Not Slytherin, eh?

Hermione

Unable to contain her excitement, and let’s be honest anxiety, about her first day of classes, Hermione found herself in the Slytherin common room just as the sun was rising; lighting up the lake to an eerie green from the black it was the night before. Settling herself in the comfiest chair she opens A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration and begins reading the first few chapters again to prepare for their class that morning. To say she was fascinated was an understatement, and to say she wasn’t a little overwhelmed by it all would be a lie.

She still remembers the day Professor McGonagall showed up on their doorstep, insisting to talk to her parents about her. Hermione had always been considered odd for her “unusual” study habits and love of reading, but the strange things that kept happening around her made her an even bigger target for her classmates’ taunts and remarks. When professor McGonagall explained she was a witch, so many things suddenly made sense. She wasn’t odd or crazy, she just wasn’t with others like her.

Her parents were hesitant at first – sending her off to a boarding school in Scotland would be a lot for any parent to consider let alone it being a magical boarding school in Scotland. But Hermione begged and pleaded to go; a fresh start, people like her, a chance to learn so many new things – it was all she ever dreamed about. Not even 24 hours at Hogwarts and those dreams were already crashing down.

Apparently being from the non-magical world made her an outsider here as well; a fact her new roommates did not hesitate to share as soon as they made it to their rooms last night. This was made even clearer when the blond first year walked into the common room, Hermione thought she remembered his name was Malfoy, and sneered at her when she looked his way. Flooded with embarrassment, Hermione returned to her book – her go to response in these cases – and tried not to cry. They’re just jealous her parents often reminded her on the days she came home from school with tears in her eyes, though Hermione stopped believing that quite a while ago.

Too magical for the regular world, but too regular for the magical world. Such a cruel predicament for an eleven-year-old. Well, almost twelve, she reminded herself.

::: | ~ | :::

Hermione had wanted to wait for Harry and Ron to walk to Transfiguration together, but she also refused to be late on her first day, and they seemed to be taking their time in their room. Checking the ornate clock on the fireplace mantle informed her she only had 30 minutes and she wanted to at least grab some breakfast first. Closing her book and stuffing it into her bag, she headed for the Great Hall alone.

Staring at the Slytherin table filled with various groups of students talking animatedly with each other, Hermione regrets her decision not to wait a bit longer. The end of the table is fairly empty, just a small group of older students all hunched together over something, speaking in hushed tones several seats down. When they all look in her direction as she approaches, she quickly changes her mind about sitting nearby, just grabbing an apple from a bowl before heading right back out the way she came in.

Even with her knowledge from Hogwarts, A History it still took her a bit to find the right classroom – the stairs did like to move without much rhyme or reason it seemed – but Hermione was the first person to arrive. Disposing her now finished apple core in the trash bin, she headed to one of the front tables. After setting up her parchment and quill she opened her transfiguration book back up to where she’d left off and kept reading.

The other Slytherin first years started filing in about five minutes later all taking seats in the back two rows, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. Hermione kept her eyes in her book not wanting to turn around and discover it was directed at her. A couple minutes before the start of class she was still the only person seated in the first row and she furrowed her brow realizing she may have accidentally singled herself out, but Harry and Ron came rushing into the door a few moments later mumbling something about Filch. Neither one of them sat next to her, but they took the two empty seats at the other front table. Millicent Bulstrode stomped through the door last, and Hermione sighed towards the last empty chair just to her right.

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall stated as she approached her desk from the side office. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”

Her desk then squealed as she changed it into a pig and back again. Hermione’s eyes lit up ready to get started. Professor McGonagall explained they were quite a way away from performing that type of spell and set them to begin copying the notes from the blackboard, referencing several sections from their textbook. Hermione scribbled them down quickly determined not to miss a word.

Like Ron had said, they were then each given a match to turn into a needle. She glanced over to smile at him since he had been correct, but he just had a weird look on his face – she couldn’t tell if he was angry or terrified. Maybe both, maybe neither. Harry just looked confused as he stared down at his match. She turned back to her match and started reciting the spell Professor McGonagall had just detailed. If she could figure it out, she’d be able to help Harry and Ron too.

As the class neared the end, McGonagall made her way around to each of the tables to check their progress.

“I believe you’ve gotten a bit of a shine to your match Mr. Malfoy. A great start indeed.” Hermione turned to see a huge smirk on Draco Malfoy’s face as McGonagall was walking away from his desk. Her lips twitched up as she turned back and admired her own match. As McGonagall reached the front she stopped in front of Hermione’s desk with a small gasp.

“Exceptional work Miss Granger,” she exclaimed holding up the silvery and pointy match that Hermione had been working on to show off to the class. Professor McGonagall smiled down at her (something she had the feeling didn’t happen often) and a smile spread across her lips as well. There was a scoff from behind her and when she glanced over her shoulder Malfoy was glaring daggers at her. Turning back around she caught Harry grimacing at her and Ron’s narrowed eyes. The smile faded quickly.

Ron

It had been a few days, but Ron was still orienting himself to the fact that not only was he not waking up in his bed at home, but that he was actually in the Slytherin dormitory. When he finally pulled himself together and got out of bed, he found Harry sitting by his trunk in a sort of daze like he was just as confused about the fact he was here. Ron cleared his throat and they both snapped out of it, rushing to put on their robes and grab their books for class. Neither of them was interested in running late again.

Their nightmare of a morning on the first day had been bad enough. After a very unhelpful tip from a Ravenclaw prefect (which left them unknowingly trying to pry open the door to the off-limits third floor corridor), a heated back and forth with the jumped-up caretaker, Filch (who kept threatening to lock them in the dungeons), and a lucky rescue from Professor Quirrell (which came with more precise directions to their transfiguration classroom), Ron and Harry had finally found their way. The control he had had on his anger wearing thin as they walked into the classroom; realizing they were pretty much the last ones there thinned that control a little further.

After that, both he and Harry had made an effort to manage their time better in the mornings. Especially as they were still learning how to get around Hogwarts. With only a vague idea of the castle layout and the quick realization that it clearly changed, finding the way around was exceedingly difficult. Ron’s spatial intelligence was quite high, but even he was starting to recognize that a map would be extremely helpful right about now – maybe he would start working on one during his downtime.

Walking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which smelled overwhelmingly of garlic for some reason, Ron was pleased to find there were still plenty of seats left open. Harry, however, started to make a beeline towards the table Hermione was seated at. Ron stifled his groan and followed despite not wanting to sit nearby the muggle-born again. He had already had to endure her overenthusiasm during the dreadfully boring History of Magic class and had somehow been roped into her heated argument with another Ravenclaw during Herbology. Ron had been looking forward to DADA and he didn’t want that tainted with the ramblings and criticism that often came from Hermione during classes; but Harry always seemed determined to include her whenever she was around – the three of them were the outcasts of the Slytherin first years after all.

Ron may have been eleven, but he wasn’t completely stupid. Logically, he knew part of his frustration with Hermione had been jealousy. After years of being compared to his perfect older brothers, Ron had hoped he’d be able to stand out some by having a bit of a leg up in comparison to those not raised in the wizarding world, but Hermione always seemed to have the answer – and always wanted to make sure that everybody knew that. His only source of comfort was the fact that she was ahead of everyone, including all the other rich Pure-Bloods in his class (except maybe Malfoy unfortunately, that git could really use an arse kicking).

The moment Professor Quirrell began though, Ron realized it didn’t matter where he sat – this class was going to be a joke. Stuttering and terrified, the professor introduced himself to the room and Ron couldn’t even be mad when Malfoy scoffed, seeing as he was about to do so himself. Ron thought they might get some interesting stories though when Quirrell mentioned his turban had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of some troublesome zombies. But when Hermione enthusiastically asked him how he had done so (okay, maybe she wasn’t all that bad), Quirrell went pink and started blabbering on about the weather. Really? The Weather? Realizing he wasn’t going to actually learn anything of importance, Ron pulled out a parchment and quill and started laying the groundwork for his map of the castle.

::: | ~ | :::

Having zoned out, it took Ron a moment to realize the class had ended and started packing up his things, careful not to smudge the fresh lines of the dungeon corridors he’d just finished penning to his parchment. As he, Harry, and Hermione headed into the hallway, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Oi, Fred! Look who it is – little ickle Ronniekins,” his brother hollered out.

“What do you want, George?” Ron asked, turning around to face his twin brothers waiting outside the DADA classroom with a group of 3^rd year Gryffindors.

“Can’t we check in on our snake of a little brother?” Fred replied in a teasing tone. “How’re you holding up against the vipers ickle Ronnie?”

Ron could feel his cheeks heating at the continued use of the asinine nickname his mother had called him when he was three.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you very much,” Ron huffed out, turning on his heel to leave.

The twins sniggered behind him, and he caught the words, “sure he is” being passed between them. Before he knew it, Ron had his wand out and aimed towards one of his brothers as he maneuvered his way to slam into the other one.

“Looks like they taught you how to bite, little Ronnie,” Fred remarked, eyes drifting to the tip of Ron’s wand inches from his throat; a smile still plastered on his face though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s not worth it, Ron,” Hermione chimed in behind him. He was pleased, however, to see her wand was out and loosely pointed in the twins’ direction as well.

“Listen to your girlfriend,” George chimed next, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Ron gave him one last shove as he pushed away from him.

“She’s not –” Quirrell opened the door to the classroom, dispelling the tension still lingering in the air.

“Is… is th-there a prob-problem here, boys?” he stuttered out.

“No problem at all professor, just saying hi to my brothers,” Ron responded.

“Exactly,” Fred and George responded simultaneously, their signature grins back on display. Harry grabbed Ron’s elbow and steered him down the corridor; the three first years picking up their pace a bit to make it to their next class on time. Ron’s mind swirling with dark thoughts of the horrors he’d love to inflict upon his brothers if he could.

Harry

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. The fact that Ron had started to write down the correct routes in a small notebook he now brought with him everywhere was most likely to thank for this small miracle. Those bloody moving staircases were a nightmare to deal with – and they had learned the day before, some of them even had trick stairs they had to watch out for as well. Ron made sure to mark these anomalies down after Harry’s leg dropped through one on the way to Charms.

“What have we got today?” Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.

“Double Potions with the Gryffindors,” said Ron.

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him quite a shock the other morning when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners and dropping letters and packages into their laps.

Hedwig hadn’t brought Harry anything so far – a fact that Malfoy seemed to have noticed as he held up a package of sweets a few seats down loudly boasting about what he was sent from his parents today. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the school owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry’s plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Ron’s quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson had turned out to be the worst thing to happen to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the lesson, it was clear he had been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Harry – he hated him.

Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and like their Charms Professor had, he paused when he got to Harry’s name. But unlike Flitwick, it didn’t seem to be out of admiration.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly. “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”

Harry caught Draco Malfoy and the other Slytherin boys all sniggering behind their hands at the next table over. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he began. He spoke in barely more that a whisper, 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 of a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead. Neville – a Gryffindor who opted to sit Harry, Ron, and Hermione over the other Slytherin girls after the remaining five Gryffindors took a full table to themselves – looked as though he were on the verge of fainting.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione’s hand shot into the air.

“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.

“Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything.”

He ignored Hermione’s hand.

“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn’t have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look towards Draco and the other boys who appeared to be shaking with laughter.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?”

Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into Snape’s cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys’, but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand.

“What’s the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

At this Hermione nearly stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling, this eagerness even taking Harry back for a moment.

“I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

The Slytherin boys all chuckled again, but this time Harry couldn’t be sure if it was at him or with him. Ron gave him a quick wink. Snape, however, was not pleased.

“Sit down,” he snapped at Hermione. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t all of you copying that down?”

There was a sudden rummaging of quills and parchment. Snape then flicked his wand towards the blackboard to reveal instructions for a simple potion to cure boils and set them to work. He swept around in his long, black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect was 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 his cauldron into a twisted blob, and the 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, drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”

Neville whimpered as the boils started to pop up across his nose.

“Take him to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Hermione, who had been seated closest to Neville. Hermione glanced at her own cauldron with a frustrated look. Harry was sure she didn’t want to leave but wasn’t one to ignore direct instructions from a professor. As Hermione led Neville out the door, Snape bellowed after them, “and that’s a point from Gryffindor for not following directions, Longbottom.”

Snape’s glare was then directed at Harry, looking as though he was going to continue his shouting. But Snape just walked away, back toward Malfoy so he could continue to admire his accomplishment.

::: | ~ | :::

Harry had invited Ron to join him at Hagrid’s and as three o’clock approached they headed towards the small hut on the grounds near the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked he they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying “Back, Fang – back.”

Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

“Hang on,” he said. “Back, Fang.”

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

“Make yerselves at home,” said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

“This is Ron,” Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

“Another Weasley, eh?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron’s freckles. Ron’s face instantly transformed to hold a trace of disgust at those words, which Hagrid either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. “Spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest. You seem to be causin’ quite the stir yerself being sorted in’ta Slytherin and all.” At that Ron looked less dour and lit up at that remark. “Hope ya both ha’ been doin’ alright accommodating,” continued Hagrid, a worried tone creeping into his voice.

Ron and Harry both nodded their assents and reached for a rock cake. This may have been a mistake as the rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but the boys pretended to be enjoying them as they delved into stories about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.”

“An’ as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I’d like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D’yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can’t get rid of her – Filch probably puts her up to it.”

Harry told Hagrid about Snape’s lesson. Hagrid told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape hardly liked any of the student, even if they are in his house.

“But he seemed to really hate me.”

“Rubbish!” said Hagrid. “Why would he?”

Yet Harry couldn’t help thinking that Hagrid didn’t quite meet his eyes when he said that.

“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot – great with animals.”

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron reluctantly told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark Wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date.

“Hagrid!” exclaimed Harry, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn’t meet Harry’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Hary and Ron walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he’d had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn’t want to tell Harry?