Hermione Granger and The Boy-Who-Lived

[Jackpot-kun]

Hermione Granger stepped through the wall between Platforms 9 and 10 and appeared at Platform 9¾ just like Prof. McGonagall had said she would, and her first sight of the Hogwarts Express took her breath away.

It wasn't because it was the most impressive train she'd ever seen (even though the red steam engine did have an undeniable presence), but more because this, more than anything else, even her visit to Diagon Alley back in July, made her realise just how much her life had changed. And how much more it still would.

With a quiet "fwoom" her parents appeared behind her, and she turned to see them looking around with awe and a little fear, and trying woefully to hide both.

It stung, the fear in their eyes, especially because Hermione had hoped that finally having someone explain to them why so many unnatural things happened around her would make it go away, but it was an old pain, one she was used to ignoring and getting better at every day, so Hermione let herself smile at her parents and gushed, "oh, Mom, Dad, isn't it all so wonderful?"

Her mother smiled, and Hermione was happy to see that it looked genuine. "Yes, it really is," she said, then in a quiet, musing tone: "I still can't believe normal people have no idea about any of it."

Another thing that stung, and this one in a way Hermione wasn't particularly familiar with; ever since Prof. McGonagall had shown up with her Hogwarts letter, ever since the trip to Diagon Alley, her parents had gotten into the habit of using the term 'normal people' to refer to those without magic. Those like Dan and Emma Granger.

Those unlike Hermione Granger.

"Looks like we're a little early," Hermione's father, Dan Granger, said, pulling the almost twelve-year-old out of her depressing thoughts.

"A little?" Emma Granger asked. "We're over an hour early; the place looks like a graveyard."

"It's not that bad," Hermione said a little defensively, her excitement was why they were here so early, after all. "Besides, this way I can choose a good seat before they're all taken."

"Righto then," Dan said, let's get you on the train.

That didn't take long. Neither did goodbyes. And within no time at all, Hermione was standing on the Hogwarts Express, magical trunk in hand, and watching as her parents walked back through the wall into King's Cross Station, while knowing that she wouldn't be seeing them again till Christmas.

Unsurprisingly, the thought didn't come as a shock to her; she'd known for years that she would be attending boarding school at this time, only now instead of Mayfield School for Girls in Sussex, she would be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland to finally meet other children like her.

She couldn't wait.

Even though the train was almost empty, there were still a few students on board, all of them much older boys and girls who made Hermione feel very self-conscious, so she avoided their compartments even though she would have liked to have someone to sit with.

And then she saw him. Through the pane of glass on the door.

He was seated by the window, a book she couldn't see the title of in his hands, and a caged snowy owl by his side. He was small, rather skinny, and wore round-rimmed glasses, and his hair was a darker, somewhat tamer version of hers. Most importantly though, he was clearly a first year.

Hermione took a second to compose herself, then she knocked gently and slid the door open. "Good morning," she said, as the boy's very green eyes came up to meet hers. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, no, please sit," he said, and Hermione pulled her magically lightened trunk in and set it up where it should be, although thanks to her height she had to climb the seat.

After she came down, she stretched out her hand. "Hermione Granger. I'm starting at Hogwarts this year."

The boy paused, and a thoughtful look stole over his face as he considered her. "Huh," he muttered.

After a few awkward seconds though, the boy shook off whatever thoughts had stolen his mind and focused on her once more. "Uh, I'm Harry," he said, taking her hand. "Harry Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Are you really? I've read all about you; you're quite famous in the Wizarding World, you know. They talk about you in—"

Harry halted her momentum with a raised hand. "Hermione, I'm really sorry to do this, but... can you not? My fame isn't really something I like to think about, especially considering the only reason I'm famous is because some psychotic bastard broke into my home and murdered my parents."

Hermione's blood ran cold.

How had she not thought of that? All the books she read literally said it, so how had she forgotten that Harry was a boy whose parents were murdered and just go running her big mouth as usual.

Oh God, she felt so disgusted with herself.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No, no, it's fine. Really, I... in your shoes I probably would have done the same thing. Don't worry about it."

As an awkward silence settled over the compartment, Hermione worried about it. She worried about it a lot.

But as the old adage went; if at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

So, with an arming breath, Hermione tried again, this time picking the most innocuous topic she could think of. "So um, you're even earlier than I am; do you live close by?"

"Nope," Harry said without looking up from his book. "My relatives were just really eager to get rid of me. Can't say the feeling wasn't mutual though."

Hermione frowned; she thought that was a rather dark joke, and not particularly funny, but she was trying to make up for her earlier blunder, so she made herself laugh.

Harry finally looked up from his book and stared at her with a very serious expression. "I wasn't joking," he said.

"Oh," was all Hermione could say in return as she shrank into her seat; she should have just asked about his book instead.

★★★​

Maybe it would have been better if she'd sat in a compartment by herself, Hermione thought almost an hour after her major blunder to the first person from the magical world she'd spoken to, it certainly could not have been worse than this.

Over the hour since their brief, wince-inducing "conversation", the train had filled up, and the increasing noise levels outside the compartment had simply put into sharp relief how quiet the inside of the compartment was. And the worst thing about it all was that Harry didn't even seem to notice it.

At first, she'd tried to do like he was doing and read a book, but after rereading the second sentence for the sixth time in a row, she had finally admitted defeat and started people watching instead. Or field watching anyway. Since her window was on the other side of the train from the platform, and all she could see out there were empty, grassy fields.

Which once again brought up the question; where even was Platform 9¾ located?

A pair of loud, jovial, and eerily similar voices sounded from outside the door, and Hermione reflexively turned in time to catch a pair of identical teenage redheads walk past, both of them booming with mirth as they talked about someone with the very unlikely name of Ronniekins. And following after them, was a rather sullen redhead who looked about her age.

The younger redhead, who Hermione felt safe to assume was the teens' brother, looked through the window on her door and their eyes met, and before Hermione knew what she was doing, her lips had curled into an encouraging smile.

Hermione didn't get to see the boy's reaction to her smile before he walked out of frame, but that was okay; mostly since she didn't even know why she'd smiled at him in the first place and had no idea what she would have done if he'd reciprocated.

Maybe she was just hoping that he would come sit with her and she wouldn't have to be alone with Harry anymore (the green-eyed boy hadn't even once looked up from his book, for God's sake. And while Hermione would normally commend that level of dedication to one's academics, right now, she just couldn't help but feel like the boy was deliberately ignoring her).

With a shrill whistle and a soft jolt the train began to move.

Finally.

Hermione tried to return to her reading then, see if she could make some headway on reading Hogwarts, A History cover to cover for the third time, but as her eyes focused on the page, a white, flapping object perched on the bench next to her.

Hermione jumped.

"Hedwig!" Harry chastised. "What are you doing scaring people? Get your feathered butt back here. I'm sorry, Hermione, I have no idea why she flew at you like that."

"No, it's fine. I just wasn't expecting it was all," Hermione said, staring at the owl who, completely uncaring of its owner's reproach, turned to the girl with something resembling expectation in its big, yellow eyes.

"Oh, great," Harry said, with a sigh, "she wants head rubs."

Hermione blinked. "What?" Wasn't that a cat thing? Owls weren't supposed to like being touched, right? Or were they? Maybe she should have gotten a few books on owls (and cats) since they seemed pretty common in the Wizarding World.

"She likes it when you pet her head," Harry says. "We kind of had a fight earlier though, I guess this is her trying to make me jealous or something."

Had a fight? With an owl?

"Don't give me that look," Harry said, sounding offended. "Hedwig is a very intelligent owl, I'll have you know. You'll see what I mean when you get to know her better."

Hedwig, apparently getting impatient, nipped Hermione's left pinky softly.

She turned to the bird.

Oh, right. Head rubs.

Haltingly, Hermione petted the animal's remarkably soft, downy head, and it happily leaned into her palm.

This was rather nice.

Harry rolled his eyes as he went back to his book. "Such a diva," he muttered, but without any real heat.

For the next several minutes, the room was quiet again, but some of the prior awkwardness had lifted, and Hermione simply enjoyed her rereading of Hogwarts, A History, and the feel of her fingers running over soft, downy skin.

The door slid open dramatically.

At the doorpost stood three boys, all of them dressed in the robes so ubiquitous among Wizardkind. The one in front was slender, with sleek white-blond hair, cold, grey eyes, and a pale, angular face. He also had the haughtiest expression Hermione had ever seen on anyone's face.

As for the two boys standing beside, and behind, the one in front, their size suggested they were at least a year older, and their dull eyes and somewhat clueless expressions made them look... well, Hermione hated to think it, but the two big boys in the back looked rather dumb.

The silver-blonde's eyes took in the two of them, completely dismissing Hermione rudely, before settling on Harry as he strode in.

"You there," the boy addressed Harry imperiously, "I understand Harry Potter is supposed to be on the train. Are you him?"

Hermione never quite figured out why she did what she did next; maybe it was leftover guilt from her earlier, similar thoughtlessness, or maybe the rude boy had rubbed her the wrong way and her vindictive side was simply rearing its head once again, whatever the reason, Hermione spoke up before Harry could.

"His name is James."

All eyes in the room turned to her, but she focused on the rude boy's.

"His name isn't Harry Potter, it's James. James..." Hermione nearly panicked as she found her mind suddenly clear of every surname she knew. "...Bond," she finally settled on, and Harry couldn't hold back a snort quick enough.

The blond boy turned to him and Harry smiled winsomely, holding out his hand and saying in an overly suave tone. "Bond. James Bond. At your service."

The blonde scoffed and ignored Harry's hand. "Malfoy," he said. "Draco Malfoy." Then he turned and tried to exit the compartment only to bump into the two larger boys who'd been standing at the door the entire time. "Get out of my way, you bloody oafs," Malfoy swore, and all three boys shuffled around for a bit before getting themselves in the proper order, and, with one final scoff thrown their way courtesy of Malfoy, promptly stormed out.

As soon as the boy's were out of sight, Hermione and Harry burst into laughter.

"James Bond?" Harry asked amidst his laughter. "Seriously? That was the best you could come up with?"

"I was pressed for time," Hermione defended herself.

"Thank you though," Harry said. "I did not have the energy to deal with Draco's BS this morning."

Hermione frowned, both because of Harry's language and what he'd said. "You knew him?"

Harry's eyes widened a fraction. "Oh, um... yes. I mean, I know of him," Harry corrected.

"Oh," Hermione said, wondering why Harry had acted shifty.

Wait, how did he know of Draco? All her books had said that no one had seen Harry since... that night, so how did he know who Malfoy was?

"That's Hogwarts, A History you're reading, right?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked down at the book on her lap that she'd almost forgotten about in all the recent excitement. "Oh. You've read Hogwarts, A History?"

"Meh," Harry said, "mostly just looked at the pictures."

Hermione's face soured.

Harry snorted. "You should see your face right now."

Hermione barely even heard his comment. "You looked. At the. Pictures?"

"Yeah. So?" Harry asked casually, but his brilliant, green eyes belied his amusement.

She wanted to let it go, she really did, after all it was none of her business if he wanted to just look at the pictures on a—What the heck was he, two?

Before she could say anything, however, two boys walked in, and her breath caught when she saw that one of them was the redhead she'd smiled at.

Why was he here? Was he also looking for Harry?

The boy paused too when he caught her eyes, just for a moment, then he said, "um, have you guys seen a toad? Neville here's lost his."

Hermione's gaze drifted to the other boy, a chubby, round-faced preteen who seemed to be trying to hide within his robes.

"No, we haven't, sorry. But I can help you look," Hermione said.

"I know a spell that might help," Harry said. "I don't know if it'll work though, I've never cast it before."

"Really?" Hermione and the redhead asked at the same time, and Harry just nodded, pulling out his wand.

Hermione frowned when she saw him place the wand flat on his open palm. "That's not how you use a wand. What kind of spell are you going to cast?"

"You know," Harry said conversationally, "a wise somebody whose name I've never been able to pronounce once said, life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to experience. Hermione, stop trying to solve everything and just watch and listen for a bit."

Hermione's cheeks grew pink in embarrassment, a pink that quickly turned scarlet when the redhead snickered. For some reason, Hermione felt betrayed.

"What's the frog's name?" Harry asked Neville.

The chubby boy looked surprised to be addressed. "His name's Trevor," he answered softly. "He's a toad."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Harry said, then concentrating on his wand, he said, "point me: Trevor" and his wand lifted up a couple inches from his hand and started to spin.

It was the first bit of spellcasting Hermione had ever seen anyone her age do, and she wondered if she would be able to manage it. She had never casted any spells herself, not having learnt any when she got her wand from Ollivander's back in July, and already home, where she wasn't allowed to use said wand by the time she learnt her first spell.

The realisation that she was allowed to use magic now made her want to whip out her own wand and start trying out spells.

Harry's wand slowed down quickly, until it finally stopped, pointing straight at Neville.

"Huh?" The boy looked confused. "Why is it pointing at me?"

"Yeah, mate, I think your spell's busted," the redhead said.

Aha! Hermione had told him he was holding his wand wrong; she had even read a book about the proper way to hold—

"I think it's pointing at Trevor," Harry said. "Nev, check your robes."

Neville did, and from within the folds, he pulled out a large, sleeping (?) toad.

Oh.

"Bloody hell, mate," the redhead groaned. "You had that thing in your robes this whole time and you made us walk the whole train?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Neville said.

The redhead just sighed. "Whatever. Come on let's go back before Fred and George hex our seats or something."

"Thank you," Neville said to Harry, and Ron belatedly did the same, then the two of them walked off.

"Um, Hermione," Harry called, then pointed at his wand still floating above his palm and pointing in the direction Neville had gone. "Can you help me, because I have no idea how to turn this off."

It took almost thirty seconds of the two of them trying to snatch the wand from the air, where it kept dodging, always doing its hardest to point unfailingly at Neville (or she supposed Trevor), before Harry got frustrated enough to shout "oh just stop pointing you stupid wand."

Which, magically, worked, and the wand fell to the ground.

"Finally," Harry groused as he picked it up and Hermione started giggling.

That had just been so ridiculous, and magical.

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, please, laugh at my disgrace."

"Sorry," she apologized as her giggles petered out. "That was wonderful spellwork though, where did you learn it?"

"I didn't. I actually kinda made it up just now, actually. See I took the Four-Point spell, which makes your wand point north like with a compass, but then I thought real hard about Neville's frog like with the Summoning Charm, and voila, magical GPS."

Hermione stared at Harry in complete and total awe. Of his recklessness. "That was borderline dangerous, Harry. You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"You're telling me, for a second there I was worried I might actually conjure a buffalo onto my head or something."

For the first time for as long as she could remember, Hermione was at a complete loss for words.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "let's see you."

"See me what?"

"Cast a spell, obviously. What? You're not eager to try out your magic?"

She was. She really was. So Hermione quickly fetched her wand and casted a Lumos. It worked on the first try.

"Nice," Harry said, then he grinned mischievously, "but I'll do you one better."

He too casted a Lumos, but instead of the expected white, his wand-tip glowed blue.

Hermione's eyes almost bugged out. "How did you do that?" She almost yelled, and Harry gave a cartoon villain laugh as he twirled a non-existent beard.

"Worry not, Padawan," he said, "Kakashi-sensei will teach you."

By the time the train stopped at Hogsmeade Station, the compartment was about sixteen colours, and both their benches had patches where they'd been semi-successfully transfigured into different materials. Most importantly though, was when Hermione had to stop Hedwig from pecking out Harry's eyes after he tried to use her as a lab rat.

Harry was right however, Hedwig was a rather intelligent owl.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Hermione made some final adjustments to her robes before sliding the door open. It was a good thing the little window on the door had a curtain, otherwise she wouldn't have felt comfortable changing in the compartment even though Harry was outside.

The boy in question turned and regarded her. He was already in his uniform, having changed first; he hadn't even bothered to ask Hermione to leave when he had, simply throwing his robes on over his muggle jeans and T-shirt.

"Well, well, Hermione Granger, look at you. Add a pointy hat to that getup and you'll be right at home in a Disney film."

Hermione wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a compliment or not, but she thought it might be. She was starting to understand that Harry Potter's mind worked in rather mysterious ways. Plus she got the feeling Harry never felt the need to hide his opinion from anybody.

So she said, "thank you. It was a bit of a learning curve, but Madam Malkin was ever so helpful, she taught me all about how to properly wear and care for my robes."

"Huh, lucky you. She was completely antagonistic towards me, kept going on and on; quit fidgeting, don't touch that, you broke it, he's getting away!" Harry sighed as he walked back into the compartment. "And they say sexism isn't a thing."

Hermione just shook her head, easily realising the joke for what it was. Well, she hoped it was a joke anyway.

The train slowed and came to a stop then, and Hermione and Harry went to the window and spotted lit houses in the nightscape of a snowy village.

The Hogwarts Express had gotten to Hogsmeade.

Hermione began to climb up to bring down her luggage, but Harry said, "don't worry, leave it. The elves will get them."

Hermione turned to him in confusion. "Elves? Hogwarts has no elves. Hogwarts, A History never mentioned anything of the sort."

Harry shrugged in a way that suggested that he'd expected her words. "Can't say I'm surprised, really, people hardly talk about them. But yeah, Hogwarts has elves. Not the Tolkien kind though," a wistful expression came over Harry's face, "God, I wish they were the Tolkien kind... anyway no, they're uh, short, and thin, with big eyes and flappy bat ears. Kinda scary-looking actually, but they're harmless. Mostly."

Hermione was quite dubious of Harry's claim, especially since she wouldn't put it past him to pull her leg so. After all, none of her books mentioned anything about any elves.

Before Hermione could come to a decision though, an older boy wearing a prefect's badge walked past the door, announcing loudly. "First years, leave your luggage on the train; the house-elves will get them."

Oh. But—"but none of my books said anything about house-elves," Hermione said.

She didn't know why it bothered her so much. No, wait, she did know. What she didn't know was how an entire species could just not be mentioned in books that were supposed to teach muggleborns about the Wizarding World.

House-elves were part of the Wizarding World too, right?

Harry shrugged again. "Like I said, 'I'm not surprised'. On the bright side though, you can use this as a learning moment; not all books are trustworthy, sometimes authors just use them as a medium to spread their bias. Or worse, propaganda. My mother told me that one."

Hermione comprehended how... unlikely, Harry's last sentence was, considering his mother had died when he was one, at the same time the boy's own eyes widened and he quickly said, "um, I mean, that's the kind of thing I like to think my mother would have said. Yeah. Totally. Definitely that second one. Anyway why don't we head over to the castle?"

Hermione thought about saying something, but then she decided that it wasn't any of her business. "Okay, let's."

As they left the compartment, and all of the evidence of their earlier "spellwork" behind (Hermione really hoped those effects wore off soon like Harry had said they would), Hedwig perched on Hermione's shoulder, earning the bird a stink eye from her owner.

They exited the train among the throng of students, and Hermione started as a booming voice shook her all the way to her bones.

"First years. First years, over here."

The source turned out to be a very noticeable, and noticeably hairy, man in a thick fur coat. He was so tall that no one in the crowd of students came past his stomach, and the width of his shoulders seemed like it might be up to four times her father's.

"Is that a giant?" She asked Harry, eyes wide.

How could a man be so big and tall and still move easily under his own power like that? Was this magic?

Harry made a so-so gesture with one hand. "Half," he said, and Hermione looked at him, because she hadn't actually expected an answer. "But don't tell him I told you though. I don't think I'm supposed to know."

Hermione just nodded mutely.

"First years, this way," the giant half-giant man kept shouting, holding a lantern above his head, which made it higher than the ceiling of a house for everyone else.

"Come on," Harry said, pulling her ahead.

The man was no less intimidating closer, and when Hermione and Harry stopped before him, his big eyes (which were actually quite small for his huge face) focused on them. No, it focused on Harry.

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry called, and the man's wide mouth split a line through his very bushy beard.

"Harry," he boomed (or maybe that was his normal voice?). "How are yeh?"

"I'm fine. Great even. This is Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger."

"Hello there, Hermione," Hagrid said, and Hermione managed a small "hello" in return. "Harry, why don't you bring Hermione over for some tea tomorrow. I can show you around like yeh asked."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. "Hermione?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I would love to come. Thank you, Hagrid."

"Don't worry about it," Hagrid said. "Now, first yea—oh," Hagrid stopped, realising that all the first years seemed to have gathered while they talked. "That should be it," he muttered (although with his size the dead probably would have heard him), then said, "alright then, children, follow me. And watch yer steps now."

Hagrid walked off, leading the way with the lantern, and as Hermione and Harry made to follow, a familiar and offended voice said from behind them, "you lied to me."

The two children turned to see Draco Malfoy and... actually he'd never introduced the other two boys.

"Say what now?" Harry asked the annoyed blonde.

"You lied to me," Malfoy repeated, his words beginning to draw the attention of some of the students around them. "You told me your name is James Bond, but the half-breed called you Harry just now. You're Harry Potter, aren't you?"

Harry began to respond, but then he paused and peered intently at some older students in the distance. "Sweet Merlin, do the Weasley twins have Nimbus 2000s?"

"What?" Draco asked and turned to look, and Hermione could now see that the redhead twins (Fred and George, the redhead boy had called them) she had seen in the train were walking with a group of friends, and were holding broomsticks.

Draco scoffed. "Those aren't Nimbus 2000s, they're Cleansweeps."

"Are you sure? Because from where I'm standing they really look like Nimbus 2000s to me," Harry said.

Draco looked back at the twins, then at Harry. At the twins, then back at Harry. Then he scoffed and stormed off in the direction of the twins while muttering to himself, "like the Weasleys could ever afford a Nimbus."

"Look to the scion of the House of Malfoy, people," Harry murmured, then shook his head. "Slytherin must be rolling in his grave. Come on, Hermione."

Hermione followed Harry as he walked, but she had to ask. "What was all that about?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. Well, Draco's family, the Malfoys? They're rich. And they hate the Weasleys, that's Ron's family—Ron's the boy who came in helping Neville look for his newt—and his family, the Weasleys, are not very well off. Though that might be because of all the children they have. Anyway, the Malfoys say the Weasleys are a disgrace to pure-blood Wizarding families—you know what pure-bloods are?" She nodded. "Good. While the Weasleys, on the other hand, hate the Malfoys and call them bigoted, Voldemort-loving scum. Which is true."

Hermione blinked. "So you took advantage of a long-standing family feud to avoid talking to Draco?"

"Precisely." He looked proud.

Hermione held back a sigh. She didn't want to be rude, but she was starting to think that Harry might be a problem child.

"What's Voldemort?" She asked. She thought it was some kind of French, but she wasn't really sure as she didn't speak French, only Latin and Greek.

Maybe she should have taken her father's advice and learnt more relevant languages, but she'd just assumed that she would have the time to learn them before it became important.

"You-Know-Who," Harry said, and Hermione frowned for a second in confusion before her eyes went wide in realization. "Yeah, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, The Dark Lord, The Mad Titan, whatever the hell else they call him. The point is, that guy that people are so scared of they won't even print his name despite that they believe he's dead? His name's Voldemort.

"Well, not really. His name's actually Tom, but I guess he figured no one would be scared of the Dark Lord Tom so he went with Voldemort instead."

And Hermione burst into laughter, completely ignorant of how horrified someone born into the Wizarding World would be in her shoes.

A horror that she would soon come to learn.

"No more than four to a boat," the booming voice of Hagrid came from up ahead, and Hermione and Harry hurried forward a little to find themselves on the bank of a lake. A great, big lake of twinkling black water, at the end of which, sitting on a cliff, was Hogwarts Castle.

Even Harry looked impressed.

"Get on the boats," Hagrid called again. "No more than four to one."

Hermione and Harry found an empty boat and got on, Hedwig flying to perch at the head of it, and as they settled in a girl walked up to them then called to her friend, "come on, Daphne, there's space here."

Daphne turned out to be a very beautiful girl with a noble grace to her posture. As she and her friend made to enter the boat, however, Harry stretched out, covering as much space as possible.

"Sorry," he told the girls, "boat's full. Cheerio." He even added a little wave at the end.

The two girls blinked. "What do you mean the boat is full? I can see you trying to take up the space," the girl who'd called to Daphne said.

And with a perfectly straight face, Harry said, "I have no idea what you're talking about; the boat is clearly beyond capacity."

The girl turned red in anger, but before she could say anything, Daphne said, "Tracey, it's okay. Let's find another boat."

And both girls walked off, one rather reluctantly.

"Harry! That was beyond rude. Why would you do that?"

The boy didn't seem the least bit fazed by her outburst. "Hermione, trust me, if you had half the meta-knowledge I do, you probably would have done the same."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means," Harry said, sitting up, "that within one train ride, I've somehow managed to meet you, Ron, Neville, and Draco. Twice. I've had my fill of canon for the day, like hell am I adding fanon to it."

Hermione blinked. Blinked again. "What?" She asked, but she received no answers from the boy before her.

They ended up making the short trip to Hogwarts in silence, Hermione stroking Hedwig as she tried unsuccessfully to solve the puzzle before her. That of the boy named Harry Potter.

He knew things about the Wizarding World. Many things. Even though he supposedly didn't grow up in it. One second he was being nice and funny and casting spells with her, and the next, he was being rude to two girls he didn't even know. Or did he?

Which led her to the last thing really; all the odd things he said.

Canon? Fanon? And what about that comment about his mother?

This was all so confusing.

The boats stopped at an underground cave lit with glowing crystals of some sort, and there was Prof. McGonagall waiting for them with a displeased expression on her face.

"Hagrid," the Prof. said, "you're late."

"Sorry, professor," the huge man replied, disembarking, "had to wait on Malfoy, didn't know where he went."

Prof. McGonagall eyed the boy, who shot herself and Harry a nasty look.

Great, now Harry was getting her in trouble too.

"Come on, children," the professor said, and led them through a series of tunnels to where Hermione assumed they would have The Sorting.

As they walked, the students around her began to murmur among themselves, and Hermione began to pick up little tidbits.

"—some kind of test—"

"—it decides if—"

Oh! She realized. They're talking about The Sorting.

"—brothers said we have to fight a troll."

... Well, some of them are.

Hermione knew about The Sorting, and she knew it was a hat that did it, Hogwarts, A History had told her that much. What it hadn't told her though was how the hat went about it.

What if it was a test like that girl had said?

Hermione slowly began to panic. Was she ready to take a test? She'd read all of her school books, of course (and many more besides), but she wasn't ready for a test, she hadn't prepared!

Why hadn't she prepared? What had she been thinking? Of course, there would be a test, it stands to reason that there would be a test. How could she have thought that there wouldn't be a—

"Hedwig, peck her on the head for me, will you?" Harry asked, and surprisingly, the owl, who was once again perched on Hermione's shoulder, obliged.

"Ow! Why? That hurt, Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Because you're being dumb. First of all, it's not a test. And second of all, even if it was a test you're the least likely person here to fail it."

"Oh, yeah?" A boy near them asked. "Well, how do you know it's not a test?"

"Seriously?" Harry asked. "Did you not read Hogwarts, A History at all?"

Hermione looked at him. "But you told me you didn't read it!"

"No, I didn't! I said I looked at the pictures. Those are two very different things."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she smiled all the same.

Quieter, so only he could hear her, she asked, "do you really think I could pass? If it was a test."

Harry shook his head in fond exasperation. "Hermione, I think you have the potential to be the greatest witch the world has ever seen," he said seriously.

Hermione stumbled. "What?"

"Don't give me that look," Harry said. "I mean it. I think you could be so great that one day people will say Dumbledore was almost as great as you."

"Oh don't be silly, Harry," Hermione said, quickly latching on to that one thing in an attempt to ground herself after the utter... crazy talk this boy she just met was saying. "Dumbledore is a war hero. He's a master of Transfiguration, a Charms expert, an acclaimed alchemist; he discovered all twelve uses for dragon's blood. He's the greatest wizard there is."

"For now," Harry shrugs, perfectly confident.

Did he really mean it? Did Harry really think that she could be... that?

No, Hermione decided. He didn't. This was just Harry being... well, being Harry.

Unknown to either child, McGonagall's ears, honed from years of dealing with the Weasley twins, and the Marauders before them, picked up every word.

The Great Hall was majestic. Ghosts and floating candles and the night sky for a ceiling, everything about it screamed magic.

The sorting turned out to be like Harry had said; no tests, just a talking, singing hat you wear on your head.

Hermione was still wondering how the hat knew which house to put you in when her name was called.

Without bidding, Hedwig flew off Hermione's shoulder and perched on Harry's head, and when he tried to swat her off she pecked him after which he begrudgingly left her alone.

She walked up to the chair, nervous before so many gazes, and sat dutifully as the hat was placed atop her head by the headmistress.

"Hmm," the hat hummed thoughtfully directly into her mind, causing her to almost gasp. "Very great potential, I see."

"Really?" Hermione thought back.

"Don't believe me, do you?" The hat asked, and Hermione could somehow hear his eyebrow rise.

Which didn't even make sense, because the hat didn't have any eyebrows.

"Oh no, I do! It's just my... Harry said the same thing earlier."

"Oh? Well, he has a good eye then. You should keep him close; friends like that are often too rare to come by."

Right. "So, um..."

"Want to know your house, do you? Well, any one would suit you."

"Really?" Hermione asked.

"Really," the hat agreed. "The ambition and cunning requisite to fit in with Slytherin's host; though loyalty and the determination of a 'Puff you have the most; chasing knowledge, purely for sport, like a Ravenclaw; but your heart, I think, beats same as a Gryffindor."

A beat passed.

"That was beautiful." Hermione blushed.

"I know," the hat agreed. "It's one of the better ones I've made in a very long time. However, the point remains, you can go wherever you want Hermione Granger, so which do you choose?"

Well, if she could choose then her choice was obvious. But before that though. "Um, Mr. Hat, can I please know your name?"

The hat paused, and Hermione began to wonder if something was wrong before it said, "no one has asked me that in a very long time. But my name is Nilrem, Granger."

"Okay, Mr. Nilrem, I choose Gryffindor."

"Ah, the house of the lion. Very well then, GRYFFINDOR!" The hat yelled out the last part, and the Gryffindors and some from some other houses applauded.

McGonagall took the hat off her head, and Hermione headed over to the Gryffindor table, where a seat had already been set aside for her.

Hedwig flew to join her, perching on the table this time. An older boy, yet another redhead, this one wearing a prefect's badge, eyed the bird, but fortunately said nothing.

After a few more people, it was Harry's turn, and as soon as his name was called, the entire hall silenced. Hermione even saw some of the teacher's sit up.

Was this what it was like for Harry all the time? How did he deal with it?

It was even worse because he was only this famous because of a tragedy.

Harry walked up to the chair, throwing a wink her way as he did, and Hermione suddenly got a very bad feeling.

McGonagall placed Nilrem on Harry's head, only for the boy to catch him at the final moment and ask in a clear, innocent voice. "Uh, I don't have to worry about lice or anything, do I?"

If you could hear a pin drop before, now you could hear a feather land on a pillow.

Hermione meanwhile simply hid her face in her hands and wondered if it was too late to start pretending she didn't know Harry.

Surprisingly, it was the hat himself that broke the silence. With a hearty laugh no less.

"Don't worry, Harry Potter, I don't pick up lice, or dirt of any kind really. It's the only thing that has kept me in such good condition all these years."

"Oh, okay then," Harry said and dropped the hat on his head.

One of the redhead twins at the Gryffindor table whispered to the other. "How did we never think of that, brother mine?"

"I don't know," the other responded. "But it does look like we'll be having competition this year." Then they made eye-contact and smiled devilishly in sync.

That couldn't be good.

Suddenly, Harry's voice rang out again in the still quiet hall. "Well, what can I say? I'm spurshurl." And Nilrem laughed again.

"Yes, that you are," the hat agreed out loud.

"Anyway, can we skip all this so you can just put me in the same house as Hermione?" Harry continued.

And whatever fledgling plan the girl had to pretend not to know Harry took a dagger to the heart and bled out on the streets, as every single eye in the hall turned to her.

God, no.

Nilrem laughed again and said, "very well then, GRYFFINDOR!"

No one clapped. No one booed. No one said anything for five seconds straight.

And then twins started stomping their feet rhythmically; one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, and with every repeat more feet joined in.

On and on and on until almost the entire hall was stomping.

Harry meanwhile, calmly took Nilrem off, gave him a peck, and patted him softly, before handing him over to Prof. McGonagall.

It was at this point that the twins started chanting, "we got Potter! We got Potter!!" and all the Gryffindors quickly joined in.

Harry, hearing the chant, looked right at her with those annoyingly green eyes, smiled like this was the best day of his life, and started chanting too, but with his lines edited the tiniest bit. "You got Potter! You got Potter!!"

Maybe she could still revisit her not knowing him plan.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

"We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harry raised his arms and cheered like he'd just won the election for Prime Minister, and half the Gryffindors rose and cheered with him.

He rushed to the Gryffindor table then, shaking hands and shooting finger guns at people, smiling all the while, and despite herself, Hermione found her lips curling into a smile at the silliness of it all.

Finally, after almost half a minute of goofing off, Harry sat, slotting himself into the space beside her on the bench, before bumping her shoulder with his. "Didn't think I'd let you get rid of me that easily, did you?" He asked, and Hermione simply opted for her now go-to response when dealing with Harry and rolled her eyes.

After another half-minute of Prof. McGonagall calming the crowd, the sorting continued. Without anymore fanfare thankfully.

With the last student, a boy named Zabini, sorted into Slytherin, Prof. McGonagall took Nilrem away, and Headmaster Dumbledore rose for a speech.

"To the new students, welcome. And to the old, welcome back. Before we fill our bellies, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak! Thank you." And he sat back down.

"And you thought I was mad," Harry said, as more food than Hermione had ever seen in any one place appeared on the tables.

*****

"You're all brothers?" Hermione asked Ron, almost regretting the act when he began to answer around a mouth full of food.

"Uh-huh. Fred and George there are in third year; don't eat anything they give you."

"Oh, little Ronniekins—"

"—you wound us. Truly."

The twins said from where they sat on the other side of the table some small distance away.

"Besides, we know better than to prank Harry Potter's girlfriend."

Hermione choked.

"What!?" She squeaked at the twins, both of whom were acting far too innocent.

Ron, on the other hand, just looked confused. "What do you mean she's Harry's girlfriend?"

"Well, Ronniekins—"

"Stop calling me that!"

"—when a boy asks the hat to put him in a house simply because a certain girl is there—"

"—that usually means that she's his girlfriend."

That made no sense whatsoever!

Ron clearly agreed with her thoughts, because he said, "but Harry obviously just wanted to get into Gryffindor because it's the best house there is."

Well, no, Harry obviously came to Gryffindor just to frustrate her, but Hermione much preferred Ron's reason than the twins'.

Fred and George gave Ron a sad, condescending smile. "Oh, Ronniekins—"

"I said stop calling me that!"

"—you sweet summer child."

The expressions of students close to them caught Hermione's eye then, and she noted with mounting horror that they were beginning to buy into the twins' hogwash.

Wait a minute! Why wasn't Harry saying anything?

She turned to see the boy in question quietly cutting ham into small pieces for Hedwig.

"Harry!" She nudged him. "Tell them we're not... you know."

Without even looking up from his plate, Harry said, "come on, Hermione, even I know better than to bother with things like this. Anything you say can and will be used against you in this court of law. They don't play fair."

"No, we do not," one of the twins said.

"But you have to say something!" Hermione pressed.

"Hermione, what part of can and will be used against you did you not get?" Harry queried.

"Well, try!"

"Aww," the twins gushed. "They're already fighting like an old, married couple."

"No, we're not!"

"More importantly, I think you guys need a better model of what an old, married couple is actually like," Harry said. "Anyway, I've been hearing a lot about this quidditch game. What's it actually like?"

And the conversation quickly switched to the all-time favorite Wizarding sport.

It wouldn't be until much later, that Hermione would realise that Harry had deliberately changed the subject.

*****

After dinner and an announcement by the Headmaster (which included informing them of two places in the school they shouldn't go unless they wanted to meet a quick and painful death [she'd hoped he was joking until Harry looked at her and shook his head with complete seriousness]), Hermione and the other first years were given a minor tour of the Hogwarts castle by Ron's older brother, Prefect Percy.

The tour didn't cover much, mostly just taking them to the major hallways and pointing them in the right direction to go to access different parts of the castle.

As the tour carried on, Prefect Percy talked about the rules and regulations of Hogwarts, and other such things.

Currently, he was on the topic of the house cup.

"—and at the end of the year, the Headmaster awards the cup to the house with the most points. Therefore you must be on your best behaviour at all times; Gryffindor has lost the cup to Slytherin six years in a row now so I won't have any of you costing us any points," Prefect Percy said seriously, and Hermione nodded, determined to do her part to ensure that her house won this year.

Harry raised a hand.

Prefect Percy spotted it after a moment and asked, "you have a question, Potter?"

"Uh, yeah, I do. What do we get if we win the cup?"

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. What a silly question.

"Excuse me?" Prefect Percy asked.

"I mean, is there an actual reward for winning the cup? Like do we get later curfews? Extra desserts at dinner? Maybe even access to the restricted section of the library? Is there an actual reward for this, or is it just about bragging rights? Wait, do we even get to keep the cup?"

Prefect Percy stuttered for a few moments, before finally pulling himself together. "Well, of course, winning the house cup is a reward in itself—"

"So bragging rights," Harry interrupted, "got ya. Carry on, please. Sorry for interrupting."

Prefect Percy shot Harry, then her (why?) a sour look then turned around and resumed walking. "Come along, everyone. We're almost at Gryffindor Tower."

"Must you antagonize everyone?" Hermione whispered harshly at Harry.

"I wasn't," Harry denied. "And I don't antagonize everybody. Besides, doesn't it bother you that we're being asked to compete for something pointless?"

"It's not pointless, Harry. It's meant to motivate students to obey school rules and try harder in their academics. It's quite ingenious actually."

"It also creates animosity between the four houses, not to mention puts anyone who loses points at risk of being ostracized by their housemates."

Hermione groaned in frustration. "Must you be so difficult?"

"How am I being—" Harry started to say, then stopped. "You know what? Let's just—let's not fight about it. How about we just agree to disagree?"

Hermione didn't want to agree to disagree, she wanted him to understand that she was right!

...

On the other hand though, while Harry was undeniably rude, and liked to antagonize people, and had caused her way more trouble in one day than she'd thought was humanly possible, he was sort of her friend. And he was offering an olive branch.

Would it be wrong of her to not accept it?

"Fine," Hermione agreed grudgingly. "Let's not fight about it."

Harry smiled at her, and she saw no trace of mischief in his green eyes.

She smiled back. It was nice.

And as Hedwig somehow managed to ruffle the girl's hair affectionately with her beak, Hermione admitted to herself that maybe this agreeing to disagree thing wasn't so bad.

The entrance to Gryffindor Tower was covered by a huge painting of a fat woman.

A talking, singing, fat woman aptly named the Fat Lady.

Hermione had seen moving, magical pictures before, almost all of her books had them, and even some of the portraits they walked past on the way here had moved and said hello, but the Fat Lady was the first that she'd seen that talked and acted like a normal person, instead of just repeating the same actions in an endless loop.

Were the other portraits like this too? Could they too sing and pretend their voices could break glass like the Fat Lady was doing?

Wait, maybe the Fat Lady was on a loop too. Maybe this act was one of the numbers she could perform, and it only looked new to Hermione because she'd never seen it before.

So maybe if the pictures in her books could be likened in complexity to a telephone, then someone like the Fat Lady would be akin to a much more advanced machine like a mainframe.

Oh, magic was so very exciting!

"Caput Draconis," Prefect Percy repeated more forcefully, and The Fat Lady swung open with a sulky "oh, all right then" to reveal the circular entrance into the Gryffindor common room.

As the other students entered, Harry told The Fat Lady "don't mind him, I thought your singing was electric."

"Why, thank you, Potter," the woman said happily.

The Gryffindor common room was large, round, and homey. It was designed in Gryffindor colours, red and gold, and it had a fireplace that burned a merry orange.

There were some students lounging in the common room, mostly older ones, and their attention focused on the first years as they walked in.

Harry came in beside her. He looked around at the common room, then back at the entrance which had closed behind him and a thoughtful look came over his face.

"Only one exit," he mused. "Huh. I wonder if anyone else has realised how much of a fire hazard that is."

Hermione began to roll her eyes when she stopped and actually thought about it.

Harry actually wasn't wrong.

All the same. "Harry, I'm quite certain Hogwarts castle has all sorts of magical protections against fire already."

"And I'm quite certain you'd be surprised," Harry said simply.

One of the sitting students, a girl with a prefect's badge, stood up and walked over.

Prefect Percy introduced her. "Everyone, this is Loveth Hyperion, a fifth year prefect. She will be showing the girls to their dorms."

"Come with me, firsties," the girl, a tall, pencil-necked blonde, said, as she headed for one of the two spiraling staircases connected to the common room.

Hedwig flew off Hermione's shoulder and perched on Harry's head as his group walked up the other staircase. The boy eyed the bird quietly, then waved at Hermione. Hermione waved back, laughing lightly at their antics.

Two of the first-year girls walking beside her giggled.

They climbed the stairs until they got to the very top, then Prefect Loveth pushed open a door and led them all in.

The first-year girls' dorm was round, had one big open window with a balcony, a door that led to the bathrooms, and five four-poster canopy beds with lovely wooden dressers beside them.

The dressers came complete with shelves and full-length mirrors, and, built into the walls, one to a bed, were rather large wardrobes.

The walls were painted a bright red, the curtains a dark red with gold trimmings, and on the floor in the middle of the room, laid a thick, soft carpet with the Gryffindor logo.

In all, the dorm was quite impressive, even if it did have an overabundance of Gryffindor colours.

No matter, Hermione supposed she would get used to it in time.

"Find the bed with your luggage next to it," Prefect Loveth said, and as the girls moved to obey, added, "welcome to Hogwarts" and left.

Hermione found her singular trunk by the bed closest to the window, and went about arranging her things how she wanted them.

Something odd caught her eye in her mirror; her robe now had a Gryffindor badge on the left breast.

When had that happened? She didn't think it was during the feast. Hermione fingered the badge and found it stuck fast.

Huh.

She surreptitiously peeked at the other girls, and found that their robes too were now spontaneously sporting Gryffindor badges that they didn't seem to have noticed.

Curious, she opened the clothes section of her magical trunk, and found, with some surprise and much amazement, that her three spare uniform robes now also had Gryffindor badges.

This was amazing.

Amazing, and a little eerie.

As Hermione marveled over the wonders of magic, two of her new dormmates, the two who had giggled earlier walked over.

They looked relaxed in each other's presence, like they'd been friends since long before Hogwarts.

"Hi," the shorter one said, speaking for both. "I'm Lavender, this is my friend Parvati."

Hermione stood straight and stretched out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The girls giggled, and Hermione noticed the other two girls trying, and failing, to act like they weren't listening.

Hermione started to worry a little bit, and she slowly put her hand back down.

"We know your name, silly," Lavender said.

"Everybody does," Parvati added.

Hermione's worry was slightly eroded by confusion.

"They do?" She asked.

"Of course," Lavender gushed. "You're the talk of the school. Who would have thought that Harry Potter would have a girlfriend?"

...

Why her?

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: last one for the day.

---

"Lollipop," said the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Minerva McGonagall, and the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Head's Office leapt aside to permit her entry.

Minerva almost sighed as she stepped onto the staircase and it began to ascend. Albus Dumbledore's proclivity for using muggle confections as the passwords to his office had been amusing at some point, now however, it was just another of the ageing Headmaster's antics that mostly left her fondly exasperated.

The staircase finally stopped, and Minerva pushed open the heavy oak doors and strode into Albus' office, where she was greeted by the familiar tweaking, and popping, and fizzing sounds that the odd instruments all over the room tended to make.

The man himself was seated at his large, claw-footed desk. His familiar, Fawkes, was perched on the surface near him, with Albus running his thin, long fingers through the phoenix's vibrant, red plumage, and on the other end of the table, sat the Sorting Hat, old and worn, but somehow, still in one piece despite all these years.

Both of those were usually on their respective perches, which was not Albus' desk.

"Ah, Minerva," Albus Dumbledore said as she came in, "thank you for coming."

Minerva dipped her head slightly at the phoenix as she sat. "Fawkes," she said in greeting. She was one of the few who understood that the firebird was much more than a mere animal.

The phoenix dipped his head distractedly in return. The bird looked almost euphoric.

"Seeing Harry with his owl today made me realise how much I've been neglecting poor Fawkes recently," Albus said, and Minerva hummed thoughtfully.

Before she could say anything however, Albus asked, gaze thoughtful. "What did you think of the boy, Minnie?"

Minerva was surprised. Not at the question, no, she'd known Albus had called her here to discuss Harry, what surprised her was that he hadn't offered her a sweet before beginning.

It would appear this was more serious than she'd thought.

"I thought he was a lot like James," she said. "Confident, charismatic... too much of a jokester."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Albus agreed, and though he smiled while he said it, Minerva could see that the thought didn't really please him, and she had a suspicion as to why.

Albus had been hoping for more of Lily in the boy.

Not that she could fault him for that, she had hoped the same. While James' heart had always been in the right place, it was Lily who had helped him become the remarkable man most remembered. Lily who had given James a reason to want to be better. Minerva supposed that both she and Albus had hoped that Harry would have enough of his mother in him, despite his physical resemblance to James, that he would never have to go through the... phase that James had in his younger years.

Alas, it looked like that would not be happening.

Then again, there was the Granger girl. She seemed like she had a good, steady head on her shoulders. Maybe she could be for Harry what his mother was for James.

Though, it might be a tad soon to tell.

As though he could read her mind, Albus asked, "and what about Harry's friend, Hermione Granger? What would you say is Harry's opinion of her?"

Unbidden, the memory of Harry's words to the girl on the way to The Great Hall came to Minerva, and she relayed the information to Albus.

"He sounded like he meant every word," she added, when she was done.

Oddly enough, Albus looked somewhat troubled when he replied, "I'm quite certain he did." And with the way he said it, Minerva was unsure if Albus was saying he was certain Harry had meant every word, or if he was saying he was sure Harry had sounded like he meant every word.

There was a difference in there somewhere.

Minerva shook away those thoughts. "I suspect he was just trying to flatter her," she said.

"He wasn't," The Sorting Hat, Nilrem, disagreed, speaking up for the first time since the conversation began. "He may have exaggerated a little bit, but he was right; Hermione Granger is most certainly a pupil to look out for." A pause, then: "she asked me my name."

Minerva's eyebrows climbed.

Only a dozen pupils had ever asked the hat for his name since the founding of Hogwarts, and for good or ill, all twelve of them had become very amazing witches and wizards.

Of their number, the last two were the only ones still alive today; Albus Dumbledore, and Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Well, looks like Harry has more of his mother in him than we thought," Minerva said.

Lily had always been gifted at seeing the shine in people, regardless of their exterior. Although, as Snape proved, it was up to the person themselves to polish that shine into something worthwhile.

Albus still looked worried however, and it was starting to make Minerva worry too, so, finally, she came right out and asked. "What is it, Albus? You seem worried."

Albus Dumbledore's bright blue eyes peered at her over his half-moon spectacles. There was no twinkle. "Nilrem," Albus said, "please tell Minerva what you told me about Harry."

"As I told you, and the boy himself, Albus; his head is the most interesting one I've ever sat on."

Minerva blinked. So that was why the boy had made the comment about being special.

"What do you mean by interesting?" The woman asked the hat.

"It's his soul," the hat replied. "It has more weight than it should. Not quite that of two but—" the hat sighed "—much more than a boy should have."

Minerva looked from the hat to Albus and back again. "What does this mean?" She asked the two.

It was Dumbledore who spoke, his fingers having not ceased their stroking of his now sleeping familiar's feathers even once. "I believe it would behoove us to keep a close eye on Harry, Minerva. Just to be sure."

Why they needed to keep a close eye on Harry? Albus hadn't said.

Sure of what? Albus hadn't said.

What the thing with Harry's soul meant? Albus hadn't said.

And though she would have liked to have those questions answered, and it rankled knowing that Albus would not answer them even if she asked until she was blue in the face, Minerva nodded and agreed with The Headmaster's request.

Because he was a man she trusted and respected, and once, long ago, loved, and she would follow him anywhere.

They talked about some other things, trivial things, and a few minutes later, Minerva left the office she tried not to remember would be hers one day. Probably soon. And returned to her quarters.

She slept fitfully, and when she woke the morning after, she could not remember if she'd dreamed.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: since i apparently have to say this; please don't leave spoilers in the comments.

If you absolutely have to talk about something that happens later on in the story, then use a spoiler tag, or whatever it's called. Thanks.

---

Hermione Granger woke from a deep, restful sleep, and was done with her morning rituals before any of her dormmates even woke.

She hadn't set an alarm, she was simply an early riser, being able to wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at six every morning, as long as she didn't stay up too late the night before.

At 6:30, she headed down to the common room, wondering if she should go wake Harry up so that they could grab breakfast together, or if it would be better to go by herself.

She didn't want to seem clingy, after all, and her mum had told her that boys her age didn't really like to hang out with girls too much, since they didn't want to seem effeminate.

Hmm.

It would probably be better for her to go by herself, she decided. Harry was the only friend she currently had, it wouldn't do to make him feel the need to pull away (especially since the thought of having to befriend any of the girls in her dorm made her a little wary, since it seemed like all they wanted to do was ask her uncomfortable questions about her "relationship" with Harry).

"Ohayō," Harry said from beside her as she entered the common room, and Hermione jumped.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

He looked at her like she had said something weird. "Waiting for you, obviously. Wanna go get breakfast?"

"Yes. Okay," she said, and Harry led the way.

Hermione really should have realized by now that Harry Potter was not like other boys.

After the portrait swung closed behind them, Harry turned to The Fat Lady and said, "good morning."

"Good morning to you too, Harry," The Fat Lady replied. "Did you enjoy your first night in Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, it was great. The beds are crazy soft; I almost overslept."

The Fat Lady smiled. "Looks like you woke up early enough," she said.

Harry shrugged, then said, "oh yeah, I forgot to ask you last night. Do you have a name?"

The woman paused, and Hermione frowned. Why would Harry ask a question like that? The Fat Lady obviously isn't a real person, she's just a simulacrum of one. Of course she wouldn't have a name.

Then The Fat Lady smiled at Harry with some powerful emotion glittering in her eyes and said, "my name is Jolene, Harry. Thank you for asking."

Hermione missed whatever Harry said in return, because her blood had run cold. "You have a name?" She asked.

The Fat Lady, Jolene, rolled her eyes. "Of course I have a name," she said. "You didn't think us paintings don't have names, did you?"

Yes, she had. Of course, she had. What else was she supposed to think?

"So—" Hermione licked her suddenly dry lips "—does that mean that you're all real people in there?" She asked, dreading the answer.

"Of course, we are," The Fat Jolene replied, then asked, "Are you a muggleborn?"

"What—how was that relevant!? You're trapped in a painting!" Hermione near-shouted in horror.

"Well, from my perspective, you're trapped in a painting, you know?" Jolene said casually, and Hermione had to pause at that.

"What?"

"Think about it, Hermione," Harry said. "From her perspective she's looking out her window, or maybe into a painting, and seeing us here. In her eyes, we're the ones trapped in this world."

Trapped in this world? "But she's two-dimensional."

"Why, I never!" The Fat Lady said, insulted.

Hermione reeled. "I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you, I just..." she stopped and took a breath. "I'm sorry. Like you said, I'm a muggleborn. Magic is all so new to me and I'm having trouble understanding your point of view. I really am sorry."

Jolene still looked somewhat annoyed, but she said, "oh, that's quite alright, dear. I suppose I was a bit too harsh myself."

"Thanks, Jolene," Harry said, thankfully keeping everything from becoming awkward. "We'll be heading down for breakfast now."

"Very well. Take care you two."

Hermione and Harry waved as they walked away, but the girl still had the thoughts on her mind.

"Are you sure she wasn't brainwashed?" She asked Harry. "Maybe whoever put her in there cast a spell on her to make her okay with being trapped."

Harry stared at her. "What happened to being sorry and trying to understand her point of view?" He asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Like Harry had never heard of fibbing before. "Harry, that woman has been imprisoned in a painting and brainwashed to think she's okay with it, we have to—"

"Okay," Harry cut in, "let me just stop you right there. How about before we go around freeing all the poor people in the paintings, we do some actual research to see if they need it? You know, like scientists. Instead of Facebook conspiracy theorists."

Hermione frowned. "What's Facebook?"

"Irrelevant." Harry waved away the question. "However, do tell your parents that if they ever get the opportunity to invest in a company named Facebook they should definitely take it. Google too. But, like I said, irrelevant. Anyway, back to this painting business. Hermione, the Magical World has an arseload of sentient and semi-sentient objects hanging around. Hell, in Hogwarts alone, between the paintings, the statues, the suits of armour—"

Wait, the what?

"—The Sorting Hat," Harry paused. "Damn it, I forgot to ask The Sorting Hat his name. How did I forget this? It was like the first thing I wanted to say."

"It's Nilrem," Hermione said.

"Huh? What is what?"

"The Sorting Hat; his name is Nilrem."

Harry gave her a long look. "You asked The Sorting Hat his name?"

There was something about the way he said it, like the possibility of her doing such a thing never even occurred to him, that annoyed her a little bit. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"What? No, no, I just... I just never imagined you would, I guess," Harry said with a pensive frown. "Huh. Why did you ask him?"

She was about to give some throwaway response like "why wouldn't I?" when she actually thought about it for longer than a second and wondered, why had she asked Nilrem his name?

Thinking back on it now, she realised that she hadn't been the least bit curious about it. She hadn't even thought the old hat had a name, and yet, somehow, she'd asked.

"I don't know," she admitted finally. "I just... did."

Breakfast was served in Hogwarts from 6:15am-7:45am on the weekdays. The dishes appeared at 6:15 on the dot, and everything, aside from pitchers of water and some beverages, disappeared at exactly 7:45, therefore, when Hermione and Harry arrived at The Great Hall at 6:45, breakfast had technically been in session for thirty minutes, even though there were only a handful of people present yet.

The children sat at the Gryffindor table and served themselves, and as they began to eat, Hedwig swooped down to them.

The owl dropped a folded newspaper on the table before Hermione, before she perched and began to drink from Harry's cup of water.

The boy stared at his familiar with visible disgust. "Please, tell me you brushed your beak this morning," he implored, and Hedwig of course ignored him.

Hermione picked up the newspaper. It was that morning's edition of The Daily Prophet, and she found that it was the lightest newspaper she'd ever seen, with just three sheets of paper when spread out at the center.

The headline on the front page read, Beloved Hero & Acclaimed Author, Gilderoy Lockhart, Awarded Order of Merlin, Third Class.

The accompanying image was a magical photograph of a handsome man with a roguish smile that exposed very white teeth.

The man in the image winked at her and Hermione blushed.

"So, uh, Hedwig," Harry said conversationally, "you mind telling us where you got the newspaper?"

Hermione blinked. "Where did she get the newspaper?" She asked Harry.

"I have no idea." Harry shrugged, unperturbed. "Knowing Hedwig though, she probably murdered some poor owl and stole it off her corpse."

"Harry!"

"Relax, Hermione. Hedwig's smart enough to wipe her tracks."

"Harry!" She chastised again, but she was laughing now.

"What? It's either that or the slammer, Hermione." A dramatic pause. "And she's never going back."

Getting her laughter under control, the girl said, "they don't make jails for birds, Harry."

"Well, no, not yet," the boy agreed. "But with the recent rise in homicidal owls, I can assure you that there's a growing demand."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't mind him, Hedwig," she said. "I know you're a good bird. You wouldn't do anything illegal."

The owl gave her a look.

"You wouldn't, right?" She asked, voice suddenly less sure.

The owl went back to eating.

"You were saying?" The Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Her asked, and Hermione quietly set the paper as far away from herself as she could, and went back to her meal.

An influx of students strode into the hall then, and Hermione looked up to see a small group of Slytherins, which included Draco Malfoy and his two... friends (?), as well as the two girls Harry had kept from entering their boat yesterday, Daphne and Tracey.

Daphne looked in her direction, and their eyes met. Hermione quickly looked away.

She still felt terrible about what Harry had done to the girl and her friend yesterday at the lake. She wished she could apologize. After all, it wasn't like Harry would ever do it, she thought staring at the boy.

"I can feel your eyes burning holes in my skull, Hermione," Harry said without looking from his plate. "What up?"

She almost didn't say anything. Not after she'd already decided there was no point.

"I think you should apologize. To Daphne and Tracey. You were very rude to them yesterday."

Instead of a joke, or a diversion, or any of the thousand different responses she expected, Hermione got a pensive frown instead.

"You're right," Harry said finally. "That wasn't really my finest moment, was it? I guess, it's a little hard sometimes remembering that people are much more than just words on paper."

Huh?

"Make sure Hedwig doesn't eat all my food, will you?" He asked, then, to her surprise, rose and walked over to the Slytherin table.

Hermione didn't really hear what was said, but at one point, many eyes from the Slytherin table glanced at her, Malfoy adding his trademark sneer to his. Harry even turned and waved.

Maybe she didn't quite think this through.

After a minute, Harry returned, smiling pleasantly. That was never a good sign.

"So," Harry said as he sat, "I've got good news, and I've got bad news."

"What's the bad news?" She asked immediately.

Harry sighed. "This is why I don't work with pessimists," he muttered. "The good news, is that Daphne seems to have forgiven me, and Tracey has even stopped holding a grudge since yesterday."

"And the bad?"

"Well, the bad is why she stopped holding a grudge. See, she said, and I quote 'it's fine. But next time, just say you want to be alone with your girlfriend instead of acting like a jerk.'"

Hermione stared at the boy.

"No." She shook her head in denial.

"Yes." Harry nodded with a smile.

★★★​

The first-years had two classes on Mondays, Transfiguration and Defence, and despite the events of that morning, or perhaps because of them, Hermione was so excited/nervous for the lesson, that she made sure they were there by 7:40.

Which made them twenty minutes early.

The classroom was large, empty, and set up like a lecture hall, with seating for three arranged on steps that climbed over six levels at the very back. And Hermione and Harry... well, actually, Hermione picked a seat at the very front of the empty classroom, and they settled in.

"Looks like Prof. McGonagall isn't here yet," Hermione mused out loud.

She wondered where the professor was, seeing as the older woman had left The Great Hall several minutes before they had. Maybe she had some other engagement to attend to.

"Maybe she had to go number two." Harry shrugged.

"Harry! That's disgusting."

"Uh, no, it's a natural, biological process, and it would be really weird if she didn't do it."

"Well, we're not talking about our professor's... processes, Harry."

The infuriating boy just laughed.

Over time, the class slowly filled, as first-years from all houses came in twos and threes, and sometimes more.

Within that time, Hermione prepared for the upcoming class, setting out her quills, an inkpot, and some parchment to take notes on.

At her behest for him to do the same, Harry fished in his bag and pulled out a muggle notebook and pen.

Hermione gave him a sour look, the innocent expression on his face not fooling her for one second.

"Must you cause trouble with everything?" She asked, darn near exasperated.

"I'm pretty sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry replied.

Hermione Granger, being the bigger person, gracefully ignored him.

At eight on the dot, a tabby cat trotted in, and the door closed behind it.

The cat climbed Prof. McGonagall's desk, all eyes on it, then it leapt, and transformed mid-air into the dignified form of Prof. McGonagall.

Almost everyone gasped.

Harry didn't, but Hermione could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was impressed.

"Settle down, everyone," Prof. McGonagall said, and the students obeyed. "I am Prof. McGonagall, and I will be teaching you Transfiguration for the duration of your schooling at Hogwarts. For your first lesson, we'll start with—"

Harry raised a hand, and the professor's eyes homed in on him.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Sorry for interrupting, professor, but I'm really curious and there's very little information about this in the bookstores in Diagon Alley. Anyway, your animagus form, does it affect your human one at all? Like, does the fact that you're a cat animagus make you like fish more, or have a better sense of balance or something?"

Prof. McGonagall eyed the boy. "And what brought on this interest in animagic, Mr. Potter? You wouldn't be planning to attempt it, would you?"

"Never," Harry said without missing a beat. "My interest is purely academic."

Hermione decided then and there that Prof. McGonagall must be a very smart woman, because she didn't look like she believed Harry at all.

She was willing to play along however, because she began an impromptu lecture, speaking to the entire class instead of just Harry. "Animagic is one of the most advanced forms of Transfiguration. Also one of the most dangerous." She shot Harry a warning look. He smiled placidly in return. "Even the smallest mistake can leave you permanently trapped in a form that is half-beast and half-human, and it is very easy to make a mistake. Do not attempt it on your own, even if you learn how; not only do you risk permanent disfigurement, being an unlicensed animagus is a crime punishable by time in Azkaban. Am I clear?"

Everyone, Hermione and Harry included, replied with an obedient "yes, professor."

"Good. Now for today's lesson, you all will be attempting one of the simplest transfiguration spells available, a spell that was invented by our very own Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, back when he taught Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. Before that however, it is important that you learn the basics of The Art of Transfiguration itself, as well as some rules to this branch of magic..." And with that Prof. McGonagall launched into her lecture.

It was a long lecture; lasted over an hour, and Hermione did her best to keep up with her notetaking. But despite the hours of practice she had put into learning to use a quill (practice that showed, considering she was the best with a quill in the class among all those who hadn't grown up in the Magical World), the constant dipping, and the need to write softly, and the rare, but too frequent, accidental inkblots were starting to grate on her.

Harry offered her a spare pen.

The clear superiority in his expression was galling, but the smile he gave her when she took the pen and muttered "thanks" wasn't.

"You're welcome," he said.

Prof. McGonagall talked about many things. About how powerful, and wondrous and dangerous The Art of Transfiguration could be, and how much like developing a physical skill, one could build 'muscle memory' for magic too. And that was why spells like the one they would be learning today were important to start their education with because they took little skill to cast, and the repercussions, in the event of failure, were much less dangerous for other spells.

Some of it were things Hermione had gleaned from her personal study, but there was much more that she hadn't known, and from the lecture, Hermione suspected that Prof. McGonagall was only just scraping the surface.

Eventually, the lecture wound down, and Prof. McGonagall asked if anyone had questions. There were a few, but Hermione and Harry had none, and soon the class moved to the practical aspect.

Like most basic Transfiguration spells, the spell they were learning today had no official name; it was simply called the Matchstick to Needle Transfiguration spell, and was one of the many like it that had been invented by the Headmaster.

"Now, everyone," Prof. McGonagall said when everybody had a few boxes of magically-delivered matches before them. "Remember, this spell has no required wand-motion, so try not to move your wand around when you cast. If you must do something with your wand touch it to the matchstick. The incantation is acus."

Several cries of "acus" rang out in the classroom as Hermione attempted the spell herself.

"Acus," she said, tapping her wand-tip to the matchstick, and it transformed into a perfect needle.

She was pleased, she had never attempted that spell before.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," Prof. McGonagall said from halfway across the classroom where Hermione had thought she was keeping an eye on some Hufflepuffs. "Five points each to Gryffindor."

Hermione beamed, then looked at Harry, who also had a perfect needle in front of him.

Their first points! They just won their first points!

Almost like he could hear her thoughts, Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face," he said, but not unkindly.

Ronald Weasley, who was sitting behind them with Neville, craned his head to look at their work. "You got it already? Great," he muttered petulantly, then proceeded to attempt to transfigure his matchstick by poking it as hard as he could with his wand.

Hermione was about to tell him he was doing it wrong, when a small explosion erupted farther back in the classroom, and Prof. McGonagall rushed over to see what had gone wrong.

By the time Hermione looked back to their own table, Harry had apparently begun some kind of impromptu art project.

"What are you doing?" She asked, watching as he transfigured another matchstick and used the sticking charm to attach it to another needle.

"Making a spider," Harry said and pushed his notebook toward her, where she saw a very rough drawing of a large spider.

She wanted to tell him to stop. That they definitely should not be doing this in Prof. McGonagall's class, but instead, she made a new, better drawing on the opposite page.

"You missed a few things," she said. "Spiders only have two body parts; a cephalothorax and an abdomen, and their legs are more spread out. Which species were you planning to make?"

They quickly fell into a rhythm, turning matchsticks to needles with Hermione directing where to stick them together. And slowly the arachnid came into shape. First with the cephalothorax, then the abdomen, all of it a hollow network of needles that was literally held together by magic.

They used beads for eyes, beads they transfigured from small balls of paper (another of the beginner transfiguration spells), and by the end, Hermione had to admit that, while not a masterpiece by any means, their sculpture was quite beautiful in a weird, silly way.

And then she looked up and saw Prof. McGonagall watching them.

Oh bother.

"Practicing the spell, I see," the woman observed.

"Yup," Harry said, perfectly unbothered. "And we figured, 'why not make it interesting?'"

"I see," the professor said, as Hermione began to panic a little.

Prof. McGonagall was going to take points. She was going to take points because they were distracted in her class, and Hermione would have lost Gryffindor points.

"If you can animate it, I'll give you both twenty points to Gryffindor," Prof. McGonagall waited a beat. "Each."

Hermione blinked, then she and Harry stared at each other.

"Wait, when you say animate, do you mean—"

"A basic animation spell will suffice, Mr. Potter," Prof. McGonagall assured. "No need to risk anything advanced."

Hermione and Harry stared at each other again.

"There is that Year two animation spell," Harry suggested.

"Augurs' Animation spell," Hermione agreed. "Animates any object in the likeness of an animal to be that animal, without transmuting any of its material aspects."

Harry nodded. "You should cast it," he said. "You're more likely to get it on the first try."

"I've seen your spellwork, Harry. You can cast spells I never even think of."

"Together then," the boy said.

They readied their wands. Performed the wand-motion, two quick flicks, carefully, then incanted, "animato."

Nothing happened, and the disappointment Hermione felt was much more than she'd thought she would feel.

Then the spider twitched. Once. Twice. Then it skittered forward, its pointy, metallic legs making rapid clicking sounds on the table.

Ron moaned piteously behind her. "Did it have to be a spider?" He asked.

Hermione turned, and noticed that he and Neville, as well most of the class was watching.

With a few flicks of her wand, Prof. McGonagall conjured a big, glass box around the spider, which the creature kept bumping into the walls of.

"Looks like our spider's lacking in the brain department," Harry observed.

"As promised, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Twenty points each to Gryffindor."

The Gryffindors cheered. The Slytherins scowled, and some even muttered about favoritism. And while the look of pride Prof. McGonagall gave her pleased her greatly, for some reason, it was Harry's smile that stuck to her mind the most.

Maybe the boy wasn't all bad, she decided.

★★★​

Harry was acting strange.

Well, strange-er.

It was lunch time, and the class they had next was Defence, and it seemed like the closer it got to the start of that period, the more nervous, and withdrawn Harry became.

Hermione couldn't understand it. She hadn't known Harry could get nervous or withdrawn.

Right as she decided to bite the bullet and ask, Harry spoke.

"Do you know I almost didn't come?" He asked, then stared at her. "To Hogwarts," he clarified.

What!?

"Why?"

"You have no idea how many times I considered cleaning out my vault and just disappearing into the wind," he said, seemingly not hearing her question. "The desire was so strong sometimes."

Hermione tried to understand what Harry was saying.

Finally, because she thought she might understand better if she did, she asked, "why did you come? If you didn't want to."

Harry smiled at her, and it was one of his mischievous ones. "To meet you," he said. "Why else would I come?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her meal, but even though she did, she didn't discount any of the things he'd said.

Well, except for the last one. That one was obviously just him pulling her leg.

The closer they got to the Defence classroom, the more withdrawn Harry became. He tried to hide it. Tried to act like his former behaviour had all been one big prank, but she caught the deep, arming breath he took before he stepped into Prof. Quirrel's classroom, and she didn't think the strong smell of garlic everywhere was why he did it.

As the class carried on, Harry never said a word and barely took any notes, and Hermione noticed that he never looked at Prof. Quirrel directly, not even when the man's back was turned.

On the professor's own part Hermione didn't notice anything odd, besides of course the fact that the man who was supposed to teach them to protect themselves, looked like he would pass out at the sight of his own shadow.

It was frustrating, because there was clearly something wrong with her friend and she had no idea what it was, or how she could help.

Which was why sometime during the lesson, Hermione reached out with her left hand under the table and took Harry's right, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

And it was a very good thing Harry turned out to be ambidextrous, because he never let go.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

As soon as Prof. Quirrel ended the class, half the first-years practically scrambled for the door in an attempt to get their first whiff of fresh air in three hours.

Hermione didn't, but even she had to agree that, after spending the last three hours in a stuffy classroom that reeked of garlic and other pungent odours, the somewhat musty air of the castle hallways felt divine going down her windpipe.

"Ugh!" Hermione heard Lavender groan to Parvati. "My hair smells like garlic. This won't ever wash out!"

Hermione failed to catch Parvati's response as Harry spoke.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing in appreciation.

Hermione squeezed back, noticing how Harry appeared to get less worried the farther behind them the class got. "What happened, Harry?" Hermione had to ask. "Why were you so upset? I was worried."

Harry sighed. "Let's just say Prof. Quirrel and I have some... unfinished business," he said.

"You've met before?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

"But he didn't look like he recognized you."

"Oh, he did. He definitely did."

At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind them.

"Holding hands with your girlfriend, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asked, the sneer in his voice plain as day.

Hermione realised that she was still holding Harry's hand, and she began to let go, before she asked herself a very simple question.

Why should she have to be self-conscious and avoid holding her own friend's hand, simply because of what snobby bullies like Malfoy thought?

So she didn't let go of Harry's hand. He let go of hers.

Then threw it around her shoulder as he turned them to face Draco.

"Draco," Harry said, all smiles. And if Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought he was genuinely happy to see the boy.

Then again, Harry did derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from messing with people, so maybe he was genuinely happy to see Draco.

Draco had his two usual acquaintances flanking him, his silver-blond hair was slicked back as always, and the expected sneer sat on his face, curling his thin lips.

Atypical, was the Slytherin girl standing closely beside him. She was quite thin, and tall for her age, with a head of lovely, black hair that made Hermione feel even more self-conscious of the bushy mane that graced her own head.

Most importantly however, was the snooty expression on her face that could give Malfoy's a run for its money.

"How you doing today?" Harry continued.

Draco sneer somehow deepened, and he gave Hermione a dismissive look that portrayed his very unflattering opinion of her.

"Much better than you for sure, if you've taken a muggle for a girlfriend," Malfoy replied.

Hermione frowned. That sounded like it was meant to be an insult. Not a very good one though. To be honest Hermione was much more offended by Malfoy's attitude towards her.

The girl standing beside Malfoy tittered in a way she seemed to think was adorable, as she shot Hermione a cruel look.

"Now, now, Draco," Harry chastised gently, almost condescendingly. "We've talked about this. There's no need for you to be jealous, I'm sure Pansy over there would love to be your girlfriend."

The girl beside Draco, Pansy apparently, jerked ramrod straight like she'd just been caught with her hand in the stewpot.

Hermione almost snickered.

Draco scoffed, not even noticing Pansy's reaction. "Unlike you, Potter, I don't spend all my time with girls." He practically sneered the last word.

Harry's response was a placid "give it time, Draco. Give it time."

The blond scoffed again, then stormed off, his entourage following behind. The two big boys (she really needed to learn their names) leered at them threateningly, but Pansy shyly avoided meeting their eyes.

As they walked away, Harry called, "hey, Pansy," and all four Slytherins turned. Then Harry gave the girl a thumbs up and said, "I'm rooting for you."

Pansy's face turned a fierce red, and she quickly scurried off to the confusion of the three Slytherin boys.

Harry heaved a deep, contented sigh, then looked at her. "What do you say we head over to Hagrid's for that tour he promised us?"

★★★​

Hagrid lived in a hut at the edge of The Forbidden Forest that was much too small for him.

For a normal-sized man, it would be a rather roomy abode, but since he, and nearly everything he owned, were super-sized, the interior ended up cramped and stuffy.

And his really huge dog (which he'd aptly named Fang, considering the really big ones the creature had), wasn't helping matters.

When Hagrid had first opened the door to welcome them in, the dog rushed out, and Harry, the boy who called himself her friend, had promptly hidden behind her. So not only was she sitting in a cramped, stuffy cabin, she also had the dog's huge, hot head on her legs, and reeked of its slobber.

Hermione felt like the stink eye she shot Harry was well-deserved.

Hagrid gave them tea, and something he called rock cakes, but which Hermione suspected were painted rocks, since she seemed more likely to chip a tooth than to bite through them.

They made small talk, mostly Hagrid asking them how they liked Hogwarts so far, and Hermione didn't even have to feign her enthusiasm about how fantastical everything had been.

There was one odd moment where she'd leafed through a few weeks old Daily Prophet sitting on the table, and as soon as she'd mentioned the article in there about Gringotts getting broken into, Hagrid had snatched the paper away and acted very bizarre, while giving Harry worried glances.

Harry himself had simply rolled his eyes and ignored the topic altogether.

The tour Hagrid finally took them on almost half an hour later, turned out to be worth the wait.

It took some effort, but Harry managed to convince the large man to take them into The Forbidden Forest, and it was in there that Hermione came across unicorns for the first time in her life.

It was a mare and her foal, both of them white and pristine, and seeming to glow with an inner light. The mare's mane and tail were a bright sky-blue, and the foal's were similar, but darker, and when the unicorns spotted them, the foal rushed to Hagrid like he was a favourite uncle.

The half-giant lifted the unicorn clean off the ground, holding it up like other men would a kitten, and the animal brayed playfully.

When Hagrid set the unicorn down, he introduced Hermione and Harry to the baby unicorn and its mother, and while the mother seemed watchful of the human children, the foal took to them instantly.

Soon, there were three running children (and a dog that looked glum because he was left out) shrieking with delight as they played a game of tag, where the foal was always it. Mostly because the little unicorn didn't really seem to understand the rules of the game.

After an hour, panting and sweaty, Harry and Hermione had to say goodbye as it was getting dark.

Spirit (Harry suggested the name, and the little unicorn had happily taken to it) was sad, but Hermione and Harry managed to convince her that they would come back when they could.

When they neared the border of the forest, Hagrid left them to go back in, saying there was a friend he needed to see, and they said goodbye to him too and went their separate ways.

"I wonder why the Headmaster had said The Forbidden Forest is dangerous," Hermione mused. "The unicorns were ever so charming."

"Yeah, it wasn't the unicorns he was talking about," Harry said. "Personally, I'm thinking it was the giant, man-eating spiders."

Hermione stumbled. "There are giant, man-eating spiders in this forest?" She asked, hoping against all hope that he was joking.

But Harry wasn't joking, and his next words were even harder to believe. "Uh-huh. Their leader is Hagrid's life-long friend too." A pause. "That's probably the friend he was speaking of just now even."

Hermione decided right then that it might be best to be far away from the darkening interior of the forest.

On their way back to the castle, they came across a woman, or, more accurately, they were waylaid by a woman.

One moment it was just she and Harry for as far as the eye could see on this side of the school grounds, and in the next, a voice came from behind them. "Well, well, if it isn't Hogwarts hottest couple?"

Hermione and Harry both jumped, but unlike her, Harry pulled out his wand and looked ready to start flinging curses.

The woman, who was heavily made up and wore red robes that the only adjective for was ostentatious, looked perfectly unbothered to be facing Harry's wand, and smiled instead.

The simple expression caused a shiver to run down Hermione's spine.

Harry instantly pocketed his wand and smiled winsomely, and Hermione instantly knew that, somehow, they were in a Malfoy Situation.

"Sweet Merlin," Harry said. "Rita Skeeter?"

The woman, Skeeter, was clearly surprised to be recognized, but the surprise quickly turned to pleasure.

"Oh, you've heard of me?" Ms. Skeeter asked.

Harry rolled his eyes like she was being silly. "Please, you're the premium reporter for Magical Britain. I'd have to live under a rock not to have heard of you."

Hermione had never heard of Rita Skeeter.

Ms. Skeeter somehow managed to look even more pleased.

"Anyway, I take it you want an interview?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes. Thank you," Ms. Skeeter said, and a levitating parchment with a quill that was scribbling furiously, floated out from behind her back. "You don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?" She asked.

"No, please," Harry said, and the interview began.

It was... confusing. Hermione was asked a total of three questions:

When did she and Harry meet?

How did they meet?

Had she kissed him yet?

Harry answered all three.

When did they meet? Oh, the day before, on The Hogwarts Express.

How they met? Apparently, Harry had been looking for someone to sit with, since he was so new and ignorant of The Magical World, and Hermione had been nice enough to welcome him into her compartment.

Had they kissed? Harry had squeezed her hand before she could angrily retort at this... reporter, and he'd blushed and muttered "not really."

The angry flush on her own face must have looked like a blush too, because the woman seemed to draw her own conclusions from that, and wiggled her eyebrows at them.

Ew!

A few minutes into the interview, Harry had apologized to the woman, lying that they homework to do and really needed to be going.

She happily agreed, looking like she'd just gotten the scoop of her career.

They walked away after Ms. Skeeter took a magical photograph of the two of them from an old-style camera she pulled out of her too small purse.

Hermione was boiling all the while.

As soon as they entered the castle through one of the numerous side entrances, Harry stopped, and right as Hermione was going to start asking him just why the heck he'd done all of that, he said, "I'm sorry."

Hmph! Well, at least he realised he needed to apologize.

Unfortunately, that still didn't answer the question.

"Why?" Hermione asked Harry, her brown eyes meeting his almost too-green ones. "Why lie, Harry? Why pretend? Why not just tell her the truth so she can leave us alone?"

"Because she wouldn't," Harry said. "Rita Skeeter is the worst kind of bug, Hermione. Literally. If we had refused her interview, or denied her "her story", we would have become her enemies. And that woman doesn't know the meaning of the words Journalistic Integrity. She would have printed whatever the hell she wanted, and everybody would have taken it as gospel."

Hermione blanked. "...But that's not possible, Harry. You can't just... print whatever you want."

"Around here you can. And as long as it comes out in The Daily Prophet, no one will question it. Even if it makes no bloody sense at all. And Rita Skeeter is petty, and she is cruel, and she will not hesitate to vilify an eleven-year-old to assuage her pathetic ego.

"At least this way, we know she'll print complementary things about you, and you'll probably get all sorts of fan mail thanking you for bringing love and happiness into my lonely heart or whatever. But trust me, Hermione. It's better than the alternative."

And she did. She trusted him.

Oh, she most definitely thought he was exaggerating about how bad this whole thing was (and she forced down the part of her that suggested that maybe that was simply what she wanted to tell herself), but she trusted Harry. It was why she hadn't interrupted back then with Ms. Skeeter.

Harry blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, and for a moment, Hermione caught her first glimpse of his famous scar.

"It was supposed to be a little joke," he muttered, giving her a small, somewhat sad, smile. "Embarrass you a little bit. I thought it was so clever."

Hermione realised what Harry was talking about.

"This isn't your fault, Harry." She said.

"It kind of is, Hermione. If I'd just kept my big mouth shut. Or told The Hat to put me with you in my head like everybody else. This wouldn't have happened."

And he was right. She knew it.

But Hermione Granger had never let a little thing like right and wrong stop her from winning an argument before, and she didn't intend to start now, so she said, "I don't care. You're not the one who spread that silly rumour in the first place. And you certainly didn't make that Skeeter woman come here. You can't blame yourself for this, Harry."

She wouldn't let him. Not when he asking Nilrem to put him in Gryffindor with her was one of the nicest things any friend had ever done for her.

Eventually, Harry nodded, and because Hermione didn't know what else to do, she hugged him.

The story broke on the Prophet that evening at dinner, and an influx of owls delivered the papers to seemingly everyone.

And Hermione learned that Harry had been right; Rita Skeeter was complimentary.

So much so, in fact, that she began to wonder who the girl the woman had written about was.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: last one for now.

---

Rita Skeeter was not a woman who believed in luck. Nor did she believe in love, or altruism, or any other such tripe. As far as she was concerned the world was a cold, hard place full of greedy arseholes who would tear you down if you gave them the chance. And anyone who claimed otherwise was a pathetic loser who deserved to burn.

And that was why Rita Skeeter had spent most of her life, and all of her career, tearing down lives and loves hopes and dreams, because she could either climb on the bodies of others, or be made into a ladder herself.

She knew the names some people called her, of course, and she reveled in them. Because every time that some pathetic loser's life was ruined—oh, boohoo, you lost your job and your family won't talk to you. Well, maybe you should have thought of that before engaging in carnal activities with a goat, Walden.

...

Where was she?

Yes, right. Because anytime any loser's life was ruined by one of her factual articles (really, it wasn't her fault that people were so boring that her pieces usually needed a little spicing), it essentially vindicated what she already knew to be the truth.

After all, if everyone didn't want to see everyone else get torn down, then why did her articles sell so much?

So whenever Rita received hate/cursed mail, or whenever a particularly aggrieved subject of one of her many, many articles tried to get those fossils and imbeciles at the Wizengamot to censor her, she smiled, gave herself a little pat on the back, and went back out there to continue doing what she did best.

Tell sensational stories.

And The Boy-Who-Lived? Oh! What story could be more sensational than that?

Everyone knew the boy was coming to Hogwarts this year. Rita had even written a piece on it, promising her audience that she would meet The Boy-Who-Lived herself, to get the answers to all those juicy questions everyone had had over the last decade.

She had no intention of actually seeing it through of course; the boy's disappearance obviously had Dumbledore's wrinkly mitts all over it, and while she disliked the old dingbat (ooh! That was a good one. She should try to remember it), and attacking him pleased Malfoy, she was very aware of just how much power he still held. And sniffing around his golden boy might get the old wizard to act.

Therefore, Rita had decided to do like she sometimes did, and use a secondhand account instead.

Rita would need someone who was smart enough to not eff things up, but dumb, or obedient, enough to not ask questions. It also had to be someone who wouldn't stand out, but most importantly, it had to be a muggleborn (or half-blood, at the very least), and they had to very blackmail-able.

Her informant ended up being a seventh-year Ravenclaw girl.

The girl however, was just the icing on the cake, it was her father who sold the deal for Skeeter; Mark Zachary, a muggleborn wizard who was "tied" for a promotion at The Ministry with a pureblood.

And Mark Zachary really wanted that promotion.

A simple transaction later, and Mark talked his daughter into carrying a special bag with a muggle camera to The Great Hall, where the girl proceeded to get quite impressive footage of Harry Potter being sorted.

Meanwhile, one Abigail Cornish would be finding some of her little secrets in a special exposé by Rita Skeeter in the next Sunday Prophet, heavily lowering her chances of getting Mark's job.

And people called Skeeter a rhymes with witch.

Knowing that the article will be hottest the morning after Potter's sorting, before all those brats had the opportunity to send letters home and dull the public's interest, Skeeter made time that evening to watch the video.

And what she saw on her tiny, black-and-white TV, was gold.

She had expected a boring goody-goody, shoved so deep into The Headmaster's pockets that the boy probably choked every time the old man farted. Instead, she got... this.

By morning, Rita Skeeter had decided that she would "meet" the boy. It wouldn't be hard, getting into Hogwarts was child's play for her (ha! Safest place in Magical Britain her behind), plus, thanks to the fact that Hogwarts had not changed its timetable for some fifty years, she knew exactly where he would be.

By 3:00pm, she was waiting near the Defense classroom in her bug form, and ignoring the very familiar broom cupboard nearby, when Potter walked out of the classroom with the Granger girl in tow. And Skeeter was very glad she came, when Lucius' son gave her a new, juicy bit of gossip to focus on.

The Boy-Who-Lived finding love on his first day at Hogwarts?

A flash of inspiration struck; The Boy Who Loved.

This thing was practically writing itself.

Then Potter had mentioned going to visit the half-giant on the school grounds, and Skeeter had hit her first snag. She knew the hairy half-breed had a dog, and that was bad for her. Dogs and cats oftentimes had the uncanny ability to sniff out animagi in their transformed state. Which could put her in severe danger, considering she was only a bug.

She tailed the two children as they headed to Gryffindor Tower, but she got no more juicy bits from them, so she decided to call it quits (she had enough anyway) and see what else she could "overhear" while here.

After some two hours of picking up random, but useful, tidbits about some of the students' parents and a few teachers, Skeeter decided she'd done enough snooping for the day.

It was time to go home and write her article.

And on her way out, lo and behold, Potter and his lady friend completely alone, for as far as the eye could see.

Pull the other one.

Knowing better than to change out of her animagus form in the open like an idiot, Rita quickly reentered the castle, changed in a private corner, and donned her invisibility cloak.

Then she approached the two first-years from behind, her Quick-Quotes Quill already set up at her back, took off her cloak, and announced herself, "well, well, if it isn't Hogwarts' hottest couple?"

Potter's immediate reaction let her know that the rumours were true; the boy was being trained by Dumbledore. But Skeeter didn't let any of that show, and when The Boy-Who-Lived's reaction to her presence turned into a pleasant surprise, instead of the wariness she'd honestly expected, Rita Skeeter had to admit that, while she still didn't believe in luck, sometimes things had a way of just working out in your favour.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Hermione didn't understand how, but that night, after dinner, all the Gryffindor first-years somehow ended up gathered together in one corner of the common room.

No, wait, she did understand how.

Harry. That was how.

It had started after they left The Great Hall (to the gawking and whispering of the entire school, it felt like) at the same time as Lavender and Parvati, and the two girls had wanted to sit and chat in the common room for some time.

Hermione hadn't really wanted to; she didn't do small talk very well, you see, it always seemed like she ended up being this extraneous attachment to the conversation, and that whenever she brought up a topic she was interested in, everyone else wished she would shut up.

However, while Hermione would rather not go through that again, the major reason why she hadn't really wanted to sit and chat, was because she hadn't had the opportunity to study since she came to Hogwarts. And she wanted to get started on it now before she fell behind.

But then Harry had somehow pulled all three girls over to a group of seats in a quiet corner of the common room, and the next thing Hermione knew, Harry had she, Lavender, and Parvati almost snorting with laughter, and the girl had decided that maybe she could hang around for a few minutes.

A few minutes later, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had walked in, and Harry had called them over. About half an hour after that, Hermione had blinked and realised that, somehow, Harry had gotten ten students (the two of them included) who barely knew each other, sitting and laughing and exchanging stories about their lives and families.

She couldn't help but take a moment to marvel at the boy.

Said boy sighed wistfully during a lull in the conversation. "This would be so much nicer if we were sitting by the fire," he said, and several of the group expressed agreement.

Ron however, scoffed. "Good luck with that one, mate."

"Yeah," Faye Dunbar, one of the two other girls in Hermione's dorm, agreed. "The older students have claimed the fireplace for themselves. It's not fair."

"Well, if we were seventh-years I'm sure we would do the same thing too," Neville said softly, and Hermione had to admit that they probably would.

"We don't need a voice of reason, bruv," Dean said to Neville. "What we need is emotional support."

Neville flushed and seemed to sink into himself.

Hermione knew that Dean hadn't meant anything by it, but she still felt the need to come to Neville's defense.

"He's not wrong, you know. I'm sure the older students had to put up with it too when they were our age." She shrugged. "That's how things like this work."

"No," Harry said, "how things like this work, is that when a person builds a common room for dozens of students over different grades, they remember to put more than one fireplace."

"Don't be silly, Harry. They couldn't very well have built seven fireplaces, could they?"

"Why not?" He asked.

"Where would they put them all?" She fired back. "And even if there was space for it all, all that smoke would cause problems."

"Then make it smokeless. We have magic, Hermione; hell, we could probably build our own fireplace if we wanted." Harry paused, and Hermione knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it. "Let's build our own fireplace."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, and a few of the others made varying sounds of confusion.

"No, I'm serious," Harry said. "Let's build a fireplace. Come on, how hard can it be?"

"Seeing as none of us are architects?" Dean asked. "I would say pretty hard."

"I don't think you need to be an architect to build a fireplace," Helen McMahon, the only other muggleborn girl among the group, said.

"Then who else?" Dean asked, truly curious. "I mean, the architect has to draw it into the design and stuff, right?"

And that question stumped everybody, even Hermione, for a few seconds.

"Too bad we can't build a fireplace," Parvati said. "It would have been nice to have our own."

"Yeah," Faye agreed. "We could have given it green fire."

"Why green?" Lavender asked.

"Because I like green; it's my favourite colour," Faye answered simply.

Ron scowled. "Why would you like green? Green is a Slytherin colour; we're Gryffindors."

All eyes turned to the boy.

"What?" He asked.

And that was how everyone forgot about the fireplace and discussed which house had their favourite colour instead.

★★★​

The next morning, Hermione came down to once again find Harry in the common room, and she was pleased that the day before had not just been a fluke.

They went down to breakfast together, Hedwig joining them at the table.

By 7:10 they were done eating, and since it was too early to head for the charms classroom, Hermione withdrew her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 from her bag, and began to practice the wand motions for the different spells without actually casting anything.

Well, not that she could, seeing as she was practicing with a spoon.

"Got that from The Fine Art of Wand Waving, I'm guessing," Harry said, and Hermione looked at him with mild surprise.

"You've read the book?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're not the only one who takes studying seriously, you know," he said, then picked up a spoon too. "Now, come on, share."

Hermione set her Standard Book of Spells between them, and they both spent the next twenty minutes practicing their wand motions. Slowly, steadily building up the muscles needed for rapid, precision spellwork.

Their fellow first-years came down for breakfast while they practiced, and unlike they'd done all prior meals, they all made a clear attempt to sit as a group.

Hermione and Harry had to field questions about why they were waving spoons around however, and the girl had to admit to herself that she found that odd.

She'd expected that people from magical families would understand the importance of practicing wand-waving.

She never would have thought of it herself, if she hadn't asked Mr. Ollivander whether he had any books on proper wand maintenance.

He'd been the one to suggest The Fine Art of Wand Waving to her, as well as some other books.

As she and Harry practiced, and the others ate, a rat clambered out from Ron's robes onto the table, and the redhead began to feed it.

"You brought a rat to breakfast with you?" Lavender asked with some measure of disgust.

"Why not?" Ron said defensively. "Scabbers is my pet. Besides, Harry brings his owl for every meal, and no one ever complains."

"That's an owl, mate," Seamus said.

"Yeah, and a rather beautiful one too," Dean added, and Hedwig preened under the praise.

"Well, Scabbers hates being kept in a cage all day," Ron said, clearly unwilling to budge on the matter.

"I'm pretty sure he would hate being eaten even less though," Harry 'muttered', conveniently loudly enough for everyone to overhear.

Hermione noticed the rat suddenly go stock-still in obvious fear. Almost like it had understood what Harry said.

Odd.

"Yeah," Parvati said thoughtfully. "Owls eat rats, right?"

And everyone watched as Hedwig's head slowly spun 180 degrees to fix her gaze on Scabbers.

The rat squeaked in abject terror and fled back into Ron's robes.

Everyone laughed. Even Ron. And while they did Hermione whispered to Harry, "I didn't know you hate rats."

He stared at her surprised. "You caught that?"

Hermione sniffed. If he meant whether she'd caught his hands curl into fists so tightly at the sight of Ron's rat, that she'd been worried his nails would tear into his palms, then yes, she'd caught it. She had also caught that— "you still haven't answered the question."

Harry smiled, then said, "you know how I have unfinished business with Quirrel?" He let the question hang.

Hermione felt one of her eyebrows climb. "You have unfinished business? With Ron's rat?" She asked, barely remembering to keep her voice from reaching anyone else.

"Yup." Harry nodded casually.

With anyone else, this would clearly be a joke, but with Harry... there was just this way he said these crazy things that made her want to believe him.

"So, you have unfinished business with Prof. Quirrel, and Ron's rat?"

Harry nodded.

"Anyone else?" Hermione queried. Mostly as a joke, but also because she was genuinely curious.

Harry's eyes flickered to the staff table for a split second. "Yeah," he said with undisguised bitterness. "Snape."

"Who's Snape?" Faye, the person sitting closest to Harry asked.

"Snape?" Ron asked. "He's the potions' professor, also the head of Slytherin. Fred and George say he hates everyone who isn't in his house, but that he despises Gryffindors the most. They say he can deduct points just for breathing too loudly in his class."

And Hermione's reaction to that would have been disbelief, were it not for the brief conversation she'd just had with Harry.

At 7:30, like they had the day before, and will do everyday henceforth, messenger owls flew into The Great Hall to deliver the mail.

Hermione watched the mass of owls, which she noticed seemed to be much more than yesterday's, swoop into the hall, most of them grouping together to head in the same direction.

"Is it just me?" Lavender asked. "Or do all those owls seem to be heading for us."

They were headed for them.

Or, more accurately, they were headed for Hermione and Harry.

Right before the storm of owls could swoop down on them however, Hedwig let out a single, sharp bark, and all the descending owls swooped back up to circle the Gryffindor table in a tight, looping formation.

Then, in single file, they delivered their letters, one after the other, before flying off.

Everyone stared at Hedwig in amazement.

Then Dean said, "damn, bruv, even your owl is cool."

Contrary to what Harry had thought, only some of the letters were addressed to Hermione; the bulk of them were actually for him.

Hermione would have preferred to keep the letters for later, when she was alone, but her fellow first-years talked her, and Harry, into opening them now.

It had taken some work the night before, but Hermione and Harry had managed to convince the Gryffindor first-years, at least, that the article wasn't true, and apparently, they were all treating it as some kind of game now.

Hermione didn't really like it much, but she had to admit that it was much better than the alternative.

The first letter Harry read was unsigned. And it contained a poorly written poem that talked about how, even though it would break the writer's heart, she would do her best to forget her love for Harry, since he had found happiness with another.

It was kind of sad really.

And embarrassing.

And silly; because this girl couldn't possibly love Harry as she had never even met him.

It was also eye-opening, giving Hermione the kind of glimpse of just what Harry Potter was to the Wizarding World that books simply couldn't.

A generation of children had been raised on stories of the worst night of Harry's life; Hermione suddenly had a whole new level of appreciation for that fact.

One last thing that letter was, was a warning. A warning after which Hermione took to reading her letters to herself first, to make certain nothing embarrassing laid within, before sharing it with her friends.

She was happy she had, when she read a letter by a witch named Gretel Hench, and after the woman had expressed some concern over Hermione entering a relationship so young, she had proceeded to write down the incantation and draw the wand-motion for something called the Contraceptive Ch—

Hermione's head turned red.

What on earth!?

She didn't need a stranger teaching her things like that! Her parents already gave her The Talk! And even they hadn't, that still didn't mean she wanted to hear about things like that from a stranger.

"What's in that one?" Harry said, trying to peek, and Hermione snatched it away and quickly hid it in the pocket of her robes.

"Nothing," Hermione said, obviously lying.

She made a mental note to burn that letter later.

The spell was already stuck in her head though.

...

Maybe she could look into the Memory Charm some more.

★★★​

Prof. Flitwick, Hermione decided, was a very energetic man.

Not that it was a bad thing, of course, far from it. If anything, it somehow made the diminutive professor's lesson more engaging.

Charms, Hermione also decided, was, quite possibly, the backbone of all magical arts that required spellwork. It contained a lot of the spell theory and practical wand-work that classes like Transfiguration and Defense relied upon.

Within that first class alone, she learnt so much about spells; their purpose, some of their advantages and disadvantages, and even a little bit about how they worked, that by the time Prof. Flitwick stopped to take questions, her notebook (shut up, Harry) had several pages full of notes in it.

The first person to raise their hand for a question was Harry.

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Prof. Flitwick asked.

"Professor, I've got two questions, but they kind of tie into each other, I think. The first question is, is it possible to cast one spell at multiple targets? And the second question is, is it possible to cast multiple spells at once?"

"Oh! Very good questions, Mr. Potter. Most don't think about such things until they're learning non-verbal casting in sixth year. To answer your questions, however—" Prof. Flitwick's wand seemed to twitch in his hand, faster than Hermione's eyes could follow, and every quill in the class floated up into the air "—yes, Mr. Potter, both are very possible," he said, and all the quills settled back down to the very spots they floated from.

Then Prof. Flitwick's wand twitched again, even faster this time, and the dark-blue walls of the classroom turned a bright green, at the same moment a gust of warm air blew at the students and several orbs of light every colour of the rainbow popped into existence everywhere.

Harry's jaw dropped, and Hermione's wasn't far behind.

How was he doing this?

"Simple, Miss Granger," Prof. Flitwick said, and Hermione realized that she'd spoken out loud, "practice, practice, practice. You practice until you can do more than cast non-verbally; you practice until you can make the magic you want happen just by wanting it to.

"Unfortunately," the professor continued, and he looked truly sad for a moment, "few ever dedicate themselves this completely to our wonderful gift."

"Professor, those wand-motions you made for the... multi-casting," Harry said, "they were incomplete."

He could follow that? Hermione thought in surprise.

"Ah! Good eye, Mr. Potter. And yes, they were. Much like how you no longer need to incant your spells if you work at it, so too do you no longer need to perform the wand-motions completely—or at all. Like I said, practice, practice, practice."

There were a few other questions, but none of them required demonstrations like the last had, and after a few minutes, they moved to the practical aspect of the class.

The spell for the lesson was the Colour-Changing Charm, which Hermione and Harry had both successfully performed numerous times (she really hoped that compartment had reverted by now), so as soon as Prof. Flitwick provided everyone with their box of napkins to practice on and gave the go-ahead, both children casted the spell with ease.

"Ah! Splendid work, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Five points each to Gryffindor."

Hermione smiled, pleased at the points.

Then Prof. Flitwick said, "now you both can move on to the next part of the lesson."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, unknowingly echoing Hermione's thoughts. "There's a next part?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Classwork!" Prof. Flitwick's wand twitched again, in that way Hermione was beginning to learn not to bother trying to follow, and two wooden easels, complete with blank canvases sitting on them, morphed out of she and Harry's desk. "Use the Colour-Changing Charm to paint a portrait of your choice. Anything you want. Let your imagination fly.

"So, go on, everyone. And remember, proper incantation and crisp wand waving," the professor said, heading towards a Ravenclaw girl on the other side of the classroom who seemed to be getting the spell.

Hermione looked at her blank canvas, then at Harry. The boy looked deep in thought; probably wondering what he would paint, much like herself, she thought.

Right as Hermione looked back at her canvas, Harry exclaimed, "I've got it! Hermione, I've got it!"

"Got what?"

"The fireplace. How we're going to make it."

He was still thinking about that?

"We're going to paint it!" Harry said, like he'd just made the discovery of the century, and Hermione's mind ground to a halt.

"What?"

"Think about it, Hermione; smokeless, and the best part about it is we won't have to break the castle walls to have it installed."

Is he making a joke?

"A painting of a fireplace won't do us any good, Harry. We would need to animate it. Then enchant the flames with a Glow Charm and a Warm Gust Spell like the one Prof. Flitwick did to get it to produce any light and heat at..." Hermione's voice petered out as she suddenly felt rather daft.

"Oh," she said, for lack of anything else.

Harry shook his head. "I swear, Hermione, you have to be the dumbest smart person I've ever met," he said, but his eyes shone with the same playful amusement that quirked his lips.

Hermione pouted, and just to be contrary, said, "well, these canvases are much too small, anyway."

"Obviously," Harry said, then called out, "Prof. Flitwick. Hermione and I have an idea for a painting, but I think we're going to need a much bigger canvas than this. Also, I think we might need to borrow our fellow Gryffindors."

Prof. Flitwick, as well as the Gryffindors, who were all sitting close by since they had all grouped together when they came in, stared at them.

"A group assignment?" Prof. Flitwick mused, then he asked, "what will you be painting?"

Harry smiled his patented Harry smile. "A working fireplace."

In the end, Prof. Flitwick agreed and provided them a canvas that was higher than Hermione was tall, and probably more than twice as wide as it was high.

The professor even offered the other houses the opportunity to make theirs group projects too. The Hufflepuffs jumped at it, while the Ravenclaws and Slytherins were more hesitant.

All that had ended when Prof. Flitwick had said he would be awarding ten points to each member of the winning house however, then it had become a scramble for who could finish the most amazing painting within the hour Prof. Flitwick gave.

Well, it became that for everyone else. For the Gryffindors it was all about the dream of having their own fireplace.

Apparently, Dean could draw, and quite well too. And so could Lavender, which Hermione hadn't even suspected, so the two had ended up in charge of visualizing, and sketching, the fireplace, while everyone else added the colours.

Hermione and Harry handled the coaching of everyone who was still having trouble with the Colour-Changing Charm, and Hermione finally had the opportunity to get Ron to stop clutching his wand so tightly, and actually pay attention to visualizing the colour he wanted while casting.

They had fun.

Everyone pitched in their ideas; like Ron who suggested they add a lion, and Parvati who said they should make it a cub, and Faye who opined that lionesses were cooler, and therefore the only option, to Neville who simply wondered why they couldn't just make it a family of lions.

Not every idea was taken, of course; like Faye's pleas that the fire should be green, but with hard work, perseverance, and Hermione and Harry overseeing the project, the Gryffindors finished with five minutes to spare. And Hermione and Harry proceeded to animate the painting (with only a two-second loop, which was the best they could manage), and enchant it with the Glow Charm, Warm Gust Spell, and (Harry's idea) the activation phrases, fireplace; on, and fireplace; off.

By the time Prof. Flitwick started to grade, and everyone had to stop, the Slytherins were the only ones who hadn't finished. They'd barely even started.

Personality clashes, and an inability (or maybe unwillingness) to be team-players, had stymied every step forward with a dozen back.

They didn't take their loss gracefully.

Prof. Flitwick's own house came third. Their execution of the spell was perfect. The colours were crisp and clear, and the image of their common room was like what Hermione imagined looking through a window at the real thing would be like.

But something was missing.

And Hermione realised what it was when she saw the Hufflepuffs' painting; heart. The Ravenclaws' portrait lacked heart.

The Hufflepuffs had painted a portly witch with a welcoming smile. She had a badger on her shoulder, and walked through a lovely garden with a throng of little children following behind her like little ducklings.

It took Hermione a moment to realise that that must be Helga Hufflepuff.

Eventually, it was the Gryffindors' turn, and Hermione was suddenly nervous.

Harry took her hand in his. "We've got this," he said, and she relaxed marginally.

Then he turned her around to face the class as they stood beside the portrait.

"Everyone, introducing the Gryffindor Fireplace Wallpaper, version 1.0," Harry announced grandly.

Many students looked impressed, but Draco Malfoy scoffed. "Seriously, Potter? A fireplace? Well, I suppose the Weasleys could use it, since they could hardly afford an actual one."

Ron fumed, but Prof. Flitwick's "none of that, Mr. Malfoy" mollified him somewhat.

But Hermione barely paid attention to any of that. What she paid attention to was the way the professor kept staring at she and Harry. Almost like he had expectations of them that he was still waiting for them to meet.

It made her a little uneasy.

Then Harry said, "professor, could you please get the lights?" And without a word Prof. Flitwick obliged him.

He waved his wand and all the windows darkened, making it suddenly look like twilight in the classroom.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, then turned to her. "Granger, do us the honours, will you?"

She did. "Fireplace; on."

A collective gasp resonated from the students as the portrait came to life, illuminating the room with the cheerful light of its red and gold flames.

By the left of the fireplace (on a red rug that had been Helen's idea) rested the family of lions; a mother, father, and their cub with heads pressed softly together as they breathed deeply in sleep.

The crackle-pop of burning wood looped seamlessly in the painting, as well as a small explosion of sparks, and they, with the constant stream of warm air, all added together to make the effect feel so real that for one moment, Hermione forgot that what she was looking at was a painting, despite being one of the people who made it.

"Wow, this turned out much better than I'd dared to hope it would," Harry said from beside her, and Hermione had to agree.

Gryffindor won. And Prof. Flitwick did as he'd promised and gave them a hundred points (ten for each member of their house). He even gave the Hufflepuffs fifty points for second place, and the Ravenclaws twenty-five.

The only ones who argued Gryffindor's victory were the Slytherins, stating that they'd used more spells than the rules allowed, even though Prof. Flitwick said himself that there had been no such rules.

Hermione never really understood why the Slytherins bothered though. Gryffindor's position would not have changed anything for them anyway, since they hadn't even finished their painting.

The class ended soon after, and the Gryffindors left jubilant, Hermione and Harry completely unaware of how grateful Prof. Flitwick felt towards the Deputy Headmistress for the heads-up she had given concerning the two of them.

McGonagall had been right, Filius decided. At the rate those two were burning through the material, keeping them, especially Harry, interested in the syllabus will be quite the chore.

The diminutive professor smiled.

He'd always enjoyed a challenge.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: more tomorrow.

---

Tuesday, Sept. 3


History of Magic was everything Hermione had hoped it wouldn't be.

What she had feared it would be, thanks to Harry, but everything she had desperately hoped it wouldn't be.

This is to say that History of Magic was—God, how she hated to say it. Boring.

History of Magic was boring.

In fact, it was the most boring class Hermione had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. Prof. Binns just kept droning in this monotone so flat that a robot sounded lively by comparison.

It was a struggle to make her mind focus on his words.

Thirty minutes into the lecture, half the students were asleep, and the remaining half, mostly Ravenclaws, looked like they were trying to keep from nodding off.

Hermione stopped herself from looking at her watch for the third time in what she knew had only been a minute.

A watched pot never boils.

She tried to return focus to Prof. Binns' lecture, but it was proving even more difficult than usual, and that was because, apparently, the boy to her left had decided to take up humming as a new hobby.

"Harry, stop it. I'm trying to pay attention."

In contrast to literally everyone else in the classroom, Harry practically looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He was lounged back on the chair, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 in his hand, and he'd been trying to cast The Summoning Charm on a piece of parchment on the table.

It hadn't been going too well; all he'd managed to do so far was to make the parchment twitch a few times, so apparently, he'd decided to take a break and do some humming instead.

Harry looked at her. "Hermione, I highly doubt my not humming will help you pay attention any better."

She scowled. "Well, it certainly isn't helping, is it? And could you at least pretend like you're paying attention?"

"Why?" Harry asked. "I'm not. That's why I've got that guy." He gestured at his Self-Writing Quill that was diligently noting down every word Prof. Binns said in beautiful gold ink.

Hermione's scowl deepened. Clearly, Harry didn't have any issues with using quills when they favoured him.

"You need to do more than just take notes, Harry; you also have to pay attention in class."

Harry began to respond, then he paused and gave Hermione a very thoughtful look. "You're not actually trying to convince me, are you? You're trying to convince yourself."

Hermione spluttered. "Of course not! Why would I need to convince myself to pay attention in class?"

"Because the class is boring. And because Binns is a terrible teacher. There's nothing that listening to him talk will give you that the transcript won't, and you know this. But you feel that you must do it, because that's how it's supposed to be done. So you try to convince yourself, by using me as some kind of... sounding board for your arguments.

...

"Huh. It's like the potions' textbook all over again," Harry said thoughtfully.

Hermione had no idea what potions' textbook Harry was talking about, but she had trouble caring about that right then with how angry she was.

The worst part was that she didn't know why what he'd said was making her angry, but it was, and not knowing was simply making her angrier.

"Fine, then," Hermione said curtly, "do whatever you want."

And with that she tried to ignore him and pay attention to the lesson.

The nerve of him. All she'd wanted to do was help him, and he was acting like she was being a know-it-all.

Well, he hadn't actually used that term, but that was beside the point.

They were supposed to pay attention in class. That was what they were supposed to do. Even if the teacher was boring, and dreary, and she knew he was quoting the textbook verbatim—argh!

Hermione's inner turmoil was interrupted by Harry's sigh.

Then she watched him from the corner of her eye as he stopped the Self-Writing Quill and, using a pen, continued the note-taking by hand in his own rather unflattering penmanship.

Hermione blinked. "I thought you didn't see any point in paying attention?" She asked.

"Still don't. Not even a little bit."

Hermione frowned. Not sure how to respond. Harry didn't sound angry, or snarky. He sounded nothing like she'd thought he would.

Before Hermione could think of something to say, Harry sighed again, pen tapping on the desk thoughtfully.

Then he said, "you know, one of the few things that I recall my mother telling me, is that I have a habit of making people face their truth." Harry looked at her, and his eyes were lost and sad. "She said that this isn't a bad thing, as long as I also remember to face my truth. And my truth is, Hermione, that I'd rather suffer three hours of Binns' torture, than to drag out a pointless argument with you."

A beat passed.

"God, that sounded way better in my head," Harry muttered.

It was in that moment that Hermione realized that, for the first time in her life, she had technically won an argument and it didn't feel good.

She didn't much like the feeling; like she'd taken a bite of her favourite food only to realise that it was ash all along.

Hermione almost sighed. Why couldn't Harry just be like every other boy her age?

Now, his words were causing her to evaluate her own actions, and she couldn't deny that, while she may not have been in the wrong, she had undoubtedly handled this entire event with none of the aplomb she should have.

Because Harry was right, she didn't want to take notes. Or pay attention to Binns' dull lecture. She would much rather be studying something else.

Hermione huffed.

Was this what her parents had meant when they talked about growing up?

The girl had to admit that she didn't much care for it.

Harry went back to taking notes, and Hermione tried to do the same, but if it had been difficult to focus on the incorporeal professor before, it was now virtually impossible.

She needed to say something, didn't she?

She had to do something to push past... this.

Hermione's eyes alighted on the Self-Writing Quill on the table where Harry had dropped it.

"So, your quill," Hermione began, then cleared her throat when her voice came out smaller than she'd expected, "it writes well," she finished, and then almost cringed at her own words.

That was the best she could come up with!?

Fortunately, Harry saw the olive branch for what it was, because he smiled and said, "it does, doesn't it? Much better than my chicken scratch."

Hermione smiled back. Then after a moment: "You didn't look like you were making much progress with The Summoning Charm earlier. I could practice with you if you want."

And barely a minute later, Harry's Self-Writing Quill was steadfastly transcribing Binns' lecture once more, while the two children practiced a spell many years above theirs.

At least, they got the parchment to do more than twitch by the end of the class.

★★★​

The Hogwarts Library was every bit as amazing as the pictures in Hogwarts, A History had suggested it would be.

With well over a hundred thousand books at last count, it was grand in scale, maybe three stories high, and so wide that the opposite wall from the door felt like it was a football pitch away.

There were old, but sturdy, wooden shelves everywhere, thousands of them, with desks and benches for reading and study interspersed irregularly, and the air was thick with the smell of a slew of books just waiting for her eager hands.

No, the girl decided, this was a lot more impressive than the pictures.

She would have dived right in but for the librarian, Madam Pince, who, recognizing her as a new student, stopped her and sternly gave her the library's rules:

• There will be no food allowed in the library. Of any kind!
• No talking, laughing, whispering, sneezing, scurrying, or any other behaviour that might seem at all suspicious in any way, will be permitted while you are here.
• And finally, if you rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smear, smudge, throw, drop, or in any other manner damage, mistreat, or show lack of respect towards any book, the consequences will be as awful as it is within my power to make them.

And Hermione nodded as seriously as any soldier off to do battle ever did, and marched off into what, for her, may very well be Neverland.

Harry found her in a quiet corner forty-five minutes later, with multiple piles of books on the table so high, they literally obscured her from view.

"And here we can observe the Hermionus Grangerus in its natural habitat," Harry said, alerting her to his presence. "Watch how it hoards knowledge jealously like a COVID-19 shopper does toilet paper."

Hermione looked up to see the boy standing before her with Hedwig perched on his head, his somehow greener than usual eyes practically glowing with mischievous mirth.

She rolled her eyes at his joke, not even bothering to try to decipher what a COVID-19 shopper was, and Harry laughed.

Hermione may have smiled too.

She was pleasantly surprised to see him here; despite telling herself that Harry wasn't the kind of boy who would lie to avoid a trip to the library, she'd been a little suspicious when he'd mentioned some clandestine errand he had to run as soon as she suggested they come to the library after History of Magic.

She'd come ahead, like he'd asked, but a part of her had expected him to not show up.

She was glad to see that it was wr—why was Harry standing there like that?

The boy had his chest out, arms akimbo, and his gaze focused on some nebulous point in the far distance in true dramatic fashion.

He sort of reminded her of that hero, Gilderoy Lockhart, she'd seen in the paper yesterday.

It was not a flattering similarity. Even Hedwig looked embarrassed.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, remembering to keep her voice way down.

Harry looked offended at her question. Then he resumed his pose, this time while very conspicuously rubbing his brow.

Hermione could not even begin to fathom why he was doing that. There was clearly nothing on his brow.

Wait! "You aren't wearing your glasses."

"Finally," Harry said.

"I thought they were prescription glasses?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, they are. That's why I went to Madam Pomfrey; to see if she could fix my eyes. And well, a potion and two spells later, vision 2020, baby."

Hermione gaped. "Just like that?"

Harry shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey said there's nothing magically wrong with my eyes so, yeah. Anyway, what do you think?"

She thought he looked handsome. Without the old, rather over-sized glasses, his eyes were even greener, and he no longer had that waifish appearance that hadn't really suited him.

He must have been able to tell that she was being complimentary in her head, because he smiled. "Yep, that's right. Boy-Who-Lived 2.0, in the flesh. With more swagger, extra green in his eyes, and perfectly wind-tousled hair."

"Don't you mean bird-nest hair?" She asked, drawing Harry's attention to the owl on his head, and the boy pouted.

Hold on a minute.

"Harry, how did you get Hedwig past Madam Pince?" She asked Harry as he slid into the seat beside her.

No pets hadn't been one of the stern librarian's rules, but Hermione suspected that was more because no one had ever dared to consider it, than because the witch actually did allow pets.

Harry scoffed. "Please," he said, "Hedwig stared down that old vulture and she folded like a wet blanket."

Hermione looked from the boy to the owl that had now relocated to the table.

She believed it.

★★★​

At dinner that night, Prefect Percy came to congratulate them on winning Gryffindor so many points.

"I must say, Potter," the prefect said, "while your previous lackadaisical attitude towards The House Cup was unbecoming for a Gryffindor, I'm proud that you've begun applying yourself."

That was... rude, Hermione thought. But not necessarily untrue.

Harry, on the other hand, gasped in offense, but in an obviously over the top, humorous, hand on his heart way. "Lackadaisical? Percy, I'll have you know that there is no one more gung-ho about earning those bragging rights than I am. I mean, seriously, the opportunity to win a cup we don't even get to keep? Who wouldn't want that?"

Even Hermione had trouble keeping a straight face.

Prefect Percy meanwhile, turned red in anger and stormed off back to his seat.

"That was mean, Harry," Hermione said, as soon as she was sure she had her laughter under control.

"Oh, get off him, Hermione," Ron said. "Percy's a git. You know he said he was hoping I wouldn't get in Gryffindor, because he didn't want me causing him trouble?"

Hermione had not known that.

"Yes, our beloved Percy is a ray of sunshine when you get to know him," one of the twins said, as they suddenly walked up and squeezed into the group. One on Hermione's right, and the other on Harry's left, effectively squishing the two of them together.

The twin beside Harry said, "yes, but our ickle Harrykins here knows how to keep the Big Bad Prefect Percy away, doesn't he?" while he ruffled the boy's perpetually messy hair.

"You know I'm friends with a giant spider, right?" Harry asked casually.

The twin ruffling his hair froze, then he peered at Harry closely. "Huh. I can't tell whether you're joking or not."

Harry smiled a friendly little smile. "Good, it'll keep you on your toes."

"This one is dangerous, brother," the twin beside Harry said to the one beside Hermione.

"Indeed, brother," the twin beside Hermione replied.

Then Harry spoke up again, "so, Bread and Porridge, what brought you guys here?"

It took everybody about five seconds to get the joke, and within two days, the whole school called the twins Bread and Porridge.

★★★​

Wednesday, Sept. 4


Herbology was an entertaining class.

It took place in the giant greenhouse that smelt like a thousand herbs and freshly-turned earth, and Prof. Sprout clearly had passion for her job.

It was only the first lesson, however, so Prof. Sprout mostly took the lecture to teach them about the different tools they would be using, as well as how to care for them, and many of the basics of growing plants.

Neville and Harry were already familiar with some of it; Neville said he had a little garden of his own at home, which Prof. Sprout praised him for; while Harry said his Aunt had been making him do her gardening since he could walk, which Hermione really hoped was an exaggeration.

Either way, the three hours for the lesson were quickly used up, and the children went to lunch.

Charms was much like the morning before; Prof. Flitwick taught them theory for the first hour or so, took questions, then gave them a spell to practice.

Unlike yesterday however, Prof. Flitwick gave them six spells of increasing difficulty to practice, stating that the first five people to cast them all before the end of class would win points.

Hermione took first place, but it was a close thing. She, Harry, and one other girl from Ravenclaw ended up being the only ones to even finish.

She worried a little bit that Harry might hold a grudge, but he didn't.

More than that, he seemed to expect it.

That evening, after dinner, the Gryffindor first-years all congregated at their fireplace. And when Hermione suggested they could use the opportunity to work as a group for their homework, only Ron really complained.

With studying now involved to some capacity, the time spent at the fireplace became even more relaxing for Hermione.

★★★​

Thursday, Sept. 5


Thursday dawned to Transfiguration, after which Hermione watched Harry try his hardest to act natural in Defense.

He did better than he had during the last Defense class, and Hermione didn't know if that was because he was no longer bothered by the perfectly unintimidating professor, or if it was because Harry had simply learnt to hide it better.

So, she simply took his hand once more when he got too tense until he calmed again, wishing the whole while that there was a way she could help.

That night, before she went to sleep, Hermione made a list.

The Harry Enigma​

• Hates Scabbers. Said "unfinished business."
• Afraid of Quirrel. Won't look at him. Says Quirrel remembers him. Still unfinished business.
• Hates Snape. Gave the same reason. WHAT IS THIS REASON?
• Remembers things his mother said despite being one. How? Good memory?
• Knows about Wizarding World despite growing up with muggles. How? Newspapers maybe? Other family then?
• Knows about Hagrid being half-giant, but said "he wasn't supposed to know". How? Why?
• Kept Greengrass and Davis from joining us on the boat. Why? Mentioned... Fanon! Cannon too. What is a fanon? I wish I had thought to bring a bigger dictionary.
• Knew Draco Malfoy. Knew the Weasleys. Knew Rita Skeeter... knew.. me? When we met he looked no no.

Hermione looked at the list. At that last line. She struck it again. And again. On and on until the lines completely blocked out the words.

Then she kept the notebook and tried to block out the memories of Harry's easy familiarity with her, his great expectations of a girl he'd just met, and the time, the morning after they met, when he'd said the words "classic Granger."

She tried to block it all out and go to sleep.

★★★​

Friday, Sept. 6


Virtually all the Gryffindor first-years slept through breakfast Friday morning.

Between the late, or early, depending on how you look at it, hour Astronomy had ended, and the sheer size of Hogwarts Castle, some of them had only been able to go back to sleep at 4 a.m., others even later, and asking them to get up three hours later, on a day when they had the morning free, was apparently too much.

So Hermione and Harry slept in with the rest of their fellow first-years, woke up late in the morning, had lunch for breakfast, and packed up all of their Potions equipment as they headed for their first Potions Class of the year.

The Potions classroom was cold and cavernous. A better word would be ominous, but Hermione was trying not to let the stories she'd been hearing about Prof. Snape affect her judgement.

She and Harry picked a work-station, set up their equipment, then settled to wait.

They didn't have to wait long.

In a few minutes, all the students had arrived and settled down, and at 11:55 a.m., the door slammed shut of its own accord.

Most jumped. Hermione caught Harry pull out his wand halfway.

Then the door in front of the class, that Hermione assumed led to Prof. Snape's office, opened, and the man swept out dramatically in a billow of black swirling robes.

And it was in that moment that Hermione realized that she had been spending too much time with Harry, because the first thought that entered her head at the sight of the professor was Darth Vader's theme song.

Somehow, she managed to keep a straight face.

As Prof. Snape came into the room, he began to speak, "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making."

"He actually said the same line?" Hermione heard Harry wonder to himself.

Prof. Snape must have heard Harry too, because he stopped, and his dark eyes focused completely on the boy. "Ah. Mr. Potter." The name was expelled like a curse. "Our new celebrity."

"Thank you, professor. Happy to be here," Harry said genially.

Something dark and ugly flashed across Prof. Snape's face for a moment, and it made Hermione want to reach out and clasp her hand over Harry's mouth, because, whatever "unfinished business" he may have with the professor, this was not the time for his jokes.

But then she looked at Harry, and while his smile was friendly, maybe even teasing, there was none of the playful mischief his eyes usually had.

Harry was angry.

"Tell me, Potter," Prof. Snape said, "what would I get if I added three drops of dragon blood to a mixture of bubotuber pus and Troll phlegm?"

Hermione blinked in surprise. How was Harry supposed to know that? How were any of them supposed to know that? That was sixth-year work at the earliest. She knew this because the first-year potions textbook clearly stated that they would not be working with dragon's blood until after their O.W.Ls.

Harry looked surprised at the question too, then he rallied, "an explosion, maybe?" Some students laughed. "Because, I don't know, but that sounds like the kind of thing that'll explode to me."

Prof. Snape scowled, his face a mask of barely repressed hate. "You think you're so funny, don't you, Potter?"

"I am," Harry said, not even bothering to fake his smile anymore. "And you know the best part about being funny, and likeable, and charismatic? You make friends. You find love. You don't become a bitter, pathetic man-child taking out his vengeance on an eleven-year-old."

The room went still, and Prof. Snape staggered back with a hand clutched over his heart as if struck.

His skin was pale, his eyes unfocused, and his mouth opened and closed like a drowning fish.

Hermione worried the man might be having a stroke, even as she wondered how Harry's almost nonsensical words could be having such an effect on him.

Prof. Snape finally managed to voice a sentence. It was a mere mutter, but in the silence of the room it might as well have been a scream.

"Get out," he said.

Then his eyes focused on Harry and he said again, louder. "Get out."

No, he wasn't focused on Harry, he was focused on them. She and Harry.

That... hate in his eyes was for her too.

"Get out, the both of you," Prof. Snape said, even louder.

Harry rose, he was saying something to her, telling her they should leave, but she couldn't listen because she didn't understand; why would he hate her? What did she do?

Then Prof. Snape screamed, "GET OUT!!!" And a powerful gust of wind swept Hermione and Harry off their feet and sent them tumbling to the ground in the hallway outside, and the heavy oak doors to the classroom slammed shut behind them.

Hermione sat on the ground in a daze. Harry got up, asking if she was okay, but she barely heard him.

Her heart was pounding. Her mouth was dry. Her hands were shaking.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked from so far away.

Her cheeks were wet. Why were her cheeks wet?

Then Harry hugged her, and Hermione broke down and cried.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Hermione cried for some time. Time within which Harry moved them from the hallway to one of the many empty rooms in Hogwarts Castle.

This one was small. And had a lone desk for some reason. And Harry helped her sit on the desk as he simultaneously apologized, consoled her, and fumed at Prof. Snape.

Eventually, inevitably, her crying tapered out, and she wiped her snot and tears with her handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry was saying, "I should have known he would take it out on you too. Snape's just too pathetic to not do something like that. I should have known. I'm sorry."

"Why?" Hermione asked, her voice croaky.

"Because he's pathetic!" Harry said with more hate than she'd ever imagined the boy could feel. "He's a pathetic, despicable—" the words seemed to elude him in his anger "—asshole, who actually thinks he has some sort of right to be angry. He's delusional!"

Hermione waited a few seconds, giving Harry time to calm down a little, then she said, "I meant, why did you say those things to him, Harry? What did they mean? What unfinished business do you have with him? Why does he hate you—why does he hate us? Why do you hate him? I don't understand any of this, Harry. Why!?"

By the end Hermione was on her feet and starting to cry again, and her confused rage seemed to shock Harry out of whatever fury he'd been feeling himself.

She stood there, panting with fresh tears on her checks, waiting—hoping!—for an answer from Harry, because after everything that had just happened, she really needed one.

Harry meanwhile seemed to deflate, losing all his anger and energy. And in a small, heartbreaking voice the boy said, "Snape's the reason my parents are dead."

Hermione's brain shut off for several seconds. "What?"

"Do you know what a Death Eater is?" Harry asked, and Hermione's heart seized as she realized what Harry was saying.

"No. No, Harry, th—that's not possible, they wouldn't let—"

"Oh, they would," Harry said, looking like each word sapped even more of his energy. "Dumbledore would."

Harry sighed, then, uncaring of the dust, sat on the ground.

A white shape flew into the room from the one, small window; Hedwig, and she swooped and perched beside Harry on the ground, pressing into his side.

Harry smiled at the owl, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"There was a prophecy," he said, looking back at Hermione, and the expression in his green eyes made her want to hug him. "About a boy with the power to "vanquish" The Dark Lord. Snape heard it, and like a good, little Death Eater, he ran off to tell his boss."

"Voldemort," Hermione whispered, utterly enthralled and horrified by Harry's tale.

"Yes," Harry said, his eyes boring into hers, "otherwise known as Prof. Quirrel."

Hermione's blood turned to ice. "No," she said in denial.

"Quite the track record Dumbledore has, isn't it?" Harry asked, but there was no mirth, no sarcasm, no bitterness. Everything just came out flat and dull. "So, anyway, Voldemort, or Quirrelmort, if you prefer, got his little spy, Scabbers, to tell him where my family was hiding."

Hermione blinked, confused by that detail, until two memories came to mind. One of a cat turning into a woman, and the other of a rat appearing to understand Harry's words.

"Scabbers isn't a rat, is he?"

"Nope. His real name is Peter Pettigrew, lifelong friend of my father's, and he practically gave Voldemort the key to our home."

Harry's eyes were glittering with unshed tears, and Hermione felt them in her eyes too. Hedwig pressed closer into the boy's side, but he didn't even seem to notice.

"He killed my father in the living room. I heard it. Then he took his time; walking up the stairs like he owned the place. My mother didn't even try to fight. She just stood in front of my crib, begging him to take her instead."

Harry's eyes had gone unfocused, his gaze trained on a scene from a decade ago, and he raised a finger at something only he could see. A finger that coincidentally pointed right at Hermione.

"Avada Kedavra, he said. Two words. A flash of green. And then he walked up to me. He put his wand right here," and his finger moved to press against his scar as his eyes once again found Hermione's and their unshed tears finally fell. "It hurt, Hermione." Harry's voice broke and Hermione choked on a sob. "It hurt worse than dying. And I remember every second.

"And now I'm here in this place. And I'm terrified, Hermione. Because this isn't even as bad as it gets, and I have no idea what I'm going to—"

Hermione was sure Harry said a bunch of other things, but whatever they were, she didn't hear them, because she'd crushed the boy in a hug, and was crying with him.

Harry cried himself to sleep, and it was only then that Hermione noticed the weariness he'd somehow hidden all week.

What must it have been like for him all this time? She thought.

And what on earth was Dumbledore thinking, hiring a Death Eater and Voldemort!?

Or was it possible that he didn't know? No, he had to! From what Harry said, it sounded like he knew. So why—Hermione forced her mind to still.

It wouldn't do for her to jump to conclusions. Maybe there was more she, or even Harry, didn't know.

Yes. Yes, that had to be it. There had to be a logical, rational explanation for everything.

She looked down at the boy whose head had somehow wound up on her lap. For his sake she really hoped that there was.

★★★​

Because Hermione didn't want to disturb Harry, she let him sleep. Even prepared a patch of ground to be as comfortable as she was able.

The Gust Spell took care of the dust well enough, and repeated attempts at the Softening Charm turned the hard stone to a more soft carpet-y feeling. She'd added the Heating Charm at first, because she didn't want Harry to catch a cold, but that had made the ground too hot, so she'd moved to a different spot and repeated the process, but without the Heating Charm.

By the end, she was rather tired herself, so she sat by Harry to rest, only to open her eyes several hours later to see Harry staring at her.

"Harry, you're awake?" She said, staring at him. He looked well-rested, although his face was rather dirty with dried tears and some snot.

"Yeah, I just woke up," Harry said, then he pressed his palm against the ground. "Did you cast The Softening Charm on the ground?"

She nodded. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Oh. Well, thanks, that was the best sleep I've had in some time."

Hedwig flew onto Harry's shoulder then, rubbing her head against his. "Thanks, Hedwig," Harry said, then he looked at Hermione. "What time is it?"

Hermione looked at her watch and gaped. "7:15? Dinner's started already. How did so much time fly by?"

Harry rose and offered her a hand. "We should get going then. Wouldn't want to miss dinner."

Hermione took his hand and stood, as she remembered something. "We left our bags back in Potions."

"Oh," Harry said, before shrugging. "Well, I'm sure the others thought to get them for us."

"Oh. Yes, you're right," she agreed.

What went unsaid was that neither of them was in anyway eager to go back there.

As she made to open the door, Harry stopped her.

"I know there's still a lot I need to tell you," he said, "and I will. But tomorrow. There's something I need to show you first. After that, I'll explain everything. I promise."

Hermione believed him, so she nodded and they made their way to The Great Hall for dinner after making a stop at a restroom to freshen up a bit.

As soon as they walked into The Great Hall, heads began to turn in their direction, and those who saw them, alerted others to their presence, until, very soon, it seemed like the entire hall was staring.

Hermione almost sighed. This again.

Even the teachers were staring, and when Hermione looked, she found that Prof. Snape was conspicuously absent.

She was... relieved.

A relief that fled when she caught Prof. Quirrel's eyes.

Harry must have noticed her freeze, because he thankfully took her hand, and she was able to make herself breathe again.

As Hermione and Harry headed for the Gryffindor table, she began to hear flashes of conversation.

—heard they were kicked out—

—their potion exploded—

—spread poisonous gas—

—Potter dueled Snape—

Where did people get these rumours?

"Hermione, Harry, over here," Faye called from where the first-years were sitting, and Hermione and Harry began to head over.

Before they could get there however, Prof. McGonagall approached them.

The witch looked quite stern.

"And where have you two been?" She asked, not quite icily, but in a much harder tone than Hermione was expecting.

The girl was confused, but before she could say anything, Harry said, "Hermione and I were doing some reading in one of the empty classrooms. Why, is something wrong?"

Prof. McGonagall looked down at Harry. "Prof. Snape had some... complaints," she said. "About you."

Harry shrugged. "Somehow I'm not surprised. I assume The Headmaster wants to see me or something."

Prof. McGonagall's lips dipped down in displeasure. "Yes," she said finally. "But after dinner. Wait in your common room. I'll take you to him."

Then she turned and walked away.

As Hermione watched the professor go, she wondered why the older woman had looked angry. Angry at Harry.

"Doesn't she know?" She asked Harry softly, as they continued to join their friends. "About Snape and your parents."

"She knows enough," was all Harry said.

Hermione was still very confused, and to be frank, she was starting to get quite sick of it.

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

The best part about being older than the oldest school of magic in the world, Nilrem had long since decided, was getting to watch history repeat itself in newer and more interesting ways.

It was also the worst part, since the ancient Chinese apparently had good reason for that curse of theirs, but the old hat didn't really like to think about that.

No. He liked to focus on the good instead. It made things easier when one was his age. And when one was ultimately as powerless as he was. Because the bad doesn't become easier to bear with age; it becomes... heavier, as it makes you face the truth of how nothing ever really changes.

And that is one truth with a considerable amount of weight.

When Severus Snape had come storming out of the Floo earlier in the day, at a time when he should have been in class, virtually every sentient entity in the office had known exactly why before he'd even uttered a word of his drunken rant.

And it had been quite the rant; a red flush on his pale cheeks, his dark eyes glaring at everything, he had even been frothing at the mouth by the end.

Albus, of course, had let the young man purge it out of his system, a simple and effective action with the twofold reward of helping Severus calm down, and letting them glean the desired information on Harry Potter that they'd all waited this day for.

At the end, panting fiercely and with a half full bottle of fire whiskey still in hand, Severus had slumped into a chair, his blazing fury burnt out to leave a simmering hatred.

It hurt Nilrem, seeing him like that. He still remembered the boy Severus had been; full of potential and eager for companionship and recognition.

And the hat knew that, just as he should have done with Tom Riddle, he should have put Severus in a different house. Perhaps Hufflepuff. A place where both could have made bonds untainted by subterfuge and greed.

But he had put them in Slytherin instead. And would do the same even if he could go back and do it all over again, because when one was as old as he was, they had to make peace with the truth that bad things will always happen. And no matter how much of a bystander you are, some of it will inevitably be your fault, at least in part.

The most you could do was try to also be part of the good.

Severus had left some time after with nary a word, and Albus hadn't stopped him. Nilrem hadn't either.

Minerva had been called to the office right after, and Albus had given her the barebones of the situation, then told her to bring Harry to the office.

But neither the boy, nor Granger, had been found; no one had seen them since the event, not even their classmates.

Not until dinner, when he'd walked in with Granger and his much too intelligent owl, looking perfectly unbothered. Much like how he walked into the office right then, the only difference being the absence of the girl who almost always shadowed him.

The boy who might be more than just Harry Potter looked around the office, eyes slipping past the Headmaster at his desk like he wasn't even there. Much unlike his owl, who'd found a perch on top a bookshelf and had her gaze trained on the old wizard since they walked in.

"Good evening, Harry," Albus said. "Have a seat."

"I'd rather stand if that's okay," Harry said, then his eyes caught the Headmaster's familiar, and a look of childish awe spread over his face.

For the first time since they walked in, Harry's owl looked away from Albus, and it was to shoot what was clearly a stink eye to everyone present at the phoenix who had effortlessly grabbed her master's attention.

Fawkes, perfectly unbothered, stood tall and proud, and may have flared his fiery plumage a bit.

Eventually, Harry looked away from the phoenix, and as he walked over to a steaming, wheezing contraption in a corner, he said, "so, I imagine Snape came crying to you already."

"Prof. Snape, Harry," Albus said gently.

"Yeah, we both know I'm not calling him that," the boy stated without turning.

He sniffed the steam emanating from the device, coughed heavily, then moved to the next one, a compass with a rapidly spinning dial. Which he stopped with a finger.

"Do you think it's his daddy issues?" Harry asked thoughtfully. "His father treats him like shit, so he latches on to the first man to show him any measure of affection. Although, a better question would be why you keep defending him? He's clearly undeserving of it. I mean, seriously, what is this? Naruto? Where anybody can get away with anything as long as they have a soppy backstory."

The room was quiet for some time, within which Harry's owl returned to his shoulder, and the boy made a visible effort to calm himself as the bird rubbed her head against his.

"Thanks, Hedwig," Harry said, then moved to yet another object, this one a small, glass globe full of murky smoke that constantly morphed into nonsensical shapes. The globe was sitting on the carving of a hand.

"Who told you about Prof. Snape, Harry?" Albus finally said, and though the man's voice was calm, Nilrem had known him long enough to know he was not.

Harry scoffed as he picked up the globe, shook it, then held it to his ear, listening for what, Nilrem did not know. "You mean among the literal dozens of people who know all the grisly little details of his life?" Harry asked.

Albus sighed. "Harry, Severus has made some mistakes—"

"Don't," the boy said, his tone surprisingly cold. "Just don't. Don't preach to me about love and forgiveness. Don't interfere with my life. Do not try to help me because you are clearly terrible at it. And for the love of God, keep that... man away from me, and away from Hermione, because if he hurts her, I will kill him."

Harry's breathing was clearly audible in the silence of the room, and Nilrem realised that this was a mirror of events from just this afternoon.

With less drunk raging true, but a mirror nevertheless.

Harry sighed, and his anger seemed to evaporate, leaving only tiredness. He set the globe down gently on its stand.

"Stay out of my life, Dumbledore," he said, almost pleading. "You've done enough."

And with a final "goodnight, Headmaster," Harry Potter walked out, the door closing gently behind him.

The room was quiet for some time. Harry had not acted how anyone had feared or expected. This might have been a good thing, were it not for his obvious, unwarranted dislike of Albus, and the very suspicious depths of his knowledge.

It was Phineas Black who finally broke the quiet. "Noticed how the boy never once looked you in the eyes?" The eternal Slytherin asked, sounding pleased.

Albus sighed, even as a number of previous Heads gave Phineas dirty looks at his tone. "Yes, Phineas, I saw."

Nilrem spoke. "Nevertheless, I can safely say that was not Tom Riddle."

"No, it wasn't," Albus agreed, then after a few seconds turned to Nilrem and asked him, "could the piece of Tom in him have done this? Could Riddle have affected Harry in this way?"

Nilrem could see the desperate hope in Albus' eyes, hear it in his voice. But he couldn't help. "I don't know, Albus. One could hardly call me an expert on horcruxes."

The hope in Albus' eyes dimmed. "No, I suppose not," he said, before he gathered himself, bid them goodnight, and retreated to his quarters.

Nilrem sighed. The worst part about being older than the oldest school of magic in the world, was getting to watch history repeat itself in newer and more interesting ways.

Somehow though, it was always worse when it was your mistake you watched repeated.

Because making a horcrux has never been anything but a mistake. Nilrem knew that more than anyone else.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: and here we have the chapter that made so many lose their shit.

Weird.

---

Hermione Granger sat by the first-year fire (everyone had started to call the painting that at some point), worrying at her lower lip and letting the conversation of her fellow first-years wash over her.

Prof. McGonagall had taken Harry to meet the Headmaster about fifteen minutes ago, and while she knew that that probably wasn't even enough time to get to his office, wherever it was (Hogwarts, A History hadn't said), she was already beginning to feel like it had been too much time already.

A small part of Hermione's mind realised how... odd it was that she was worrying for Harry, after all, Prof. Snape had virtually assaulted them, by all rights they should be the ones making complaints. Not the other way around.

On the other hand, Prof. Snape was a Death Eater. And Dumbledore knew this, as did McGonagall.

And yet they let him teach Harry!

That was like a 'former' Nazi teaching a Jewish pupil, for God's sake! Worse even, with all of the history between the two of them.

What? Was the Headmaster just hoping Harry wouldn't know? That it wouldn't matter to him? The man who caused his parents' deaths standing in front of him, unapologetic, and Harry was supposed to simply pretend like nothing was wrong?

What were they thinking!?

"Whoa, calm down there, Hermione," Seamus said, and Hermione realised that everyone was now staring at her warily. And also that she was glaring.

"Sorry," she said, massaging the expression from her brow, and taking the opportunity to stretch her fingers after releasing them from the achingly-tight fists they'd been curled in.

A somewhat awkward silence settled for a few moments, before Dean brought up his favourite topic of football again and almost everyone groaned.

Ron (who, thank heavens, had left his "rat" in its cage upstairs) quickly tried to counter by bringing up his favourite topic, quidditch, and Faye backed him up, while Helen, the only other muggleborn there, who also liked football thanks to her Dad, supported Dean, and things quickly devolved into a debate about which sport was better.

Hermione stayed out of the argument. She didn't really care about which sport was better, nor did she think the people arguing even knew, considering Dean and Helen had never even heard of quidditch before Hogwarts, and Ron and Faye seemed to think football was a sport played with foot-shaped balls.

Honestly Hermione was just glad that they were no longer asking her questions she couldn't, or didn't want to, answer. Such as why Snape and Harry had locked horns like—according to Ron—two garden gnomes fighting over a piece of his mom's apple pie.

Harry came in some time later, Hedwig still on his shoulder like when he left. He looked exhausted.

Hermione had gotten to him before The Fat Lady had even swung closed behind him.

"What happened?" She asked. "Did you get detention? What did Dumbledore say?"

Harry blinked, somewhat overwhelmed by her rapid fire questions. "No," he said finally, "I didn't get detention. And Dumbledore said pretty much what I expected him to."

That didn't tell her much, and Hermione still had a list a thousand questions long, but she could see how tired Harry was, so she held back.

"You look exhausted, Harry," she said. "You should go to bed."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then nodded.

Hermione followed him up, luckily no one approached Harry for questions or anything, their time in The Great Hall had given them the opportunity to sate most people's curiosity.

Distractedly, she noticed that the boys' dorm was much cleaner than she'd expected it to be, and that made her remember that none of them in her own dorm ever did any cleaning, yet the room never dirtied.

They didn't even do their own laundry, just left their dirty clothes in the hamper and woke up to find it freshly laundered.

The boys dorm must run on the same magic, she decided.

She left Harry with a final hug and a "goodnight" as he began to prepare for bed, then she returned downstairs where she informed the group that, no, Harry did not get detention, as well as tell Harry's dormmates not to bother him since he was tired.

Hermione went to bed not long after, but sleep didn't come for a good long while. And when it did, she dreamed.

★★★​

Saturday, Sept. 7


Harry looked bright-eyed and well-rested the next morning, in complete contrast to Hermione, who had been plagued by a dream where Ron's rat had morphed into a nightmarish amalgamation of man and rodent and stolen Harry from his bed. Pettigrew had then proceeded to deliver Harry, bound and gagged, to Prof. Quirrel, who then pressed his wand against Harry's scar and said with a flash of poisonous green light, "Avada Kedavra." And Harry had slumped, dead, while Snape watched from the background with a sneer.

Hermione still didn't know how come she hadn't woken up her dormmates with her scream.

She'd almost run up to Harry's dorm to make sure the boy was still safe in his bed, but she'd managed to stop herself. That would be rather difficult to explain if someone were to see her.

So the girl had satisfied herself with keeping watch in the common room instead, hoping that if anyone were to come for Harry, she would know and stop them.

And it was on the sofa that she'd chosen as her lookout that Harry came to wake her at 5:30 the following morning.

Hermione jumped awake, her mind painting dark scenarios of a legion of Death Eaters marching in like Storm Troopers to take Harry.

She reached for her wand, but she couldn't find it in the tangle of blankets wrapped around her.

Where was it? Harry needed her. She—

"Hermione!"

She blinked. "Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me," he managed to get out, right before Hermione squeezed him into a hug.

"It's fine," she muttered repeatedly to herself. "You're fine."

It took Hermione several minutes to calm down, and when she finally pulled back, Harry said, "you had nightmares."

It wasn't really a question, but Hermione nodded anyway, and Harry's eyes dimmed in sadness.

"That's where I sleep," he said after a time, pointing at the darkest corner of the common room. "This is actually the first time I've woken up in my bed since I came here."

Hermione's gut wrenched. How had she not noticed any of this? She practically screamed at herself. It had been obvious!

The way he was always awake, waiting here for her every morning, the way he was so jumpy, pulling out his wand whenever something sudden happened. He'd even told her, straight to her face, that he'd considered not coming to Hogwarts, and she'd just pushed it out of her mind.

...

Wait. What about his relatives? One of the first things Harry had ever told her was that they didn't want him around.

He hadn't been joking when he said that.

Harry's sigh pulled Hermione from her spiraling thoughts. "Go get dressed," he said. "I promised you the truth; I'm going to tell you everything."

Hermione got dressed in record time, and when she came back down, Harry was waiting patiently on the sofa she'd left him on.

Hedwig had joined him at some point.

Harry rose as she approached. "Come on then," he said, heading for the exit.

As the portrait swung closed behind them, Hermione and Harry exchanged pleasantries with The Fat Lady as they often did.

It had taken quite a bit of research with the little material available, a lot of convincing from Harry, and some long conversations with some of the more talkative paintings in the school, but Hermione had finally, grudgingly admitted, that the people in the paintings of Hogwarts were neither brainwashed, nor trapped.

Turns out that while paintings were real people, in that they were capable of thought and feelings, they still differed largely from humans. Like when Hermione had realised that boredom was a foreign concept to them.

Which she had to admit made sense, because some of the paintings in Hogwarts were older than the castle itself, and had spent much of that time in dusty, barely-used hallways.

"Say, Jolene," Harry said, "do you know where the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy is?"

The woman frowned and asked, "the odd one who tried to teach trolls the ballet?" Harry nodded. "Up on the seventh floor, Harry. What do you need it for?"

"Oh, nothing, just wanted to show Hermione something. Thanks by the way," Harry said as he went, and Hermione followed.

Up on the seventh floor, it didn't take them long to locate the tapestry, a still one, surprisingly, that depicted a bearded wizard and three trolls, all of whom were wearing tutus.

The wizard himself, was in the middle of a pirouette, while two of the trolls just looked confused as to what was going on. Meanwhile, the final troll had a giant club poised to smack the dancing wizard on the head.

Hermione understood now why the man was called the Barmy.

Harry walked to the blank wall opposite the tapestry muttering to himself, and Hermione followed.

"How many times was I supposed to walk across again?" Harry mused. "Three? Seven? I remember it was a prime number, so nine maybe?"

"Nine isn't a prime number, Harry."

"It's not? Huh. Maybe seven then." Harry then began to walk to and fro in front of the wall, still muttering to himself all the while. "I need the Room of Forgotten Things... or was it the Room of Abandoned Things? Whatever. You know the room I'm talking about; I need the room people hide stuff in."

Harry continued to walk to and fro, and right before Hermione gave up and asked what he was doing, a door appeared on the wall.

"Finally," Harry said.

It was a perfectly ordinary door, so much so, in fact, that if Hermione had not just seen it form out of thin air, she would have walked past it without another glance.

Harry set a hand on the doorknob, then took a deep breath. "Well, this is it, I guess," he said before opening the door, and Hermione's breath caught as the saw the interior.

The room was huge, with a ceiling higher than the library's. It smelled musty and old and infrequently used, and the lighting came from dozens of magical lamps like the ones used everywhere in Hogwarts.

Despite the size however, the room was hardly impressive, what was astounding was the contents of the room.

Everything, from books, to cupboards, to cauldrons, to flasks full of unidentifiable but obviously magical fluids, even robes; the room had it all.

Broken desks, rusted armours, cracked statues, it seemed like the room had at least one of anything that could potentially be found within the walls of Hogwarts. And even many things that are unlikely to be.

Hold on, Harry had called this The Room of Forgotten Things, right? Or was it the Room of Abandoned Things?

"So, this is where things lost in Hogwarts end up?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, something like that," Harry said distractedly, before sighing again.

He'd done that a lot today.

"Why are we here, Harry? What do you want to show me?"

Harry sighed again. "It's a diadem," he said. "And if things work out the way I'm hoping they will... well, you'll see."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. Where is it?"

"I have no idea," Harry said. "We'll have to look. You go that way, I'll go this one. And if you find it, Hermione, do not touch it. Hedwig, go with her, please."

Hedwig flew off Harry's shoulder, but instead of moving to Hermione's like they'd both expected, she flew off into the room.

"Okay?" Harry said, just as perplexed as Hermione. Before he could say anything else however, they heard Hedwig's call from up ahead, and Harry frowned. "Come on," he said.

Finding Hedwig didn't take long; she was perched on a large cupboard with a surface that seemed blistered by acid, and as the children walked up to her, she pointed a taloned foot at something; a tarnished diadem sitting on a badly burned desk.

"Is that it?" Hermione asked.

"I think so," Harry said. "Thanks, Hedwig."

Then Harry pulled out his wand from within his left sleeve (Hermione had no idea how he got it to stick up there), pointed it at the diadem and said, "I sure hope this works."

And before she could ask what, Harry's face twisted into a rictus of hate, and he growled words she never imagined he would say, "Avada Kedavra!"

The flash of green light came out, just like in her dream, but unlike in her dream it was an ironically beautiful shade of green, almost exactly like Harry's eyes. It struck the diadem, and a bloodcurdling wail erupted from the object as something dark and foul burst out from it.

It hovered, the thing, for some seconds, its hate palpable, then it dispersed, turning into black wisps of smoke that rapidly vanished.

Hermione stumbled backwards, her heart pounding in her chest. "What was that?" She squeaked.

"That was a horcrux," Harry said. He was breathing heavily too, but he looked in better control of himself than Hermione did. "A piece of Voldemort's soul. They're the reason he's still alive." Then he muttered, "God, I can't believe that actually worked."

Hermione was at a loss for words for several seconds. "And this has just been sitting here!?" She asked, when she could finally push the words out.

Harry looked at her. "Welcome to Hogwarts," he said, but the attempt at humour fell flat. Mostly because the boy didn't seem to be in a joking mood himself.

Hermione swallowed. "How—how do you know all these things, Harry?" She just couldn't hold back that question anymore. "How can you know all these things?"

Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.

It was a lovely envelope. Rich, thick, designed paper, with perfume she could smell without trying.

It had been opened already, so she raised the flap and pulled out a letter.

It read:


Dear NO. 997,345

You know me as ROB, so that's what I'll call myself (although, I assure you that far from being omnipotent, I am actually small potatoes on the cosmic stage).

Anyway, my friends and I are holding game night, and since we've run out of games to play, we've decided to try out this rather odd idea that has become prevalent all over your internet, because, apparently your kind seems to think we have nothing better to do than to go isekaing people.

To that end, we've purchased one million human souls, and are sending you all to different "fictional" universes, and you drew the "HARRY POTTER" straw.

Congratulations.

Anyway, consequently, all of your personal memories have now (more or less) been stripped, and replaced with HARRY POTTER'S.

Hope you're entertaining at least.

signed—ROB​

PS: since the Harry Potter world is so lacking in common sense and competency, we've decided to make things more exciting.

First, no horcrux or "mother's love" Deus ex machina for you.

Second, we like Hedwig, so she gets something special.

Third, let's face it, Voldy's a joke. Therefore, to make things challenging for you, we will isekai the soul of... well, let's just say this young man is who Tom Riddle wishes he could be, into Voldypants on the summer of your fourth year.

Let the games begin!


Hermione looked up from the letter, her mind trying to comprehend it.

Then Harry said, "the letter came with this," and took of his robes to reveal that he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt underneath.

The T-shirt had words written on it. They said:

I got isekai'd and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. Tee-hee.

Hermione blinked. "Harry, I—I don't understand."

Then Harry Potter, her best friend, looked her in the eyes and said, "I was fifteen when I died of a "sudden" heart attack. When I woke up, I was in a cupboard, in this body, wearing this T-shirt, and holding that letter.

"That's my truth, Hermione."

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Like any child her age, Hermione had imagined living out one of her favourite books before. Taking on the role of the hero or heroine and going on amazing, magical adventures. That was one reason why coming to Hogwarts had amazed her so, because she'd felt that it was her chance to actually live out a magical adventure like the children in the books she read.

But now, standing here, in front of Harry, and having him tell her, that yes, she actually was living out a magical adventure? Well, it was a hard pill to swallow.

And what made it all worse was that this was just one of the many, many impossible things that had just been dropped on her lap.

She almost wanted to say that this was like when Prof. McGonagall came to tell her about magic, but really, this was a thousand times bigger than that.

Her life being a book series, her best friend being a—what was the word?—isekai'd fifteen-year-old, the piece of Voldemort's soul Harry had just killed, Defense Against the Dark Arts being taught by the Voldemort himself, Death Eater teachers, Dumbledore and McGonagall knowing and doing nothing, and all of this before she considered the being who was so powerful that they could apparently just buy a million people and toss them across realities like they were playthings.

If she hadn't been sitting already, she probably would have collapsed.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, then he shook his head, "sorry, stupid question, of course you're not okay."

Hermione looked at Harry. He was standing, looking worried for her, but hesitant to approach.

Hermione looked at the boy she called her friend, the boy in the T-shirt with the insane words. The boy who had smiled, and laughed, and joked, and tried to console her while bearing the weight of this knowledge that she could barely comprehend. The boy who even now was still saying, "I—I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have told you, I just... I needed someone to know. I just couldn't—"

It was a good thing Hermione's hugging skills had gotten a fair bit of practice recently, it made the one she gave Harry then that much more effective.

★★★​

Calming Harry, and herself, down, took a while, and by then, it was getting near 7:20, so Harry suggested they should head down for breakfast first (to give Hermione a chance to clear her head if nothing else), and Hermione agreed after Harry reminded her that he would still be here to answer all her questions.

Before they left the Room of Requirement however, Harry had one last thing to tell her, "oh, right, before I forget, Dumbledore, Snape, and Quirrel can all read minds by looking in your eyes, it's called legilimency. I don't know if Dumbledore would actually do it, but better safe than sorry. Just try not to make eye-contact with any of them if you can."

Hermione stared at Harry for several seconds, then with an admirable force of will, she pushed all the questions and terror that statement brought forth as far back as she could manage.

"Okay," she said finally.

Breakfast was... light. Hermione had no appetite, but she made herself eat the little that she could stomach, because she felt she would need her energy for what was to come.

As soon as she was done, she told Harry she would meet him later, then went up to her dorm, where she sealed herself in her bed with a pen and one of the many notebooks Harry had given her, and tried to put her thoughts in order.

The first three pages ended up with an almost rabid outpouring of the sheer existential dread that the events of the morning had filled her with, and on the fourth page, in large, bold letters, written over and over onto themselves, were they words: WHAT CAN WE DO?

Because that was the question. The only one that truly mattered anyway. What could they do?

What could they do about ROB? About Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the school.

What could they do about the four year deadline?

And Hermione sat staring at those words for a very long time as she realised that she had absolutely no idea.

★★★​

It was Lavender and Parvati who finally pulled Hermione out of what was probably a steady breakdown.

"Hermione," Lavender called, sliding the curtains around her bed wide open, and causing the girl within to blink owlishly at the light.

Parvati's eyes tracked down to the open page on her notebook, and the giant words on it that she'd been mulling over, and Hermione quickly shut the book.

"What is it?" She asked, more curtly than she'd intended.

Lavender either didn't notice or didn't take offense, because the girl asked, "are you and Harry having a fight?"

Hermione was stomped. Of all the words she could have imagined Lavender saying in that moment, those were nothing close. "What? Why would you think that?"

"Well, the two of you were acting weird when you came down for breakfast this morning," Parvati said.

"Yeah, and then you ran up here, while Harry has been moping around like someone broke his favourite broomstick," Lavender added.

"Oh. Well, no, we're not fighting," Hermione said.

The girls clearly didn't believe her. "Really?" Parvati asked.

"Yes, really, we're not."

"Then why are you up here then?" Lavender said, trying to catch her in a lie. "Because you and Harry are always together, and now you're not." A pause. "Actually I think this is the first time you and Harry weren't together when it wasn't time for bed. Are you sure you really aren't boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Hermione only just barely refrained from pointing out to Lavender that she and Parvati were always together.

Heck, it was so bad that Faye had had to switch beds with Lav, so that she and Parvati could have beds next to each other.

"Yes, Lav, I'm sure. And we aren't fighting either, we just—" Hermione paused as she came to a realization "—we just need to talk about some things."

She rose. "Thanks," she told the two girls. She began to run off, but then stopped. "Where's Harry?"

"He went up to the boy's dorm some time ago," Parvati said, and Hermione was off.

She found Harry sitting at his dorm room's window looking melancholic. Hedwig sat with him, and though the boy's fingers were running through her feathers, he didn't really seem to notice it.

He didn't seem to notice much of anything.

The owl spotted her as soon as she walked in, but Harry didn't until she walked right up to him and called his name.

He turned to face her, and Hermione had to admit that Lavender had been right, Harry did look like someone broke his favourite bike.

"Hey, Hermione," he said.

For one odd moment, Hermione caught herself listening for something different in his voice, searching for some change in his face and familiar eyes, some trace of the other boy he had apparently been. But even as she did it, she knew she would find nothing. Because Harry had never been anyone but the boy she saw before her now.

"We need to talk, Harry," Hermione said.

Because if they were going to figure out what to do, she had to know everything. Right down to the last detail.

★★★​

Their second walk to The Room of Requirement was quiet, much like the one prior to it.

At the blank stretch of wall, Harry stepped back and said, "do the honours."

Hermione stared at Harry, then at the wall. "How do I make it work?" She asked. She felt like she may know how, based on her memory of what she saw Harry do, but she wanted to be sure.

"Oh, right. Uh, you walk back and forth in front of it, while thinking about the kind of room you want it to be."

"Any kind of room I want it to be?" Hermione asked, and Harry smiled, his expression brightening a little for the first time today.

"As far as I know, yeah."

Taking Harry's instructions to heart, Hermione focused. "I need a room where Harry and I can comfortably discuss everything," she muttered, pacing to and fro.

On her third pass, the door appeared, looking exactly the same as it had when they went into The Room of Forgotten Things, and for a second Hermione thought that she'd done it wrong.

Opening the door proved that false.

The room within was a little slice of the Gryffindor common room, but not just any slice, it was the little corner that the first-years had claimed for their own, complete with the painting.

There was a slight difference however, instead of the many chairs arranged in a wide C that the first-years had around their actual fireplace, this one only had two chairs, with a small table in between.

It looked wonderfully cozy.

"Huh," Harry said as they entered. "I had no idea it could copy real places. I suppose it kinda makes sense though, just use what's already in our heads and build on that."

That made sense, Hermione agreed. Something had to guide the design of the room after all.

She wondered what kind of enchantments the room had. How difficult would such magic be? Would she be capable of it someday?

Hermione shook away the thoughts; there was something else to focus on right now.

Harry settled into one of the chairs, and Hermione mirrored him, then she set the notebook she'd thought to bring down on the table.

Harry chuckled. "Of course Hermione Granger would bring a book," he said, unwittingly setting the stage for Hermione to ask her first question.

"How well do you know me? From the books I mean. The letter called this the Harry Potter universe, and, well, you were put in Harry's body—" wow, did that feel bizarre to say "—so I'm certain enough you, or I guess Harry, was the protagonist. But you clearly know me. So, who was I?"

She had a suspicion, a very strong one actually, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Harry said nothing for some time. "Hermione, are you really sure you want to do this?"

Sure? Hermione wasn't sure of anything. She wasn't even sure how she knew that Harry was telling the truth; she simply did. She knew he wasn't lying. She knew the contents of that letter were very true, and she knew that if she didn't get the answers to these questions, for good or for ill, she would obsess over them until she couldn't sleep.

So, no, Hermione was not sure whether she wanted the answers to these questions. But she was going to ask them all the same.

"Tell me, Harry," she said, and Harry sighed, then readied himself.

"You were the best friend," he said. "My—" a pause "—Harry's best friend. You and Ron."

Hermione nodded. Her suspicion virtually confirmed. "Just your friend?" She asked.

It took Harry some time to understand what she was asking, and surprisingly, he laughed. "You weren't the love interest or anything like that, Hermione. Actually, you—well, book-you, ended up with Ron."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Yeah," Harry said, clearly enjoying himself. "You guys even got married and had kids and everything."

"Married!? To Ron?"

"Oh, come on, he's not that bad," Harry said.

"Well, no, but, it's Ron. All he does is talk about quidditch and complain about homework."

"Hey, that's not true, he also talks about how great Gryffindor is," Harry said, but his eyes made it clear he was simply goading her.

Hermione on the other hand, wasn't really having the best time. Sure she hadn't been expecting a Prince Charming to come sweep her off her feet, but Ron? He was just so, so Ron. So ordinary.

The girl didn't really know what kind of man she wanted to marry, but Ron would have been the last thing on her mind.

Harry, having had his fun, rolled his eyes. "Relax, Hermione, it's not like it actually happened."

"But it did," Hermione countered, staring right at him.

"Well, yeah," Harry agreed, "but in the books. And I have no idea what kind of trans-dimensional shenanigan took place to feed all of this—" Harry gestured wildly at the world around them "—into J.K Rowling's head, but Hermione, this was a woman with her own biases and ideals that she injected into her work; we can't live our lives based on what she wrote. You're a real person, Hermione."

A beat passed in silence.

"But you do," Hermione said finally, not argumentatively, merely stating a fact. "You did it with Draco. You did it with Daphne and Tracey. You did it with Rita Skeeter and Scabbers and Quirrel and even Snape. It's probably why you treat Percy the way you do."

The words were all said with a quiet simplicity that was more effective than screaming probably would have been, and by the end, Harry was just sitting there, staring blankly with a complicated expression on his face.

And Hermione worked up the courage to ask the question she really wanted to.

"Was that why you became my friend?"

Harry's gaze sharpened at those words and his eyes trained on her. He seemed to actually think about the question before he answered. "No. Because as egotistical as this might sound; Hermione, you befriended me.

"I was sitting in that train, by myself, scared and alone, and avoiding everyone, because I'd convinced myself that it was best. And then you came in. And I tried to be curt with you, but somehow... you were just so easy to talk to. And you were a thousand times more than I ever thought you could be, and it..."

Harry petered out, clearly at a loss for words, and Hermione had nothing with which to fill up the sudden silence because she too was currently so overwhelmed her mind could barely string thoughts together.

After several seconds, Harry finally took a deep breath and gathered himself again. "No, Hermione," Harry said. "Some book is not why I became friends with you. It may be why I've done everything else that I have since I came to this blasted place, but it is not why I became friends with you. That was all you."

In that moment Hermione realised two things: one; Harry had a habit of making her speechless, and two; she didn't really care about those books all that much.

The conversation carried on for much longer after that, and Hermione asked many more questions and took a lot of notes. By the end, it was long past lunch, and Hermione finally knew what they could do.

They could fight.

They just needed to figure out how.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Harry had once told Hermione that his mother had told him that he had a habit of making people face their truth. She had been right, because Harry had shown her more truth in a few days than she thought she would have faced in a year if she had never met him.

And one of the ones that struck her most deeply, was that the Magical World may not actually be very magical after all.

In her former school, a rumour had spread that one of the teachers, Ms. McArdle was a convicted murderess. Within a week, some parents had pulled their children out, and many others were threatening to sue the school if she wasn't fired immediately.

Ms. McArdle had left, and it was only about a week later, when Hermione overheard her parents talking, that the girl learnt that Ms. McArdle had never even killed anyone; she had accidentally pushed her abusive husband down a flight of stairs. He had broken his neck and was crippled but was very much alive.

Ms. McArdle was never even convicted since it was an accident in self-defense, and yet she'd lost her job over it.

Professor Snape was a Death Eater, everyone important knew he was a Death Eater, and they let him teach at Hogwarts anyway.

They let him teach Harry. And Harry's reasoning for why chilled her even more.

"An overwhelming majority of the powers that be in The Wizarding World are pure-bloods. And most purebloods, even the ones who don't realise that they do, discriminate against muggles and muggleborns. And since most Death Eaters—except for the absolute worst, all of whom are now in Azkaban—saved the worst of their treatment for muggles and muggleborns, well... because I find it really hard to believe that Lucius Malfoy, or any other Death Eater, would have escaped Azkaban if even half the purebloods in the ministry had lost family to them like the Weasleys did."

It was funny, really. When Hermione had first read about the war, it had been horrifying, yes, but in a distant way. The same way it was when she heard about wars being fought in distant countries.

Her mother had thanked God that all the people who would do something like that had faced justice. Because that was what the books had said. That the Death Eaters had lost when Harry slew their master, and they were summarily rounded up and punished for their crimes.

But they hadn't been. They still walked around instead, free men and women, sitting in positions of power, while their master spent his days finding ways to come back to life.

Hermione almost sighed. Facing the truth was hard work.

★★★​

Sunday, Sept. 8


Sleeping in her bed when she knew Harry was perched in a corner of the common room, hiding, wasn't easy.

In fact it was impossible, so at some point past midnight, Hermione snuck downstairs to keep him company.

She could tell that the boy appreciated it, but she could also see that he felt guilty about being the reason she was down here. And eventually, he made her promise to go up to her own bed if he went up to his.

Hermione didn't really want to, she preferred being down here with him where she knew he was safe, and she most certainly did not want Harry anywhere near that man up in his dorms.

For a split, silly moment, Hermione wondered how her father would react if he found out that she was, technically speaking, planning to spend the night with a boy.

Both her parents had expressed some concern when they'd found out Hogwarts was a co-ed school, but her dad had certainly been more troubled by it.

Hermione imagined what the expression on his face would be like, and as she did she came to a realisation; she hadn't written her parents since she came to Hogwarts.

She'd barely even thought about them in all that time.

It made sense, she supposed, her relationship with her parents had always been somewhat strained ever since she magically set the kitchen on fire when she was six.

Ever since, they'd adopted a hands-off approach with her, out of fear of setting her off.

This wasn't even the longest she'd gone without seeing them. But it was the longest she'd gone without talking to them, so she asked Harry for a favour, "Harry, can I borrow Hedwig? I need to send a letter to my parents."

Harry blinked, pausing in his packing up of his blanket. "Oh. Uh, Hedwig, can you help her out?" He asked the owl where she stood watching over them, and Hedwig let out a little hoot.

"Thank you, Hedwig," Hermione said.

"This is the first letter you'll be sending home, right?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded. "Would have thought you would have written them sooner," he said thoughtlessly as he stood with his folded blanket under his arm.

"I forgot," Hermione said, then hesitated for a bit.

"We're not very close," she added finally, because if she couldn't trust Harry with the truth, then who could she trust.

Harry looked genuinely surprised. "You're not?"

Hermione was glad. Harry had told her that he knew very little about her personal life, because the books had provided virtually zero details on it. And she believed him. She did.

But she was still glad to see confirmation. To know that she would be the one to share her memories with her friend.

So she did. She told him all about how she had gotten angry that day over something she could barely remember, and fire had poured out of her mouth.

It hadn't lasted long, barely even a second, but it had set the table alight all the same.

Her father had put it out before anything extreme happened, but it had been a defining moment; the moment when her parents could no longer ignore all the odd things that happened around her. The moment when her parents began to draw away.

Sometime while she told her story, they'd sat back down, and were cocooned in Harry's blanket to keep out the cold.

It was nice and warm, and Hedwig's glowing eyes were surprisingly comforting to see.

"I don't think they like magic very much," Hermione said. "I think it scares them. They were rather offended when Prof. McGonagall said I was a witch, you know. We're Christians; Catholics."

"Ah!" Harry intoned, and Hermione nodded.

"It was clear they weren't very excited about it, but they agreed to send me here, because they thought it would be better if I was with my kind."

Harry winced, then said, "well, that's the problem then."

"What?"

"Your parents, they have a biased view of magic. Think about it; first their daughter does a bunch of weird stuff they try to ignore, then she goes all Uchiha on them and almost burns down the house. And after that has been left to fester over a few years, McGonagall comes up and proclaims you the w-word. And I doubt finding out that the Magical World had its own little war where muggles were casualties helped a whole lot."

Hermione thought about it, and realised that what Harry said made sense. And that realisation caused frustration. "But magic isn't all bad," she argued needlessly.

"No, it's not. It's beautiful and wonderful and amazing, but your parents don't know that." Then Harry smiled at her and Hermione just knew he had a plan. "And that's why we're going to show them."

★★★​

"You have a camera?" Hermione asked the next morning when she met Harry in the common room, and the boy just rolled his eyes.

"I'm rich, Hermione. Of course I have a camera," he said, and it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes.

It was a Polaroid, and Hermione was about to ask if it could take magical images when Harry raised it to his eye and said, "smile."

The flash was bright and unexpected enough to make Hermione grimace and flinch.

"Harry, what did you do that for?" She complained, blinking the spots out of her vision.

The picture slid out with a whirr and Harry took one look at it before bursting into laughter and offering it to Hermione.

It was a magical photograph, and Hermione's likeness in it was scowling fiercely at the camera, and would, every few seconds, shake her fist threateningly while screaming soundlessly.

What in the world?

"I told you to smile," Harry said. "The enchantment on the camera uses your expression to base the loop's behaviour. A smile gives you a happy, waving picture, and a frown gives you, well, that."

Hermione scowled at Harry, then, faster than he could react, she snatched the camera from his hand, kicked him in the shin, and as he yelped in pain, took a picture.

It came out exactly how she'd hoped; in the picture, Harry held his shin in one hand, and was hopping on one foot while bawling his eyes out.

It was perfect.

Of course, such a blatant act of war could not go unanswered, and very soon, both tweens were locked in the age-old struggle of taking embarrassing pictures of each other.

The camera barely survived.

★★★​

Harry's plan was simple; take a few nice images of Hermione and Hogwarts, and maybe even throw in one or two pictures of some magical creatures if they could.

Simple, elegant, and hopefully, effective.

It lasted as long as it took for the other first-years to hear about it.

Naturally, Lavender wanted pictures of her taken too, and Dean and Helen wanted to send pictures home too, since their families had never seen Hogwarts either. Neville asked if he could get a picture of the fireplace to send to his Gran, while Faye, when Harry had carelessly wondered aloud if Spirit would be up for some pictures, had sworn her undying vengeance on him if he didn't take her to see the baby unicorn too.

And that was how, after almost three hours of posing and, for some reason, changing outfits, the Gryffindor first-years all trooped down to Hagrid's hut.

The huge man was more than surprised to see them all, but when Harry asked if he could introduce everyone to the unicorns, he readily agreed.

Meeting Spirit again was wonderful. The little unicorn was just as spirited as always, and seemed even happier at the sight of more people to play with.

Unlike the last time they met Spirit however, she and her mother were not alone, instead they were with about a dozen other unicorns, three of who were foals like Spirit.

The older horses had been surprised at the presence of so many human children at first, but having Hagrid along really helped. He talked to the unicorns like they could understand him, and it actually seemed like they could, because after introducing the Gryffindors to the herd, the foals were allowed to play with them.

Hermione didn't know which of them started it, but somewhere along the line, the Gryffindors began messing around with the Colour-Changing Charm, and very soon the little unicorns were blue, green, and purple, and the human children were all the colours of the rainbow.

It was a very good thing Hagrid turned out to know the General Counter-Spell.

Unicorns were not the only creatures they saw while in The Forbidden Forest, there were many others, but the most memorable was a hippogriff that Hagrid kept them from approaching and told them to bow at. It was big and fierce and rather scary, but, as impressive as it was, it could not compare to the centaurs.

Unlike what Hermione had thought, the human halves of centaurs didn't look all that human. Their faces were noticeably equine, and their bodies were furry, well-muscled, and bare, even the one female among them. Hermione went red and averted her eyes, much like every other Gryffindor.

Well, the girls averted their eyes, the boys were trying, and failing, to.

Harry, Hermione noticed, didn't look away.

She was about to chastise him for his indecency, when one of the three centaurs approached.

The hair on his head and chin was a red more fiery than even Ron's, and the fur across his entire body, both human and horse, were different shades of the same. He was big, his every step seemed to radiate strength, and he was approaching Hermione and Harry.

Hermione caught the centaur's eyes and she froze, unable to look away. Hagrid said something but she didn't hear it, the Gryffindors around her shuffled backwards nervously but she didn't even notice, all she knew were those endless eyes, like staring into the center of the universe itself.

In front of she and Harry now, the centaur stooped, leaning close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of herbs and mysteries.

The centaur peered at her closely, then at Harry, at her once more and back again. He seemed... puzzled.

"Firenze," the female centaur called, and the eyes that had entrapped her so much finally looked away, allowing Hermione to blink again.

"These things happen," the female centaur said. "It is not our place to question."

The centaur, Firenze, looked back at Hermione and Harry once more before pulling back.

He returned to his brethren, throwing one last glance at the two of them before walking off.

"Bloody hell," Ron said.

"Yeah, that was... crazy," Dean agreed. "I think I got goosebumps."

"Do you guys know him?" Faye asked, and Hermione shook her head. "Then why'd he walk up to you like that?"

No one knew, not even Hagrid. No one but Hermione and Harry. Because what else could it be?

And if the centaurs could know, then who else could?

★★★​

The letter ended up much longer than she'd thought it would be. There were none of the... heavier topics, of course, just the little things; classes, a few teachers, etcetera.

The bulk of the letter ended up being commentary on the many pictures she was sending with it.

She really hoped this would work.

With the whole thing having snowballed so immensely, all the Gryffindor first-years, besides Harry, were now writing, and sending pictures, home.

Harry was writing too, but it was a letter to the editor of the Prophet, and when she asked him why, he said he wanted to send them some of the pictures from today. The ones that featured Hagrid.

Harry thought that Hagrid could use some good publicity, and Hermione, suspecting that it had something to do with his otherworldly knowledge, went along with it.

She randomly suggested Harry write an article to go with the pictures, and he agreed, as well as roped her into coauthoring it.

They called it The Gentle Giant of Hogwarts, and Hermione really hoped it wasn't too terrible.

She'd written essays and such for school before, of course, but this was a piece they were sending for publication in an actual newspaper. She couldn't help but be nervous.

She almost found herself wishing it would be rejected.

Hedwig carried both Hermione's letter and Harry's, and when the owl returned that same night, a few hours later, she had a reply from Hermione's parents.

It was a short letter; her parents had loved and were awed by the pictures, and they were glad she was enjoying herself in school and making friends. Hermione cherished it, as well as the Polaroid of themselves they included.

Their article was in the Prophet the next morning, and when Hagrid read it, he burst into tears at the staff table and came over to crush them in a bone-creaking hug.

It was rather embarrassing, but Hermione didn't really mind.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Monday, Sept. 9


This was what Harry had felt. Every time he sat in this classroom, and watched as the man who murdered his family and wanted him dead stuttered and stumbled around looking perfectly unthreatening, this terror was what Harry felt.

This urge to flinch every time he moved or looked in her direction. This need to always have her eyes on him, but never look him in the eyes, and certainly not the back of his covered head, this was what Harry had felt.

This dread that coiled in her gut like a snake, waiting to strike.

Three hours had never felt so long.

★★★​

"We need a room that has everything we need to learn occlumency," Harry said, walking back and forth, and Hermione just took the time to breathe in relief once more.

Defense had been... terrible. But as much as she wanted to stop thinking about it, her naturally active mind just wouldn't let the memory go. It was like her mind had saved every moment of the three-hour long lecture in perfect detail, and felt the need to play back every moment for her.

At least, she wouldn't have to go back there for two more days, and, more importantly, she and Harry were finally taking their first step in the plan to being capable of defending themselves.

Hermione had had a very frank conversation with Harry about their chances of resisting Voldemort on their own, so she knew that this wasn't much, not really, but it was something. And, like her mother always said, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

This was that step. And she believed with all her heart that it was a good first step. Even if the dread and disgust that accompanied the thought of having Voldemort or Snape riffling through her thoughts was a very big part of it.

Harry finished his third pass, and to both their surprise and relief, the door appeared.

Harry had been planning to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library when they discussed learning occlumency, because he had been unable to find material on it in Diagon Alley. It had been Hermione who had thought to check the Room of Requirement first, just in case, so she was glad that it seemed to have been the right call.

Harry pushed open the door, and they walked in to the exact same copy of the common room the Room of Requirement had provided them with the last time they'd been here. The only difference was that the table was set in front of a sofa and not between two seats, and also, that it had an old, worn notebook on it.

"Well, this is odd," Harry said looking around, as though to spot something else that was different from the last time in the room's current design.

"You did ask for a room that has everything we need to learn occlumency," Hermione said, but she was surprised too. She'd been expecting a library or something similar.

A bookshelf, at least.

"And that's it? One ancient book that's falling apart? And why'd it give us a sofa this time?"

Harry was right, the book was ancient and looked like it was coming apart. The cover was old, cracked leather, and the edges of the pages she could see were all yellowish and looked like they'd been soaked in water and then set by a fire to dry sometime long ago.

All of that was irrelevant in Hermione's opinion though, it was a book, it wasn't how it looked but the contents that mattered. More importantly, it was the book the Room of Requirement had given them when they asked for study materials for occlumency, so Hermione reached to open it.

"Stop!" Harry near-shouted, and Hermione jumped. "What if it's cursed or something?" He asked.

Hermione's reflexive response to that was an annoyed eye roll and an "of course it's not cursed, Harry. Don't be silly." But then, Harry, knowing what her reflexive response would be, already had a cocked eyebrow and a very dubious expression waiting, before she even began speaking.

This caused Hermione to take a moment to think through everything that she'd experienced in Hogwarts over the last week, as well as the conversation she'd had with Harry on Saturday about Riddle's diary. Finally, she pulled back her hand and took several steps back.

The book suddenly looked ominous.

"Well, how are we going to get it open?" Hermione asked Harry.

She considered using the Gust Spell, but dismissed the idea as soon as it came; with how old the book was they might lose half the pages if she did.

"I don't know," Harry said, then his face brightened as he got an idea. "Hedwig, you open it."

"Harry!"

The owl, who had been sitting quietly on Harry's head this whole time, gave the boy a look that would have made a tiger curl up in terror. Harry meanwhile, looked unfazed.

Surprisingly, Hedwig actually did it. She flapped to the table and opened the cover gently with a foot.

Personally, after easily finding the horcrux and what The Letter said, Hermione suspected that Hedwig was able to somehow sense curses, meaning that the owl must have been reasonably safe.

The girl said none of that though, she just patted Hedwig on the head instead and thanked her for how brave she was while throwing Harry a stink eye. Then she sat and gently picked up the notebook.

Harry, completely unbothered, came to join her on the sofa.

"What does it say?" He asked.

Instead of answering, because she actually had no answer to give, Hermione opened the first page after the cover and saw words written in very fine penmanship.

This book is the property of Armando Dippet, it said. If found, please return to the owner.

"Armando Dippet," Harry mused. "I feel like I know that name."

"He was the Headmaster before Dumbledore."

"Ah, yes, the one who refused to hire good old Voldy," Harry said, and Hermione paused in her flipping of a page.

"What?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? Well, Voldemort is basically living his dream right now. He auditioned—"

"Applied, Harry."

"—same difference—for the position of Defense professor twice, once with Dippet and again with Dumbledore, before finally getting it through Quirrel. Actually, the second time was supposedly when he left his tiara behind. I think."

Hermione took a moment to process that; it was easy to forget sometimes, but Voldemort had actually spent more time in Hogwarts than both she and Harry had. He'd done all the same subjects they were, walked the same halls, sat in the same classes. Hermione was just glad he'd been a Slytherin, because she didn't want to know how it would feel to know that she was living in the same tower Voldemort had for seven years.

With some effort, she shook off the thought and focused back on the book. Armando Dippet's book.

"Harry, do you think this book could have come from the Room of Forgotten Things?" Hermione asked.

Harry's expression went thoughtful. "Huh, I guess that would make sense, wouldn't it? I mean, the room could easily conjure up chairs and paintings and whatnot, but, I guess actual knowledge has to come from somewhere.

"Well, good thing Armando Dippet was so careless with his property," Harry said, and Hermione had to admit that, yes, it was.

They skimmed the book first before they properly read it. It contained detailed notes by the former Headmaster that Hermione suspected were research notes from several sources.

Since the notebook wasn't exactly the biggest, and a lot of the pages had faded beyond repair at some point, only three of the topics the Headmaster researched were still readable; legilimency, occlumency, and freeform transfiguration.

Hermione and Harry both already knew about freeform transfiguration; it was the art of shaping inorganic to inorganic transfiguration without the need for learning specific spells.

Like, for example, instead of needing to know the individual spells for transfiguring a matchstick into a needle, and a needle into a figurine, with freeform transfiguration, all one needed to know was the spell for shaping metal, with which any inorganic material could be transfigured into meatal, and that metal shaped to the caster's desire.

It was an advanced branch of transfiguration for NEWT level students, because of the level of magical skill that it required, which younger students often lacked.

The only reason they both knew about it was because they'd both bought books on Transfiguration and Charms far beyond their year.

Neither bothered with Headmaster Dippet's notes on freeform transfiguration, considering it wasn't what they needed right now and they already had entire textbooks on the topic, so they both focused on the reason they were here; occlumency.

Which they quickly learned they could not practice, because learning occlumency required them to have a legilimens trying to penetrate their minds.

And since they had no intention of asking any of the legilimens they knew for help, Hermione and Harry settled in to learn the fine art of not mindreading.

★★★​

Legilimency turned out to require more work than Hermione thought it would.

The act itself was easy; a simple spell, and if cast right, you were in your target's mind. The problem was what came after; finding your way around.

Apparently, people rarely, if ever, thought about a single thing exclusively, and if they did, they didn't do so for long, and since every thought caused emotions which always, even if only tangentially, connected to some memory, about three-quarters of the work of a legilimens was actually keeping control when in a person's mind, so as to not get pulled along with its whims.

Harry groaned and sat back. "Look, Hermione, we can read about this all we want, but even Dippet said it here, practice is the only way to build control. And since we can't start learning occlumency until we can both do this passably, at least, I think the sooner we start the better."

Hermione hated to agree, but Harry was right. While she would have loved to do more research and cross-check Dippet's notes with other sources, there were no other sources.

"Okay, you're right. Look at me, I'll try first." The book had stressed the importance of eye-contact.

Harry turned to face her. "Sweet. Let's gaze into each other's souls and share our deepest secrets," he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

They settled down, made eye-contact, and Hermione carefully casted the spell, "legilimens."

They kept staring into each other's eyes for several seconds, before Harry asked, "anything?"

"No." Hermione shook her head.

"Oh, well," Harry said, "my turn." And he too cast the spell.

Nothing happened, and Hermione was about to speak when Harry leaned in suddenly, "hold on," he said.

"It worked? You got it?" Hermione asked, trying not to move or blink.

"Oh, no, I just noticed that you have some darker flecks of brown in your eyes," Harry said. "It's beautiful."

It took an immense amount of willpower to not swipe at him right then.

They kept trying, but it had become obvious by then that they were in this for the long run, so the next time Harry took a turn, Hermione decided to ask a question she'd thought about on and off since Saturday.

"Harry, how did you know how to cast The Killing Curse?"

"I didn't," Harry said simply. "I knew the incantation from the books, of course. Well, that and my—" a sigh "—Harry's memory. It was also how I knew the wand motion for it."

Hermione said nothing. There was nothing to say really; Harry had told her before about how whatever happened when he entered... well, had caused his memory of that Halloween to become crystal clear in his mind. Neither of them knew why. And to be honest, Hermione couldn't really find a logical argument against Harry's reasoning of 'ROB's an asshole.'

She kind of agreed. Even if she thought he could have done without the swearing.

Hermione tuned back in as Harry continued.

"You know, there were some theories back home about dark magic being easier to cast than regular magic. I'm glad they were true. I don't think I would have managed that spell on the first try otherwise."

Was that so? That was interesting. Hermione idly wondered why that was the case as she casted the legilimens spell again. And got another dud.

Darn it! She was doing every thing right.

To distract herself as Harry tried, she asked, "what did it feel like?"

Harry casted first. "Good," he said afterwards. "Not like a high or anything like that. I just felt... power. For that one moment. Like, all I needed to do was pursue it, and it would give me power over all my enemies. It was kind of scary actually."

Hermione dwelt on that as she looked into Harry's eyes and tried the legilimens spell again, and then she was dying.

Her heart hurt, like someone had driven a spike into it. She collapsed to the ground, unable to breathe, panicking, knowing she was dying and wondering why. How?

Then she gasped her last, and woke up in darkness.

She reached out and her hands touched wood. Wood! A coffin! She'd been buried alive!

She began slamming, kicking, tearing, begging.

Please, get me out! Please, please, please...

Heavy thudding above. Footsteps!

Help! Please! Help!

A voice. Angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, boy!?"

Boy? What—

"Hermione!"

Hermione Granger blinked, shaking. She saw Harry's worried eyes staring in slight panic.

Was that—?

Was that Harry's—?

Oh, my God!

Oh, my God!

The hug she gave Harry then did more for her than it did for him, but that was alright.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: last one for now.

---

Sunday, Sept. 1


Severus Snape was a man who had been wronged by the world for as long as he cared to remember.

It was as though whatever he did, whatever choice he made; life always found a way to turn it back on him. To hurt him with it.

Almost as if he was cursed. Cursed with loneliness and misery and pain.

And, in his weaker moments, he believed it. He believed in this curse; this curse that had expressed itself through specific people in his life.

First there had been his father, a man whose name he only still bore as a reminder to what he came from. The pit of despair he overcame. The man who he had watched as a boy break down his mother until she was but a husk, a shell of her former self. The man who had tried, and failed, to do the same to him.

Then there had been James Potter. Potter and his merry gang. Potter who, much like Snape's own father, had abused and belittled him. Antagonized him. Tried to break him. Potter who had come in with his smile and his hair and wooed everyone with laughter and insipid jokes. Fooled all those little idiots and made Severus out to be the enemy.

Potter who had turned Lily against him.

Severus had thought Dumbledore would be the last. Had hoped that the man who constantly held his one misstep over his head, would be the last instrument his accursed life would wield.

Then he met Harry Potter.

In the deepest, darkest corners of his occlumency-shielded mind; on those Halloweens when he was so racked with guilt and grief that he locked himself in his quarters and avoided everyone, Severus was willing to admit that he had worried for the boy.

Petunia Evans was the worst sort of muggle after all, the kind his father had been, and though he would never say the words out loud, in those moments, in that little corner of his impregnable mind, Severus wondered just what the bloody hell Dumbledore thought he was doing leaving Lily's son with that... woman.

But then he met the boy, and something ugly had taken root in his heart as he realized that the only thing left of Lily, his Lily, had been twisted and destroyed by bloody Potter.

Once again, even from beyond the grave, Potter had cost him Lily.

He'd barely even paid attention when the boy had made his public declaration to be with some girl.

★★#​

Friday, Sept. 6


Despite himself, Severus paid attention to the other teachers' small talk about the boy over the following days. And there was a lot of it.

It sickened him.

Oh, Potter was so great!

Amazing skill in Transfiguration, just like his father.

Exquisite spellwork in Charms, just like his mo—like Lily.

Lily's talent for Charms, and of course, Harry Potter had used it to show off.

On and on it went, the whole week;

A good, steady hand with the plants; maintains his aunt's garden as I understand it. Green fingers on him for sure, much like the Longbottom boy.

Half my first-year classes, half the students show up half-asleep and the other half join them halfway through. I was very surprised when Potter and Granger managed to pull through. They even helped nudge some of their friends awake.

It grated. Every word. Potter this, Potter that, and the attention-seeking brat loved every moment.

Pulling along his throng of little friends; giving interviews to that imbecile, Skeeter; smiling and strutting like he was king of the castle. Severus would show him. He would knock him down a few pegs. This wasn't back then, when Potter could get away with whatever he wanted, no, now Severus was the one with power, and he would show him.

After he apologized.

The apology wasn't for Potter, of course, it was for Lily. Lily, whose grave he never had the courage to face.

It was why he planned it out in a way only Lily would have understood. And why he planned to say it while looking into those eyes that were the only thing of hers left that Potter had not poisoned.

But then, before he could, Potter insulted him. Made a mockery of him in front of his class with that same smile. And Severus realized that he was wrong, there was nothing of Lily in the boy. Lily had been perfect. Beyond reproach. The best thing he ever laid eyes on.

Harry Potter was just a green-eyed copy of his father.

So Severus kept his apology, refusing to sully it by using the boy as a medium. He struck back instead. Struck at that Potter ego that was always so big and so frail.

He struck back and he lost.

And it was in that moment, as he stood there with the jagged wound Potter's words left in his heart, that he saw it.

That he saw her.

The girl that the other professors sang praises of, even as they did Potter's. The muggleborn girl that, in less than a week, he'd seen helping her fellow Gryffindors more than once. The brilliant muggleborn girl with the kind eyes and friendly smile.

The very same one that Potter had asked to be put in Gryffindor with.

...

Why hadn't Severus asked?

He wasn't really sure what happened next. He remembered screaming. Remembered alcohol, and ranting at the old man for what seemed hours on end. Vague recollections; bits and pieces, that ended with him waking up some time on Saturday with a pounding headache and several hundred galleons worth of furniture damaged by Reductor Curses.

He remembered kind eyes and a friendly smile.

★★★​

Monday, Sept. 9


Severus began to pay more attention to the girl after that. He couldn't not.

Hermione Granger wasn't Lily, he knew that. No one was. But the similarities were there, and when he'd read the article about the idiot half-breed, he'd almost choked. He could see so much of the same sentiment his Lily liked to spout.

But with every new similarity he saw, the worse he felt, because it was happening again. Right before his eyes.

Another brilliant muggleborn girl was being wooed by another Potter. And when The Dark Lord returned, history would repeat itself. Because the Potters were just as much bad luck as he was. The only difference was, he paid the price for his own bad luck.

Sometime during the day, when he knew the old wizard was off the premises, he went up to the Headmaster's Office.

The hat sat on its perch behind Dumbledore's desk as always, and as Severus approached the ancient object, it spoke.

"Severus," it said in greeting. The potions master didn't reply, but the hat continued all the same, "I would tell you that The Headmaster is absent right now, but I suspect you already knew that."

"Would you have put me in Gryffindor?" Severus asked without preamble.

Despite it not having eyes, Severus could tell that the hat stared at him deeply. Finally, it said, "if you had asked, yes. I would have."

He could have saved her. He could have been with Lily, and he could have saved her.

All he had needed to do was say something.

Severus walked out of the office without looking back.

He would not repeat his mistake.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Monday, Sept. 9


"So what's my next move?" Harry asked his Queen, and she quickly suggested one that he followed readily.

Ron scowled. "Harry, stop asking the pieces for moves."

Harry looked at the scowling redhead. "Why? I'd lose; I have no idea how to play this game."

"Then learn," Ron argued. "You're making the game boring."

Harry paused. "Boring?" He asked, then looked down at his Queen, "You're seriously going to take that kind of disrespect from him?

"He said he inherited you guys from his grandfather, right?"

Harry's Queen, the white, nodded. "Yes, Commander Potter—" he'd asked her to call him that "—that is right."

Harry nodded like he already knew this, which he did, they all did. Ron was very proud of his chess set, and prouder still that his grandfather had given it to him out of all his siblings.

"So, in other words," Harry said, "you've been playing chess since before he was born. And now here he comes, this wet behind the ears whippersnapper, trash-talking you right to your face, and calling your playstyle boring. Are you seriously just going to sit back and take that?"

The Queen stood straighter and her expression firmed. "No, Commander Potter, we will not."

"Perfect!" Harry declared, then rose and struck a pose like some flamboyant General, completely uncaring of everyone's stares. "Now, warriors of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, show this measly Weasley why he shouldn't badmouth us. Chaaaaarge!"

As the board descended into chaos, Harry smirked at Ron, "You were saying something about boring?"

Ron just gave Harry a very sour look, then stood up and walked away.

"You worry me sometimes, Harry," Lavender said, and Harry smiled brightly at her, before turning to look at Hermione.

A small part of her mind noticed that he did that a lot; made a joke and then looked to her for her reaction, even though it was usually just an eye-roll in fond exasperation. That same small part of her mind wondered why he did it.

There was no eye-roll for Harry now, however, because the rest of Hermione's rather impressive mind was focused on taking in the spark in his eyes; the colour in his cheeks; the rise and fall of his chest; all the signs of life that she could see, all in an attempt to reaffirm to herself that, yes, Harry was alive and well.

It wasn't really working. And why would it? When she had felt him take his last breath not two hours ago.

Harry's expression dimmed as he saw hers, but he rallied quickly and settled a small, strained smile on his face as he came to slump into her couch.

It was obvious he wanted to say something, do something, to make her feel better. But it was even more obvious that he had no idea what to do.

It was funny, really, because he was already doing it. And now she was the one who had to do something to make him feel better.

"Tell me about the internet again," Hermione said.

It was clear that Harry realised what she was doing, but he obliged her all the same.

"The internet, uh?" Harry tsked. "Where do I even start? There's TikTok, of course. Which gave us such great things like the 'Kiss Your Best Friend' challenge."

"What?"

"Yep, that was a thing. Very popular thing too."

"Why?"

"I do not know," Harry said, then after a bit of thought, added, "There's also 4chan... but, uh, we don't talk about 4chan."

"Why, what's 4chan?"

"We do not speak of 4chan, Hermione."

Hermione was stumped. "Is the internet that bad?" She couldn't help but ask.

Harry had only mentioned it in passing on Saturday, what with all the important things they had to talk about, but after describing it as "a network that connects every computer on earth wirelessly," Hermione had seen it as a positive thing. A miracle even.

Surprisingly, Harry's response was a surprised, "What? Oh, no, no, don't mind me, the internet's great. I mean, it gave us Billie Eilish. And Justin Bieber.

"It made libraries practically pointless—"

What?

"—it made communication stress-free, it's like... holding the world in the palm of your hand."

Hermione paused and thought about that. "It sounds amazing," she admitted.

"It was," Harry agreed. "And I'm only realising it now that I no longer have access to it.

"I can't just... run a Google search anymore. I can't just hop onto Facebook or 9gag real quick for a laugh. No instant, twenty-four hour news." Then a moment of thought, capped with dawning horror. "Oh, God, no more free movies."

"Free movies?"

"Uh-huh. The best thing the internet ever gave us; free, practically unrestricted access to any movie. Ever."

Hermione found that hard to believe. They just gave away movies for free? How did actors make any money?

And then Harry said the line that explained everything.

"I mean, it's kind of illegal, but that's not really the—"

"So, it's piracy."

"I prefer to call it free sharing of information," Harry tried to counter, but Hermione wasn't budging, and her judgmental look said so.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, moviegoing is expensive. I mean, the MCU alone releases like three films every year. Who's going to pay for all of that? And you're not even allowed to bring your own food. Do you have any idea how much popcorns cost in theaters by 2021? It's robbery."

Hermione simply shook her head at his impassioned, but thankfully whispered, spiel and asked, "What's the MCU?"

She felt like she may have made a mistake when Harry smiled and said, "The best thing that ever happened to Hollywood. Now, brace yourself, this'll take a while."

He was right. It did.

However, by the time he was done and dinner came around, the memory of the cupboard had faded some, and she didn't even think of it again before bed.

It still didn't stop the nightmares though.

As she sat in her bed, sweaty and panting and trying to push away the clinging memory of her dream—an amalgamation of all the terrifying things she'd recently learned, that made no sense but served to scare her senseless all the same—Hermione heard the sound of something landing on her nightstand, and shortly followed after by a soft hoot.

Hedwig!

Hermione quickly pulled open the curtains of her bed to see with the owl with a small note in her beak.

She took it, and using her wand for light, read the note.

I told Hedwig to only give this to you if she knew you weren't asleep. Guess you're not.

I don't really have anything to say to you really, I just couldn't sleep and I thought maybe you would like to talk.​

—Harry (duh)​

Hermione swallowed. Harry couldn't sleep. And it was her fault. He had gone up to his dorms because he knew that she would stay with him if he slept in the common room. And now, he wasn't getting any sleep.

She grabbed a pen and a notebook.

There was a lot she wanted to say, so much, but she felt like a note wasn't the best place to try to convey it, so she decided to simply reply:

Hedwig perched just as I woke up (I wonder how she knew).

I don't mind talking, though I don't know if Hedwig won't mind the repeated trips.

—Hermione (obviously)
​

Hermione tore out the page she wrote the note on, folded it, and handed it to Hedwig.

"You don't mind the trip, do you, Hedwig?" She asked worriedly, but the owl just gave her an unimpressed look, before taking the note in her beak and flying off.

She returned with Harry's reply in about a minute.

Meh, she doesn't seem to mind it much. But you're right though, we need a way to communicate. Maybe we could make communication mirrors? It's basically magical video chatting. Like a telephone but with video. My Harry's dad and his friends had some they made themselves, so I know it can't be too hard.

What do you think?

—Harry (clearly)​

Communication mirrors? That sounded complicated. Unless...

I think it's a wonderful idea; we do need a way to contact each other.

I think the communication mirrors you're talking about might be a little complex though. Maybe we could start with something simpler?

I was thinking we could charm two notebooks, so that anything that is written on one appears in the same place on the other.

What do you think?

—Hermione (evidently)​

I think that's a great idea. Certainly much easier than mine. We would need to use the exact same kind of notebook though, right? So everything aligns properly.

I was thinking we could use The Protean Charm. Though that's a N.E.W.T spell, so who knows?

—Harry (duh)​

You're right about the notebooks, I didn't even think of it.

As for The Protean Charm, I'm sure we can find an alternative if it proves too difficult. Although, it would be the best option, wouldn't it?

Come down to the common room; bring two notebooks with you...

Maybe more, just in case.

—Hermione (apparently)
​

PS: I win. You said "duh" twice.


When they met in the common room a scant minute later, the first thing Harry said was, "Evidently and apparently obviously don't mean the same thing."

Such a sore loser.

It took two hours, and they had to use a much weaker alternative to The Protean Charm; The Rewrite Spell, a spell originally made for cheating in exams that had a four second delay and could only link two pages together, so they ended up having to enchant all forty pages on both books individually, but even so, they made it work.

And the first message they sent with it was, Hello, World.

Harry wrote it. He also called The Notebooks (I still think Innovative Means of Sending Conversations Using Magic [I.M.S.C.U.M] is a better name, Harry) the first working prototype of Harmony Industries.

And when she asked why he thought she would want to start a company with him, and why he would choose Harmony Industries as the name, he simply smiled.

★★★​

The Next Day.

Tuesday, Sept. 10


They continued occlumency, well, legilimency lessons on Tuesday, but it was clear to both children now that, after the fiasco of the first one, these lessons would be much more than they'd both assumed.

They'd known, of course, from an intellectual standpoint at least, but now, both of them, well, Hermione, had a visceral understanding of just what that entailed.

Ironically, that understanding did not make her want to pull away, if anything it made her more resolute.

She had known that things were bad for Harry before, but to think that that... oh, to hell with it, arsehole, had simply murdered him and dropped him here with nothing but a letter and that stupid T-shirt; argh! It made her want to want to scream in rage and call that ROB person some very rude words.

And it also made her want to know everything Harry had been through, because she felt as though it would help Harry if she did, by lightening the burden on him.

So, no, Hermione wasn't hesitant for legilimency lessons on Tuesday. Harry was.

Not for himself, no, he had no issue casting the spell on her. He just wouldn't let her do it to him.

He had even gotten the spell to work four times in a row now, picking up some trivial memories of hers, all of them times when she was frustrated or irritated, a perfect echo of her current mood. And when she got angry enough to push the issue, he picked up a book and held it up to his face, pretending to read.

"Harry!" She called in anger.

"Hmm?" He murmured from behind the book she knew he wasn't reading.

"You're being childish, Harry," she said, wishing for once that Harry was like other boys their age.

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, that'll work," he said, and even though he was still holding the book to his face, she just knew he was rolling his eyes.

Hermione came a second away from ripping the book out of his hands, but somehow, she managed to hold herself back and think.

In a twisted way, Harry was doing this for her sake. He was doing this because he thought he was protecting her, when he was actually just wasting time that they could be using to practice instead.

And she had no idea how to make him see that he wasn't helping right now.

"Harry, put down the book," she said, but he ignored her. "I'm not going to cast the spell, Harry. Just look at me, please."

Hermione thought he wouldn't do it, but he did.

He still didn't meet her eyes however.

"You need to learn occlumency, Harry."

"I think I've given you enough nightmares, Hermione," was his simple reply.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Are you?" He met her eyes now, and it was Hermione who looked away.

"I'm fine," she repeated, trying as hard to convince him as she was herself.

Harry didn't look like he bought it.

Hermione tried a different tack. "This isn't about me, Harry."

"Yes it is," he disagreed immediately. "Yes, it is. Snape kicked you out of his class because of me; you need to learn occlumency because of me; you can't sleep because of me; all I've done is make things worse for you since I got here."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is."

"So, what, nothing bad ever happened in the books?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then shut it and scowled.

Didn't think so.

"Don't you see, Harry? This is a good thing."

Harry gave her a look of unadulterated disbelief.

"It is," she argued. "You told me yourself that in the books, everyone spent half their time stumbling around, looking for clues, but we don't have to do that now because we know what's going to happen. We're already preparing."

Hermione could see her words were beginning to have an effect, so she pushed.

"First, we learn occlumency, make sure nobody can read our minds, then we—" a slight pause here, because they didn't really have a plan beyond learn occlumency at this point, but Hermione carried on "—we use the knowledge to our advantage. Make sure that Voldemort doesn't get the stone."

Harry looked at her for a long time. Finally, he said, "I can't actually talk you out of this, can I?"

Hermione didn't even dignify that with a response.

"Fine," Harry accepted grudgingly.

Legilimency lessons that day were rather awkward after all that, but on the bright side, with how hard Harry was trying to keep some of his 'worse' memories from her, he actually made quite a bit of progress in learning occlumency. And with how determined Hermione was to get at those memories, her legilimency improved by quite a lot.

Harry actually had the gall to call her an overachiever.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Tuesday, Sept. 10


Despite that their second lesson turned out much better than the first one (which wasn't really saying much), Hermione and Harry only practiced for an hour. The mind arts put quite a bit of strain on the mind, and with how hard they were both pushing, Hermione to get in Harry's head, and Harry to keep her out of his, they were both beginning to feel the effects of all that work by then.

Legilimency was not mindreading; she had not understood at first why Dippet's notes had stressed that, but having done it several times now, the girl had a better idea. In fact, a better name for the art would be mind-invading. Or maybe mind-linking. It didn't broadcast the target's thoughts to you, it put you in their head. Literally. That was why her first experience had been so awful; she had lived that memory.

Been Harry for the duration of it.

She was making progress however, had even been able to maintain her separate consciousness by the fourth time she entered Harry's mind, when she was sucked into a memory of when Harry was six and had broken a plate while doing his chores.

Harry—in the memory—had panicked, but before his aunt could come and inspect the sound, the plate had magically fixed itself before his eyes.

He'd still received a knock on the head from his Aunt Petunia.

…

Petunia.

Vernon.

Dudley.

…

See, what a person is feeling, or thinking about, when legilimency is used on them matters a lot, as it links their mind to memories with similarities to their present mental state; it was why Hermione had gotten such a bad memory the first time. Every memory has some sort of emotion-charged magnetic field around it referred to as a 'memory pull', and its strength varies with how poignant the memory is, so when Hermione had cast the spell on Harry while he was talking about using The Killing Curse on Voldemort's horcrux and how scary it was, well, that had happened.

The same thing that happened today.

With how nervous Harry was that Hermione would see something bad in his head, his mind had inevitably linked to memories of him being nervous, despite his best attempts to block them. And since, amazingly enough, the main instigators of Harry's nervous memories were actually his 'family', Hermione had been treated to a front row seat, and on the three occasions before she succeeded in separating her consciousness from his while in his mind, a very personal experience, of their treatment of her friend.

And it was on this day that Hermione realized that she had never actually hated anybody before. Not even Voldemort or ROB.

Because this thing, this thing she felt in her chest for the people who called themselves Harry's family, was a whole new experience.

★★★​

They ran into the Weasley Twins as they entered the common room.

The two redheads had actually been on their way out, but they stopped with big, impish grins at the sight of the two first-years.

"Hello, hello, H and H," one said.

They'd started doing that ever since Harry called them Bread and Porridge (a nickname which hadn't really stuck, unlike Hermione had thought it would). The twins had started to come up with all sorts of silly nicknames for her and Harry.

They never stuck on one for long. Over the last week, they'd called the pair everything from Her-ry, to Gra-ter, to Pronger, the last of which wasn't even a word.

It was all very silly in Hermione's opinion.

"And where will two little firsties like yourselves be coming from this lovely afternoon?" The other of the red-headed duo asked.

"Better question, brother, would be where Hogwarts little couple is always disappearing off to," the first one said while waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes; that joke had grown very stale.

Before she could walk off however, Harry spoke, "When are you guys going to get back at me for the Bread and Porridge thing?"

The twins gasped dramatically and affected hurt expressions.

"Why Harry, you wound us."

"Yeah, we have no reason to get back at you. What's a little name-calling between friends?"

Hermione didn't buy their act for one second.

Neither did Harry. "Sure, whatever," he said tiredly. "Just, whatever you do, make sure it's not permanent, hurts anybody, or ruin any of my things. And don't involve Hermione either."

"We make no promises," a twin said, and Hedwig, perched on Hermione's shoulder today, made a deep, almost-growling sound in her chest that startled even Hermione and Harry.

The twins stared at the bird, who was giving them the same kind of look that Harry always shrugged off carelessly, and they instantly folded like Hermione had known they would and promptly fled.

"Thanks, Hedwig," Hermione said, petting the owl's head.

"Why else do you think I keep her around?" Harry asked carelessly, and Hermione almost sighed.

He definitely deserved what was coming.

Before she'd even finished the thought, Hedwig dived at Harry, and proceeded to harry the boy across the common room, by beating his head with her wings and pulling his hair with her beak.

Hermione ignored his pleas for help.

They showered, changed, then sat together to relax for a bit. When their brains felt lighter after the events of the afternoon, they did their homework, headed down for dinner five minutes before it started at 7:00, then returned to the common room with their fellow first-years to sit by their fireplace to study coursework two years advanced, while their classmates did their homework.

They went to bed by 10:15, and a nightmare woke Hermione at 12:22; this time, it featured the Dursleys helping Voldemort torture Harry. She knew, of course, that this was impossible, since she understood that Voldemort would be more likely to kill the Dursleys than anything else, but her subconscious had never really worked on logic.

Neither did her heart apparently, because the nightmare scared her all the same.

She held her Notebook (she was perfectly fine with calling them The Notebooks in her head, but had already decided to call them I.M.S.C.U.M around Harry for as long as she could, just to keep seeing his reaction) in hand with a page open, but she hesitated to write. If she did then Harry would know that she was awake and he would blame himself.

The Notebook vibrated.

Hermione jumped, but managed to restrain her impulse to shriek and fling it away. It was supposed to do that. And it meant that Harry was ringing to see if she was awake.

Hermione flipped to the inside of the front cover, where the word 'RING' was written boldly.

She tapped the word twice with her pen; this would cause Harry's own notebook to vibrate, letting him know that she was awake, then she flipped to the newest page and watched as his words formed like they were being written by an invisible pen.

Hello, night owl.

Hermione shook her head fondly at his words, even as she felt a moment of pride at what she and Harry had created with a few hours of work.

All because of magic.

If the entire world had access to things like The Notebooks... well, Harry had told her what such a world looked like.

Scary, yes. But undeniably amazing.

Hello, Harry. Hermione wrote back.

Harry— Dreaming of me? ;-)

She knew what he meant, and she appreciated that he was trying to make a joke about it. But she also knew that her answer would just make him sad, so she asked instead:

What does ;-) mean?

Harry's reply took a bit longer than she would have thought.

Harry— Wow, I just realized that I'm going to have to teach you chatting lingo. Well, to start with, ;-) is an emoticon; the winky face one. It's pretty old school but sorry, forgot I was in 1991 for a sec.

Hermione— Are there other emoticons?

Harry— Yeah, there are. But I only know winky face ;-), smiley facé, and lol (laugh out loud) :-D. I know emojis much better. They're like these little cartoon faces with different expressions. Not just faces though, all sorts of things. Animals, places, fruits, even sports. Everything has an emoji.

Hermione— So if you said something I thought was funny, then I should reply with :-D?

Harry— If you want. Or you could just use lol. Most people use that. Or lmao (laugh my ass off). There's also lmfao (laugh my fucking ass off).

Hermione— Does everyone curse in 2021?

Harry— Lol. Pretty much.

Hermione shook her head, Harry was probably just lying.

Emojis did sound useful though. Hermione remembered a lesson back in her former school where her English Language teacher had talked about how it was difficult to express emotion in writing, because inflection and gestures were impossible, so, it was important to improve your vocabulary so you had more words to express yourself with.

Emojis solved that problem. Like, for example, if there were an eye-roll emoji, then she would have a quick, convenient way to reply to half the messages she was sure Harry would be sending her.

Hmm.

Do you think we could make our own emojis? She wrote Harry.

Harry— Well, yeah, sure. But not with the notebooks though. Not as they are now.

Hermione— (shrug) We did always plan to improve them, didn't we?

Harry— Fair enough. And did you seriously write shrug in a bracket?

Hermione— What? I don't know the emoticon for it.

Harry— Just so you know, I'm l-ing my f.a.o right now.

And Hermione really needed that eye-roll emoji.

They spent several minutes talking about everything and nothing, subconsciously focusing on the more light-hearted moments they'd had over the last week, until, inevitably, they talked about Spirit, the young unicorn they (and practically all of the Gryffindor first-years) had befriended, and Harry went unresponsive for almost half a minute before writing words that chilled Hermione to the bone.

Hermione, what are we going to do when Voldemort starts killing unicorns?

A better question, Hermione thought, even as her blood ran cold, was, how on earth they had forgotten something that important.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Early Morning.

Wednesday, Sept. 11


Hermione's response to Harry's question was a single line:

I don't know, Harry.

Then she remembered something else:

What are we going to do about the basilisk? She wrote.

...

Harry— Great. I forgot about that one too. We need to talk face to face. Meet in the common room.

It took Hermione about half a minute to make it downstairs, and she got there almost at the same time Harry and Hedwig did.

"What are we going to do, Harry?" She asked, trying to keep her worry out of her voice.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said, echoing her reply from earlier.

How had they forgotten these two very important things? Hermione wondered, then paused. Had they forgotten them? Or had it simply been easier to not think about them?

The girl shook the thought away.

Whichever it was didn't matter now; what mattered was that there was a giant, magical snake that could kill with a glance, slithering around under the school, and also that Voldemort needed unicorn blood.

The basilisk wasn't that much of an emergency, she hoped. Unless Voldemort went to command it, it shouldn't hurt anyone.

On the other hand, Voldemort needed unicorn blood and was more than willing to kill to get it. He probably already had. And that meant that neither Spirit, nor her mom, or any of the unicorns were safe.

The children retreated to the little corner of the common room that Harry had slept in, and that they stayed whenever they came down here alone at night. Harry had thought to bring a blanket, so with a few cushions from the sofas on the ground and the blanket thrown around their shoulders, they were comfortable enough.

Hedwig, as usual, perched on an armrest and kept an eye out.

Both preteens sat quietly for almost a minute. Despite their rush here, neither of them really had any ideas on what to do about the situation.

Well, Hermione had one idea.

"Maybe we should tell Dumbledore," she said, watching Harry for his reaction.

She knew Harry didn't like Dumbledore, and after seeing how the Dursleys, the people Dumbledore had dropped him with, treated him, she understood why and was willing to admit that she wasn't particularly pleased with the Headmaster herself.

Regardless of her feelings towards the wizard however, Hermione knew that they needed help. They needed help against Voldemort, and all the books had said that Dumbledore was the only wizard The Dark Lord had feared.

Having him on their side would give them a big advantage.

Harry's reaction to the idea was, thankfully enough, not hostile, but his response didn't exactly fill Hermione with hope either. "And what are we going to say when he asks us how we know?"

That was the problem, wasn't it? They couldn't tell the truth. Not about how they knew any of this, and certainly not about Harry.

Hermione almost wanted to argue that it might not matter. That Dumbledore might understand. That, if the truth hadn't bothered her when she found out, then it might not bother anyone else they told.

And maybe she was right. Maybe people wouldn't treat Harry any differently if they found out about the isekai thing. Maybe they wouldn't accuse him of killing the original Harry and stealing his body. Maybe they wouldn't react with fear like people tend to do when faced with things they don't understand.

But she couldn't take that chance. Not when she still remembered the look in her parents' eyes when they'd faced irrefutable proof that she was different.

"And besides," Harry continued, pulling Hermione from her thoughts, "what is he going to do about it even if we tell him? What can he do?"

The boy paused and thought for a bit, before answering his own question. "Huh. I suppose he could always animate a small army of statues or something to patrol the forest; enchant them well enough and they'll slow Voldemort down at the very least."

Hermione frowned. That could work; an animated army of mindless, but capable drones who are aware of the danger and on the lookout for it.

It was only too bad that she and Harry didn't have that kind of magical skill, otherwise they could have...

Hold on. What if they—no, no. That would be wrong.

But would it? In fact, wouldn't it be the right thing to do?

"If you chew on your lip any more there'll be nothing left," Harry said, and she turned to him. He met her eyes. "What are you thinking?"

Hermione hesitated for barely a second. "What if we told them?"

Harry frowned. "I feel like you're not talking about the teachers."

"What? No, the centaurs. What if we told the centaurs?"

Harry's expression turned disbelieving. "The centaurs? As in, the same people who took one look at us and realized that there was something off. Even gave the whole speech about how 'these things happen.'"

"Precisely," Hermione said. "They knew, but they didn't judge you. We won't have to lie, or worry about them knowing how we know things. We can tell them, and they can prepare to stop Voldemort when he goes after the unicorns."

Harry's expression had steadily changed from disbelieving to pensive as she spoke, and Hermione knew she was winning him over, but then, at the final moment, he got a look of realization on his face, before his expression fell.

"It's not enough," Harry said, shaking his head. "Even after Voldemort had already killed some, and the centaurs and unicorns and even Hagrid were all alert, they still didn't catch him. Chased him off, yes. But unicorns still died. I don't think they have the numbers."

Hermione slumped. Great. And just when she thought she had a solution.

Harry was right, an army was what they needed; so many numbers that Voldemort wouldn't be able to sneak around without getting spotted.

The girl began to run through all the creatures of the forest mentally, trying to see if there were any that could be of help.

She gave up almost as soon as she started when she realised that she didn't really know all that much about The Forbidden Forest; Hogwarts, A History just hadn't gone into much detail about it.

Maybe when day broke she could visit the library to see if there was a book with more information on it, and hope that it would reveal to her that there were a secretive species of powerful, numerous, and hopefully intelligent creatures hiding in The Forbidden Forest this whole time.

Hold on a minute.

"Harry?"

"Hmm."

"Those spiders you told me about— acromantulas? The ones Hagrid's friends with. Are there a lot of them?"

"Huh?" Harry looked very perplexed by the seemingly non sequitur, but he answered all the same. "Uh, yeah, there are. Hundreds. Maybe thousands."

Hermione nodded quietly. "And they're intelligent?"

"Yes," Harry answered slowly. "Very aggressive though; they'll eat anything. The only reason they haven't eaten Hagrid is because he's friends with their leader, Aragog. Why are you asking about—"

Hermione saw the moment realization struck.

Interestingly, Harry's voice was oddly calm when he asked: "Are you insane?"

"It's a great plan, Harry. They're strong, and there are a lot of them."

"Great, I'm sure we'll make lovely appetizers."

"Stop being negative, Harry."

"Try being practical, Hermione."

"We'll be fine; we'll take Hagrid with us."

"Oh, but that's the thing, isn't it? We can't take Hagrid with us, because if we took Hagrid with us, then Hagrid would know that we were up to something. Which would mean Dumbledore would know. So we might as well just walk up to him now and tell him what we're up to."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't thought of that. "Well then, in that case, we won't tell Hagrid. I'm sure we can handle this ourselves."

Harry looked at her like she'd gone mental.

"You said it yourself, Harry," Hermione said, "we need an army. So many people that Voldemort can't sneak through. What if he hurts Spirit, Harry? Or her mom?"

And at those words, Harry deflated in surrender.

"Fine," he said. "But if we're doing this, then we're doing it right. Which means we find out everything we can about acromantulas before even setting foot in the forest."

Hermione rolled her eyes; she was almost insulted that Harry thought he needed to tell her that.

★★★​

All it took for a seed of doubt to sprout in Hermione's heart over her plan was a picture of an acromantula.

When Harry had said "giant, man-eating spiders" she'd imagined spiders the size of a small dog. Maybe even a big one. Scary, yes, but nothing too crazy.

Unlike her expectations however, an actual acromantula was big enough to match a horse in size. Its fangs were like two huge, curved daggers dripping with venom, its eight eyes were red and evil-looking, and worst of all, the one in the first picture she saw wasn't even the largest they could get.

There were many bigger and nastier-looking ones than that first one.

Hermione swallowed.

"It's not too late for us to try a different plan, you know," Harry said, speaking softly since they were in the library (they'd gone there right after classes ended for the day).

"Do you have a different plan?" Hermione asked, a part of her hoping that he did, even as much as the rest of her knew he didn't.

"Well, I kind of stalled at sending Hedwig in to assassinate Quirrel in his sleep, so..."

Despite herself, Hermione snorted, then she smacked Harry on the arm. "Stop it, Harry. I'm serious."

The boy just shrugged, as if to say he couldn't help himself, and they both settled into companionable silence for some time.

"We'll need to be able to defend ourselves, you know. In case they attack us," Harry said.

"Well, all the books agree that fire spells are the best way to fight them, since it's their greatest weakness," Hermione said, then added, somewhat grumpily, "Seems to be all the books talk about anyway."

Harry gave her a look. "What do you mean?"

"The books. All they talk about is how to kill them, how to fight them, how to keep them away. Acromantulas are intelligent creatures; they speak human language, and yet it seems like everyone just treats them like pests."

Harry gave her another look. "Please, tell me you're not planning to start a Society for the Protection of Arachnid Welfare?" He pleaded.

"What?" Hermione asked in confusion.

"Never mind. My point is though, of course people treat them like that. They're the goblins of the Wizarding World. You don't learn how to appreciate goblin art and culture, you just learn how to kill them."

Hermione had no idea what Harry was talking about with the goblin thing, but she understood the message well enough to make a reply. "But we're going to ask them for their help, Harry. How would you like it if someone came to ask for your help while carrying a big gun?"

Harry actually took a moment to think about it. "Not very much, no. But I would also have to applaud their negotiating skills though," he said, and at Hermione's look, he added defensively, "What? I mean, it's not like I'll tell that person no."

Annoyingly enough, Hermione couldn't actually argue with that one, so she just pushed through to the point she was going to make instead. "We need to talk to Hagrid. We won't tell him anything about what we're planning, but he's the only person we know of who's friends with an acromantula. He should be able to tell us things that the books here can't."

Harry thought about it for a bit, then shrugged. "Fair enough. But we should go meet him now though, before it gets dark."

They quickly returned all the books they'd taken back to their proper places, before exiting the library and heading for Hagrid's hut.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Late Afternoon.

Wednesday, Sept. 11


"What do you two want to know about acromantulas for?" Hagrid asked somewhat suspiciously when Hermione made their request.

"You know, Hagrid, that is a wonderful question," Harry said, then turned to Hermione with an expression, "Say, Hermy, why are we so interested in the lifestyle of acromantulas all of a sudden?"

Hermione scowled at the boy, both for the annoying nickname he called her whenever he wanted to aggravate her, and for his blatant betrayal.

As usual, he was completely unfazed.

Thinking fast, Hermione turned back to Hagrid. "Well, I overheard the Weasley Twins, Fred and George, saying that there is a colony of acromantulas in The Forbidden Forest, so I thought I'd do some research in case we ever ran across one."

Despite his earlier attitude, Harry quickly supported her. "We checked some books in the library, but all they seemed interested in talking about was how to kill them, which didn't sit too right with us, so we figured we'd come talk to you to see if you know anything."

Hagrid beamed at Harry's words. "Real smart o' yeh," he commended them. "Half of those books are tripe anyway; the Ministry calling them Beasts because o' their diet. Bah. Like vampires are any better. Misunderstood creatures, acromantulas. Very misunderstood."

Hermione and Harry stared at each other in surprise over Hagrid's mini-rant, then back at the huge man.

"So they're not as bad as the books say?" Hermione asked.

"Of course not. Why, I've been friends with Aragog for years, and he never—" Hagrid paused with a rather comical deer in headlights look on his face, and it took Hermione a moment to understand why.

She and Harry weren't supposed to know about Aragog.

Sniffing an opportunity, Hermione struck like a bloodthirsty shark.

"Who's Aragog, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, drawing inspiration for her innocent expression from the numerous ones she'd seen Harry apply.

"And what does he have to do with acromantulas?" Harry threw in, using one of said expressions.

Hagrid stuttered for a few seconds, before caving and sighing in defeat. Then the big man leaned forward in his seat, as though about to share some great secret, and said, "now, don't go telling anybody okay? But Aragog's an acromantula..."

And Hagrid proceeded to tell them all about his 'little' friend Aragog, who he'd found as a baby and taken as a pet.

He talked about all the games Aragog liked to play as a child, his favourite foods, teaching the little spider to speak, reading to him, and despite herself, as she listened to Hagrid talk, Hermione started to think of Aragog as an adorable little puppy more than the giant, flesh-eating spider she knew he actually was.

Hagrid became quite sad when he mentioned "an event" that made people think Aragog was dangerous, after which he had to leave the castle to hide in The Forbidden Forest. Hermione quickly clued in that that must have been when Voldemort had opened the Chamber of Secrets, but she said nothing, seeing as she wasn't supposed to know anything about that.

All the girl said instead was, "Aragog sounds like a nice friend." To which Hagrid agreed enthusiastically.

"While Aragog certainly seems like a nice enough bloke," Harry said, after a moment of silence, "that doesn't really tell us much about their species as a whole. Like, for example, say Hermione and I were to randomly, accidentally, and completely hypothetically walk into a nest of acromantulas, is there anything we should know to ensure that we can walk out with all of our limbs intact? Because I really like my limbs...

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

Hermione gave the boy a look; seriously?

Surprisingly enough, Hagrid didn't seem to notice Harry's immensely odd choice of words. He just mostly seemed offended by the insinuation that acromantulas would hurt anyone.

"O' course not, Harry. Acromantulas won't ever hurt anybody. Sure, they'll eat anything they think is weaker than 'em—"

Wait, what?

"—but they're not savages. Acromantulas are—"

"Yes, Hagrid," Harry cut in, "I'm sure acromantulas are a lot of things. B—but if you could please go back to that really important part where you mentioned them eating anything they think is weaker, that'll be great. Thank you."

Hagrid blinked. "Oh. Well, it's like any other species now, ain't it? Anything you beat in a fight becomes food. Even wizards and muggles do it."

Hermione gaped. There was so much that was wrong in that sentence that she didn't even know where to start.

"Hagrid, that isn't—muggles don't do that."

"Yeah, pretty sure most people avoid eating food that can beg not to be eaten, Hagrid," Harry said.

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed.

The half-giant waved their argument away like it was a minor detail.

"Just because you don't understand them doesn't mean they're not begging," he said, and Hermione and Harry froze.

"Gee," Harry said flatly. "Thanks, Hagrid. You just ruined meat for me."

Hagrid laughed, while Hermione, trying to resist her sudden urge to regurgitate the bacon she had for breakfast, tried to get the conversation back on topic.

"So, they'll eat anything they think is weaker than them. Is that the only reason they'll attack us?"

"If they think you're weak, sure. Even if they're not hungry they'll still attack just to show yeh who's boss," Hagrid said, then he looked thoughtful for a moment, before he muttered, "Lot like giants that."

"So, as long as we show them that we're strong, they won't attack us?" Harry asked to confirm, and Hagrid agreed.

The two children looked at each other, then back at Hagrid.

"How do we show them that we're not weak?" Hermione asked.

Later, as they left Hagrid's hut after almost fifteen more minutes of conversation, Harry said, "So, all we have to do to impress acromantulas is acts like jerks. Good to know. No wonder they got along so well with Voldemort's army."

Hermione stopped. "The acromantulas worked for Voldemort?" She asked in surprise.

Harry stopped too, only just realising the implications of what he said; if the acromantulas were willing to work with Voldemort, then asking for their help against him might not be the best idea.

"Oh," Harry said as the realization sank in.

"What are we going to do now, Harry?"

The boy didn't look like he had an answer. "I don't know, Hermione. Although, it's possible that Voldemort forced them. Actually, knowing him it's very likely that he did; probably threatened to sic a basilisk on them or something. Maybe they were just trying to protect themselves," Harry said.

"Or maybe they saw that Voldemort was stronger and joined him so that they could bully everyone else," Hermione said, and to that Harry had no counter. Not that he seemed particularly eager to come up with one.

Hermione felt a spark of anger. Just when she thought they had a sure plan, this comes up. Now, what were they going to do? How were they going to stop Voldemort from hurting the unicorns without the numbers of the acromantulas?

As her eyes roamed her surroundings in helpless frustration, she caught it; a dark, almost horse-like shape walking out of The Forbidden Forest some distance away. It stepped into the light just past the trees, and the shape revealed itself to be a centaur. A female one.

"Harry?" Hermione called quietly, then pointed in a manner that she hoped was inconspicuous (i.e. with her chin), and the boy turned to look.

The centaur was looking at them too, almost unblinking, and Hermione was starting to find it a little disconcerting.

"Should we go to her?" She asked Harry.

"I have no idea," he replied.

Hermione thought that they should, but before she could tell Harry that, the centaur lady made a 'come hither' gesture, then turned and began to walk back into the forest.

"Remember that thing your parents told you about following horse ladies into creepy forests?" Harry asked, and Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

"Come on, Harry," she said, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling him along, before they lost the centaur lady in the forest.

At this time of day, under the cover of trees, there wasn't much light to see by, so Hermione drew her wand and incanted "lumos lumina" a few times, creating four floating orbs of silver light that hovered around the two of them as they walked.

Hermione observed the centaur as they followed behind her. In the silver of the lights she'd created, the centaur's fur looked somewhat blue, a blue so dark that Hermione had at first mistaken it for black.

Her dark hair was plaited into two long braids that ran all the way from her forehead to her lower back, and the only item she had on her was a bow she had slung diagonally across her back. No quiver. No arrows. And, of course, no clothes. Just a bow.

Now that she thought about it; Firenze had carried a bow too, hadn't he? And he too had had no quiver or arrows. Were the bows magical? Maybe they didn't need arrows.

The matter of the bow, and other random thoughts it led to, occupied Hermione's mind for a few minutes, but eventually, another question began to itch at her.

"Where are you taking us?" Hermione finally asked after almost five minutes of walking, and to both her and Harry's surprise, considering they hadn't actually expected a response, the centaur stopped and turned.

Then spoke. "This was rather careless of you, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. To follow a stranger without knowing where they lead."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her face heated in embarrassment, as she realised that, yes, that was exactly what she'd done.

What had she been thinking!? Harry had even told her it was a bad idea, for Christ's sake.

"You didn't answer the question though," Harry said, suspicion colouring his voice, and Hermione looked to find him holding his wand, but with it's tip pointed at the ground.

Hermione's eyes widened further, and she reached for her own wand within her robe, but refrained from pulling it out just yet.

"Where are you taking us?" Harry repeated Hermione's question.

"I am taking you to meet the Herd-mother, Harry Potter. As she requested."

Hermione and Harry glanced at one another.

"Who is the Herd-mother?" Hermione asked the centaur.

"And why does she want to meet us?" Harry added.

"The Herd-mother is the guide of our herd, and she has tasked me to bring you to her because your owl was quite persistent. Now stow your wands. I promise you will not need them."

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, the same thought running through their heads: "Hedwig!?"

Then as one they both thought it through and came to a simple conclusion: "Hedwig."

The last time they'd seen Hedwig was when she'd unceremoniously flown off on their way to meet Hagrid, apparently she'd been busy since then.

Harry returned his wand back to its holster wrapped around his left arm, and Hermione let go of hers and pulled her hand from her pocket.

"So, uh, how much farther is it?" Harry asked.

"Close, Harry Potter," the centaur said, and Hermione realized something.

"We don't know your name."

The centaur smiled; it was an odd thing to see on a face as unhuman as hers, but it wasn't unpleasant. "I am Arden, Hermione Granger," she said. "Now we are no longer strangers. Come." And with that she turned and resumed walking, leaving the children little choice but to follow.

Their journey ended at a small, grassy hill bereft of trees, and at the base, they saw something swoop down towards them.

"Hedwig!" Both children shouted in excitement as the snowy owl perched on Hermione's shoulder.

"So you ditched us at Hagrid's to come play ambassador to the centaurs?" Harry asked.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Hermione added, failing to appreciate how insane that sentence would have sounded to her just two weeks ago.

Hedwig ignored the both of them, focusing instead on picking insects out of her feathers.

"The Herd-mother waits at the peak," Arden said. "I will wait here."

Hermione and Harry thanked the centaur, then they climbed the not-so-gentle slope of the hill to the peak.

When they got there, they found an old, female centaur sitting on the grass and staring at the starry, twilit sky.

The centaur, or the Herd-mother rather, had the same fit physique that every other centaur Hermione had seen so far possessed, though hers seemed to be wilting away with the years. Her rich dark fur was mixed with white in many areas, and, as Hermione was beginning to expect with centaurs, she wore no clothes.

Surprisingly however, the Herd-mother had no bow, just a long, wooden flute of a simple design.

Hedwig flew off Hermione's shoulder to perch on the ground before the centaur, so she and Harry followed the bird's lead and parked themselves on the soft grass too.

No one said anything for some time, and Hermione was beginning to wonder if she should, when the Herd-mother spoke without looking at them.

"Your lights are not needed here, Hermione Granger," the old centaur said.

The girl startled a bit at the sudden presence of the Herd-mother's calm but powerful voice, then she fished out her wand, and with a "nox" vanished the four silver lights she'd conjured earlier.

As soon as she did, some of the stars floated down from the night sky to hover around them, and it was only after a few seconds that Hermione realized what they truly were; fireflies.

The insects came by the dozens, a number that rapidly grew until soon their surroundings were lit with nothing but the glow of a thousand fireflies and the heavenly bodies up above.

It was beautiful.

"Whoa," Harry breathed. "It's like being on Pandora."

Hermione didn't know what Pandora was, but she did think this was quite magical.

The Herd-mother looked at them then, her deep, indescribable eyes peering into them both.

"Hermione Granger and The Boy-Who-Lived," she intoned. "The Boy Who Is More. Many centaurs have lived and died without the stars changing their song—" at this she looked up at the heavens once again, then back down "—I do not know if I am happy that it has happened in my lifetime."

Hermione and Harry stared at each other; that pretty much confirmed what they'd already known.

"So you know," Hermione said. "About Harry." It wasn't really a question.

"What I know is the song of the stars, Hermione Granger," the Herd-mother said. "And the stars now sing of you." Her eyes pierced the girl. "And you." They moved to Harry, where they hovered for a time before finding their way back up to the sky.

Thanks to the little she knew about the fabled divination prowess of the centaurs (which the books she'd read had stressed the centaurs refusal to teach to wizards), Hermione understood what the Herd-mother was implying well enough; Harry getting isekai'd had changed the future.

Like in Back to the Future, only scarier, since this wasn't a movie that she could watch from the comfort of her favourite chair at home.

"What does it say?" Harry asked curiously. "The stars. What does their song say?"

Hermione's eyes widened. That was a brilliant idea. If the Herd-mother told them the current future, then they would have an even bigger advantage against Voldemort.

The centaur's response immediately knocked her rising excitement down a few notches. "Things that I will not tell you, Harry Potter."

Hermione frowned. "Why not?" She asked, unsuccessfully keeping her irritation out of her voice.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said, sounding resigned. "I'm sure she has her reasons."

Hermione didn't see what reasons could be good enough to deny them information that might help them defeat Voldemort, who she had assumed was also the centaur's enemy, but she let it go like Harry asked. Mostly because her intuition told her that nothing she said would change the Herd-mother's mind.

"Fine then," Hermione said, a little grumpily. "Is there anything you can tell us?"

"The Broken One will come soon, seeking nourishment for his half-life. We will be unable to stop him," the Herd-mother said.

It didn't take Hermione long at all to realise who the woman was talking about.

"Voldemort," she and Harry said in unison, and the Herd-mother nodded.

"Hermione and I were planning to try to convince the acromantulas to help, if we could," Harry said.

"You lack the strength to make the spiders do anything," the Herd-mother said.

"So, it's hopeless?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe not. If you have something of value to offer them."

"Like what?" Harry asked, and the Herd-mother spread her arms in a slow shrug.

"I thought you could see the future?" Hermione asked, almost accusingly.

The Herd-mother smiled. "What it must be like to be human," she mused. "To perceive so little of the world and still feel so sure in your understanding of it."

The Herd-mother rose.

"If you win the spiders over," she said, "we will work with them. Arden will ensure your safe return."

And with a "farewell" the Herd-mother walked away, in the opposite direction from where Hermione and Harry had climbed up. She took with her the mass of fireflies that flowed around her like a swarm of stars, leaving the children alone on the semi-dark peak of the hill.

Harry let out a loud exhale. "I feel like I just walked through the Twilight Zone, or something," he said, and Hermione had to agree.

They walked back down together, Hedwig perched once again on Hermione's shoulder.

Arden said nothing to them when they met her at the base of the hill, just turned and started walking, and the children followed after Hermione once again provided some light.

The journey back was shorter than the journey there and even quieter, and that only changed when they reached the forest's edge and Arden stopped and spoke.

"If you need me," she said, "send your owl. She will know where to find me. Farewell, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Then she turned and walked away.

As they returned to the castle, Harry spoke. "You know, they're quite different than what I remember in the books. The centaurs."

Hermione looked at him. "Well, you said it yourself that the author must have done some things her own way in the story. You're the one who's always talking about author's injecting their biases into their works."

"No, I know, I know," Harry said, "it's just... I'm just wondering. If the centaurs are different then, what else is?"

And to that Hermione had no answer.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

The Next Morning.

Thursday, Sept. 12


Hermione had only realised how tired she was after she'd passed out the moment she laid in bed on Wednesday night, and for the first time since Harry told her the truth about Voldemort and Scabbers and everything else (which, as hard as it was to believe, was only last Friday, not even a week ago), she had a full, uninterrupted night of sleep.

Although, she wasn't quite sure if that was because she didn't have any dreams, or was just too tired to be woken by them.

Whichever it was, was irrelevant however, what mattered was that Hermione was well-rested in a way she hadn't had the opportunity to be in too many days.

Thanks to her clearer mind and improved mood, her morning rituals took slightly less time than they usually did, but even so, when she went down to the common room some time later, Harry was already sitting there waiting for her.

He looked the same as he always did; bright eyes, a small smile, bird-nest hair, a neat uniform, and Hedwig within touching distance, but Hermione had to wonder how much sleep he could have gotten if he was already dressed and waiting by the time she came down.

"Ohayo," Harry said in his customary greeting, even adding a little wave.

"Good morning," Hermione said back as Harry rose and they walked down together to breakfast.

Breakfast was the mundane affair it usually was; they ate, talked about some trivial things, did some light studying, and Hedwig got them a paper from whatever mysterious place she acquired them.

Draco even approached their group while they headed for Transfiguration, although, unlike he usually did, this time he aimed his barbs at Ron instead of Harry.

Hermione suspected it was because the blonde boy had finally learned that he couldn't match Harry in a verbal spar, while Ron, on the other hand, was—unfortunate, but true—an easy target. All Draco needed to do to make Ron spitting mad was say pretty much anything about the Weasleys' financial situation, and the Slytherin was more than willing to take advantage of that.

"Hanging around Potter an awful lot, Weasley," Draco said, smiling cruelly. "What? Hoping some change will fall from his pockets? Because everyone knows that's how you Weasleys feed."

A few of the Slytherins within earshot snickered, and Hermione scowled at them, even as Ron, and Neville, Ron's closest friend of their group, went red with anger.

Before anyone could say anything, Harry asked aghast. "Draco, you're picking on Ron now? How could you? I thought you and I had something special?"

Eyes turned to harry, mostly in confusion. Hermione just rolled hers.

"What are you on about, Potter?" Draco asked.

Harry looked hurt. "I'm talking about our thing; you know, where you try to pick on me and I turn it back on you and make you look silly—you have a bit of grease on your cheek, by the way. It's disgusting."

Draco's eyes widened a bit and he immediately reached up to wipe his right cheek.

"No, the other one," Harry said.

Draco wiped the left.

"A little lower."

Draco went lower.

"Farther back."

The Slytherin complied.

"More to the—ow!"

Hermione smacked Harry on the arm.

"Ignore him, Draco. There's nothing on your cheek," she said, and a few people, including Crabbe and Goyle, snickered.

Draco went redder than even Ron had, and his face twisted into an expression of anger so poignant that it stunned Hermione for a second, then he reached into his robes to pull out his wand, only to stop when the tip of Harry's tapped his nose.

The hallway stilled.

"Now, Draco, you've got two choices," Harry said calmly. "Choice no. 1—which I really advise you to take by the way—is you keep your wand back in your robes, and I become Switzerland; mind my own business. Choice no. 2 is you don't keep your wand back in your robes, and I become North Korea.

"You really wouldn't like North Korea."

Draco looked around him, saw the faces of all the students watching, waiting for his reaction, and for a moment he actually looked like he would try to fight, but then the tip of Harry's wand glowed red and the Slytherin panicked and backed away.

A few people snickered, but Draco had already made his choice; he stabbed his wand back into his robes.

"Good choice," Harry said.

Needing to get the last word in, Draco growled: "My father will hear of this, Potter," before storming off, his clique rushing to follow after him.

"Say hi for me," Harry called after them, finally keeping his wand.

After the Gryffindor boys finished gushing over how cool Harry was for the simple act of drawing his wand and they finally continued heading towards class again, Hermione asked quietly: "You got that from a movie, didn't you?"

Harry said nothing, but the sudden blush on his cheeks was all the answer she needed.

She shook her head fondly, Harry would never change.

He had been pretty cool though. Even if he had no business getting into fights in the first place.

Thankfully, Draco seemed content to do no more than shoot nasty looks at Harry during Transfiguration (probably from fear of Prof. McGonagall), so the lesson was normal enough. Things only changed when, after the lesson, Prof. McGonagall asked Harry to stay behind.

For a few days after the event with Prof. Snape last Friday, Prof. McGonagall had been somewhat cold-shouldered towards Hermione and Harry, but mostly Harry. It had given the girl the impression that the professor was displeased with them over what happened.

Hermione would have preferred to stay and hear the conversation, but she went out with everyone else. She told the other Gryffindors to head for lunch, that she would wait for Harry alone, and they agreed.

It took barely a minute before Harry came out. He looked... annoyed, yes, but mostly disappointed, and Hermione was on him in an instant, wanting to know what Prof. McGonagall had said to him.

Harry shrugged, trying to keep his tone light. "Apparently, I should count myself lucky that, against her wishes, Dumbledore has decided not to punish me for my unacceptable behaviour last Friday."

Hermione frowned. "Was that exactly what she said?" She couldn't help but ask.

Harry shrugged again. "Pretty much."

Hermione's frown deepened; she didn't know how to feel about that. Prof. McGonagall was the first person from the Magical World she had ever met; her favourite teacher in the surprisingly short time she'd been at Hogwarts, the realization that the woman wasn't on Harry's side in this was... upsetting.

I mean, sure Hermione thought that Harry antagonizing Snape didn't help matters much, but, as hard as it was for her to admit, Prof. Snape hadn't been much better.

No, he had been worse.

"What else did she say?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged yet again. "Nothing much, just how she's expecting me to act in a manner befitting a Gryffindor from now on. Specifically tomorrow."

Tomorrow? Oh, right, their second class with Snape was tomorrow. Hermione had been trying to not think about that.

Harry took her hand. "Don't worry," he said, "Snape won't bother you again."

He looked certain, so Hermione asked, "How do you know that?"

Harry stared at her, and something dark flashed in his eyes as he said, "Because I told Dumbledore that I would kill Snape if he hurt you."

Hermione faltered. Her mouth worked soundlessly for several seconds before finally a strangled "what?" came out.

Harry started to answer her, then he stopped, let out a breath, and pulled her into the nearest unused classroom (how many of these did Hogwarts have anyway?).

Closing and locking the door with a Locking Spell behind them, Harry took another breath then started to speak.

His first words completely confused Hermione.

"I had it all set up, you know?

"Got a magical tent; bigger on the inside—a bedroom, a kitchen, a kickass bathroom. Got a broomstick—two broomsticks, just in case. Two invisibility cloaks too. Bought tons of non-perishables; every book that looked even remotely useful; would have bought an extra wand too, but Ollivander gave me a look that honestly scared me when I asked.

"The only thing that was left was to clean out my Gringotts vault."

Realization had been slowly dawning as Harry spoke, but that last sentence sealed the deal; Harry been planning to run away.

A memory from long ago, back before Hermione learnt more truth than she knew what to do with, rose then. A memory of Harry telling her that he'd almost not come to Hogwarts.

"Why did you come? If you didn't want to?" She'd asked, and Harry had replied: "To meet you. Why else would I come?"

Hermione repeated the question again now. "Why did you come to Hogwarts, Harry?"

Really, why had he come? Because despite how he acted, Harry wasn't the kind of person who would do something like this, something he clearly would rather not have done, without a good reason.

So what was that reason? Did he hope it would make killing Voldemort easier? Was it to get easy access to the horcrux in The Room of Requirement?

What was it?

"Do you know how you and Ron and I became friends in the books?" Harry asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "We saved you from a troll."

Hermione blinked.

"And I kept telling myself that, of course such an event that relies on such a ridiculous amount of coincidences wouldn't happen if I made a change as big as not going to Hogwarts. But the question was always there; what if it did?

"What if Ron was still an idiot? What if Quirrel still released the troll? What if you were still in that bathroom crying?

"What if I wasn't there?"

Harry stared in her eyes as he said that last part, and Hermione stared back, utterly captivated by the boy and his words that she understood just enough to be chilled by.

"So, on the first of September, I got on The Hogwarts Express," Harry continued. "And I met you. And you gave me something I hadn't even realised I needed.

"So, at the risk of sounding like an overprotective psychopath and having you avoid me for the rest of my natural life, Hermione, if Snape—if anyone—hurts you, I'm going to fucking kill them."

Hedwig swooped down from somewhere at that moment to perch on Harry's shoulder, adding her own bark of agreement to the mix, and, for the longest time, Hermione Jane Granger had no idea what to do with the situation she found herself in.

★★★​

Hermione walked with Harry to The Room of Requirement after Defense Against the Dark Arts still feeling a little awkward.

Some of it was from the declaration Harry had made back in that empty classroom (which she'd avoided discussing, and Harry thankfully hadn't either), but most of it was actually from the events that took place during Defense itself.

Apparently, Draco had decided that Voldemort's class was the one he was willing to seek vengeance against Harry in. Granted the boy didn't know the real identity of the stuttering professor, but even so.

Anyway, for the first time ever, Quirrel had let them practice a spell in the classroom, instead of droning on for the whole three hours in his irritating stutter (why he faked it Hermione would never know).

It was the Jelly-Legs Jinx, and the students had partnered up to practice, and since neither Harry nor Hermione much liked the idea of leaving themselves helpless in a classroom with Voldemort, they'd deliberately held back on the spell. And that was when Draco had 'accidentally' used the spell on her from behind.

The fact that he had targeted her, who he no doubt (accurately) considered an easier target, was not lost on Hermione, and it made her wonder, just for a second, if maybe there was an advantage to a show of strength after all. To being strong.

When she fell, and Harry saw who had caused it, he had looked so angry that Draco had actually staggered back in fear. But then Quirrel had intervened. He chastised Draco (t—that's en—n—nough now, Mr. M—malfoy), talked Harry down (n—no need f—for violence, M—mr. Potter), and cast the counter-jinx on her. Then Voldemort had offered her a hand to help her up.

She'd taken it (couldn't come up with a reason not to). And it had been warm, and soft, and very human. And it had made Hermione feel... awkward. Very awkward. And she wasn't even sure why.

The girl pushed the feeling aside as Harry finished the ritual to activate the room and the door appeared, as unassuming as ever. Harry pushed it open, and they walked into a dark, misty, and very creepy forest.

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, then back at their surroundings. The trees around them were leafless and covered in webs, the air smelled... weird, but very real, and the skittering of very many legs sounded from all around them.

Along with hissing. A lot of hissing.

Dark shapes began to emerge from the mist, very real-looking dark shapes with venom-dripping fangs and too many red eyes. They came on the ground, from the trees, everywhere.

This was not feeling like a safe place to train.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "what did you ask the room to give us?"

"A place where we can learn to fight acromantulas," he replied, just as quietly.

Hermione swallowed. "Did you add safely to that?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

Harry froze. "I think we should leave," he said. "Now."

It was three steps to the door, and the nearest spider was at least fifteen feet away.

They barely made it.

As they stood outside panting, backs pressed against the closed door, Hermione decided that, henceforth, she would be the one activating the room.

The second attempt (with 'safe' heavily emphasized), produced a beautiful, sunlit forest where everything was soft, almost like the world was made of foam.

They still walked in cautiously, wands held at the ready for an attack. An attack that came in the form of three giant, colourful, plushy spider dolls with the biggest, cutest eyes.

Hermione had to physically restrain herself from gasping with amazed joy.

"You're messing with me, right?" Harry asked flatly. "I mean, I know we wanted safe, but dolls? Hermione, I can't play with dolls; do you have any idea what that'll do to my reputation if it got out?"

The girl rolled her eyes, and was beginning to answer when something large, soft, and very powerful slammed into her and sent her flying.

Hermione flew ten feet into the nearest tree, bounced off it's spongy trunk with her side, slammed into the soft-ish ground, rolled twice, and then dazed, got covered from the neck down in what felt like very sticky cotton candy.

Thirty seconds later, when the world was upright again, she made out Harry screaming her name, and two very cute spiders staring down at her.

On that day, Hermione learned a life lesson; neither the word 'safe' nor the word 'cute' meant not terrifyingly dangerous.

Well, the first one did, but that wasn't really the point.

★★★​

Despite how they looked, the dolls were just as fast, just as strong, and just as violent as actual acromantulas, and fighting against them was hell.

Fifteen minutes after they first stepped foot in the room, Hermione and Harry just had to call a timeout.

They curled up in a corner together, panting and sweaty and, despite how soft everything was, achy (apparently, getting repeatedly slammed into surfaces, even soft ones, was rough on the body. Who knew?).

Fortunately, they could control the room to an extent; they could make it reset, which made the spiders and all the webs they released poof out of existence, and they could choose when to start a new round, which made the spiders start appearing and attacking once more.

It was a bit like some of the videogames Hermione had seen, and she wondered if the room had taken it from her head, or if it had done so from Harry's, since she knew that videogames weren't things that she thought about all that much.

Then again, Harry had never talked about videogames either. He talked about movies, and music, and books, even science and future events, but never videogames.

At one point, Hermione might have theorized that maybe by 2021 people just didn't play videogames anymore, because everyone had finally realised that they made you dull (much like they did Shawn from her old school), but after all the things Harry had told her of the future, Hermione simply decided now that Harry just didn't like them.

"They're too fast," Harry said.

Hermione blinked. Had she missed something?

"The acromantulas," Harry explained, "they're too fast."

Oh. She nodded. The giant arachnids could move so fast they almost seemed to blur. Usually, before she and Harry could even finish casting whatever spell they wanted, the creatures were already on them.

"Maybe we should learn silent casting," Harry suggested.

That might work, Hermione thought. Unfortunately— "Silent casting is for N.E.W.T students, Harry. It's very advanced. I don't think we can learn it in time."

Harry sighed and slumped. "Great," he said. "At this point we might as well just carry torches for all the good our wands will do us."

Hermione stared at him, her brain kicking into gear.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing her expression. "You got an idea?"

Hermione nodded energetically, her excitement building as her idea took solid shape in her mind. "We don't need to learn silent casting, Harry. We can just cast the spells before we meet the spiders instead."

Harry stared at her blankly. "I'm not following."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then stood. "Remember the Hanging Flame Spell?"

Harry frowned. "The one that made the witch, what's-her-face, invent the Lumos because it kept setting things on fire."

"Geraldine Bierwagen, Harry. And yes, that one."

"Okay, what about it?"

Hermione cast the spell, and like the name implied, it created a floating tongue of fire about the size of a man's fist in the air before her. Then she cast the spell again, again, and again, and with every new one she created the look of realization in Harry's eyes grew.

After the sixth one Hermione stopped, and then she began to direct all six flames around with her wand. It was clumsy, it was slow, and some of the flames guttered, threatening to go out, but it was working.

They could use this.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Same Day.

Thursday, Sept. 12


Her lungs ached. The air reeked of burning foam. Her wand in her hand thrummed with power in a way that she had never felt before. Power and eagerness; like it had been starving for a fight.

More spiders rushed at them and Hermione reacted.

There was no spellcasting, no fancy wand-work, just her raw will shaping the flames that now surrounded her. A dozen of them.

Two merged, against all logic becoming half a dozen times bigger than the sum of their parts, and, with a flex of her will, it shot off like an arrow and slammed into one of the approaching spiders, setting it alight.

The spider thrashed and burned for a few seconds, before it poofed out of existence like they always did after taking a serious hit.

That was one down but many more to go; the very reason why she and Harry had to remain on the move, lest they get swarmed by numbers.

A spider dive-bombed them from up in the trees, and Hermione only noticed it when Harry pointed his wand at it and shouted, "wingardium leviosa!" leaving it floating helplessly in the air.

Casting in the heat of the moment the way he was, Harry's incantation was atrocious; he put emphasis on all the wrong syllables, and the less said about his wand-work the better, nevertheless, the spell worked. As it always had for the both of them no matter how much they butchered them.

Actually, it may be possible that Hermione had done silent casting once or twice since this mad rush started.

This mad rush that wouldn't stop.

"Why won't they stop attacking?" Harry shouted, unknowingly voicing her thoughts.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, as she tried to take a moment to create more flames so she didn't run out. "From everything Hagrid told us they should have stopped by now."

Both distracted by their conversation, an unseen spider slammed into Hermione from the left, sending her into Harry, and the two of them to the ground. That was it.

Over the hour they'd been practicing, both children had learned one very important lesson; when facing acromantulas, never fall.

Before she or Harry could get their bearings to control their flames, they'd been doused in 'webbing' and 'bitten' several times by the nearest spiders.

They were dead.

On the other hand, they had lasted almost eight minutes that time and killed over three dozen acromantulas before being taken down.

"Reset," Hermione called, and the spiders and their webs instantly vanished in puffs of white, quickly-dissipating smoke.

Despite being free, both preteens remained on the ground, trying to catch their breaths as the effect of an hour of almost nonstop physical activity took its toll on them.

After almost five minutes, Hermione said, "I think it's because we asked for a place to fight them in. That's why they wouldn't stop attacking."

"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, that makes sense."

Then they both settled back into silence.

Between the softness of the ground and the serenity their idyllic surroundings afforded, Hermione and Harry soon began to drift off, and it was only Hedwig making her arrival known with a bark that kept the two from falling completely asleep.

Neither of them had any idea how the owl, who they hadn't seen since lunch, had gotten into The Room of Requirement, but it was Hedwig, so they simply chalked it up to that.

Interestingly enough, the owl didn't come empty-handed; she came carrying a note from Hagrid.

Apparently, he was inviting them over to watch the hatching of something called a rainbow butterfly. He also spelled her name wrong.

"Come on," Hermione said rising, "if we hurry we might make it." Hagrid's note had warned that the butterfly might hatch at any moment, so hurrying might be best.

Unfortunately, the girl really didn't want to go anywhere covered in icky, drying sweat like she was, so she had no choice but to head to the Gryffindor Tower first to bathe and change.

Or…

Outside the room, Hermione closed the door, and after it disappeared, walked across the blank wall three times, thinking to herself: 'we need a bathroom.'

The door reappeared, and she opened it to find her bathroom at home. It was exactly how she remembered it, down to her toothbrush on the sink where she kept it.

Hermione walked in, looking around in amazement.

"Is this the bathroom from your house?" Harry asked, and she nodded.

"It is! It's exactly as I remember it. It even has my toothbrush. See?" She picked up the object to show Harry. "I brought this with me; it's in our bathroom in the dorm."

She looked at the toothbrush; it looked used. She sniffed it; it smelled used too, but more than that, it smelled like her toothpaste. The attention to detail was uncanny.

The girl looked around the bathroom; at the mirror she'd stood in front of for years, at the shower curtain her mother had bought just weeks before she left for Hogwarts, and at the door that led out of the bathroom that she knew would simply take her back into Hogwarts if she were to walk through it, and she was hit with a wave of homesickness so hard that it stole her breath away.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked.

She looked at him. "I miss home," she said in a small voice.

Home didn't have Voldemort. It didn't have angry, hateful professors. It didn't have basilisks, or giant man-eating spiders that she had to learn to kill so they didn't kill her. No, it had safety, and comfort. And it had her parents.

And while she knew that their relationship wasn't perfect, or even as good as it could be, she loved them, and she missed them. More than she'd imagined.

Harry hugged her.

"Don't worry," he said, "you'll see them soon for Christmas."

It barely took Hermione a second of thought to shake her head. "I'm not going home for Christmas."

Harry pulled back. "Why?"

"Because I won't leave you alone in Hogwarts, Harry. And you're not going to those horrid Dursleys either. Those people are just awful. Treating you the way they do? What was Dumbledore thinking leaving you with them? They can't even be called your family. And to think Petunia is your mom's sister, I can't even—"

Harry hugged her, tight. And for lack of anything else to do, Hermione hugged him back.

"I think I finally get what people mean when they say they've been blessed to know a person," Harry said into her hair, and Hermione's face went red.

"Oh, stop it, Harry," she said. "All I have are books and cleverness."

For some reason, Harry laughed, then he pulled back and said: "Don't forget bravery and friendship."

She could tell there was a joke in there somewhere, but Harry didn't seem willing to share, so she ignored it.

Looking around the bathroom one more time, Hermione realised something; it was designed for one person to use at a time.

Great, she nearly sighed. There was no way Harry wasn't going to make fun of her for this.

★★★​

A shower and magically cleaned clothes later, and Hermione and Harry headed for Hagrid's hut.

His note had told them to come to the back, saying that was where he would be, so they did accordingly and went around.

The back of Hagrid's hut had more space than Hermione had thought. There was a steep decline, just behind the house, which helped hide that there was an empty pen, as well as four small buildings of unknown purpose back there.

Finding Hagrid was easy, they could hear the man's booming voice coming from the smallest of the buildings before them, and also see his dog, Fang, sitting outside of it.

The dog barked and rushed at Hermione as soon as it saw them coming, and Hermione endured his slobbery greeting stoically while Harry stood way back from the creature.

Coward.

"Fang, is that them?" Hagrid asked from within the windowless shack before the door opened to reveal the heavily bearded man.

"Hey, Hagrid," Harry said, finally stepping forward now that Hermione had paid the price to calm Fang down.

"Harry, Hermione!" Hagrid called happily. "Yeh made it."

Hermione was beginning to respond when Prof. Snape stepped out of the shack.

What was he doing here? She wondered.

Snape seemed to feel the same, because he asked Hagrid, his voice a growl through clenched teeth, "Why are they here, Hagrid?"

Hagrid looked perfectly ignorant of the sudden tension that had enveloped their surroundings. "Well, I thought they might like to see the butterfly hatch, so I—"

Snape began to walk away. "Have an elf bring the chrysalis to me when it's done," he said without turning.

All three of them watched him go, Hagrid with confusion, Harry with anger, and Hermione with a mix of both.

Finally, Hagrid muttered. "Strange one, that Snape." Then louder, he said, "Yeh two should come in now, it's almost starting."

Hermione took Harry's hand before they walked in, a gesture he seemed to appreciate.

The shack was dark inside, except for a weak, pulsing light that changed colours randomly. Wait. It wasn't a light.

Hermione and Harry approached it and saw that it was actually a chrysalis. It was hanging off a broken branch, itself tied to a string hanging from the ceiling, and it was the source of the changing light lighting the room.

It was beautiful.

"This is a rainbow butterfly?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid nodded, smiling hugely. "Thought it would be the muggle one, did yeh?" He asked.

Hermione hadn't even known that there were muggle rainbow butterflies, and she said so.

"Oh?" Hagrid looked surprised (Hermione didn't know why, but people tended to get that reaction whenever they learnt she didn't know something). "Well, there are," the man said. "Beautiful, mind, but dull next to their magical cousins. Can't blame muggles for giving 'em the name though; completely blind to the magical kind, muggles. A shame. Quite the beauty."

Hermione had to agree. It was quite unfair, really; being unable to see something so beautiful simply because you couldn't use magic.

She wondered if there was a way to bypass it.

"I'm guessing it's useful for potions," Harry said. "That's why Snape was here."

Hagrid nodded. "Oh, yes, been waiting on this day near a week now. Don't know why he suddenly left."

The talk about the butterfly being useful for potions set off an alarm in Hermione's head. "You're not going to kill it, are you?" she asked Hagrid.

The man looked alarmed. "What? No, of course not! I didn't bring the little fellow from The Forest to keep 'im safe only to have Snape chop him up. All he's taking is the cocoon when he's done."

Oh. That was good. Hermione had been worried they were going to watch the butterfly hatch only for it to be killed.

"So, you're just going to let it go?" Harry asked. "What if something hurts it?"

Hagrid waved off the boy's worry. "Nah, it's only dangerous for 'im at this stage."

The light started to get brighter, and Hagrid said, "Almost there now."

"Can I film it?" Harry asked, and Hagrid was elated at the idea.

Harry reached into one of the pockets on his muggle backpack that Hermione actually knew that, like hers, was much bigger on the inside, but unlike hers, contained much more than just his school books, and pulled out his camera.

He fiddled with the controls for a bit, then cast the Levitation Charm on it, magically keeping the lens pointed at the hatching butterfly. It was just in time, because at that moment, the butterfly glowed much brighter than it had before, and then started to break out from its cocoon.

It was slow, obviously laborious work for the little creature, but Hermione was enraptured by every second, and in the moment when the butterfly first spread its wings, bathing the room in rainbows almost too bright to look at, her heart stopped at the sheer beauty of it all.

She leaned into Harry, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

This was beauty. This was magic. This was Hogwarts. And this was what they needed to protect from Voldemort.

It was in that moment that Hermione decided that they would go to the acromantulas that night, and when she looked at Harry, somehow, without needing to say a word, she knew that he agreed.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Same Day.

Thursday, Sept. 12


Hermione reached into her sleeve, grabbed the hilt of her wand where it stuck out from the holster Harry had given her, and drew it as fast as she could.

"Not bad," Harry said, as she stood with the tip of the weapon pointed at an imaginary opponent.

Hermione paused. She'd just thought of her wand as a weapon; she'd never done that before.

With some effort, the girl shook off the thought and said, "I'm still not as fast as you."

Harry chuckled. "Hermione, I practiced this one move for hours everyday for over a month, not to mention I have really good reflexes, it would be weird if you were as fast as me already. Not to mention depressing."

Grudgingly, Hermione had to admit that he was right, but, as far as she was concerned, that was simply a reason to practice until she could match Harry's speed, maybe even surpass it.

As she made to resheathe her wand, Hedwig returned.

After the rainbow butterfly had hatched, and then flown off into the sunset (which had been a rather sad moment), Hermione and Harry had sent Hedwig to get Arden, the centaur lady, so they could ask for her help in finding the acromantulas.

During their wait for the owl to return, Harry had given her both his spare wand holster and invisibility cloak.

"Just in case," he'd said. Hermione agreed.

Considering who they were waiting for, Hermione and Harry had parked themselves just inside The Forbidden Forest, but far enough away from Hagrid's hut that they wouldn't have to worry about the man spotting them. Thanks to that, Hedwig didn't need to perch on either of them when she returned, but was able to take one of the many convenient branches instead.

"Hedwig, you're back," Hermione said.

"Did you find Arden?" Harry asked, and the owl pointed deeper into the forest with a wing.

With how long ago sunset was, the forest was dark enough that the brightness of the two little lights Hermione had made—just enough for them to see by, but hopefully not enough to be seen from outside the forest—did not reach very far, because of this, Arden's arrival was heralded more by the sound of her hooves coming into gentle contact with the forest floor, than by sight.

Arden looked as she had the last time they'd met her, and Hermione was surprised to find that her recollection of the centaur's features were wrong.

In her memories, the centaur had looked more human, more... normal. Meeting her again and being reminded of how alien Arden's features really were was rather jarring for a bit.

The centaur walked up to them, well into the paltry glow from Hermione's lights. "Hermione Granger. Harry Potter," she said, eyes moving from one to the other in line with her words.

"Hello, Arden," Hermione said, while Harry just gave one of his small waves.

"You called for me," Arden said without preamble.

Hermione nodded. "We need your help to find the acromantulas," she said.

"You will meet with them tonight, then?" Arden asked.

The girl nodded again. "We thought it would be better to do it at night because they're nocturnal," she explained.

"Yeah," Harry added, "wouldn't want them cranky from lack of sleep while we tried to negotiate."

"Thoughtful," Arden said, "but it leaves you at a disadvantage."

Hermione nodded; she and Harry had thought of that.

"Do you think we should wait for daylight, then?" she asked, seeking the centaur's advice.

"No," Arden said. "I think you should drop this fruitless plan; the spiders are savage beasts with little sense, nothing will come of this."

Hermione blinked. She turned to harry, who looked just as surprised; they'd both assumed that Arden was supportive of the plan.

The worst part was the centaur hadn't even sounded angry or... anything really, when she said it. She'd simply spoken with the same kind of simple assuredness with which a person would say that fire burns.

It made Hermione a little less confident in this whole endeavour.

Before the girl could begin to overthink things however, Arden said, "Come," and began to walk away. And with no choice in the matter, Hermione and Harry followed on the ground, as Hedwig did in the trees.

The walk was long, slow, and quiet but for the sounds of the forest at night, and the only thing that kept it from being terrifying was the abundance of light they had around them to keep the shadows away. That, and the presence of her friend beside her, as well as Hedwig's occasional call from up in the trees. It was a constant assurance to the girl that she wasn't alone in this.

Naturally, Harry was the first to break the silence.

"You know," the boy said, "this whole thing kinda reminds me of Hansel and Gretel."

Hermione looked at him. "This is nothing like Hansel and Gretel."

"Yes, it is; two kids follow a strange woman made of breadcrumbs into an enchanted forest, where they then have to compete in a tournament of doom in order to free their evil stepmother from the vile clutches of a humble woodsman, who's also, and here's the twist, their father.

"Hansel and Gretel."

"You haven't read Hansel and Gretel, have you?" Hermione asked after several seconds of just staring at the boy.

"Nope," Harry said, popping the 'p'. "Seen the movie though. The one with Jeremy Renner; it was awesome."

That name sounded familiar for some reason.

"Who's Jeremy Renner?"

"Hawkeye."

Oh, right. "Your favourite Avenger."

"Hey, you remembered," Harry said with a big smile of pleasant surprise.

Hermione just gave him a flat look, with the unending lecture Harry had given her about all the Avengers and why Hawkeye was the "awesomest one to ever walk the face of the Earth" (his words), it was harder at this point to not remember. He had been so serious about it that she'd almost caved and taken notes at the time, for goodness sake.

Harry, either not noticing her expression or uncaring of it, sighed wistfully. "I can't believe I have to wait thirty years to watch the series... wait. What if my coming back in time causes a butterfly effect that causes the first Iron man movie to flop for some reason, thereby creating an alternate reality where the Avengers movie was never made and Hawkeye never hit the big screen?"

The boy turned to her, an expression of what she would have once thought to be genuine horror on his face. "Hermione, I think I'm having an existential crisis."

She rolled her eyes. "It's just a movie, Harry."

The boy gasped dramatically with a hand on his heart. "You did not just say—"

"We are here," Arden interrupted, and a sibilant, female voice agreed from the shadows up ahead: "Yes, you are."

In an instant, Harry had his wand drawn, all signs of playfulness gone, while Hermione first had to abort a motion for the pocket of her robes, before remembering where her wand actually was and going for the holster instead.

Even as Hermione drew her wand, the strange voice was still speaking. "Although, I have to wonder why a centaur has brought two little spell weavers to us; a peace offering perhaps?"

"The border is where their webs begin," Arden said. "I will wait here for your return."

The centaur didn't turn, but it was clear who she was talking to, and, after taking a moment to prepare themselves, Hermione and Harry walked forward.

It was over twenty feet to the point where the webs began, and the pair stopped some feet away from the first one they could see, and through it all, Hermione kept repeating to herself like a mantra, "be bold."

The problem when dealing with acromantulas, the girl had learned after her talk with Hagrid, wasn't that you couldn't afford to show fear. It was what the acromantulas considered to be showing fear.

For example; if Hermione were to take Harry's hand right now, the spiders will either interpret it as him needing to be led, therefore weak, or her needing comfort, therefore weak.

They believe in the strength of the individual above all else. It was probably why Hedwig was staying up in the trees, now that Hermione thought about it. The owl probably didn't want the acromantulas to think that Hermione and Harry needed her help.

Quietly, much more than Hermione would have thought a creature that big could move, an acromantula walked into the reach of their light, all the way up to the very border of the spider territory a few feet from them.

Up in the trees, red eyes began to appear, so many that Hermione had to remind herself that every eight only counted for one spider just to calm her nerves.

As the spiders increased in numbers, so did their hissing increase in volume, until, soon, it was this constant, piercing thing that seemed to be chipping away at her mind.

Harry spoke. "Jesus, will you all shut up already? You're making my tinnitus act up."

Surprisingly, it worked; every acromantula present immediately fell silent. All except the one closest to them.

"Well now," she said; it was the same voice that had first spoken, "the little spell weaver has found his little courage. I wonder where that was earlier when that door dropped you in the heart of our home."

Hermione frowned in confusion for a second before realisation dawned; the creepy place with the acromantulas that The Room of Requirement had opened into earlier today hadn't been a fabrication. The door had actually somehow portaled them to the acromantulas in the forest.

From the expression on Harry's face, he had figured it out too, as well as the other thing; they had run from the spiders already.

It was too late, the acromantulas already saw them as weak, and there was probably nothing they could do, short of killing some, to change their mind. And, mean, man-eating spiders or not, Hermione didn't really like the thought of killing anyone.

It was a curious thought that those same spiders would very likely think her weak for that.

Their shock over the recent revelation must have looked like hesitation to the spiders, because the one in front, the only one that had spoken so far, let out a hissing laugh that caused more venom to drip down her fangs, and said, "Run back to your castle, little spell weavers. Hunting you will bring us no joy." And then the hissing resumed.

Hermione stood still as the dissonant, yet paradoxically harmonious hissing of dozens of acromantulas rose in volume.

She was angry.

Here she was trying to stop a madman, because apparently, everyone else either couldn't or wouldn't, and yet these... people, were acting like the boys in her school who dared each other to do dangerous things for the stupidest reasons, and then made fun of those who were smart enough not to engage.

So what that she and Harry ran away before. Of course they had. Their lives had been in danger; any sane person would have done the same. But now the acromantulas wouldn't even talk to them because of it.

Well, fine. They want a show of strength? She would give them a show of strength.

In her hand, Hermione's wand grew warm as it thrummed with eagerness, and the girl cast a spell that she'd learnt yesterday but hadn't even practiced because of how terrifying it was.

"Conflagra."

Fire exploded outward from where she stood, reaching almost twenty feet in every direction. It covered Harry, the trees, and all of the spiders within reach, and despite the very real heat they could all feel from the flames, not a single thing was singed; the conflagration had parted around every single one, bathing them in heat and light without actually burning anything.

In the still silence that followed, Hermione Granger walked forward, breathing hard but steady, and when she was face to face with the giant, man-eating arachnid, close enough to smell her rancid breath, she said: "Take us to your leader."

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: last one for now.

---

Same Day.

Thursday, Sept. 12


Hermione's staredown with the spider lasted quite some time, but the girl refused to yield.

Finally, right when her eyes were beginning to burn, the spider asked: "What's your name, girl?" And Hermione blinked from surprise.

"Hermione Granger," she said.

The spider scoffed, and Hermione tried not to retch from the concentrated blast of her awful breath she got. "Well, Granger, if you knew anything about us, then you would know that you were already speaking to the leader."

That took Hermione by surprise. "But what about Aragog?" she asked. "I thought he was your leader."

The acromantula looked insulted. "Unlike you, spell weaver, we are not led by our frail grandfathers," the spider said. "Now, tell me why you've come here. And what's so special about the two of you that a centaur escorted you."

Hermione hesitated, not because she didn't know what to say, but because everything she and Harry had planned had been geared towards Aragog, and the hope that he would dislike Tom Riddle enough, due to their history, to be willing to help. After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Finding out now, however, that they would not be meeting Aragog, and that he didn't even hold as much power as they'd thought he did, the girl wasn't quite sure what to do.

The worst part was that she couldn't take a moment to deliberate with Harry, she was scared to even turn at all to look at him, because that would require her to turn her back on the giant spider in front of her, and something told her that if she did that, it may very well be the last thing she ever did.

She knew it was probably just her fear speaking, but the eleven-year-old wasn't at all willing to risk it.

Fortunately, Harry was his dependable self as always, and he came through for her now as Hermione was beginning to realize that he always would.

"Does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?" he asked, walking forward to stand beside Hermione; close enough for her to feel his presence, but not so close for it to look like he was providing her support.

A small part of Hermione noticed how she had paid more attention to body language in the last five minutes than she ever had before in her whole life.

The spider looked at Harry. "Yes," she answered finally. "My grandfather has no love for him."

"Then your grandfather would be unhappy to know that good old Tom, or Voldemort—as he now calls himself—is back," Harry said.

"And you're hoping we would kill him for you," the spider stated simply.

Harry paused, and he and Hermione glanced at each other, before the girl said, "Well, no—"

"Not that we would refuse if you offered," Harry quickly threw in.

Hermione ignored him; as nice as it would be to push this fight onto someone else, it wouldn't really matter in the end, because in the unlikely event that the acromantulas won that fight, they still wouldn't be able to stop Voldemort; he was a ghost.

"—we wanted to ask for your help in stopping him," Hermione said. "Voldemort is coming to the forest."

The acromantula tensed. "Why?" she asked.

"He needs unicorn blood," Hermione said. "We don't know when but—" and to her great surprise, the spider, as well as a few up in the trees, laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"And how do you intend to make us help those pathetic creatures?" she asked.

"Well, before we met you guys, I was thinking we could appeal to the goodness of your hearts or something, but now that I've seen that it's all darkness and edge in there, I suppose we could always trade," Harry said.

"And what would two little spell weavers have that we would want?"

"Jeans and daytime TV?" Harry asked. "No? What about beer?"

Seeing the unamused looks he was getting from everyone, including Hermione, Harry raised his hands in surrender and kept quiet.

As unimpressed as Hermione was with his joking around however, she knew that Harry was right, they didn't really have anything to offer the spiders.

The only way she could think of to make the spiders do anything, she was starting to suspect, would be to force them, and like the Herd-mother had said, she and Harry lacked the strength to do that. Although, Hermione wasn't sure she would want to even if they did have the power; she didn't want to become a bully.

As her thoughts spun fruitlessly, Harry spoke again: "Oh, I know. How about a basilisk?"

The acromantulas all hissed and recoiled as Hermione's head whipped to Harry.

A what!?

Is he insane? How would they even kill a basilisk? Especially one as big as he'd described this one to be.

But Harry wasn't finished. "And that's not all," he said. "You know Myrtle? The girl Riddle killed and framed Aragog and Hagrid for? It was the basilisk he commanded to do it. In other words, there's a basilisk under Voldemort's control living in Hogwarts right now. Just waiting. And all you have to do to get rid of it, is promise to help us stop Voldemort."

But for some quiet hissing here and there, the spiders were silent for a long time. Then finally, the acromantula said, "We will need proof; you will bring us the corpse."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's a sixty foot snake," he pointed out simply.

"Then you bring me to the corpse," the spider said, undeterred. "We want proof."

Harry looked at Hermione, seeking her input, she realized, and though the girl had no idea how they would even go about killing the basilisk, she nodded.

"Looks like we have a deal," Harry said.

"We will be waiting, spell weavers. For your sake I hope you can do more than throw a little fire around." And with those parting words, the spiders disappeared as quickly as they came.

"Say hi to your Grandpa for me," Harry called after the departing creatures, then he and Hermione walked back to Arden, who turned without a word and began to head back the way they came.

The children followed.

By some tacit agreement, Hermione and Harry waited until they were far away from the border before saying anything.

"Well, that was terrifying," Harry began. "Especially the part where you went all fire goddess of vengeful wrath."

With dawning horror, Hermione realised how shocking that must have been for Harry. Her reaction was only worsened by the realisation that she hadn't even considered it until he'd mentioned it.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she asked, looking him over for injuries, even though a part of her mind realised that she would know already if he'd been burned.

"No, no, I'm fine," Harry said, waving away her concern. "Honestly, I'm mostly amazed. Your control over that spell was divine, Hermione. I felt the heat, saw the flames bend around me. I flinched and they moved with me. How did you do that?"

"I don't know," was all the girl could say, because she really didn't. "I just didn't want to burn anything."

Harry let out a breathy laugh as he stared at her with amazement. "Books and cleverness," he said. "Yeah, right."

Uncomfortable, as she usually was whenever Harry complimented her, Hermione changed the subject. "Do you have a plan to kill the basilisk?" she asked.

"Of course," the boy said, "I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," and Hermione felt a worry that she hadn't even realised she was feeling slip off her shoulders. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, by the way," Harry continued, "I just didn't know how to with them there."

Hermione admitted that she hadn't known how to either.

"Too bad we haven't mastered legilimency," Harry said, "if we had we wouldn't have had a problem communicating."

Hermione's eyebrows climbed as she realised that Harry was right, legilimency could be used like that.

It would require a level of skill with the art that neither of them currently possessed though, and considering they had a grand total of one-and-a-half sessions under their belts, they wouldn't be attaining said skill level in quite some time.

Pushing that thought away, Hermione returned to more pertinent matters, like what Harry's plan to stop the basilisk actually entailed.

"Well, since I'm not a parselmouth anymore, thanks to our ROB and master, I figured trying to control it was pointless, so I went for the next best thing; roosters."

Harry's plan was as simple and straightforward as Hermione should have expected it to be; get a rooster, figure out a way to broadcast it's crow across the castle, cross their fingers and hope it works.

"That's your plan?"

"What? Got something better?" Harry asked defensively, and Hermione had to reluctantly admit that no, she did not.

Back at the edge of the forest, Arden spoke for the first time throughout the return journey. "You will not need my help to find the spiders again, yes?"

Hermione and Harry looked at each other, and from the look on the boy's face Hermione could tell that, like her, he didn't really remember the way either.

Before they could decide on anything however, Hermione remembered something that made her to come to a quick decision. "No, we won't," she told Arden, and at Harry's questioning look, she said, "We can use The Room of Requirement now."

"Good," Arden said. "Farewell."

And with those parting words, the centaur walked away.

"Thank you for your help," Hermione called after her to no response.

"You know," Harry said as they watched the centaur leave, "I'm starting to get the feeling that she may not like the spiders very much."

Hermione shot the boy a dry look, then glanced at her watch; it was 8:40pm. Dinner ended at 9:00.

"We missed dinner," she said, after a bit of mental math told her that twenty minutes wasn't enough time to make it to The Great Hall and still get anything to eat.

"We did?" Harry asked. "That sucks. I'm hungry. And we have Astronomy tonight, so we might also miss breakfast tomorrow."

Hermione hadn't thought of that.

No matter, she still had some snacks left in her trunk. It wasn't much, but it was better than no—

"Wait, what am I thinking?" Harry asked rhetorically. "I have food."

"You do?"

"Hm-mm," the boy hummed affirmatively, as he pulled a box about the size of his head from his backpack.

"What's that?" Hermione asked as she watched Harry place the box on the ground.

"This, Miss Granger," Harry said grandly, "is a magical tent." And he tapped his wand to the object.

Like a bouncy castle being inflated, the box unwrapped and swelled up to become a small, unimpressive tent.

It was so small, in fact, that if she didn't remember Harry telling her that magical tents were much bigger on the inside, she would have wondered how they could both fit in.

From up in the trees, Hedwig swooped down and into the tent with full speed.

"Well, someone's eager," Harry said, then to Hermione: "Ladies first."

Obligingly, Hermione stuck her head into the tent, and despite having an idea of what to expect, her eyes still bulged in awe.

There was a chandelier. A chandelier. It hung over the living room, which had a nice blue sofa next to a fireplace.

There was a huge bookshelf laden with books in a corner, and a gleaming kitchenette in another. Hermione caught Hedwig lying facedown on a large, purple, vibrating pillow.

The owl was purring.

No wonder she had been so eager.

Surprisingly, the air was warm and fresh, and the tent appeared to have air-conditioning based on the soft breeze she felt blowing from somewhere.

"Welcome to mi casa," Harry said, walking in behind her. "You can pick your jaw off the floor now."

★★★​

They made dinner.

Well, Harry made dinner. Hermione mostly just kept him company while he did.

It was quite the sacrifice for her; Harry's bookshelf was just so alluring.

As they ate, Harry put on some music. Muggle music. And the next thing Hermione knew, he had pulled her up to dance with him.

It was nice. It was very nice. And Hermione didn't realise how tense recent events had made her until she felt herself relax.

She felt Harry relax too, and she caught a glimpse of the tiredness he seemed to always carry but rarely show.

They sat on the sofa to rest afterwards, just for a minute. They were out in seconds. And there were no dreams for either that night.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Next Morning.

Friday, Sept. 13


"Relax, Hermione. It was one class."

Hermione looked at her best friend like he had lost his marbles. "One class!? One class!? Harry, we missed Astronomy! We're going to get punished for this, maybe even expelled."

"We're not going to be expelled for missing a class, Hermione," the boy argued.

"Yes, we will," she countered, her voice getting shriller by the minute and her eyes wetter. "Don't you see, Harry? We're going to be expelled, and then what will we do? Our lives will be over."

"Over?"

"Yes, over. They'll snap our wands, Harry. We won't be able to learn magic anymore. We'll—"

Harry grabbed her shoulders firmly but not harshly. "Hermione," he said, making her look at him, "you're right, missing a class is an unforgivable offense and we should not make a habit of it, but you really need to calm down.

"We're not going to get expelled, you know this. Maybe we'll get detention, but that's about it. Now, please, stop worrying."

It wasn't easy, but Hermione forced herself to take a breath. She wasn't helping right now. Besides, maybe Harry was right, maybe they wouldn't get expelled. And even if they were (oh, God, she really hoped they weren't) her panic wasn't helping anybody. Not herself, and certainly not Harry.

Even so. "This is the second class we've skipped, Harry. School hasn't even been in session for two weeks."

Harry frowned. "Second class? What second class?"

"Potions. Last Friday." How could he not remember?

"What? That's different. Snape kicked us out, remember? It's extended circumstances."

"Extenuating circumstances, Harry."

"What you said. The point is, it doesn't count. And we both know last night only happened because of all the running around we've been doing. Now, seriously, please, calm down, because you're starting to worry me a little bit."

"Okay," Hermione said finally, and Harry let out a breath of relief.

"Good," the boy said. "Now, you've been eyeing that bookshelf since last night, so why don't you go and look through it while I make us breakfast? What do you say?"

Hermione could not have refused that offer even if she wanted to.

As the girl went to the bookshelf, walking past Hedwig, who was still fast asleep, or at least looked to be, on her plush, vibrating pillow, she tried to push away all thoughts of being labelled a truant for the rest of her natural life. Her natural, uneducated life, that is, since no school would ever take her again; she would grow up to be unemployed and a layabout, probably drinking all day while living with her parents like that boy, Rudolph, down the street.

Hermione tried harder to expel the thoughts as her eyes scanned the titles on Harry's shelf.

To Hermione's surprise, now that she'd gotten a clear look at the books, she found that many of them were actually works of fiction unlike she'd thought.

"Harry," she called, "most of these are novels."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I mean, I was going to be living on my own without the internet for the foreseeable future, I figured those were the next best thing."

Oh, right. Harry had planned to run away. That's why he'd bought all of this.

As Hermione scanned the shelf some more, her eyes caught a promising title; The Magic of the Orients, by a witch named Helen Manchester.

Curiously, she pulled it out and scanned through a few pages, and within a few minutes, she'd parked herself on the sofa with the book in hand.

It was full of fascinating information. Within just the introductory pages, Hermione had learnt that, unlike in Europe, where the use of wands had been adopted across the continent, many other parts of the world were not so unified in their practice of magic.

The book also touched lightly on the subject of geography, mentioning that, once again, unlike in Europe and North America, where it was the custom for magical societies to match the borders of their respective countries, most places, specifically Asia, Africa, and South America, didn't even recognize muggle borders, creating their own instead.

As Hermione read, Harry put on some soulful music on a low volume. He sang along with the songs he knew (which were more than Hermione would have thought), and hummed along with the ones he didn't.

Harry had a nice singing voice, and even though Hermione had heard him sing many times before without feeling more than a little impressed, for some reason, sitting here on this comfy sofa, in this little house, reading as he made her breakfast, made it feel... more, somehow, and before she knew it, she was watching him, the book forgotten on her lap.

At some point, Harry looked at her, maybe to check on her or maybe because he felt her eyes on him, whatever his reason for looking up, their eyes met, and he stopped singing as he looked at her in mild confusion.

"What?"

Hermione blinked. Oh, right, she was staring.

"Um, you like to cook," she said lamely, picking the first thing that came to mind.

Harry frowned in thought. "Yeah, I guess I do," he said, then reconsidered: "Or maybe I just like cooking for you. I definitely didn't enjoy doing it for the Dursleys."

"Did they make you cook a lot?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. Every breakfast and some dinners," Harry said.

A memory came to Hermione then, one of the ones she'd picked up from Harry's mind in their last occlumency session; it was of him sitting at the dinner table with the Dursleys, a single piece of dry toast on his plate, as he watched the Dursleys, especially Vernon and Dudley, gorge themselves on the meal he'd spent hours preparing.

Hermione's mood soured.

She could see that Harry's had too, so she quickly thought of something else to talk about, and being herself, the first thing that came to mind as a diversion was a book; namely the one she'd been reading before Harry's singing distracted her.

Fortunately, Harry didn't mind talking about the very fascinating magical disciplines of the wizards of East Asia.

They ate together when the meal was done, Hedwig pulling herself out of her pillow to come and eat with them, and returning right after.

Hermione meanwhile, went back to her book, and though Harry joined her at first, he soon gave up and sat back quietly as she read.

It was almost an hour later, as she read a passage about a small and very reclusive magical village in Japan, where they used musical instruments to control their magic, that Harry finally spoke.

"Good thing we use wands," he said idly.

"What?" Hermione looked at him. Had she missed something he said?

"I said 'good thing we use wands'. I've never seen a musical instrument I could play in my life. Both old and new, I think."

"You were reading along?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Kind of. You read aloud under your breath when you get really interested in a book."

"Oh." She thought she'd broken that habit. "Sorry."

"No, I like it. Reading gets tiresome sometimes. Actually, I think I prefer listening to you."

"Oh," Hermione said again. Very well then, if he didn't mind.

She tried to go back to her reading, but everything was different now. Knowing that Harry was listening, she suddenly felt self-conscious. Was her voice too low? Was it too high? Did it really just waver, or was that her imagination?

With how much concentration Hermione was paying to her voice and pitch, she inevitably missed a word on the page and had to go back and reread it. Then the sentence. Then the paragraph.

Before she could finish the paragraph for the second time, Harry asked, "we skipped the last two days of occlumency practice, right?" And Hermione was only too happy to jump on that.

★★★​

"Legilimens," Hermione cast, staring into Harry's eyes.

The spell worked, a connection formed, but all the girl got were murky impressions of thought and emotion; Harry had successfully resisted the spell.

Well, more accurately, he had resisted the initial attack, now he would need to hold out as Hermione laid siege to his mind.

There are two major ways to shield a mind from a legilimen, the first is to mask the emotional pull of all of one's memories, leaving the legilimen with nothing to connect to.

It is the most effective method, but also the hardest, and it was the one both Hermione and Harry practiced.

Hermione practiced it because she wanted to challenge herself, and because she thought that it would be safer to stick with the most effective method considering who their enemies were, Harry meanwhile, well Harry practiced the first one for the same reason too, although Hermione heavily suspected that his determination to keep her from seeing any of his memories also played a big role in the decision.

The second and easier method, is to feed trivial memories at the invading legilimen. If done right, this could suck them down a rabbit hole, pulling them away from their intended target like (Harry's words) someone getting distracted by TikTok while trying to do internet research.

The problem with it was that while it worked well enough, it required a battle of wills between the occlumen and the person trying to invade their mind. A battle of wills that was heavily dependent on skill.

Of course, while the first method was much safer, it, as said before, requires much more skill to perform correctly; and neither of them were anywhere near that skill level yet.

Hermione sensed the vague, poorly concealed memories of Harry's mind flow and ebb around her, but she refrained from trying to access them; patience and cunning were the keys to success in this.

Not that she was seeing as much success as she would have preferred so far.

See, at some point, Hermione couldn't really remember when, she and Harry had turned their practice into a game and begun to keep score, and they were currently tied at 5-5. Hermione really wanted a landslide victory.

"You really should just give up now, Harry," Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant as she looked the boy in the eyes. "We both know I'll win anyway."

Harry simply gave her a confident little smirk that just about drove the girl spare. "Two minutes on the clock, Miss Granger," he said. "Tick tock."

For the purposes of the game, they'd decided that each of them only got two minutes to try to breach the other's defenses.

Hermione sniffed at the boy's words, then said imperiously: "Please, Harry, two minutes is too much time to break through your pitiful defense."

Harry's response was a raised eyebrow. "Is that right?" he asked.

"Of course. All I need is—" and she dived him.

Harry never saw it coming.

She knocked him down, holding him down with her weight as, with mischievous glee, the tickling started. Harry broke in seconds.

Got you, Hermione thought, as Harry's mental defenses came down like a Jenga tower.

Hermione went for the brightest memory within her metaphorical reach, not bothering to try to gauge what it might contain, and suddenly, she found herself in a room.

It's surroundings were murky, like they were looked at through a milky fog, leaving everything from the walls, to the floor, to the bed vague. The only things in clear detail were the boy on the bed, and the woman tickling him.

The boy was Harry as Hermione knew him, laughing and struggling to escape the woman's grasp.

The woman was beautiful, with long, red hair and Harry's eyes. She was laughing too as she tickled him, and they both looked so happy.

The memory vanished, and Hermione blinked in slight disorientation as she suddenly found herself looking down at Harry's face back in the tent. He looked sad.

"Was that..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the question.

"My mom, yes."

Hermione frowned. How could that be? Harry's mom died when he was a baby; he looked as he did now in that memory.

"It's from before," Harry said, seeing her confusion. "It's one of the few scraps of those memories I have left. But because I don't remember anyone's faces from that life, it's like my brain tries to... fix things by patching them with the people I remember from this life."

Harry sighed tiredly; he looked like he didn't even have the energy to be sad or angry anymore.

"I'm sorry for everything you've gone through, Harry," Hermione said, and the boy gave her a small smile.

"It's not all bad," he said, staring at her.

Neither tween was really feeling like practicing The Mind Arts after that, so they just sat and whiled away time idly for a bit.

Eventually, unable to help herself, Hermione picked The Magic of the Orients again, and this time, even though she knew Harry was listening to her read, it didn't really bother her.

If anything, she found that she rather liked it.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Same Morning.

Friday, Sept. 13


Harry hadn't been lying about his bathroom when he'd said it was kickass, and even though Hermione didn't appreciate his language, she did have to admit that the bathroom was quite impressive. Especially when one took into account the fact that all of this was in a tiny tent sitting in The Forbidden Forest.

She enjoyed a long soak in the nearly pool-sized bathtub, then donned her magically cleaned clothes. After that, she brushed her teeth with one of Harry's spare (unused) toothbrushes, then scowled through the required quarter-hour it took to beat her hair down from struck-by-lightning messy to just-enough-to-go-out-in-public messy, before exiting the bathroom.

Harry was waiting for her in the palour. Well, actually he was trying to convince Hedwig to get up from her pillow, but the owl didn't seem to care very much about what Harry had to say.

"She still won't get up?" Hermione asked in surprise. They'd both been at this since before she went into the bathroom.

"Oh, you're done?" Harry asked, and when Hermione nodded, he said to Hedwig: "There, Hedwig, you see? Hermione's done. Now get off that pillow or else I'll collapse the tent with you still inside."

The owl, completely unfazed by the threat, simply snuggled deeper into the ever vibrating pillow.

According to Harry, he'd bought that pillow for himself, but Hedwig had lain on it once and summarily claimed it as hers. It was so bad that Harry got pecked whenever he tried to touch it.

"What would happen if you collapse the tent with her in it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing. She just won't be able to leave," Harry said, before frowning at the owl in suspicion. "But you would probably love that, wouldn't you?"

Hermione looked at her watch, it was 11:05 a.m. Lunch was already five minutes in, and Potions class began in less than an hour.

After missing Astronomy the night before, Hermione had no intention of missing any more classes. Even if it was Potions.

Walking forward, she knelt beside Hedwig.

"Hedwig, we have to go now," Hermione said gently, "or we might be late to Potions. And you know what Snape might do if we're late to his class."

Hedwig popped an eye open at Hermione's words, and the girl felt a spark of hope.

"I know," Hermione said excitedly, as she got an idea, "why don't Harry and I make you something nice to put the pillow on? That way you'll be able to use it even in the dorms if we set it up next to Harry's bed."

Hedwig's other eye opened as she seemed to give that offer a long, hard think.

Right as it seemed like she was about to come to a decision, however, Harry said, "Oh, just take the offer already, you bloody diva."

Hermione sighed, and it had been going so well too.

On the bright side, Hedwig left the pillow.

★★★​

The closer they got to the castle, the more Hermione's worry over the inevitable punishment they would receive flared up again.

Sure, maybe she believed Harry when he said they wouldn't get expelled, but there were many other punishments they could receive for their truancy; detention, deduction of points, even a suspension, to name a few. Heck, Prof. McGonagall might even—Hermione swallowed—even send a letter to her parents.

Harry took her hand. "Calm down, Hermione. Jesus, you're making me nervous."

Hermione tried to follow Harry's advice, she really did.

When they walked into The Great Hall, it was already 11:25, meaning that most of the students and faculty who would be showing up for lunch already had. Or, in other words, the hall was already full of students.

Hermione didn't notice any of that though, what she noticed was how Prof. McGonagall's eyes trained on them the moment they walked in, and the witch almost immediately got up and began to approach them.

She did not look happy.

"Okay, maybe we should worry a little bit," Harry said nervously.

Interestingly enough, now that she could see the worst coming, Hermione didn't feel so scared anymore, she simply wanted to take her punishment, whatever it may be, and put this whole thing behind her. So, grabbing Harry's hand, she pulled him forward resolutely, subconsciously aiming for where she could see their friends at the Gryffindor table.

Whether by design or happenstance, they and Prof. McGonagall met almost exactly where the Gryffindor first-years were seating.

Before the witch could even get a word out, Harry said, "Why professor, you're looking lovely this morning. Say, did you do something with your hair?"

The look Prof. McGonagall gave Harry would probably make babies cry.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, do you mind explaining to me why you missed dinner, Astronomy, and failed to return to your dorms last night?" the stern witch asked in a deceptively calm voice that was only belied by the storm in her eyes.

It was only after Prof. McGonagall finished her question that Hermione realised that they couldn't tell her the truth, and neither herself nor Harry had even considered that they might need to lie about their whereabouts all this time, so, naturally, Hermione reached for the easiest lie available.

"We were studying."

Even Harry looked at her in disbelief, and the less said about Prof. McGonagall's reaction the better.

"You were studying?" the professor asked tightly.

Unfortunately, the lie had already been told, so they had to stick with it.

"Yes, professor," Harry said. "in one of the empty classrooms on the sixth floor."

"Hmm. And what were you studying that you couldn't do in the library like everyone else?" Prof. McGonagall asked.

Hermione's brain went into overdrive trying to find something believable, and, like a miracle, something actually came to her; something that wasn't just believable but would also easily explain their absence.

"Stunning Spells," Hermione said. "We were practicing Stunning Spells."

Prof. McGonagall was so taken aback by the answer that she blinked for several seconds before she rallied. "So you expect me to believe that the both of you somehow stunned each other at the same time, and did it so well that it kept you asleep the entire night?" She still sounded disbelieving, but now less in the 'I know you're lying to me' way, and more in the 'you have to be lying to me' way.

Harry laughed sheepishly and scratched his head. "Yeah, not our finest moment," he said.

"We're so sorry, professor," Hermione apologized, not even needing to fake the sincerity of it. "We promise to be much more careful in the future."

Prof. McGonagall's eyes flitted from one to the other for several seconds, trying to spot a lie.

Eventually however, she gave up and said, "See that you do," before walking back to the staff table.

Hermione almost collapsed with relief; she could hardly believe that they'd actually gotten away with that.

"Nice work," Harry whispered as they sat down with their friends. And when their fellow first-years asked, in surprise and amusement, if they'd actually knocked themselves out overnight, well, nothing to do but die with the lie.

★★★​

"Going to get you and your girlfriend thrown out again, Potter?" Draco asked mockingly as the first-years neared the Potions lab after lunch.

His clique tittered at his joke, and Pansy said, "Maybe if we're lucky Snape will kick out their entire house. The classroom will smell less."

This was of course the funniest thing ever, and the Slytherins laughed even harder.

Hermione ignored them (as did Harry, to her surprise), though some of the other Gryffindors were not so pacifistic.

While Hermione ignored Draco however, his words did pull at a worry she had, causing her to ask Harry in a whisper, "You don't think Snape will really throw us out again, do you?"

"Not if he knows what's good for him," Harry replied.

The boy's words only caused Hermione's worry to grow. "You're not going to start a fight with him, are you?" she asked, and Harry shook his head.

"That's the thing," he said, "with Snape I don't think I'll have to."

And the knowledge that Harry was right did not make Hermione worry any less.

★★★​

Hermione and Harry sat together in Potions, both of them nervous as they waited for Prof. Snape to come out of his office and both of them trying to hide it.

They were not the only ones who were nervous, practically everyone, including the Slytherins, were. Prof. Snape's display last week had scared everybody.

While Hermione and Harry had been the focus of his ire, they'd at least had the dubious good fortune to be kicked out, because after that happened, Snape had stormed into his office and slammed the door behind himself. And then everyone still in the class had sat and listened tensely as the man screamed and blew stuff up in his office.

It had only been half an hour after he went quiet that the students had found the courage to leave the classroom.

And now they were all back here, waiting for that same— the door to the classroom swung shut and everyone jumped. Then the door to Snape's office opened with a slow, loud creak and the man stepped out like Dracula himself rising from his coffin.

Prof. Snape walked into the room slowly, his cape folded around him like the wings of a giant bat. As he walked his eyes surveyed the room keenly, passing over everyone and everything.

Hermione felt her heart stop when those dark, seemingly pupilless eyes met hers, but they moved on before she even had the time to think about it.

After almost a minute of silent staring, Snape finally spoke, his voice flat almost to the point of lacking inflection: "Anyone who disrupts my class will be thrown out."

And with that the teaching began. Well, Hermione hesitated to call it teaching, seeing as Snape simply told them to open to page 5 of their textbooks and follow the instructions within to make the Boil Removing Potion. Then he retreated to a dark corner of the class and (there was no better way to say this) perched for almost the entirety of the lesson.

Prof. Snape ended up not kicking anyone out of class that day, but that was only because, no one, not even the Slytherins, had the courage to do anything that might be considered a disruption.

By the end, Hermione was sure that she and Harry had gotten their potions right. They looked and smelled as their textbooks said they should at the very least. She would have preferred to get Prof. Snape's opinion on them, but she just knew that calling on him for anything would be asking for trouble.

Per Snape's instruction, Hermione and Harry set aside some of the potion they made in little vials before cleaning up the rest, and Hermione frowned as she considered for the first time, how much waste would be incurred in this one class alone.

Thirty odd students throwing out potions, week after week, and that was before one accounted for the six other years worth of students.

The girl shook her head in wonder.

By the time the last person was done, the class was only two hours through, but Prof. Snape asked them to submit their samples all the same, and for those who had done so to leave.

The students obeyed, stepping forward single file. When Hermione submitted hers, going after Harry, Prof. Snape said, "Go back to your seat, Miss Granger. I'll see you after I'm done."

Hermione almost asked why, but in the end, she simply muttered a "yes, sir," and returned to her seat as asked.

Harry was not happy, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it, a fact that seemed to frustrate him more.

In the end, he promised to wait for her outside and then sat with her until everyone else had left.

When it was just the three of them in the classroom, Prof. Snape gave Harry a dark look, it was the first time the man had even acknowledged the boy's presence since class started.

The staredown carried on for some time, until Hermione elbowed Harry lightly.

"I'll be fine," she whispered.

Finally, grudgingly, Harry got up and left, and Hermione almost regretted her decision when the door closed behind the boy and she realized that she was now alone in the dim classroom with Prof. Snape.

The air felt oppressive, cloying, and in the cavernous silence of the room, Hermione heard every swish of Prof. Snape's robes as he rose from his seat and approached her.

For a moment, Hermione's eyes met his dark ones, and the girl quickly looked away when she remembered why she and Harry were practicing occlumency.

At her desk now Prof. Snape didn't stand still, instead he stalked around her with smooth, silent steps, like a bird of prey does a little mouse.

Hermione swallowed, her heart beginning to pound in her chest. He wasn't going to hurt her, was he? He wouldn't dare. Right?

When Prof. Snape finally spoke, Hermione nearly squeaked.

"I imagine he's told you all sorts of tales about me," Snape began. "All sorts of lies."

Hermione swallowed again; it didn't do much, not with her throat feeling like it had balls of cotton wool in it.

"I—I don't—"

"Don't lie to me, girl," Snape said, his voice a barely restrained snarl. "It's what Potters do; they lie and deceive, with their big smiles and stupid jokes.

"Always the hero, always the champion." Hermione heard the man's teeth grind. "Always making someone else the villain."

Snape completed another revolution around Hermione, then stopped in front of her. The girl kept her eyes down.

"But here is something Potter will never tell you; your life will not be better with him in it.

"It will only get worse, until, one day, he will get you killed. Just like Lily."

Hermione froze, then slowly, she stood, shouldered her bag, and began to walk out of the classroom.

Snape was so confused by her actions that he was at a loss for words even as he watched her walk out.

At the door, Hermione stopped, then turned and looked the potions master in the eyes as she said, "You're a very bad person, Professor. Please, stay away from us."

Harry was on the other side of the door when Hermione opened it.

His worried eyes took her in as he asked, "Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded quietly.

With her well-being confirmed, Harry moved on to other matters.

"What did he want?" the boy asked, trying to peek past her into the room.

Hermione shut the door softly behind her.

"Nothing," Hermione said, taking his hand. "Let's go."

Harry was reluctant and looked like he really wanted some answers, but eventually, he capitulated and let Hermione drag him along, and the farther they got from the potions classroom, the easier Hermione could breathe again.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Same Day. Afternoon.

Friday, Sept. 13


OPERATION ROOSTER

• Get a rooster from Hagrid (get him something nice for stealing one of his roosters).
• Keep it in a cage in one of the empty classrooms in the less frequented parts of the castle (make sure its comfortable, it gets cold and draughty in the castle at night) in the Room of Requirement.
• Make an "army of magical robot spiders" equipped with magical speakers and spread them around the castle.
• Make sure some of the spiders get into the chamber of secrets (open the chamber of secrets with a summoned snake, if that doesn't work, try transfiguration. If that still doesn't work... ?)

Hermione stared at the list as she and Harry sat in the library (where they'd been for the three hours since they left potions).

It wasn't a bad plan, not really, she was quite confident in it, but even so, Hermione still had her reservations.

The entire plan rested on basilisks having a fatal weakness to a cock's crow, and while their research so far had confirmed that this was, in fact, so, nothing they'd found had even broached the topic of whether the crow would still work if the basilisk didn't hear it directly from the rooster's... beak?

Whatever it was, the point remained that Hermione did not like variables, and this particular one could cost them their lives.

That one—admittedly important—bit aside however, everything else looked promising.

Doable, at the very least.

"So, how do we go about this?" Harry asked, and Hermione looked at him before glancing at her watch.

"Well, it's five-thirty now," she said, "if we hurry we should have enough time to do everything we need to and still make it for dinner. Or whatever's left of it."

They'd discussed waiting until after dinner to set up everything, but had both eventually realised that, while McGonagall may have believed their lie about why they were missing all of last night, she may very well be on the lookout for any suspicious behaviour from either of them.

Not to mention that, while the hallways would be quieter later in the night, sneaking out would be harder, seeing as the Gryffindor Tower had exactly one exit. An exit that was guarded at all times by The Fat Lady.

Harry thought about it, then shrugged. "If you say so," he said, before frowning in thought once more and asking: "Which one of us is getting the chicken?"

They ended up playing rock, paper, scissors for it. Harry lost, even after he somehow argued Hermione into agreeing to a three out of five score.

At least, Hedwig went with him. Even if it seemed like she did it out of pity more than anything else.

★★★​

Interlude:: The Rooster


Jeremy didn't mind the little farm he lived on very much. To be honest, he actually quite liked it, even though the big lug who ran the place had a habit of picking him up much too often.

He got good food, none of that boring corn that he'd heard some farmers served either, but really good stuff. Varied too, which was perfect because Jeremy had a much refined palette, that he did.

Another thing about this farm that Jeremy liked, even though he hadn't thought he would at first, was that he wasn't the only bloke there.

There were two others besides him; Matt and Jamie, and while this did mean that he had to share the birds, Jeremy had come to enjoy having guys around to hang with.

They were doing so right then, in fact; chilling in the late afternoon sun as they watched the birds mill around, shaking their tail feathers and pretending they couldn't tell the boys were watching.

Jeremy considered putting on a display himself—his feathers did look quite lovely when the sun caught them just right—but then he reconsidered; if he did that chances were Matt and Jamie would feel the need to compete, and Jeremy just didn't have the energy for that right now.

Right as he came to this decision, someone swooped down and perched before them.

It was an angel.

Well, to be specific, it was an owl, but it was without doubt the most beautiful owl Jeremy had ever seen, and from the others' reactions, they thought so too.

Her feathers were as white as snow, her posture elegant. Her eyes were bewitching, terrifying and alluring in equal measure, like she could rip open your guts and suck down your intestines and still make you sing praises in her name as she did.

She was a being of power and grace and beauty descended from above to grace their little lives with her splendor.

Now here was a bird he would compete with a thousand, no, a million roosters to win even just a minute of her time.

The owl looked down upon them, her gaze appraising. She looked from the others, too reverent to even look up at her, to Jeremy, who simply could not look away.

She looked impressed.

"Crow," she commanded him; a single word laced with authority.

Jeremy was confused. Crow? She wanted to hear him crow? Why would she—no, Jeremy thought, shaking away his questions and confusion; those were irrelevant. What mattered was that this angel wanted to hear him sing. And if she wanted it, then he would sing until he dropped dead if need be.

Jeremy rose to his feet. He dug deep within himself, then with a blast of air, he let out his most powerful cry.

It did not reverberate across the castle, did not roll down the hills to the village of Hogsmeade and shake the very earth he stood on. Not yet.

Not yet.

★★★​

Hermione was practicing the Snake Summoning Spell in the Room of Requirement when Hedwig came in through the window.

This was particularly odd because Hermione hadn't known you could enter—or leave—the Room through anything but the door.

"Where's Harry?" She asked the owl, and of course got no response.

Right, Hedwig was an owl; she couldn't talk. At least, Hermione thought she couldn't.

A few minutes later, Harry came in—through the door—shrouded in the cover of his invisibility cloak.

Before Hermione could say anything, the boy threw back the cowl of his cloak, creating the rather eerie impression of a floating, bodiless head, since the rest of him was still under the effect of the garment, and said, "Hermione, Hedwig's starting a cult."

The girl blinked, then looked at Hedwig who, naturally, ignored them.

Hermione looked back at Harry with an eyebrow raised. "A cult?" She asked skeptically.

I mean, sure this was Hedwig they were talking about, but, seriously, a cult?

"Yeah, a cult," Harry said. "You should have seen it; she just swooped down and the chickens all bowed, and then this one—" at this Harry held up an oddly still rooster from within his cloak "—started crowing like a maniac for some reason. I had to petrify it just to get it to shut up."

"You petrified the chicken?" Hermione asked.

"Of course I petrified the chicken. How else was I going to sneak a live rooster into the castle? Besides, I think you're paying attention to the wrong thing here; Hedwig is starting a cult. We need to stop her before they summon choo-loo or something."

"What's choo-loo?" Hermione asked.

"You know, the Lovecraft horror thing."

"You mean Cthulhu?"

"The pronunciation doesn't matter. The point is they might summon an eldritch horror."

Hermione gave in to the urge to roll her eyes. "Stop being silly, Harry. And free the poor chicken. It looks uncomfortable."

Thankfully, Harry complied. With a lot of muttering about how letting fanatical, religious sects run unchecked was a bad idea, but he complied, and Hermione was able to go back to her practice as Harry unpetrified and caged the surprisingly placid chicken.

"Gotten the spell yet?" Harry asked when he was done.

"No," Hermione answered, before trying again. "Serpensortia," she incanted, and a large, green snake of an unknown—to her—species burst out of her wand, only, this time, instead of dissipating into black smoke like it always did, the snake coiled up on the ground, like a cobra waiting to strike, and stared at her quietly.

Hermione and Harry stared at each other, then back at the snake.

"Um, slither to the wall and back," Hermione said, and the snake promptly obeyed.

"You got the spell," Harry said happily.

Hermione nodded. "I just hope it works."

"Meh," Harry shrugged. "I'm sure we'll figure something else out if it doesn't."

The snake returned from its trip to the wall and resumed its previous position, presumably awaiting new orders.

Harry was only too happy to oblige.

"Form an S," the boy commanded.

Hermione was about to tell Harry that the snake wouldn't obey him, because only its summoner, or a parselmouth, could control a summoned snake, when she got a rather devious idea.

Nonverbally, Hermione commanded the snake to obey.

Harry loved that, so, naturally, he asked it to do another letter, and Hermione made it obey again.

Of course, unnoticed by Harry, the snake had subtly set itself within easy reach of him, and when the time was just right, it struck, lunging at the boy frightfully with its powerful fangs exposed.

Harry's voice hit notes so high that Hermione was genuinely impressed.

As she broke down in laughter, Hermione realised that Hedwig was laughing too, or at least barking in a way that sounded like she was.

This was strange, but not too much so. What was was when she realised that the chicken was laughing too.

★★★​

With the Snake Summoning Spell out of the way, Hermione and Harry moved to the next step; preparing the spiders.

It hadn't taken them long to realise that, if they wanted to ensure that the cock's crow reached as much of the castle as possible (seeing that they didn't really know where the snake was), then they would need to spread the 'speakers' around as much as they could. That was when Harry had come up with the idea of creating "an army of magical, robot spiders" to spread it around for them.

And it was as they were creating the spiders, that Hermione realized that they could make the spiders the speakers too.

While it might sound complicated, or difficult, it was actually quite straightforward and doable in practice. First, they took a sheet of paper, then used the Origami Spell to fold it into the shape of a spider.

After that they added the Telephone Spell, a wonderful piece of magic invented in 1942 by a muggleborn witch named Mathilda Pocock.

The spell only worked one-way, and needed to be cast on two different items, one the earpiece and the other the mouthpiece, but it served their needs just fine.

Hermione and Harry had only just discovered the spell that afternoon, while searching in the library for useful spells to aid their plan. It was rather embarrassing really, if the girl was being honest with herself; to think that a spell like this was easily accessible all this time, and yet she and Harry had put so much work into The Notebooks, when, with a bit more research, they could have made portable, personal telephones instead.

Oh well, it wasn't too late, she supposed.

After the Telephone Spell came the Sonorous Charm, to add the extra oomph that the plan relied upon, and finally, animating the paper spiders with Augur's Animation Spell (the same spell they'd used to animate the needle spider back in Prof. McGonagall's first class). And then, after the first spider they animated immediately made a break for freedom, they decided to save that last step until the final moment.

Making the twenty spiders they'd agreed on didn't take too long, and as soon as they were done, they left some food and water for the rooster, then set out into the castle.

Releasing the spiders at the predetermined locations was by far the most arduous part of their plan, and that was really only because of how much walking was involved. By the time they were done and made it to their final destination, it was 7:15.

Hermione just hoped the snake plan would work; this would take a lot more time if it didn't.

Myrtle's bathroom was... clean. Wet, but clean. Hermione had expected to find some dust, or grime, faulty lights, at the very least, but instead, everything was in perfect order. Well, everything except for the floor, which was covered in a spreading puddle of what Hermione was quite certain was toilet water.

They entered the bathroom and locked the door behind them. Then Harry went around checking every stall to make sure Myrtle herself was absent, and, thankfully, she was.

Finding the sink with the symbol of a snake etched into it didn't take long, but even after they did, Hermione and Harry still hesitated for several seconds.

"Well," Harry said finally, "this is it."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"So, are you going to cast the spell, or...?"

She turned to him. "What if it doesn't work?" she asked, and Harry shrugged.

"Well, we won't know until we try."

Right. He was right. She was just looking for reasons to hesitate. It was just... being here, about to do what she was about to do...

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, raised her wand, then cast the Snake Summoning Spell.

"Serpensortia," she incanted, and the green snake from before (was it the snake from before, or did she summon a new lookalike every time? Hermione didn't know; the book hadn't said) burst out her wand unto the sink.

Here goes nothing, Hermione thought, as she ordered the snake: "Open the chamber."

The idea here was simple; snakes—even summoned ones—are parselmouths, and the chamber could only be opened by a parselmouth. So, why not a parselmouth to open it for you?

Hermione had stumbled upon the idea while they were researching basilisks in the library earlier, and Harry had agreed with her it made sense. The only reason they were both worried it wouldn't work was because magic had rarely ever cared about what made sense and what didn't.

As soon as Hermione gave the order, the snake turned to the faucet with the carving of a snake on it, and hissed.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, long enough that Hermione had the time to feel the first twinges of disappointment. Then there was a click, and before her very eyes, the entire row of sinks, including the mirror and the wall they were all attached to, slid aside to reveal a huge, musty, metal pipe that descended into darkness.

"Huh," Harry intoned, stepping forward to peer down the dark depths of the pipe, "I can't believe that actually worked."

Hermione joined him in peering down; she could barely believe it too.

"Well," Harry said after a few seconds, "we'd better get started on animating those spiders, before the basilisk decides to come up and say hello."

Hermione froze as her eyes widened.

Never in her life did Hermione animate anything as fast as she did those spiders in the moments that followed.

★★★​

Next Morning.

Saturday, Sept. 14


Hermione sat with Harry beside the rooster early the next morning with a very important piece of paper in hand. That paper was the 'mouthpiece' end that was connected to the twenty paper spiders currently skittering in all parts of the castle, and would be activated the moment she tapped it with her wand.

Meanwhile, while Hermione was thinking her thoughts, Harry was busy poking the irritated rooster with his wand.

"What if the rooster doesn't crow?" He asked. "I mean, roosters don't always crow right? So, what if it doesn't?"

Before Hermione could even begin to worry about this new problem that she hadn't even thought to consider until this moment, Hedwig hooted and the rooster immediately stood at attention.

...

Okay, that was bizarre, but—"I think Hedwig has got it," Hermione said.

"Okay, Harry," she continued, "I'm about to turn it on, so no talking, or your voice will echo across the castle and everyone will know we did it."

Harry started to nod, before a thoughtful look stole across his face. "You know, this would be a very good way to make public announcements," he mused.

True, it would be. But all the same. "Hush, Harry."

"Oh, right," the boy said, then mimed zipping his lips shut.

Okay, this was it, Hermione thought. Wait! What if they cast the spell wrong? Or what if the enchantments on the spiders had unraveled for some reason? Or what if—

Harry poked her. "It'll work," he mouthed.

Right. Of course it will.

It should.

Hermione set down the sheet of paper and activated it, and as soon as she did, the rooster sucked in a lungful of air, and it crowed.

And the earth shook.

★★★​

The morning of September 14th was not fun for anyone in Hogwarts. Or Hogsmeade, for that matter. Because, it turns out, when you broadcast a cock's crow through twenty full powered Sonorous Charms simultaneously, the sound tends to travel a few miles.

As bad as it was for everyone else in the castle, however, it was worse for the Slytherins and a certain greasy professor; because someone had decided to release six of the spiders down in the dungeon area, saying: "come on, Hermione, if the basilisk was going to hide anywhere in the castle it would be down here. I mean, there are already so many snakes slithering around it would feel right at home."

Although, in Harry's defence, she really hadn't tried that hard to stop him.

★★★​

Deep in the bowels of Hogwarts, in a place lost to myth and cold and dark, a centuries-old basilisk, much too old to be stunned, much less fatally affected by a rooster's cry, was roused from its fifty year slumber.

The monster of Slytherin slithered once more.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

Same Morning.

Saturday, Sept. 14


Everyone thought it was a prank. Which, in hindsight, made sense, Hermione supposed. After all, if she had been woken up by the crowing of a cock ringing across the entire castle on a Saturday morning, her first thought wouldn't have been that a couple of students were trying to kill the basilisk that lived under the castle.

No, her first thought would have been that it was a prank too; and a very serious one at that, based on the cross expressions on the faces of most of the students and teachers during breakfast.

Well, that and Prof. McGonagall's goose bump-inducing promise to find whichever students were responsible and make sure they, and everyone, learnt why such "wicked and disruptive behaviour" was unacceptable."

The bizarre thing was, no one even seemed to consider that it might have been she and Harry who did it. In fact, from all the sour looks they were getting, the primary suspects seemed to be the Weasley twins.

Although, that was probably because they kept going on and on about how brilliant the prank was.

They were gushing so much in fact, that Hermione was starting to feel a little flattered, even as she also felt guilty for how disruptive she and Harry's plan had ended up being.

The girl just hoped that all this trouble ended up being worth it.

As exciting as the events of that morning were however, life carried on. For the first-years, this meant heading out for their first flying lesson of the year, but for Hermione specifically, it meant going outside to engage in an activity that directly contradicted every instinct that she'd honed over a lifetime of having a very reasonable fear of falling to her death.

With every step she took towards the field, her trepidation only heightened, until halfway there, she, Hermione Granger, was beginning to wonder if she could get away with skipping a class.

Naturally, Harry tried to calm her.

"Stop worrying so much, Hermione; it's just broomriding. I mean, seriously, what's the worst that could happen?"

"We fall and break our necks," Hermione answered flatly.

Harry blinked, trying to find a reply, while Neville, who Hermione had barely noticed walking with them, groaned piteously and went a little green.

Hermione would have felt bad about that, if she didn't think that it was the appropriate reaction to have when knowing you were going to be elevated who knows how high in the air, with nothing but a stick between you and the ground.

Finally, Harry gave up on finding a witty response and sighed. "That was a rhetorical question, Hermione."

★★★​

"These brooms look awfully old, don't they?" Hermione asked, as she, like every other first-year, lined up on the left side of her broom at the command of Madam Hooch, the flying instructor.

"Well, you know what they say," Harry said from where he stood to her left, "new brooms sweep clean, but old ones know the corners."

She frowned at the boy. "What does that mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea."

As Hermione shot her best friend a sour look, to which he responded with a toothy smile, Madam Hooch ordered: "Alright, everyone, now hold out your right hands over your brooms, and say 'up.'"

The class obeyed.

Most got little more than a twitching broom for their first attempt, while a few—like Draco and Ron—had their brooms jump straight into their hands. Fewer still—like Hermione and Neville—didn't even get their brooms to twitch.

Surprisingly, Harry was among the last group, and when Hermione focused on him, she realized why; the boy hadn't ordered his broom up, instead, he had his hand held over it as he gazed at the object intensely.

Before Hermione could ask what he was doing, Harry's broom leapt off the ground without a single word from him and straight into his grasp.

As Hermione, and a few other students who'd seen Harry, stared in amazement, the boy looked at her and smirked.

Hermione's eye twitched.

Then Madam Hooch gave Harry five points for what she described as "impressive work" and the girl's teeth grinded.

Three tries later, Hermione had her broom in hand too, because, (reasonable) fear of flying or not, there was no way she was letting Harry upstage her that much.

After a few more minutes, in which everyone—including Neville, who'd had more trouble than most—managed to get their brooms up magically, Madam Hooch instructed the class to mount them.

Now, Hermione had down some reading on brooms and the magic behind their flying capabilities, so she knew well enough what to expect, but even so, when she sat astride the wooden handle and felt a soft cushion on her rear instead of hard, thin wood, the girl was still pleasantly surprised.

The broom even began to levitate in place as soon as she sat on it, giving her the opportunity to set her feet on the stirrups comfortably.

Honestly, it felt more like riding a bike than anything else, and while Hermione was by no means great at that, she was decent enough that this wasn't too difficult.

Maybe she'd worried over nothing after all.

As soon as Hermione thought that, Madam Hooch hit her with a harsh dose of reality.

"Now, everyone," the flying instructor said, "I want you all to rise ten feet straight into the air. Remember, the broom responds to your desires, so try to stay calm at all times."

Hermione gaped. Ten feet!?

She looked down; she was barely two feet up (a perfectly reasonable distance to be from the ground as far as she was concerned), then back up, where many of her fellow first-years were currently hovering a storey or more over her head.

Hermione's grip on the shaft of her broom tightened like a vice; just watching the others made her feel ill.

She couldn't do this, she realized. She simply couldn't.

"Careful there, Hermione," Harry's voice cut through her spiralling thoughts, "flying so high up like that, you might crash into an aeroplane."

For a moment, Harry's ribbing made Hermione forget her fear, and she shot him a sour look where he hovered with his broom at her head level.

The boy just laughed, then, to her surprise, he offered her a hand.

"Come on," he said.

Hermione looked sceptically at Harry's hand, then at the boy himself.

Harry smiled, but there was no amusement this time; it was simply the same small, pleasant smile he often gave her.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

In the light of the morning sun his green eyes shone brightly, and before she could think about it, Hermione freed her left hand from its death grip on her broom and took Harry's hand.

Slowly, Harry's broom ascended, and despite that he wasn't pulling her along, and Hermione certainly wasn't trying to make it do so, her broom rose in tandem with his.

As she felt the ground sink away under her, Hermione's heart stuttered, and she began to look down.

And it was in that moment that Harry began to sing.

I can show you the world.

Shining, shimmering, splendid.

Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart deciiiiide.

Hermione looked at Harry, all thoughts of looking down forgotten.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

Harry smiled. "Making a joke that'll really crack you up in a few years."

Hermione just looked at him in confusion.

Soon, they were up with most everyone else, and Madam Hooch told them to fly around slowly while she assisted the few stragglers down below.

At that, Hermione made the mistake of looking down, and she just about passed out from terror.

Fortunately, Harry's hand was still in hers, and she squeezed on it hard, trying to draw strength from the small bit of contact even as Harry himself flew in close beside her.

"Hermione, what kind of broom are you riding?" Harry asked, and the girl blinked at the completely random question.

"What?"

"What kind of broom are you riding?" Harry repeated.

"What does it matter?" She asked, but even as she did, she looked at her broom's handle where it was written to confirm: "A Cleansweep Five."

"When was it made?" Harry asked, and the information came to Hermione from the casual reading she'd done on broomsticks weeks before even starting at Hogwarts.

"It was designed in 1947 by the Ollerton brothers and released in 1948. It was actually the last broom they made before they retired and sold the company in 1951. I know what you're trying to do, Harry."

Harry smiled. "Do you?" He asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you're trying to distract me. And it's not working."

"Well, I'll make sure to try harder then," Harry said, and before Hermione could say anything, asked: "How fast can the Cleansweep Five go?"

Hermione knew what he was doing. And she knew he knew she knew it. But even so, she could not stop herself from answering his question; not when she knew the answer to it.

And she knew he knew that.

"It has a recorded top speed of 75 kilometers per hour," Hermione said, then rushed ahead before Harry could speak. "It can carry a weight of over half a tonne, fly nonstop indefinitely like all modern brooms, and is the second strongest broom ever made. In fact, they say it's so strong that even an angry troll couldn't break it."

Hermione smirked. She'd like to see Harry come up with any more questions now.

Naturally, Harry found a way to surprise her.

"So, basically, what you're saying is that the broom is perfectly safe and you have nothing to worry about?" Harry asked.

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, thought about it, then said nothing, settling for smacking Harry on the arm instead when he smirked at her.

Annoyingly enough, Harry was right. And reminding herself of what she knew the old broomstick between her legs could do, actually went a long way to settle her nerves.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: last for now.

---

Same Morning.

Saturday, Sept. 14


Naturally, having being given free reign to fly around, albeit gently, the first-years clumped together into little groups that was mostly segregated by House.

This, of course, saw the ten Gryffindors present as their own little group, even if they were mostly paired out within that group.

There was one Gryffindor within their group who was on his own however; Neville, and he was not doing well.

Neville was... not a good flyer, even Hermione could see that. Couple that in with his very obvious terror to be up in the air (which probably had a lot to do with why his broom kept jerking spasmodically every now and again) and Hermione was really starting to worry for the boy.

She looked around for his friend, Ron, who she would have expected to help him, only to find the redhead laughing about something or other with Dean and Seamus.

Hermione sniffed in displeasure.

Deciding to help, but understanding she wasn't anywhere near good enough a flyer to be much use to the boy, Hermione looked to Harry.

Surprisingly, almost like he'd been reading her mind (or maybe just thinking similar thoughts), Harry said: "Neville needs help."

After a momentary pause in surprise, Hermione nodded, and they both flew over to hover on either side of the boy.

"Hey, Nev," Harry said easily.

So focused had Nev been on his broom, that he started when Harry spoke, and Hermione and Harry both reached out and grabbed his shoulders for fear that he might fall.

"Whoa! Relax, Nev," Harry said, "it's just us."

"Oh," Neville said, and Hermione could feel him shaking under her touch. "Hey, Harry."

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Neville swallowed and shook his head. The boy looked near tears. "I'm pants at flying," he said. "I always fall."

Hermione and Harry looked at each other around the boy.

"So, you've done this before?" Harry asked.

He sounded a little surprised. Hermione was surprised too; she'd assumed this was Neville's first time. Like her.

Neville however, nodded. "My Uncle Algie used to make me."

Harry made a thoughtful, humming sound.

"Well, you don't have to worry about falling here," Harry said. "Hermione's here; she'll catch you."

Neville looked from Harry to Hermione with a healthy dose of skepticism, while Hermione was busy trying to figure out how to magically swat her best friend from a distance.

Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly tell Neville that she would (read: could) not, in fact, catch him if he fell, so, with some quick thinking on her part, the girl went for the next best thing.

"Don't worry, Neville," Hermione said, trying to sound confident, "you're not going to fall. These are Cleansweep Fives; they're some of the safest brooms ever made."

Then, shoring up all of her Gryffindor courage, Hermione released her grip from the shaft of her broom and held her arms out to the sides. To her credit, the broom didn't wobble. "See?" She asked, hoping she looked as carefree as she was trying to act. "It's perfectly safe."

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "Perfectly safe." Then, as if to demonstrate his point, Harry did something decidedly unsafe; he performed a barrel roll. On a broom. Fifteen feet up in the air.

"Harry!" Hermione just barely kept herself from shrieking.

The object of her distress, of course, simply laughed. "Calm down, Hermione. I'm fine."

"Whoa! Harry, that was rad." Dean said, heading over with the other Gryffindors.

Apparently, they had spotted Harry's little stunt (though thankfully, Madam Hooch hadn't, seeing as she was currently busy keeping some Hufflepuffs on their brooms), and were now converging on the boy of the hour.

"Where'd you learn to do that, Harry?" Faye asked.

"I didn't," Harry said. "This is the first time I've ever been on a broom."

"Liar," Ron said. "It took me almost a week to learn to do rolls."

Fortunately for everyone, Faye was a lot more interested in the fact that Ron could apparently do death-defying stunts too, than that he'd just openly called Harry a liar.

"You can do them too?" Faye asked.

Ron nodded, and did a roll too like Harry had done.

It was certainly impressive, and Hermione's heart still skipped a beat watching him be so reckless, but for the others the effect had apparently been watered down by watching Harry do the same thing first.

Ron must have sensed this too (or maybe he just wanted to show off), because he said: "I can do other ones too," before pointing his broom straight up in the air and spinning rapidly in place several times.

This definitely got a lot of oohs and aahs, and Ron, beaming proudly, said: "And my brother, Bill, taught me this one," then he jumped off his broom.

Ron hung off his broom with both hands, then he spun with his whole body like the world's biggest clock hand, once, and twice, before climbing back onto his broom.

The Gryffindors cheered. Well, the Gryffindors, except for Hermione and Neville who both looked very green, cheered.

"Nice moves, Weasley," came the snobby voice of Draco Malfoy as he approached the group, accompanied as always by his bookends and a sneer. "I guess it's true that your family has some orangutan blood mixed in after all."

Hermione scowled. That was a very mean thing to say.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said. "And it's your family that's got oranguta blood, or whatever."

Draco guffawed like he'd just heard the funniest thing ever. "You don't even know what an orangutan is, do you?" He asked. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, your family probably couldn't afford a proper education for—"

Okay, this had gone on long enough, Hermione decided.

"Draco, why do you have pick fights with us all the time?" She asked the boy, interrupting Ron's heated comeback. "Just leave us alone."

Draco glanced at her with visible disgust on his features. "Quiet, muggle. No one's talking to you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. That again.

"Actually, Draco," Harry interjected calmly, "it's not muggle; it's muggleborn. Not that I would expect you to know that, of course, seeing as all that gel you put on your head has soaked into your brain by now."

Hermione tried not to laugh. She really did. The other Gryffindors, on the other hand, were not so kind.

Draco's cheeks went red with embarrassment. "Shut up, scarhead," he said angrily.

Scarhead? Hermione thought. What did that even mean? Was Draco just reaching into a bag for random insults now?

Harry apparently thought so too, because he blinked. "Scarhead? That's the best you could come up with? Draco, I have terrible hair; I never shut up; I smile like a loon; and my own pet owl hates my guts; you didn't see any of that to use, you went with scarhead.

"I thought Slytherins were supposed to be witty and cunning? Honestly, a house elf would have come up with a better insult."

And everyone gasped.

Well, not everyone, just Neville, Draco's companions, Lav, Parvati, and Faye.

Most shocking of all though, was how Draco reacted like he'd been slapped.

"You take that back, Potter!" Draco snarled, going red with rage.

Harry raised his hands in surrender, looking shocked at the reaction too. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have compared you to an elf."

Hermione just knew what he would say before he said it.

"After all, that would be an insult to the elf."

Draco went ballistic and launched himself at Harry, but the Gryffindor was faster.

Harry spun with his broom and slammed Draco in the chest with the tail end, and the Slytherin was swept clean off his own broom into the air.

Madam Hooch must have heard the scream, and though the witch's reflexes were amazing, she missed the falling boy by a hair's breath.

Hermione heard the snap Draco's bone made from fifteen feet up.

★★★​

The Slytherins tried to blame them.

Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle were not the most articulate, and Draco was currently... occupied.

The best part was, the Gryffindors didn't even have to lie; Draco and his friends had come to them. Draco had also been the one who attacked Harry.

Finally, Madam Hooch had simply forbidden everyone from so much as mounting their brooms until she returned, and picked up the sniveling Draco.

"Come now, Mr. Malfoy," the witch said. "To the matron with you."

"My arm," the boy moaned piteously. "My father—"

"Will hear of this, I'm sure," Madam Hooch said, as she carried him away. "Come on now."

Fortunately, while some sour looks were thrown back and forth, another fight didn't break out between the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

This gave Hermione the opportunity to ask Neville a question she'd wanted to since Harry and Draco's altercation.

"Neville, why did Draco get so angry over what Harry said?"

The boy looked a little uncomfortable, but he answered easily enough.

"It's not really done," he said. "Comparing a wizard to an elf is one of the worst kinds of insults in Wizarding Society."

Hermione looked at the boy in confusion. Why would being compared to an elf be so bad? She wondered.

And then a memory came to her, of Harry telling her the day they met about house elves; little servants who wizards liked to pretend didn't exist.

She'd made a mental note at the time to research them when they got to the castle, since she thought Harry had simply been pulling her leg.

But she'd forgotten all about it until now.

"So, house elves are real?" She asked Neville.

"Of course," the boy answered, looking perplexed.

"And they cook and clean?"

"And other stuff too, yes."

Oh.

...

"Does Hogwarts—" Hermione began, but Harry cut in suddenly.

"Are you guys talking about something important?"

Neville blinked. "Um, Hermione was just asking me about elves."

"Oh," Harry chuckled. "Yeah, if I'd known comparing people to elves was such a big deal, I would have started calling Draco an elf since weeks ago. He certainly has the ears for it.

"Anyway, Hermione, come tell Ron he'll make a good seeker," Harry said, pulling her over to where the rest of the Gryffindors were.

"What? Why?" Hermione asked.

"Wood's holding the tryouts today, and Seamus told Ron he should try out, but he thinks he won't be good at it," Harry explained.

"You know, you should try out too, Harry," Parvati said. "You can fly."

"Yeah, no," Harry said.

"Why not?" Seamus asked.

"Because I think I'd rather have my bottom impaled on a giant cactus, than play that silly game," Harry stated blatantly.

Hermione didn't know about the cactus part, but she agreed; quidditch was a rather silly game.

Of course, such an opinion could not be shared anywhere in Wizarding Britain without facing serious opposition.

What a bother.

★★★​

Madam Hooch's return put an end to the swelling argument, and this time, when they resumed flying lessons, Hermione and Harry made sure the Gryffindors all stuck together so Neville would not be left behind.

 

[Jackpot-kun]

A/N: you know, in the months that I've been writing this story, I've had well over a dozen comments describing this story as the tale of a creepy adult male (ie Harry) grooming a naive, young girl (ie Hermione).

I literally had a reader drop the story at chapter 3 just a few days ago because, according to them, a story about the grooming of a young girl was uncomfortable to read.

Within these same months, I've also had readers repeatedly mention how creepy, weird, disgusting, and a whole host of other fun little adjectives it is that Harry and Hermione are so close, and that people in universe are even contemplating that they might be romantically involved at their ages.

Now, I'm posting the story on QQ, and in the few days it's been here, I've gotten over a dozen comments mentioning (and in some cases, protesting rather rudely) that the story is much too innocent and tame to warrant being here in the NSFW section.

What have I learned? You can't win with people.

On to the chapter.

---

Same Morning.

Saturday, Sept. 14


To her great surprise, Hermione ended up enjoying the lesson, and when it was over and the brooms were returned, the first-years headed back into the castle for lunch talking about everything and nothing.

By some unspoken agreement, Hermione and Harry lagged behind the group to give themselves some measure of privacy to discuss their... extracurricular activities.

"We'll have to go and make sure that thing is dead after lunch, won't we?" Harry asked, sounding not at all excited about the prospect.

Hermione nodded, and they were both silent after that.

To be frank, there was little, if anything, to discuss. They'd already planned out everything the day before, and revisited it again this morning. The plan was well-worn in their minds by now.

All of this was just nerves.

Hermione took Harry's hand. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll be fine. Besides, I'm sure it's already dead."

Neither really believed the words, but as Harry squeezed her hand and Hermione squeezed back, both hoped that they were true all the same.

★★★​

"Serpensortia," Hermione intoned, and the familiar, green snake sprouted from her wand and landed on the sink.

She and Harry stared at each other one last time, then, without speaking, Hermione commanded her snake to open the entrance.

As soon as the pipe opened, Hedwig swooped into it, disappearing down its dark depths.

"Guess she's going first," Harry said, then he pointed his wand at the rooster, who was looking more serious than Hermione would have thought roosters could look, and incanted: "Wingardium leviosa."

Harry directed the floating chicken into the pipe first, then, just before entering himself, he looked at Hermione with a strained smile and said: "See you at the bottom."

He was gone seconds later.

Hermione swallowed, heart fluttering nervously.

Were they doing the right thing? Was there a better way? What if this didn't work?

A thousand thoughts and doubts flitted through her brain as quickly as her pounding heart, but the girl did not hesitate, and with her wand in hand and determination in her heart, Hermione Granger walked into the dark.

★★★​

Hermione stared at the shed skin; it looked as wide as the sheets on her parent's king-sized bed and as thick as her blanket.

It was also much, much longer than any material she'd ever seen in her young life.

And to think the snake outgrew this!

The rooster crowed again, distracting her from her thoughts, and Hermione focused back on the task at hand; namely, finding the snake's corpse. Or, in the event that the broadcasted crow hadn't killed it, getting close enough to the creature for the rooster's untampered crowing to do the job.

Preferably before the snake snuck up on them and killed them with a glance.

The rooster crowed again.

Not that Hermione thought that was likely with how much crowing the chicken was doing though.

Honestly, the longer she was down here, and the more she heard the rooster's crowing echo across the cavernous tunnels surrounding them, the safer she felt about this entire endeavour.

Maybe her worries had been misplaced after all.

They reached a dead-end then, where a slab of solid stone with snake motifs etched into it blocked their path.

This must be the true entrance to the chamber, Hermione decided.

She let the rooster crow once, then they all walked back and hid behind the last bend, before Hermione summoned her snake once again and had it open this door too with parseltongue.

The grinding of the heavy stone door as it slid open was loud in the silence, and, once again, Hedwig flew out first, quickly followed by the rooster, who was, as always, crowing his little heart out.

Hermione and Harry looked at one another.

"I'm starting to think we might not even be needed here," Harry joked.

Hermione smiled, then the both of them walked out from their cover and entered the Chamber of Secrets.

That was when everything went wrong.

★★★​

Interlude:: The Serpent


Basilisks did not need food, they did not need water, they never fell sick, and they never aged, only grew. Essentially, basilisks were immortal unless killed. So consequently, they feared death.

A thousand years ago, Salazar Slytherin had promised a little basilisk eternal refuge within the bowels of Hogwarts from the wizards who would hunt it down, asking only in return that it assisted his descendants in their sacred mission if they were to ever call on it.

The basilisk had not wanted to die, so it had agreed, and now, a thousand years later, people called that basilisk the monster of Slytherin.

The basilisk did not particularly care for Slytherin, or his descendants. It neither understood, nor did it concern itself with their obsession over magical heritage.

To be frank, the creature barely understood the concept of heritage, seeing as basilisks had no genders and could not reproduce.

What the creature did understand however, and what it had certainly concerned itself with over the last thousand years, was its continued survival.

It had a rather comprehensive list of everything known to Wizardkind that could end its life, and of all these things, none scared it as much as the rooster's crow; a sound that could snuff out its existence just as easily as its own gaze had snuffed out the lives of others.

It lived in dread of that sound, and its greatest solace in life was that its home protected it from such dangers.

Then that morning had happened, and that sound that was somehow familiar even though it had never heard it before had rang through its entire world, and it had shivered in terror for hours wondering why it wasn't dead.

Just when it was beginning to calm down; beginning to wonder if maybe it had been wrong and that wasn't the rooster's crow it had dreaded all its life, it felt two people walk into its home blaring that sound for all the world to hear. Two people who were not of Slytherin; two people with tainted blood.

It understood now. They had found it. They wanted to kill it.

Basilisks were creatures that were eternal unless killed. Consequently, they feared death.

Consequently, they never hesitated to protect their lives.

★★★​

Hedwig knew what was coming before they did.

Hermione and Harry had both been distracted, taken by the eerie but awe-inspiring ambience of the chamber.

The rooster had been crowing; loudly, incessantly, blocking out all other sound, and no one had noticed the head of a fifty foot long snake sticking out of an artfully concealed tunnel above, poised to strike down.

Hedwig did.

The owl moved so swiftly that, by the time the snake's pained hissing made the children look (despite how many times they'd both tried to remind themselves never to), she'd turned both of its eyes to bloody shreds.

For a split second, Hermione froze at the sight of the battle going on above their heads, Harry didn't.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green orb shot from Harry's wand faster than an arrow, only to splash harmlessly against an empty tunnel as the snake managed to retract its head before it made contact.

The rooster had gone wild, crowing with every bit of its strength it had and making Hermione's ears ring with the echoing sound.

"Shut it!" Harry screamed, and thankfully, the animal went quiet.

"It didn't work," Hermione was saying. "Why didn't it work? It should have worked. The books all said it would work."

"Hermione!" Harry's voice broke through her rising panic.

She looked at him. His face was pale, and his green eyes looked just a bit manic, but his gaze held hers steadily.

"I really, really need you here with me right now," the boy said.

Hedwig flew back down then and perched on the ground, her head spinning in search of the elusive snake.

Hermione swallowed, took a breath, then nodded at Harry.

To Hedwig she asked: "Did you blind it?"

The owl hooted in the affirmative.

"Okay, good," Hermione said. "That means it can't kill us."

"With its eyes?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Sure. With its venom, its fangs, its huge tail, and who knows what else the fucking books failed to tell us? Let's not make any bets just yet."

Hermione had nothing to say to that, so she cast a spell instead. A spell that she only just realised that she really should have used before now.

"Serpenti revelio."

It was a simple spell for finding any snakes within your vicinity that she'd come across during their basilisk research yesterday. She didn't know if it would work with the magical snake but—a huge, red blob appeared on the wall to their right.

Hedwig was already moving.

Unfortunately, it seemed the basilisk had expected this, because as soon as its head was out, it opened its maw wide and a steaming, green fluid sprayed from its throat like water from a showerhead.

Hedwig dodged, and Hermione and Harry followed accordingly.

The Gryffindor hit the ground hard with her shoulder, but she pushed through the eye-watering pain as well as she was able to and quickly scrambled to her feet, and that was when she saw the stone floor where the snake's venom had landed; it was boiling.

Apparently, the basilisk wasn't just immune to the rooster's crow, it could also shoot out acidic venom from its throat.

...

How had nobody thought to record that!?

Harry was on his feet too, but before he could do anything, both he and Hermione had to retreat as far back as they could as the basilisk sprayed out more venom, all in an attempt to catch Hedwig who was ripping into its head with her sharp, powerful claws.

They were separated now, over thirty feet apart, but this was fine; they made harder targets this way.

Harry tried to assist Hedwig, his wand already glowing a familiar green before he'd even said anything.

"Avada Kedav—" he began but never finished, because the snake was completely out of its tunnel now. And at almost sixty feet long, it was a simple matter for it to reach Harry with its tail.

There was a sharp slap! sound, and Hermione watched as Harry was sent flying into the Chamber's far wall almost forty feet away.

Hermione did not look away as she watched Harry crumple to the floor like a ragdoll, if she had she would have noticed Hedwig get distracted by Harry's circumstances, and pay the price for it when the snake batted her into a wall with its barrel-sized head.

In the girl's defence though, she couldn't really notice anything in that moment. Not with how her mind was utterly swaddled with a single thought: Harry's dead.

A single thought that was reinforced by the image of a broken boy lying in a growing pool of his own blood.

Harry's dead.

Knowing she was the last, the snake slithered to her; leisurely, almost lazily, before rearing up to gaze at her with its destroyed eyes.

Harry's dead.

That thought, like a mantra, repeated over and over and over.

Harry's dead.

The basilisk hissed, and it was like a switch had been flipped as Hermione's gaze snapped to the snake.

In a moment of utter clarity, Hermione took in the creature, all of it; its vibrant green scales, its dagger-long fangs, its shredded face where Hedwig had torn into it.

Something hot and dark sparked to life in the girl's chest and she raised her wand.

She knew the words, she knew the motions.

"Avada Kedavra," Hermione said.

The green bolt flashed from her wand faster than the human eye could track, aimed dead center for the serpent's head.

The snake dodged. And Hermione barely even had the time to process this fact before it bathed her in a jet of acidic venom.

Two things happened in that moment: first, Hermione's world became fire and pain; then Hedwig, with a broken wing and several crushed ribs, flew after the Killing Curse the girl had cast, caught it in her talons, and threw it back down at the unsuspecting snake.

As Hermione's consciousness thankfully faded to black, sparing her from the pain, she thought she heard screaming.

It was probably hers.

---

A/N: if you're wondering how Hedwig pulled off that trick, then keep wondering; Mama Hedwig never reveals her secrets.