Hermione (Flashback)
Five Years Ago
Uncertainty, the feeling of uneasiness settling into the pit of my confused eleven-year-old stomach. Magic. What a weird thing to be blessed with. Bless my more than understanding parents for putting up with these strange oddities I have experienced since a young age. Quirks, they said.
"Our sweet Hermione is one quirky human being, and we wouldn't have it any other way."
They're waving at me as the train rolls away from the platform. I wave back, but I'm not sure they see. They must find it strange to send their daughter away to a school so far away from them in hopes of finding someone or something to control these "quirks" of mine. I've never been so far away from them before. Always within arms reach. This, too, is foreign for me, which would explain the warm tear sliding down my cold cheek.
Growing up in the world of muggles, a word that feels strange to say, was a blessing. I felt safe. I felt secure. This whole magic thing feels scary, but I can't let anyone see that. No. I have to be strong. I didn't spend these past several weeks reading the required curriculum for nothing. I'm going to be confident. I have to be confident. I have to do this for my parents. I can't let them down. I'm all they have.
I lose track of time on the train. I spent a good portion of it looking out the window at the expansive, but beautiful countryside of England. Mum and Dad have a home in the country we used to visit often. In fact, we spent some time there this summer. It's beautiful there. Not much to it, really. Just a cute, fun, but homey cottage that Mum decorated with joy and pride. We spend a week each month there to get away from the chaos of London. Both dentists, they need breaks. And as a child who loves nature, it fits me.
We have a family to our right who have always rubbed me the wrong way—the parents, at least. Their young son, my age, never rubbed me the wrong way. I always enjoyed seeing him and talking to him. It was like he understood me in ways that no one else, including myself, could. We never spoke of magic, but a small part of me wonders if he has the same abilities as myself.
After about an hour and a half, I wander the train. I grab some snacks from the trolley and quietly glance into each cabin. The train seems to go on and on in every direction. I want to say I feel like I belong, but the more I wander, the less I do. I return to my cabin and curl up under the crocheted blanket Mum made me to continue watching the scenery change.
Thirty minutes before our arrival, I change into the generic robes I purchased at Madam Malkins and wait for the signal to disembark. A kind woman finds me when it's time and escorts me from the train to gather with the rest of the first years.
We walk as a group to the docks and disembark in boats across the water. I'm in a boat with a few other girls, but I don't talk to them, not that they have any interest in talking to me either. As far as we're all concerned, we had no choice. They put us together. But they're not as important as the beautiful looming castle in the distance that is fast approaching. This is it. This is Hogwarts.
As the boat arrives at the shore, I'm the first off and mix myself in with a random group of people. I can tell that one of them is the infamous Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the one who weakened the Dark Lord into nothing. I remembered seeing him on the train in a cabin with a boy with fiery red hair. I see he's still with that boy. They're chatting with one another. It's good for them, I suppose.
I fall in line with the first years as we're escorted up to the castle, through a series of doors, corridors, and stairs until we stop just outside the Great Hall. Harry Potter, with his messy brown hair, glasses, and iconic scar, is having a heated conversation with another boy. When I look around the tall boy in front of me, I feel my breath catch in my chest. He has white-blonde hair identical to the boy who I'd spend my summers talking to. It couldn't be him. There's no way...
But my thoughts are interrupted by an older woman clearing her throat. She's wise beyond her years. I realize this must be Professor McGonagall. I took it upon myself to learn of the professors I might study under while here. Drove my parents nuts with my incessant late-night study sessions. I crammed a lot of information into my brain in such a short time. I didn't want to look stupid upon arrival as I'm at a disadvantage being muggleborn. I needed to fit in.
She explains, in short, about the sorting hat ceremony and ushers us inside the Great Hall doors. The room falls silent upon our entrance. Four large tables, each hosting all the students of the four individual houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. The brave go to Gryffindor. The friendly go to Hufflepuff. The smart go to Ravenclaw. And, well, the misfits go to Slytherin. Of course, I have my choices in a row. Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. I'd thrive in Ravenclaw, but I know I'd suffer in Slytherin.
One by one, first years are called for their chance to sit on the stool and be sorted into the various houses. I wait anxiously for my turn, afraid of the results.
"Draco Malfoy," McGonagall calls out.
My breath catches in my chest again. Draco. He only ever told me his first name, never anything else. Perhaps he was worried I might think of him differently if I learned. Unfortunately, I did learn of the Malfoy's. A ruthless family more concerned with keeping magic pure. I'm not pure. I learned that I'm what they hate.
The white-blonde boy walks to the stool, and I get a better look at him. He has a smug look on his face because the hat doesn't even sit on his head before it screams Slytherin. A friendship completely ruined by a single word. Bloody hell. This hurts.
I swallow my sadness and listen to a few others be summoned to their respective houses, including the infamous Harry Potter and the redheaded boy, Ronald Weasley, who both have found home in Gryffindor. And then it happens. My name is called out.
The entire room falls silent once more as I push through the people. My messy frizzy hair feels extra frizzy from my nerves. I know people are staring. I can't do this. I hate attention.
I glance at Professor McGonagall, who simply gives me an encouraging smile as I sit on the stool. She places the hat on my head. I feel my heart beating in my ears. This is maddening.
"Oh, this is tricky," the hat murmurs. "I can feel what your heart is wishing, but I'm not sure if that's the best fit."
"Oh," I whisper.
"But don't you worry. You would be an incredible fit for any of the houses," it continues.
"Even Slytherin?" I mutter.
"Even Slytherin," it says.
I can feel all eyes on me, including the eyes of Draco Malfoy. I can't look in his direction. This feels like a betrayal of sorts, not to me, but to him. I withheld this secret from him this past summer. I turned eleven last September. I knew I'd be attending here then. It gave me and my parents ample time to prepare for this moment. Knowing he's of pureblood and him knowing I'm not feels like I fucked this up.
"You are so very tricky," the hat repeats once more. "But I feel the least likely option is the best one. It won't be easy, but it's a trial you can win."
"What?" I ask.
But it doesn't answer me but instead screams out my fate.
"Slytherin!"
The scream, I swear, echoes for a moment, before silence falls in its place. I look at McGonagall, who removes the hat from my head with an encouraging smile, before I slowly walk over to the Slytherin table. This feels like my death walk. I'm not supposed to be here and the looks on their faces say it all, including Draco's face.
Yes, it's me, Draco. I'm that girl you've spent your summers with the past several years, the one who made you forget about the hell you live in the stone-cold walls of your mansion. Yes, I'm a muggleborn. Yes, I'm everything you're supposed to hate, so hate me. Pretend you don't know me and make me feel like I'm nothing. I've spent my life being nothing. This isn't anything new.
I pass him and find myself a small space of real estate at the end of the table. Everyone near me quickly scoots in the other direction, leaving no one sitting in front of me and a vacant spot for three people next to me. This is my new form of hell.
The rest of the sorting ceremony finishes and Dumbledore steps up to the podium to give announcements before he flourishes his arms and food appears. My plate remains empty. I don't want anything. I lost my appetite upon receiving my death sentence. I don't know how I'm going to survive it here. The sorting hat got this all so wrong.
Dinner finishes and the first years line up behind one of the sixth-year prefects. I find myself at the end of the line with a three-foot gap between me and the person in front of me. It's for the better, really.
We walk down the stairs into the depths of the castle. The Slytherin Common Room is near the dungeons, but upon entering the Common Room, I feel like I am in a dungeon. Everyone is staring at me with absolute disgust. I want to scream at them, but I hold my tongue. For now, I'll let them paint their pictures of me. They'll regret it in due time.
I follow the rest of my fellow first years to our dormitory. I find my things on one of the furthest beds, away from everyone else. Again, this is fine. I didn't come to Hogwarts to be anyone's friend. I came to learn.
The first years look upon me with disgust except for one. She looks at me as if I'm still somebody with feelings and emotions. She has dark brown hair and a scowl, but I can look past that.
Crawling into my bed, I draw the curtains and wrap my arms around my pillow. That's when the tears start to finally flow from my eyes. I have to make this work for my parent's sake. They put so much into me being here, including their trust in people they don't know teaching their daughter things that don't make sense. I'm doing this for them, to become a normal child when I'm not here because I can control the things that make me strange.
"Hermione?" comes a whisper.
I wipe my eyes and pull the curtains back slightly to see that same girl from earlier looking at me. She's crouched next to my bed. The scowl is gone, and she looks genuinely concerned.
"Talk to Dumbledore tomorrow," she whispers. "Get clarification. I'm sure it'll help."
I don't do anything beyond nodding and let the curtain fall as she departs. So a meeting with Dumbledore it is.