Chapter 1
It is not right. It is not right that Hermione has to leave Harry to go on through the flames alone. She should be at his side. Ron should be at his side. Someone needs to be at his side because Hermione has only known him, properly known him since Halloween and it is already obvious that trouble finds Harry, whatever he is doing but there is not enough potion to go after him and she needs to check on Ron.
She is sprinting before she realises it, does not even stop to think and worry about if the troll is awake, just bolts and there must be some deity on her side because she gets through to Ron just fine. He is not bleeding anymore and she takes that to be a good sign but he is not getting up and she does not know what to do, paces and wrings her hands. She does not know what to do!
*
"But there's no wood!" she cries, wringing her hands together out of anxiety. There is no wood - how is she supposed to light a fire? Hermione does not expect Ron to yell at her so hard it startles her out of her panic.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"
*
She pushes the memory aside, knows she needs to focus on what to do because both Ron and Harry are counting on her now and she needs to prioritise. She knows how to prioritise, she is good at it but she used to think she was good at working under pressure and it was fine with the riddle and Snape in the stands but not with the Troll or the Devil's Snare and Hermione is realising that she does not know much about herself but it is not the time to be thinking about that so she urges her mind on but it is turning back to that awful memory and she does not know why.
'Wood' her mind replays faintly. 'Wood as in the material, Wood as in Oliver Wood, a bizarrely appropriate name for the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and put them together to get the wood of quidditch brooms.'
If minds could sharpen, were magnifying glasses slowly adjusted until the precise angle to focus on some hitherto obscured depiction, hers does. 'Quidditch…'
No. No no no. She refuses, absolutely refuses- Ron's body on the ground, Harry: scared but sure, Neville: trembling but resolute. Hermione is a bookworm. She is a twelve year old girl and she is tired and cold and sore and she really cannot run, maybe she should practice and she is the oldest of them all. Hermione is responsible.
The sun is huge, the sky is blue, the grass is green and Hermione Granger is responsible. Adults have always commented on it, have always praised her for it and Hermione keeps herself tethered with that, even as she clambers awkwardly onto the broom and shrieks as she flies towards Ron. He is stirring by the time she comes back and she has heard not to move injured people but he is only going to hurt himself more if she leaves him here so she helps him on, keeps her hands around his and has her elbows round his waist. He is their navigator, perched on the front of the broom plotting their course, and she is his support, trying desperately not to think about how easy it would be for the bundle of twigs under them to fail and reciting all of the facts she has learnt about brooms - a fair few from Ron and Harry - under her breath and hoping.
Ron is aware enough for her to take the chance of sending him to Madam Pomfrey on his own but she grabs the first prefect she sees by her green tie, ignores her sneer and tells her that if she takes Ron to the Hospital Wing, Hermione will promise not to tattle on her.
"What are you - an ickle firstie? Hey, don't you two hang around Potter? Where is he? He's the Weasley, so you must be the Mu-"
Hermione has run out of patience. She sets the Prefect on fire. Now, the other girl is a Fifth Year Slytherin so in a duel, she would decimate Hermione. This is not a duel and Hermione watches impassively as the Prefect puts the flames out.
"Don't need to be ‘escorted'." Ron grumbles. "But, if someone did help, well, I wouldn’t have to tell McGonagall about the scary Prefect that tried to bully us and took us to the forbidden corridor, would I? I reckon saving us from fire sounds better than being threatened by a firstie, innit?"
The Slytherin seethes but nods very slowly and Hermione nods primly, more at Ron than her, so very proud. She forgets sometimes that Ron is really rather clever - he thrashes everyone else at chess, after all, so he must be but he does not really apply himself as he ought to so it is easy to overlook his strategic mind.
She leaves them, reasonably sure of Ron's safety. "You remember Nevillle?" she asks as she urges herself on towards the owlery, only turning back briefly to see his answering smile. He will be just fine.
Getting to the owlery takes far too long. People are staring, must be staring at this dishevelled first year with vines and feathers tangled in her already bushy hair, chest heaving and lungs burning as she urges herself on. Hermione needs to get there. 'For Harry.' she chants to herself and ingores the voices of the Professors calling after her to remind her "No running in the corridors!" and breathes out a quick "Sorry!" to all the bodies she collides with, all the while knowing that she is not moving fast enough.
"Granger!" Snape snaps after she nearly collides with him. "No running in the corridors. Detention!"
'Detention?' Hermione cannot get detention.
*
Smuggling a dragon, a creature that breathes fire out of the school, in the middle of the night when they should be in bed is not Hermione's idea of a good time but she wants to protect Hagrid and he lives in a wooden hut - honestly, the half-giant has no sense!
Neither does she clearly because they get caught and drag poor Neville along and lose so many points and get detention and 'everyone's going to hate me now and I can't breathe' and then they get split up and Harry sees what might be Voldemort and it is terrifying.
*
"Granger!"
"Yes sir." she agrees then flees before he can say anything else. He is just another obstacle in her way. He shouts something she cannot hear over the pounding of her heart and her desperate pants but... It is odd. Something is odd. 'Snape...' Harry and Ron were so sure it was him, she muses, and he did curse Harry's broom. Taking inspiration from Seamus, she set him on fire. And yet, he is here.
He is here. So, logically, either he has done something to Harry and is now acting like nothing happened while her first friend bleeds to death or… or, he is innocent, which means it was someone else. And if it were someone else, who? Hermione growls, frustrated that her mind does not seem to work. That is something she can usually rely on. Until Hogwarts, she would have used always.
She is still growling by the time she gets to the Owlery and has to hurriedly stomp it down to beg an elder Gryffindor for some parchment and a quill. "Quickly, please." she instructs the owl. It is still strange to her that they understand but it does not even take the time to nip her finger, launches instantly. Clearly it must. She lingers there briefly, watches it fade into a speck in the distance before hurrying to the Hospital Wing.
Another detention is the last thing she wants so she walks as fast as she can get away with. Hermione has already broken so many rules - she must be in so much trouble but she cannot be expelled. She needs to be here!
Ron is awake when she gets there and he stares at her weirdly when she comes to sit by his bedside.
"What?" she asks defensively when the staring gets too much, fraying her already shredded nerves further.
"'What?'" Ron parrots incredulously. "'Mione, you threatened a Prefect. A Slytherin Fifth Year Prefect."
"Keep your voice down." she hisses, looking around to make sure no one is too close. "So did you."
"Yeah to help you out!" Ron cries, tossing his hands up in the air. "You have to be careful." He looks at her earnestly, visibly concerned but Hermione is not looking at him, too busy trying to count to ten and calm her temper. "You can’t go round arguing Slytherin Prefects 'Mione! They’re all Purebloods!"
"So what?" she snaps back, barely able to keep her voice down so as not to alert Madam Pomfrey. "Harry gets into fights with Malfoy all the time and you don't say anything to him!" Why is is that Harry and Ron defend each other and never her? Hermione knows that they had a rough start and she thought they were friends but she thinks those two will always choose each other over her. It is fine. She spent the first twelve years of her life without friends, she will manage somehow and then Ron and Harry will be sorry! Or they will not mind at all, will smile and laugh together and make mean comments about her and… oh, what should she do? "What are you saying?"
"I'm not saying anything." Ron protests. "But 'Mione, they're dangerous! They... their families are on the Wizengamot and they'll come after you! It's... it's fine if it's me. I'm... the Weasleys might be 'blood-traitors' but we're still Sacred 28."
It should be calming and sweet but she can barely hear him, body shaking with the familiar violent urge to sock someone in the face or take a swing and keep going. She bites her tongue, calls on the almost ironclad control she has fought so hard to get and stares at the ground.
*
"Remember Hermione," Auntie Radha instructs, "breathe.".
Hermione likes Auntie Radha. She smells of sandalwood and brings her Indian sweets, clucks her tongue when her dentist parents try to discourage her and praises Hermione for her cleverness.
So she bites her tongue and listens, the boiling emotions in her chest still threatening to spill over.
"You breathe differently when you're angry. How do you breathe when you are calm?"
*
She breathes in a great lungful of air and ignores Ron's bewildered face with ease, far too used to it to think much of it. He wears it whenever she brings up something on the obscure side of magical theory or when she starts talking about what the Professors said. Recitation is a learned skill.
"So what if they're dangerous! We went after Vol- You-Know-Who, didn't we?"
Hermione takes satisfaction in Ron's momentary silence but he does not allow her to gloat for long, regroups swiftly. "They're Purebloods 'Mione."
It is enough for him. It would be enough for any child raised in a magical household but Hermione was not. Hermione was raised by her adoring, middle-class dentist parents who knew nothing concrete about magic until she got a letter delivered by an owl and a subsequent visit from Minerva McGonagall.
"And?" she cries. "I suppose you're going to tell me that they're always right, being so much better than me naturally? That my place is under them? Oh hail Ron Weasley, he might be from a blood-traitor family but at least he's not the son of filthy Muggles!"
"Don't talk about my family!" Ron reflexively snaps, "At least we're not-".
"Dumb, filthy animals, little better than barnyard animals?" Hermione sneers. "I should have expected this from you-"
"At least we're not Death Eaters!" He protests and then her words catch up to him. "Oi, what's that supposed to mean?"
She is too committed to back out now. "Who nearly got me mauled by a troll?"
"Who saved your life?"
"I saved yours too!"
"After I reminded you that you're a witch!"
They are face to face now, take a moment to evaluate each other. Ron's face is flushed, the angry red hard to ignore. Hermione's hands are balled into tight fists, resting tensely by her sides.
"That's a good fist." he comments, awkwardly. "Could land a decent punch with that. Who taught you?"
Hermione bites back a retort, decides to accept the olive branch. Her voice is colder than she means it to be when she responds, "Experience.".
Ron's eyebrows shoot up but before he can say anything, Madam Pomfrey bustles past.
"Back in bed, Mr Weasley. Now!"
"Miss Granger, I'll thank you to stop exciting my patient. Off with you!"
Hermione blinks, far too exhausted to properly understand what is being said. Madam Pomfrey clucks her tongue, takes a closer look at her, sees the faint bruise around her throat from the Devil's snare and sighs.
"Should I expect Mr Potter soon as well?"
Hermione accepts the hospital gown with a grateful nod and begins to pull the neighbouring bed's curtain shut to change. "That might be prudent." If there is an answer, she does not hear it and by the time her curtain is once again open, there is no sign of Madam Pomfrey.
She nearly drifts off then and there, stumbles her way back into bed blearily, blinks and nearly breaks Ron's nose, head jerking up suddenly in response to his unexpected proximity. Hermione stifles the urge to lash out with an arm or leg but he does not miss her twitches, just grins.
She becomes dimly aware that the figure is probably Fred which means… George is indeed on her other side, a smirk fixed on his face. Instantly, Hermione begins to feel very uncomfortable. The twins are… the twins are the Twins and they are mischief makers and she cannot, is not allowed to, like them. Also, they remind her far too much of Them and she… she cannot.
Preemptively, she tastes the familiar tang of blood in her mouth. Hermione almost dares to smile up at them - usually it was enough to make quite a few of Them back off but there is no blood in her mouth and no red on her pristine white teeth and they are Ron's brothers.
They are Ron's brothers and she let Ron get hurt. Hermione is supposed to be the responsible one, the good influence. "What do you want?" she asks defiantly, hoping that voice is even. Maybe she can blame it on her tiredness if it wavers. At least if something does happen, Madam Pomfrey will fix it. Hopefully. The twins are creative…
She does not like creative people.
"Oooh would you look at that Freddie? The ickle firstie’s got some bite…"
Trying desperately to regain some veneer of control, it has been a very, very long day, Hermione primly sniffs. "Isn't it after curfew?" she asks pointedly. "You should be in bed, shouldn't you?"
"Ah but Miss Granger - Hermione, you don't mind do you? - you're forgetting something."
She does not respond, even as her hands begin to tremble and her breaths become shorter. The precipice is not far but for now, she is in control. She must be. She cannot risk it.
"Our little brother is in that bed right there. And we don't know where the other one is but he’s in trouble, isn’t he?"
Hermione stares blankly ahead and clenches her fists, knows that she cannot let herself look at them properly. They cannot be the focus of her gaze and whatever they do, she should not react. She cannot.
"So what is going on?" the twins hiss simultaneously.
Her heart is in her throat and she swallows around it, vainly trying to assume the role of a swot with no idea of the danger she is in. "I'm sorry," she says, sounding like she means it, "but I'm not going to disclose anything without prior permission. Ron will tell you when he wakes up.".
They move even closer, crowding her into the bed, looming above and she digs her nails into the mattress. Hermione cannot help it, squeaks.
"Now, now little mouse." the twin on the left admonishes. "That's not what a lion sounds like. Let us demonstrate." She flinches in response, her whole body giving a little shudder and when they lean even farther in, although she does not understand how that is possible, she is ready.
Hermione rolls out of bed to the side, bodily slamming in the twin that was on her right. Only her foot is tangled in the covers so she uses the brief, stunned pause to untangle herself. One twin has already been punched in the stomach and she's nearly kicked the other in the knee before she composes herself again. The weird calm of fighting fades and she finds herself panicking once more.
The fact of the matter is that Hermione Granger, the one at Hogwarts anyway, cannot afford to get detention. She cannot afford to fight. She cannot afford to be in trouble. Any sort of trouble. And she has just made an enemy of the Weasley Twins.
Hermione does the only thing she can think to do - cry. A hand quickly covers her mouth and one wraps around her waist. Instinctively, she flails, panicking and there is a muffled grunt but the hand does not let go so she tries to drop her weight, to use her elbows, to free an arm enough that she can use her nails.
Something must work because she is released and there is no one too close anymore though they're hovering on the periphery and she is panting but at least there is no one pressing her down, constricting her. Hermione is no longer suffocating.
There is another problem though, namely the matching bewildered looks on the Twins' faces. She watches expectantly as they fade to anger and tries to ground herself.
She is not winning this one.
"Don't touch me!" she hisses. "Or… or I'll call for Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione could do it before they got to her, she knows how to scream loud enough. It is easy enough to attract attention. What is hard is escaping it. She has done a poor job of it today. Not only does she have detention, she left Harry to his fate, Stunned quiet Neville, said too many things to Ron and now she is squaring off with the Weasley twins. This day cannot possibly become worse.
Both twins step closer and Hermione tries not to flinch, she really does and she should know better by now. So long away has dulled her instincts. Instead of stepping back at their advance as she wishes to, Hermione steps forward, face resolute. If she wants to stand even a chance here after how badly she just messed up, she needs to be seen as their equal.
There is just enough space between them for Hermione to try a kick to the shin though that would only work on twin. Could she follow it up with a left hook? She tried to get one's knee earlier so maybe the stomach again? Too repetitive? Not if she is fast enough… the question is, is she? Distraction first?
"I'm not a snitch." Hermione proudly announces, sticking her nose up in the air. A perfect target, so freely gifted that she wonders if the Twins will realise it is a Trojan horse. "Ron will tell you when he gets up."
They stare impassively back at her. Well, if they are not going to be subtle about it… Hermione rolls her sleeves up and carefully tucks her nightgown into the waistband of her shorts without taking her eyes of them. She forgets about the big scar on her knee, about the flab of her arms and the smaller scars dotted liberally over her limbs. Even if it were not for Them, Hermione is clumsy enough on her own. She knows she is not particularly intimidating, knows she is so close to falling asleep that if she tripped and hit her head right now, she would not be surprised.
"Oh, lookie Georgie!" one Twin mocks. "She's getting ready for a fight! I'm trembling, how will I ever recover? The Hermione Granger!" He turns to her then, sharp eyes boring into hers, "How did you get that ugly scar, mousey? Did you get in a trap-"
"I got pushed down the stairs." Hermione says flatly. "I walked back up them to the nurse's office. It made it worse."
No matter what her parents say, Hermione knows it did not hurt then. It did throb a little when she went up the stairs but it only hurt when they had to take her to hospital. It was very confusing, although she did lose quite a bit of blood so that was to be expected. Hermione remembers the blood rolling down. She remembers pushing down her grey socks so they would not be stained. It was before P.E. which was better than after and she was wearing shorts and plimsolls. There was a lot of blood, she remembers that most.
One of the Twins snorts. He is about to make a cutting remark but then Ron is up and in front of Hermione and he is an absolute idiot, why is he out of bed? and when did he get there and how? She was supposed to paying attention so when did he- ah. Ron is… Ron is a safe person. Like Mum and Dad. Like Auntie Radha. When did Ron become a safe person? Why is her vision so blurry? Hermione shakes herself, her gaze clear for only a split second before wavering.
Hermione tugs on the back of Ron's gown. "Bed." She yawns twice before she can get the whole word out. He ignores her.
"Back off!" he orders his brothers, shoving them both. They both hiss in pain. Ron glares at them as he pulls away their shirts and then is forced to blink, taken aback by the fresh bruises he notices. They are an angry red-purple. His hands drop to his sides. Hermione sways a little, trying to keep her eyes open. Not safe. Ron is safe. Twins are not. She is so tired… no, she has to stay awake, she has to…
"Hermione?" Ron asks. His voice is weird but she is too floaty to really process that.
"Hmm.."
"Did you do that?"
Hermione ignores his question. She thinks she heard him say something but she does not… what did he say? She sways again.
"Bed…" she sighs. "Sleep…"
"Hermione!"
She feels woozy again, just like she did when she made it to the nurse's office. The nurse had her sit down so Hermione heads for her bed, barely noticing all the eyes on her.
"Not safe." She tells Ron, gesturing vaguely towards the Twins. And him. "You safe. Sleep." Hermione yawns once again and with little presence of mind she has left she brings her hands up to her neck and wraps her fingers around her throat, pointing at the Twins. Then her grip slackens and the back of her head grazes against her pillow and then and then there is nothing more