Tradition

23/09/96
Sitting at breakfast the next morning, Hermione watched as the great hall slowly filled- more so than it had the previous day. What was previously a ghost hall transforming back into the joyful heart and soul of Hogwarts.
She’d purposefully picked a seat as far away from her fellow sixth year students as possible in order to give herself some time to sit, think and plan. She’d come up with all sorts of ridiculous ideas last night, from straight up ignoring them to hexing them into next week, but nothing seemed to really jump out as something she would do, as something the ‘brightest witch her age’ would do. However, it didn’t seem like much thinking would be able to occur this breakfast, even with her carefully picked seating arrangements. Ron had spotted her and was hastily making his way towards her, toast stuffed in his mouth with an irritated Harry following him looking like he might just turn Ron into a toad.
“Bloody hell ‘mione, what made you pick this gods-awful seat? Almost finished my toast by time I’d got here.”
“My toast you mean,” Harry interjected, scowling.
“Oh calm down mate you can always go up and get some more, not like the house elves’ll ban you from having two slices of toast.”
As if realising Hermione had stayed silent through this exchange when she’d normally have chastised one or the both of them for being so childish, Harry turned with a puzzled look on his face, “You okay ‘mione? Awfully quiet this morning.”
“Just fine Harry. Just peachy.”
Ron chimed in, “guess someone’s rolled out the wrong side of bed.”
“Just missed you guys is all,” Hermione muttered, because whilst she was unhappy about their abandonment of her she couldn’t deny that they were still her friends and the closest thing she had to family in the Wizarding world. Harry gave a reassuring nod and simply said, “well I’m sure you’ll wish we were gone longer soon.”

It took a single lesson for Harry’s prediction to come to life. He really should’ve kept up divination.
As Hermione sat listening to Harry excitedly explain to Ron how he and his Dads celebrated Mabon, there was nothing she wanted more than to be swallowed up by the earth and offered as thanksgiving for the harvest.
“And then we lit the bonfire, Sirius says that it’s a new tradition he started with my dad and remus back when they were at school since he was new to the traditions of the light and they didn’t want him to be left out!”
Now this was new information to Hermione, she’d heard wizards talk offhandedly about ‘dark’ wizards before- hell Harry’s parents had died to save him from the darkest of all- but she’d always assumed it was just a turn of phrase.
“Say Harry, what do you mean traditions of the light?”
Harry seems almost surprised by the question. “You know, the way wizards that don’t practice dark magic celebrate their gift - thought you’d know that ‘mione we’re all taught it as children. “
“Oh yes, silly me I must’ve forgotten.”
She hadn’t forgotten, she’d just never been told. The entire wizarding world had just assumed that she’d just pick up on knowledge that wasn’t taught but instead passed down through generations. Her idea suddenly seemed blindly obvious. She didn’t need them to invite her to their stupid celebrations, she’d learn the traditions herself and then return the favour of forgetting about them eight times a year.

The end of the school day was accompanied with Hermione rushing to the library determined to learn about the traditions she’d never been taught. She took out piles and piles of books sure that she’d discover something. But instead she was greeted with nothing. Absolutely nothing.
That’s how she found herself at the entrance to the restricted section, forged pass in hand. Yet again she searched the shelves for something. Anything. When suddenly she was drawn to it, a glimmer of light in the murky shadows of her lack of knowledge, ‘la magie de noir’. It was a small, tattered book but embolden on the side in deep purple was a simple phrase in english- ‘traditions of the magic people’. This was exactly what she needed, just a little nudge in the right direction.

This glimmer of hope was quickly shot out of the sky when she read through the book. It was clearly discussing dark magic (frequently describing how to do curses that Hermione was sure were illegal) and worst of all not telling her the information she so desperately wanted to know. What were the traditions that her friends followed? And why wasn’t she included?

“Training up to finally become a real witch Granger?”
Hermione’s day seemed to worsen with that singular sneer form Parkinson. Why that girl wouldn’t leave her alone Hermione would never understand.
“Actually, I was just returning this.” She tried to hide the title from Pansy knowing the other witch would know it well. The loud laughter finding its way out from Parkinson’s throat gave away that she had been entirely unsuccessful.
“The best friend of the boy who lived, reading up on dark magic! This is hilarious, draco’ll never believe me”
“I. Was. Not. Reading up on dark magic, how dare you suggest such a thing- I’m not a monster Parkinson”
At this retort Pansy’s face seemed to change in an instant going from teasing to fuming almost instantly. Hermione waited for the scathing response that was bound to
follow but was instead rewarded with Parkinson simply storming off. No explanation. Nothing. Hermione couldn’t understand why she felt let down by this, she hated Parkinson and hated the way Pansy’s comments always hurt her the most out of the mass of comments she seemed to receive each week.
In her confusion, she forgot the small book and simply carried it back to her dorm with her, where it was thrown into her trunk to
be rediscovered another day.