Blood & Bind

{ CHAPTER ONE }
— Hermione —

“I’m a witch?” 

The woman, who introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, was standing before eleven-year-old Hermione Granger, and nodding with a genuine smile across her face. Hermione held the letter she had been handed and reread the words over and over; the little girl broke into a smile of her own, despite the concern and curiosity written across her parents’ faces. It all seemed to make sense, to her at least.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags
 
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble 

OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

This explained the odd, once unexplainable occurrences Hermione had started to notice about herself whenever her temper flared, or she felt unjustly treated by the other kids at school. They claimed she didn’t fit in, she wasn’t a normal child, and that she was quite weird in general. Now it all made sense. She wasn’t normal, but it felt exciting to know it was something special about her that the other kids simply didn’t have.

Her parents looked as confused as she had upon receiving their unannounced guest and her letter, but when she stared up at the tall, overdressed woman in front of her, she felt proud and excited to learn this newfound discovery about herself and the new world she would soon step into.

Minerva explained to her and the Grangers that she would learn to control her magic at Hogwarts, and that she could become a powerful wizard if it were wielded correctly—Hermione was more than eager to learn, and she couldn’t wait for the school year to start. 

After Minerva left, her parents sat Hermione down in the sitting room and had a lengthy discussion about everything the elder witch had discussed with them. She would be gone for the entire duration of the school year (of which, ran parallel to her normal school year) and her parents were told not to discuss her true whereabouts with other Muggles—the Grangers would tell anybody inquiring about their daughter that she was attending a “private school in the outskirts of Paris”, where she was receiving the best education in the country and that they were very proud of her for receiving such a prestigious scholarship. It was a perfect cover for her to freely study and control her magical abilities. 

She went to bed with the biggest smile on her face, dreaming of all the things she might learn about when she got there… 

-x-

A few days later, Hermione and her mother sent off her acceptance to attend Hogwarts, and in response, Minerva returned some days later, escorting Hermione and her parents to the place called Diagon Alley, where all parents and students purchase schoolbooks and equipment before the start of term. 

Her parents were overwhelmed by this new world they were standing in, but Hermione was simply awestruck by it all. She wanted to dash from each store and see every bit of magic she could find, but she settled for the task at hand and by the early afternoon all of her school equipment had been successfully gathered. Above all, receiving her wand had been the most extraordinary experience of the day—the wand that called to her was a 10¾” made of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. The wand itself was not heavy, but Hermione felt like it held all the weight of her abilities. It simply felt magical.

Minerva gently forewarned the young witch not to use her wand in the presence of muggles, nor prior to the school term, should any experimental magic go awry. McGonagall gave her a knowing look the moment the wand was in her grasp, and Hermione promised not to perform any advanced, experimental magic. 

She did, however, manage to learn and master a few innocent spells at home, and read through all of her textbooks, cover to cover, numerous times in the few weeks leading up to her departure from home. Her parents were enthusiastic that she was excited to leave for Hogwarts so soon, but they reminded her constantly that they would miss her terribly when the time finally came; and all too soon the summer passed quickly after that…

Hermione found herself standing at King’s Cross Station at the end of summer, with all of her luggage atop a trolley and her parents on both sides. It took them some time to find the correct platform, and Hermione found that the most nerve-wracking part was crossing the threshold to Platform 9¾, because her parents could not cross it with her. She had to navigate the rest of her way to the train that would soon take her to her new home for the next several months. 

She looked around in awe at the bustling atmosphere of Platform 9¾. People of all ages were mingling, parents, acquaintances, friends and strangers. The magic that surrounded her was palpable, with harmless pranks from older students showing off to their friends something new they learned over the summer. She was too mesmerized now to feel any apprehension as she continued on, eventually handing her trolley off to a porter who then showed her where to board the train to find the least crowded carts and other students her age.

The train carts were even more alive with buzzing excitement from students already boarded and meeting up with friends, new and old. The train departed a short while later, the wheels humming to life the faster it went and Hermione eventually found a compartment that was fairly empty, except for a young boy with dark hair and a round face, who seemed to be looking around for something rather frantically; he seemed friendly enough and in need of a helping hand. While he was on his hands and knees to look under the seats, she waltzed her way in with a bit of bravery to introduce herself. The sound of the door seemed to startle him, and he jumped upright. 

“Are you looking for something?” She asked. He gave her a sheepish smile, and nodded, returning to his search.

“Yes, it seems I’ve lost my toad!” He exclaimed, and his voice sounded slightly muffled as he looked away. His toad was not under the seats. He glanced back in her direction after a moment to extend his hand. “I’m Neville by the way, Neville Longbottom.”

“Nice to meet you, Neville. I’m Hermione Granger.” She smiled back, shaking his hand once. “Perhaps your toad has escaped the cart. I can ask around if you’d like.”

“I just hope he hasn’t gone off the train!” Neville said with a devastated tone to his voice. For his sake, she hoped not either. They already left London.

“Try not to worry. Let’s see if anyone has found him.” With that, they started a new search with a stop at each surrounding compartment, asking students of all ages if anyone had found a rogue toad. Many were quick to shake their heads, few offered some small areas to check, and others were too engrossed in their summer catch-up with friends to notice a couple of first-years asking about a lost familiar. 

The search did manage to speed up their trip; they had split up to extend their reach, and Hermione wasn’t sure how long they had spent looking for Neville’s toad when they met up again some time later. The sky outside the windows was already dark when Neville had just come back from a cart looking disappointed. She stumbled upon one last cart housing a set of boys, also first-years, who had nearly filled their seats with candies of all sorts from the refreshment trolley. They also seemed friendly. She knocked first, then opened the door to ask, “Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

The red-haired boy gave her a look and mumbled something in response, but she barely acknowledged it when she noticed he was holding a wand in his hand. She grinned, and asked, “Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”

Neville’s toad was momentarily forgotten as she sat herself next to the boy and waited for him to proceed. He gave the dark-haired boy across from him an incredulous look, before he muttered an “Er – all right.”

He cleared his throat, then began chanting:

 “Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
 Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”

Waving his wand loosely as he did. Hermione and the other boy were a bit disappointed to find that nothing happened. The rat on the red-haired boy’s lap remained undisturbed in its sleep. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” She questioned, “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

The two boys looked at her rather oddly, before exchanging a glance with each other as she waited for their responses. They looked almost worried about something. 

“I’m Ron Weasley,” the red-head said.

“Harry Potter.” Said the other. 

Harry Potter. That name was very familiar. She had heard the legends from bits and pieces of conversation around Diagon Alley, as well as her reading materials – first years weren’t given extensive knowledge on magic surrounding the Dark Arts, but she had looked into elective textbooks upon her purchase of required school books. 

“Are you really?” She asked. “I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“I am?” said Harry, looking a bit dazed, and perhaps a little concerned by her admission. 

“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” she said. “Do either of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around in my search for Neville’s toad, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. … Anyway, I’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.” 

She got up from her seat and left to find Neville, eventually dragging her new friend, still toadless, back to their train cart. He remained forlorn, glancing back and forth as they headed along the long corridor. Her search was thwarted when she noticed a rather rowdy bunch of first-years performing quick little magic tricks against each other as they passed by; one boy in particular had the whitest hair she had ever seen on a person – his eyes were alight with mischief, not even sparing her or Neville a glance as the small group of boys carried on. They continued down the way Hermione and Neville had come from, probably off to change into their robes and return to their own compartment. 

Still preoccupied, Neville barely noticed the group either.

They stopped at the front to ask the conductor how much longer till they arrived at Hogwarts and were told they were almost there. So, Neville kept on while Hermione returned to their cart to finish some light reading. She was reviewing her Hogwarts: A History textbook to pass the time. 

There was a slight commotion that sounded from the other end of the corridor a good while later that piqued her curiosity. She stood for a stretch of her legs and went to see where it was coming from. She had given up looking for the toad, and figured Neville was too concerned with finding his familiar to notice her absence if he even did return before the train came to a stop. 

She found herself following the sound of the noise and only stopped when she noticed the same group of boys leaving the compartment she found Harry and Ron in earlier. One of the boys, tall with a round face, glanced at her standing there, and asked, “What are you looking at?”

The blond one noticed her then. The smirk on his face was boyish at best, and full of mischief. If not for the company he seemed to keep, the way he laughed at his comrade’s scathing remark told her he likely wasn’t friendly. The three boys headed off with a few sweets in hand, not lingering around her enough for her response, and she soon found herself rushing through the doorway to the familiar cart once they had disappeared from sight. She already had a solid guess as to what House they’d likely be sorted into. With a roll of her eyes at the thought, she glanced between Harry, Ron and all of the sweets on the floor. Ron was picking his rat up, rather ungracefully, by its tail.

“What has been going on?” She questioned, looking at the mess with wide eyes. How had five boys managed such chaos in such a short amount of time? Well… they are boys after all. 

“I think he’s been knocked out!” Ron said to Harry, inspecting his familiar, who hadn’t been conscious when she first found them, and seemed to be just as unconscious now. She wondered what had transpired. “No – I don’t believe it – he’s just gone back to sleep.”

Apparently, he had.

“You’ve met Malfoy before?” Ron asked Harry then, barely acknowledging her question or presence. Harry glanced at Hermione then, with a small nod, and explained the blond-haired boy he met in Diagon Alley. Draco Malfoy was his name, peculiar.

“He was being fitted for his robes,” said Harry, “and he was talking to me about brooms – he said something about it being ridiculous that first years can’t have their own. He already knows he’ll be sorted into Slytherin it seems. And he called Hagrid a servant. He also said he doesn’t believe others should be let into Hogwarts… I don’t really know what he meant by others, but I’m sure we’ll find out. He also said that magic should be kept in the old wizarding families. He was rather unpleasant, actually; reminded me of my cousin, Dudley.”

Hermione didn’t know most of the other people Harry was talking about, but it sounded like she knew who to stay away from, and who to familiarize herself with at least. 

“I’ve heard of his family,” Ron said darkly, a scowl on his face, “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it though. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side in the first place.” Ron turned to Hermione then, and asked, “Can we help you with something?”

She noticed the slight haughtiness to his voice but decided to humor his question with another reminder to put their robes on. “The conductor says we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll both be in trouble before we even get there!”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us,” Ron scowled at her, “so would you mind leaving us while we change?”

“All right – I only came in here because some people are behaving very childish, racing up and down the corridors.” Referring to the boys who had just left. She noticed a smudge on Ron’s face, and said, “And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”

She pointed to the spot on her own nose, before smiling to herself and walking out. Ron was a rather nice boy, it appeared, but he seemed to want nothing to do with her and she couldn’t figure out why he came off so brash to her. It wasn’t like she was rude to him. Perhaps he would warm up to her the more time they spent at Hogwarts. Harry seemed kind and reserved at least. She made it a point to befriend them, and felt they could use her guidance to keep their heads on right. The rest of the ride remained rather uneventful, and Hermione was eager to get off the train and explore her new surroundings. 

-x-

The train eventually slowed, and stopped, and suddenly a voice echoed through the corridors to leave any remaining luggage on the train as it would already be taken care of. Students pushed to the doors in a crowd, spilling out onto a platform that was smaller than the one at King’s Cross Station. A voice yelled out, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

Hermione spotted a giant man waving them over, and soon she found Ron’s redhead and Harry’s right beside him. Neville came up beside her then, still toadless, and looking rather hopeless at this point. She gave him a small smile, but even she couldn’t find a reassuring thing to say to him. She could only hope it would find its way back to him, or perhaps they would learn a spell to help him navigate his toad. That would certainly come in handy. 

“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!” They followed him down a steep, narrow path; some managed to stay upright and others stumbled along the path, nearly tripping other students in the process. The man, Hagrid, he had introduced himself as, was the only one who spoke for most of the plight down the dark pathway. Neville sniffed to himself a few times beside her, but otherwise, not many words were spoken as the children followed along. After a short distance, Hagrid said, “You’ll get your firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec. Jus’ round this bend here!”

There was a loud, resounding “Oooooh!” as the narrow path opened up. Looking out over the edge of a great black lake exposed a magnificent view of Hogwarts itself – perched atop a high mountain on the other side of it, the windows of the school sparkled with light against the starry sky behind it. The castle looked gigantic, and it was, with many turrets and towers around it. 

“No more’n four to a boat,” Hagrid called out, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hermione followed Harry and Ron into theirs, with Neville right after her. Hermione glanced over at the group of boys from earlier, spotting Draco almost immediately due to his hair. It was most noticeable, even in dim lighting. He sat at the front of the boat, with the other two boys seated on either side and a girl with dark hair sitting at the back. She momentarily felt pity for the girl stuck with them, but Hermione forgot them the moment the boats started moving across the lake. 

The castle grew closer the further the boats sailed until they reached a cliff face, and a tunnel swallowed them into darkness. Hagrid shouted “Heads down!” as they passed under a curtain of ivy, and they reached an underground harbor. One by one the boats emptied and students clambered out onto the rocks. Hagrid was checking the boats when suddenly he turned to them, holding his hand out to Neville and said, “Oy, you there! Is this your toad?”

“Trevor!” Neville cried blissfully, scooping the toad up in his hands. Hermione let out a breath of relief then, glad her friend had finally found his familiar – or at least, that Hagrid had found him. They continued on toward the castle, up a passageway in the rocks following Hagrid’s lamp, coming out onto smooth, damp grass just outside the castle. Ascending a few more stone steps, they came to a pause at the front of a set of huge, oak doors. Hagrid made sure everyone was there before he turned, raising his giant fist to the doors, and then he knocked three times. 

Another pause.

Then suddenly the doors swung open, and Hermione immediately recognized the tall, robed figure standing before them. Minerva McGonagall, she stood tall and imposing, glancing over the first years before her eyes landed on Hermione. Hermione smiled at her, not unsettled by her stern face like the other students seemed to be. 

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the doors wide open, leading the students into the grand entrance hall. It was a massive corridor with stone walls, lit up by flaming torches along them. The ceiling was tall, too tall to tell where it truly ended, and they found themselves at another staircase; this one was made out of marble and opened up to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall up to another set of large doors; behind it hundreds of voices could be heard, loud and boisterous and too muffled to make out any real string of conversations. The first years were led into a small, empty chamber off the hall; they crowded in, standing rather close to each other as McGonagall waited for the last of them to settle into the room. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she began. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room.

The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin –” there were a few proud chants that broke through McGonagall’s speech, earning a few stern looks from her as a result, and then she continued on as if the interruption never occurred, “ – Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of each year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Her eyes lingered for a moment, glancing between the students that were already showcasing their less than best starting impressions. A few students fidgeted with their robes; Hermione tried to flatten her hair, despite numerous futile attempts before arriving at Hogwarts. 

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

With that, she left the chamber. Hermione glanced around at her peers then, taking in every face to try and guess their sortings before the ceremony. It was hard to make a good guess with so little knowledge, but she was certain of some. Hermione tried to remind herself the Sorting ceremony was nothing to be afraid of; it wasn’t like it was a test – she was good at those, but this was different. 

“Do you think we’ll have to perform magic?” A student asked.

“What do you think they’ll make us do?” Another whisper inquired. 

“I learned a few spells over the summer,” Hermione said to a girl beside her, “but I’m not sure what kind of spells they may require us to perform. I learned some of the basic ones, like a Levitation charm or Fire-making, and a Locking charm, but what if they ask us to perform something more practical? I wish we would have known beforehand…”

Several students jumped and a couple screamed at the sight of twenty or so ghosts that burst into the room then; they were talking animatedly amongst themselves, having hardly noticed any of the first year. When her pulse had steadied again, Hermione realized they were arguing over something, talking about second chances and somebody named Peeves… 

“New students!” One of the ghosts cried then, smiling at them. Hermione was lost in the shuffle of students trying to move away from the ghosts. “About to be sorted, I suppose?”

A few students nodded. 

“Hope to see you all in Hufflepuff! My old House, you know.” Some students shrugged, and a few others – namely, Malfoy and his crew – snickered to themselves about a boring sorting, while one of the boys was snoring loudly for good measure.

“Move along now,” a sharp voice cut in suddenly; McGonagall had returned in the nick of time. One by one the ghosts carried on, floating through the walls as they disappeared. “The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. Now, form a line and follow me.”

They filed out of the chamber and back into the corridor, following Professor McGonagall as she entered into the large doors that opened up to the Great Hall. It was of magnificent size, lit up by thousands and thousands of candles floating in midair above four long tables; the rest of the students were already seated, the tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the front of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years in front, stopping them to face the other students who watched the newcomers with curiosity. 

“D’you think the hall’s ceiling actually reaches the night sky up there?” She heard a boy with a thick accent behind her ask. 

“It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.” Hermione whispered back, earning a few looks from surrounding students. Ron was one of those looks. Just then, McGonagall had set up a four-legged stool with an old hat perched atop it. The hat looked weathered, and quite frayed from obvious years of use. Everyone was now staring at the hat, waiting. The hat then began to sing:

 “Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,
 But don’t judge on what you see,
 I’ll eat myself if you can find
 A smarter hat than me.
 You can keep your bowlers black,
 Your top hats sleek and tall,
 For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
 And I can cap them all.
 There’s nothing hidden in your head
 The Sorting Hat can’t see,
 So try me on and I will tell you
 Where you ought to be.
 You might belong in Gryffindor,
 Where dwell the brave at heart,
 Their daring, nerve, and chivalry,
 Set Gryffindors apart;
 You might belong in Hufflepuff,
 Where they are just and loyal,
 Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
 And unafraid of toil;
 Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
 If you’ve a ready mind,
 Where those of wit and learning,
 Will always find their kind;
 Or perhaps in Slytherin
 You’ll make your real friends,
 Those cunning folk use any means
 To achieve their ends.
 So put me on! Don’t be afraid!
 And don’t get in a flap!
 You’re in safe hands (though I have none)
 For I’m a Thinking Cap!”

The entire Great Hall burst into applause as the hat’s song finished. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became still once more. 

“So we’ve just got to try on the hat! I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll!” Ron said, loud enough for Hermione to hear that he was talking to Harry; Hermione rolled her eyes at the absurdity – how could he believe a couple of first years would wrestle a monster that was easily five times their size? 

The rest of the first years relaxed at the realization they would not be performing magic in front of everyone tonight, and McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.”

She called up the first name. A girl named Hannah Abbott. The girl stumbled out of line, pink cheeks at being the first one to be sorted. She put on the hat and sat down. The hall was silent except for the hum from the Sorting Hat as he thought out loud to himself.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat suddenly. The table all the way to the right erupted in cheers and thunderous claps as Hannah got up from the seat to join her new House. McGonagall called out more names and students were mostly sorted into Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw; Mandy Brocklehurst and Lavender Brown were the first new Gryffindors to be sorted – the Gryffindor table was by far the loudest to welcome them. 

A girl named Millicent Bulstrode was sorted into Slytherin. The Slytherin table was just as, if not more boisterous than the rest. Hermione watched as they welcomed their new member and McGonagall waited for the hall to quiet down once more. She called on a boy named Justin Fletchley-Finch next, who was quickly sorted into… “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Hermione wondered to herself if Gryffindor and Slytherin were rather rare to be sorted into; and just as she thought this, Professor McGonagall called her name.

“Granger, Hermione!”

Hermione gulped loudly. She nearly ran up to the stool, eager to be sorted, but equally as terrified. The hat sat on her head, letting out a thoughtful “hmm” here and there. She felt as if the hat had taken ages to figure out her sorting, and it unnerved her. She truly didn’t think Hufflepuff was her House, and while she would settle for Ravenclaw, she truly felt Gryffindor was her calling. She didn’t even condone the thought of Slytherin… it isn’t possible! What if she couldn’t be sorted at all? She quickly banished that thought, afraid to sway the Sorting Hat’s decision out of her favor. 

“You have an intelligent mind…” the Sorting Hat stated thoughtfully, “more than efficient enough for Ravenclaw standards, but you’re easily stifled by the standards set by others. You have a cunning nature that’s respectable in Slytherin… but I also sense a greater deal of bravery in you. Very quick-witted, you often speak with much confidence… yesss. Hm. I say you belong in… GRYFFINDOR!”

The relief was instantaneous. Hermione released her breath, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, but proud all at once. She didn’t linger on the Slytherin comment for long as she hopped off the stool and nearly sprang towards the Gryffindor table feeling light as a feather. As she crossed the hall, she was given shouts of ‘welcome’ and ‘glad to have you’s, more claps and a couple of the older students moved to grant her a seat at the table. Neville was sorted next; the hat also remained on his head for a long time, before shouting out “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Yes, Neville!” Her own voice mixed with the wave of roars, cheering loudly for her friend. She was more than excited to have him in the same House. A few more students were called, sorted into Hufflepuff, and suddenly Professor McGonagall had called up Draco Malfoy. The Great Hall fell into a deep silence, and everyone watched as Malfoy sauntered up to the Sorting Hat. 

The hat barely grazed his head before it immediately yelled “SLYTHERIN!”

The smug smile plastered on his way never wavered; only briefly to sneer at the Gryffindor table as he passed. He joined his friends who were already sorted at the Slytherin table, the proud smirk returning as they welcomed him with exuberance. Hermione couldn’t help but watch him as he went – he was certainly somebody who was used to the attention he garnered. He took his seat between the two boys he was with on the train, Crabbe and Goyle their names were, looking pleased with himself. 

Hermione felt strangely disappointed - clearly there was no need for explanations, but she wanted to know what the Sorting hat would have had to say about him anyway. 

He was no longer paying attention to any of the sortings after him. It was when his eyes scanned the Great Hall and landed on her, watching him, that Hermione knew she had been caught staring, studying him for too long. She turned towards the front of the hall, hoping to dismiss it, and she listened as more names were called. 

Another Slytherin sorted – a girl by the name of Pansy Parkinson; short, ink-black hair and green eyes that glistened with pride at her sorting. She took her seat across from Draco and his friends, and Hermione didn’t dare follow her urge to look past Pansy.

Harry was next. Whispers broke out across the hall; it was known that Harry Potter was of age to attend Hogwarts, but many had yet to believe he was really here till that very moment. The hat took its time sorting him – speaking out loud on more than one occasion to point out his defining qualities. Harry must have said something regarding Slytherin, because the Sorting Hat seemed to have a bit of fun, asking him, “Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that – better be GRYFFINDOR!”

The hall erupted into another round of boisterous cheers; Hermione practically jumped from her seat to welcome him just as warmly as their House did, and Harry took the seat across from her. A few others were sorted into Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff, one or two more Slytherins from the bunch, before it was Ron’s turn. He stumbled up to the hat, looking almost pale and green like he was going to be sick.

“Is he alright?” Hermione asked. Harry shrugged and watched eagerly. The hat seemed to know exactly where to place him, commenting on yet another Weasley at Hogwarts. It only took a few seconds for the hat to decide on “GRYFFINDOR!” Earning more cheers and more vigor from the Gryffindor table as they welcomed Ron. His siblings patted him on the back and said “well done”; McGonagall had one name left, waiting for the hall to quiet down. She called on a boy by the name of Blaise Zabini, who was quickly sorted into Slytherin and welcomed just as lively as his peers. McGonagall then rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away. 

The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, rose to his feet after the final name had been sorted, and he stepped up to the front of the table where the rest of the teachers sat. He beamed at the students with his arms wide open, and said, “Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words.” 

He spewed off a few terms like Nitwit! Blubber! and Tweak! Earning more than a few strange looks from the students; a few asked if he was going mad, others claiming he was a genius and one of the best. Hermione looked to Harry and Ron as if they might know anything about their Head of Hogwarts, but they looked just as confused, if not more. Suddenly, the dishes in front of them were piled with food; roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and other strange foods, such as peppermint humbugs. Hermione couldn’t believe the feast before them; she didn’t even know where to begin! Harry and Ron grabbed food first, and Hermione aptly filled her plate with some of the roast chicken and potatoes. She couldn’t believe how much food the other two had piled onto their plates.

She engaged in chatter with her new House, enjoying endless goblets of Pumpkin juice, when one of the ghosts appeared from under their table to comment on the delicious food. One of the other students tried to ask if they could enjoy the feast as well but he exclaimed that he hadn’t eaten in nearly five hundred years! “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” Ron exclaimed suddenly. “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas –” the ghost rebuked stiffly; the boy with sandy hair, and the thick accent, Seamus Finnigan interrupted him.

“Nearly Headless?” Seamus asked, “How can you be nearly headless?”

“Like this,” Sir Nicholas said irritably, seizing his left ear. He pulled, and his whole head swung off his neck to rest on his shoulder as if it were on a hinge. Horrified gasps from the other first years rang out and Hermione suddenly wished she hadn’t eaten so much. She looked away as he changed the subject then and prattled on about hoping to win the House Cup this year and Slytherin previously winning it six years in a row. 

Desserts appeared sometime later; blocks of ice cream in every flavor imaginable, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries and other fruits, rice pudding, and almost any other dessert that could be thought of sat before them. As they indulged, the talk of the table turned to their families. Seamus explained he was half-and-half, earning a few laughs from his new friends as he explained his muggle father’s shock. Neville explained he was brought up by his grandmother, who was also a witch; his family thought him to be non-magical up until he turned eight. Hermione also learned he was given his toad as a gift for his Hogwarts acceptance letter.

She found easy conversation with Ron’s older brother, Percy, who was just as eager for their lessons to start as she. Percy was patient with her excitement, letting her down gently that her lessons would start off slower than she was expecting to accommodate some of the less advanced students. Hermione didn’t mind; she was just eager to learn everything!

Across from her, Harry suddenly hissed in pain and countless pairs of eyes snapped to him in concern. He waved it off, reassuring them all it was nothing – perhaps a headache from too much ice cream, some around them surmised. 

The rest of the evening passed in a wondrous blur; it was as if time didn’t exist, but if she had to guess it was well past curfew. Dumbledore gave a closing speech, as well as an extensive warning about the Forbidden Forest that surrounded the school grounds and the Third-floor corridors to avoid a painful death, ending on a cheery “Off you trot!” before students were escorted off to their dormitories by the Prefects and Heads.

“He’s not serious?” Harry asked Percy with an incredulous laugh as they followed him up to the Gryffindor Tower; though Percy was facing ahead, his frown was evident. Hermione strained to listen in on the conversation while she took in more of the surroundings. Hogwarts was massive, ancient, and incredible! 

“He must be. It’s odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we’re not allowed to go somewhere – the forest’s full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us Prefects, at least.” 

Hermione tried not to dwell on what would prevent students, and perhaps other teachers, from wandering the Third-floor corridors, and listened as Percy briefed the first years and seasoned students on changes and other announcements to the new school year. He stopped at a portrait just outside the door to the tower; inside the portrait housed a large woman in a pink silk dress. 

“Password?” she said.

“Caput Draconis,” said Percy, stepping back as the portrait swung open to reveal a round hole in the wall. Everyone scrambled through it, and Hermione found herself awestruck at her new home. In the common room of the Gryffindor Tower. It was a cozy, round room full of armchairs, studying nooks and a grand fireplace just waiting for the winter to come; adorned with muted, red walls and embellished with gold trimmings, the common room was as spacious as it was bewitching. 

The dormitories were at the top of a spiral staircase, with the girl's dormitories in one direction and the boy's dormitories in the other. Each room contained five four-poster beds, hung with deep, red velvet curtains and their trunks already brought up. Most of the students were too full and tired from their travels to stay up; Hermione included, but she found sleep difficult. She was too excited, having to tell herself that if she missed out on sleep she wouldn’t be prepared for her first day of classes in the morning. 

Sleep found her rather easily after that flawless reasoning… 

xXx

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases throughout Hogwarts. 

Hermione was up bright and early; dressed, robed, fed and ready to learn. She walked to her first class alone, hugging a thick stack of textbooks. They were rather heavy, but she had learned a spell or two to help lighten their weight and found that her bag was not as dreadfully heavy as it started out that morning. 

Students of all ages wandered through the halls; a couple of other first years had run by her, either already late or rushing not to be. Hermione shook her head as they brushed by her, barely paying any mind to others around them. She supposed she would have to get used to nearly being trampled from time to time – Unlike her peers, it seemed she had risen with intention and time to spare. Just the way she preferred it. She didn’t rush to her class, but she didn’t dally either. 

She managed to dodge Peeves but found numerous students along her way that weren’t so lucky. While other poltergeists were friendly enough to point most in the right direction, Peeves was a trickster who enjoyed his fun as often as possible, it seemed – and if he knew one was running late, that only egged him on more. Even worse than Peeves, if that were possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. 

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, scraggly dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes. She patrolled the corridors alone. If one were to break a rule in front of her, or put even one toe out of line, she’d whisk off for Filch, who’d appear mere seconds later, wheezing at that. Filch knew all of the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps Ron’s brothers, the twins) and could pop up as unexpectedly as one of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good, swift kick. Hermione just hoped to avoid the creature altogether. 

And then, once she managed to find all of her classes, she was enthralled by just how extensive the lessons themselves were – there was so much more to magic than simply waving a wand and saying a few incantations, much to the chagrin of many of her peers. 

Every Wednesday at midnight they had to study the night skies through their telescopes and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets (and of course Malfoy had to make it a point to the others that constellations were not lost on him one bit). Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a frumpy little witch who went by the name of Professor Sprout; it was a class that taught them how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and what they were used for. Neville had taken quite a liking to Herbology after only the first few classes, often lingering behind to ask Professor Sprout as many questions as he could think of. Hermione often tried to wait for him so they could walk to their next class together, but she was afraid of being late and figured she would catch up with him after their other classes. 

Harry tended to complain that History of Magic was his least favorite class, but Hermione found herself disagreeing completely. She ate up every last bit of information they were fed; it was the only class taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staffroom fire and got up the very next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. According to Harry and Ron, he would drone on about too many names and dates, and Hermione was a little disappointed he got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. When she had raised her hand to correct his mistake, a few of the Slytherins in class laughed and called her a know-it-all. She promptly ignored them and had even scored Gryffindor five points for her quick knowledge. 

Charms was led by a tiny little wizard named Professor Flitwick, who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk and address his students. He preferred roll call at the beginning of his classes – the first time he spoke Harry’s name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Many of the students found him to be a rather clod, old man but Hermione greatly enjoyed his class and teaching methods. 

It was on the third day of classes that Hermione noticed two familiar faces missing from Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall: Harry and Ron. She wasn’t a teacher to cross; strict and clever, she gave the boys a talking-to the moment they sat down in her class – a good ten minutes late. 

As Slytherins often did, they earned a similar stern look from Professor McGonagall upon their disruptive jeers in class. Hermione tried not to pay them any mind; it was usually Draco Malfoy, who often spoke up as if he did not understand, nor care for the word consequences. Hermione would receive similar taunts from him and his friends when she answered a question right. 

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said, redirecting their attention back to the lesson. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Hermione had a great appreciation and even greater respect for McGonagall since her arrival at the Granger’s abode. Hermione felt as though she wanted, and perhaps needed, to impress the elder witch – both in and out of class. 

Their first real lesson was rather easy; for Hermione, at least. After Professor McGonagall had transfigured her desk into a pig and back again, impressing the lot, they were disappointed to learn that they would not be changing furniture into animals for a long time. They took down a lot of informative notes and were each given a match to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione had seemed to master any difference with her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave her a rare smile. 

Hermione returned it with one of her own, beaming proudly despite the scowls and bored expressions of her peers. It was on her way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Hermione found even Neville had chosen to walk with a few of the other boys instead of her. She tried to keep up and once at their DADA class, she wished Professor McGonagall’s class never had to end that day… 

Not alone in her sentiments at least, many students felt Professor Quirrell’s lessons were rather strange. She was surprised the Slytherin students found his lessons to be a joke – they were more enthusiastic to learn about the Dark Arts but often remarked they would rather a more suitable teacher for the job. Hermione couldn’t agree more but kept her thoughts to herself. Last thing she wanted to do was agree with the House of Slytherin on something, anything really. 

His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which older students claimed it was to ward off a vampire he’d met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. The turban he wore, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren’t sure they believed this story. Their doubts stemmed from when Seamus eagerly asked to hear how Quirrell fought off the zombie, and Professor Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather instead. Students who sat closer to him often mentioned an odd smell from his turban, to which Hermione was grateful to be seated farther away than she originally preferred her first day. The Weasley twins insisted he had stuffed it with garlic, so he was protected wherever he went. Whatever the reason, Hermione couldn’t help her relief when DADA let out. 

Hermione was surprised to find that many of her peers were just as new to magic, having come from Muggle families, and not previously having any idea they were witches and wizards, too. Few exceptions were the Slytherins, who constantly reminded others of their magical prowess and pureblood status.

Friday was eventful; Hermione’s morning started off quite the same as the last, breakfast in the Great Hall followed by Double Potions with Professor Snape and a divided classroom of Gryffindors and Slytherins, and one or two Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the mix. 

Potions took place down in the dungeons. It was significantly colder here than up in the main parts of the castle; the dungeons were creepy enough without all of the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the classrooms held there. 

Hermione was seated next to Hannah Abbott, the quiet but friendly Hufflepuff in their year. She didn’t seem to mind Hermione’s presence one bit, actually engaging in small conversation before Professor Snape entered the room, effectively silencing everyone into awe or fear. It was obvious that Professor Snape highly favored the Slytherins, and abominably disliked Gryffindors. Specifically, Harry. 

Like Professor Flitwick, Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and again like Flitwick, paused at Harry’s name. “Ah yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”

Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, laughed amongst themselves as Professor Snape called Harry out. He glanced in their direction, rather expressionless but no different from what must be his normal face but otherwise made no comment on their disruptive behavior. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, meeting Draco’s eyes as he smirked triumphantly at all the bemused Gryffindors. 

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, with a monotonous tone, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses. … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed his little speech; Hermione was practically on the edge of her seat, almost desperate to prove she wasn’t a dunderhead as Snape so endearingly put it. Harry and Ron, and many of the other students exchanged perplexed looks. Meanwhile, Malfoy looked at Professor Snape like he was Merlin himself. 

Snape called on Harry then, and said, “Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione’s hand shot into the air before he was even finished. I know the answer!! Powdered asphodel and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death, she wanted to say. She was all but bursting at the seams in her seat; she had done extensive reading through her Potions textbook before the term; though she had yet to brew one herself, she itched to masterfully brew a perfect potion someday, even if they were simple ones to start. She raised her hand higher the longer Harry watched Professor Snape in silence. 

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry. Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. 

“Fame clearly isn’t everything.” Hermione kept her hand raised, trying to gather Professor Snape’s attention, but he seemed intent on ignoring her. “Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione was practically out of her seat, arm still raised and growing tired by the minute. She could feel her blood rushing but refused to lower it. A bezoar is a stone-like mass extracted from the stomach of goats and used as an antidote to most poisons. Basilisk venom is the most notable exception. … I know the answer, PLEASE!! She was nearly losing her mind at not being able to speak. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all shaking with laughter at the scene before them – thoroughly enjoying Harry’s torturous silence and Hermione’s desperation to answer. 

“I don’t know, sir.” Harry said again, looking embarrassed and deflated. Snape was still paying no mind to Hermione’s now numb hand still raised above her head. She was now using her other arm to hold it up. 

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” He kept going, “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Hermione was practically bouncing on her feet. There is no difference, they are the same plant, also known as Aconite! PLEEEASE!! More laughter from across the classroom broke out.

“It seems the know-it-all will hit the ceiling at this rate!” Crabbe guffawed under his breath, earning a few chuckles from his friends. 

“I don’t know.” Said Harry once more, his voice taking on a firmer tone, “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?” 

She wanted to wrap her hands around Harry’s neck and hug him tight for acknowledging her, but it was short lived when Snape snapped at her to sit down. She dropped into her seat, disappointed, and Snape continued to lecture Harry with the answers to his own questions — all of which Hermione had dutifully tried to answer. 

“Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?” There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment, and Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.” Followed by some groans from the other students. Even the Slytherins remained silent this time. 

Things did not improve for the Gryffindor students as their Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept the room in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to favor. He was telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon.

Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. Hermione watched horrified as her friend was scolded by Snape, before he cleared the mucked up potion with a wave of his wand. 

Neville’s nose began to grow boils all over and Snape ordered Seamus to bring him to the hospital wing. Then Snape rounded on Harry again, taking another point from Gryffindor! 

Hermione was in a rather sour mood by the end of the class as they climbed the steps from the dungeons a short while later. She headed towards the library to get started on all the homework allotted for the weekend. She tried not to dwell on the events from Potions as she went, her thoughts drifting to Neville. They had plans to meet at dinner, she hoped he would be alright by then. 

She was already familiar with the walk, having been to the library every night since the start of classes to get ahead of her schoolwork. She was hardly surprised to be one of the few first years who actually stepped foot in its doors — she fell in love with the shelves as tall as the ceiling, with books upon books that covered each, and the smell of old parchment and dust. Reveling in the quiet atmosphere, which was vastly different from the halls outside, she headed for the table that she now deemed was hers in the back corner of the library. 

It usually sat uninhabited, closest to the windows and hidden from plain sight, but Hermione was abruptly halted (and greatly displeased) to see a familiar white-blond head occupying her table. As if she hadn’t had enough of him in Potions… 

Draco Malfoy was sitting alone — sitting at her table. In her seat to be exact. 

And then he glanced up to meet her scowl, countering it with an uppish smirk that spread across his face. This was certainly turning out to be an ordeal of a day…