Granger? I know that she and Harry are rarely seen without each other's company. Should this concern me? What is the girl's personality?"
"The girl's a master seducer," Severus admitted, "She has near-complete control over her expressions and emotions. She's brilliant at acting and one of the smartest students I've ever taught- something I can tell after one class she's that skilled and she's a muggleborn who's managed to convince all the Slytherins otherwise, backing them into a position that to say anything otherwise will be going against their own rhetoric."
Albus frowned, looking rather put out. "So she's using Harry."
"The opposite, rather." Severus snorted, before looking thoughtful. "Potter's the only person she appears to be... somewhat genuine with. She runs circles around everyone else, but Potter she treats like an equal."
"I'm not sure I like this," Albus said, still frowning. "I need you to keep a close eye on the girl, Severus."
"Of course, headmaster." Severus sighed.