Starting at Hogwarts
Her Hogwarts letter arrives before Draco’s.
Lord Malfoy doesn’t give it to her. He simply notifies her that she has been extended a place at the school and that she should remember herself when the time comes.
How could she forget? Ever since the Decennium celebration Lucius has been worse than ever. Forcing her to do favours for those who saw her perform.
At least when she goes to Hogwarts she will be away from him.
She is sitting in her bedroom practising her transfiguration skills when Draco gets his letter. Of course, she doesn’t know that until much later.
By the time he sneaks away from his doting parents, Hermione is sitting on her bed with her journal.
“It finally came!” Draco announces, strutting into her room like he owns it.
She shoves the journal under her pillow and smiles.
“Congratulations,” she says.
Draco climbs onto her bed beside her and passes the letter to her.
It is a kindness he doesn’t realise he is giving her.
She traces a finger over the school seal and then reads the words, replacing his name with hers in her mind.
“Can you believe that in only a couple months we’ll be Hogwarts students?” Draco asks.
She ignores him, still reading.
Draco pops his head in front of her, looking for her undivided attention.
When he doesn’t get it, he does as he has been raised to.
“I wonder where you’ll be placed. I wish you could be a Slytherin with me. Of course, Mudbloods never get placed in Slytherin.”
He’s a git.
She blinks and the words in front of her blur.
Why does he have to do that? Why does he have to use that horrid word?
She hates it. Never used in polite society. Only whispered behind closed doors and at particular dinners.
His father would probably buy him a quidditch team if he heard him.
“Where do you want to be placed?” he asks, leaning towards her so their shoulders are pressed together.
“Somewhere far away from you. A tower hopefully. Ravenclaw perhaps,” she says, even though Ravenclaw would be her very last wish. Severus thought it was where she would end up. During their last lesson he had warned her not to challenge the sorting hat’s decision.
Secretly, she would like to be placed in Slytherin. She felt a strong attraction to the traits Salazar so identified with. Of course, he wouldn’t want her in his own house. He hated muggleborns. Wanted them forced out. Hermione can still remember the shiver that ran up her spine everytime Lucius spoke of the Chamber of Secrets.
“Well you are rather bookish,” Draco sneers, pulling away.
Oh no, she’d upset him.
How ever will he get past this?
“Or maybe I’ll be in Hufflepuff, and I can help you break into the kitchens,” she offers, trying to soften his tantrum.
Draco’s eyes light up and he nods quickly, “Yes, that would be excellent. Crabbe and Goyle haven’t got the patience for something so brilliant.”
She nods along. Even when he is complimenting her, he has to be offending someone else.
Maybe he won’t be placed in Slytherin afterall. He certainly lacks the tact she has come to expect from the snakes she shares a den with.
“Do you think Harry Potter will be on the train?” Draco asks, flipping onto his back.
She folds the letter back up and sets it on her nightstand, copying his movement to stare up at the constellations with him.
“Probably. He’s younger than me and older than you, so he must be in our year,” she says, knowing full well Harry Potter will be on the train.
She’s already been forbidden from speaking to him by Lucius.
“Do you remember when we used to pretend we were the founders? You were a fairly good Rowena Ravenclaw.”
She remembers. Narcissa had blown a gasket when Hermione had borrowed a green diadem and charmed the stones blue. Hermione hadn’t been allowed out of her room for three days.
Meals appeared on her desk. Not even the house elves were permitted to visit.
“I remember that you used to give Salazar Slytherin a french accent.”
Draco laughs and Hermione smiles. As nervous as she is about starting at Hogwarts, she is relieved that Draco will be there. Even if he can’t be himself.
Won’t is more like it.
“Draco,” she turns her head to look at him and he does the same, his grey eyes curious.
“You know it doesn’t matter our houses, we can’t be friends at Hogwarts.”
Hermione had been waiting to have this conversation with him. She knew he would be an obstinate idiot about it.
“What are you talking about? Of course we can be friends,” Draco scoffs as though she is the one who is stupid.
“No, Draco. We can’t. Your father expects a lot of me. And even more of you. I’ve never even met any of your other friends. I’m not like them, or you.”
Draco seems to think about that for a minute.
“I don’t care that you are a mudblood, you are my friend,” Draco says, taking her hand in his own.
Her eyes water and she turns her face away so he can’t see her cry.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” Hermione says, too quietly for it to be believable. What’s worse is that she only grips his hand tighter.
“My father told you to say this, didn’t he?” Draco asks, hurt.
“Your father merely pointed out that they have worked extremely hard to ensure no one who shouldn’t knows that I live here. I happen to agree with him on that particular plan.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
She’s not embarrassed. She’s angry. Resentful.
“I just don’t want to upset your father,” she answers.
“Father doesn’t need to know,” Draco whispers. “I won’t tell him.”
It is a solemn promise. Something that Hermione knows he means.
Except she also knows that when push comes to shove, Draco will tell his father anything if it means his father is proud of him.
“Alright,” Hermione replies, unwilling to let go of the chance to have a friend. To hold onto the only person who has ever made her feel less alone.
“Hermione?”
“Yes, Draco?”
“I think, if it meant we could be in the same house, I’d be a Ravenclaw.”
Hermione’s eyes fill once more from the kindness of his words.
She doesn’t reply, just turns her face back and smiles through the tears.
The first of September comes fast. Even with Draco spending every day talking about how amazing everything is going to be. Hermione can’t quite figure out how she feels. She has started writing to Tom more.
She tucks the journal into her trunk before telling the house elves it is all packed.
While she doesn’t plan on opening the chamber this year, she knows how much she will want to speak with the man who sees her power as a strength.
Narcissa and Lucius are both present at breakfast and Hermione is permitted to join them for the meal.
Lucius uses it as a chance to remind them of the Malfoy standards and the expectations that both children will meet. Or else.
“You will treat your professors with respect and complete all of your course work in excellent fashion. I expect to get positive reports each week from Severus. Any detentions will be met with additional punishments. I expect both of you home for the holiday break.”
“Yes, father,” Draco says dutifully.
Hermione gives Lucius a long stare and pops a strawberry in her mouth.
“Yes, Lucius,” she answers once she has finished chewing.
He sneers, but ignores her. Apparently nothing can upset him on the day his son follows in his footsteps.
“Draco, your mother would like to go through your trunk once more to make sure there is nothing else you would like to bring. I would then like to talk with you about this next great adventure you are embarking on,” Lucius says.
Draco nods and repeats his earlier response. He is practically bouncing out of his chair.
“Hermione, we will speak now and then Pratch will see you off.”
She is far less excited for the day ahead.
As soon as breakfast is over, the pairs go their separate ways.
Hermione is pleased when she realises this will be the last time she has to be in Lucius’s study for four months.
“Sit down,” Lucius orders, sitting in his own leather chair behind the grandiose desk.
Hermione sits in the same seat she always does.
“I trust you spoke with Draco?”
“Yes, Lord Malfoy.”
“Good. Now, as far as your abilities. I expect you to keep them under control. I don’t want anyone knowing what you are capable of. You will continue to meet with Severus once a week to continue your studies. In addition, you will apparate here every other week so that you can continue your duties. Am I understood?”
“I should have known it was too good to be true,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“You will remember yourself, Mudblood. I will not be disrespected in my own home.”
He conjures the switch and sets it on the desk, his hand resting over it.
She should have held her tongue.
“You will not reveal that you live here to anyone. You will not speak to my son unless necessary. And you will not befriend Potter. Understood?”
This time, she is more inclined to nod.
When he stares harder, she responds, “I understand, Lord Malfoy.”
“Good. Let us get this over with so that I can go be with my son.”
Hermione stands, bending and placing her hands on the edge of his desk.
Lucius takes his time standing and coming around the desk.
Then, with militant precision, he lays ten strokes across the backs of her hands.
She counts them out, biting back tears.
“Pratch,” Lucius says when he has finished.
“Yes, my Lord,” Pratch appears and bows beside them.
Hermione stands up and tries to ignore the stinging in her hands.
“Please bring the Mudblood to King’s Cross Station along with her school trunk.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Pratch nods nervously.
Without a goodbye or any kind words, Lucius leaves Hermione standing in his study.
“Are you alright, Miss?” Pratch asks, looking at her shaking hands. They are inflamed, but they aren’t bleeding so she nods.
Pratch disappears and then reappears just as quickly, Hermione’s trunk shrunken and in her hand.
Offering her other hand to Hermione, she smiles, her large eyes glassy.
Hermione had thought she would have a chance to return to her room. Have a moment to say goodbye to the only home she can remember. Maybe tell Rose not to go through her things while she’s gone.
Perhaps it is better this way. The fresh sting of her hatred for Lucius burning bright.
They apparate directly to platform 9&¾ and Hermione is grateful she didn’t eat too much.
The platform is fairly empty, but the train is already there.
“Pratch has put Miss’s things on the train,” the house elf says, grinning up at her.
“Thank you, Pratch.”
Before Hermione can turn and board the train, tiny arms are wrapped around her leg.
“Pratch is going to miss the young Miss,” the elf cries, wiping her eyes on Hermione’s robes.
“You could always visit. Maybe bring a batch of your butterscotch cookies?”
Pratch nods emphatically and Hermione smiles.
“Besides, I will be home next week at the Lord’s request.” Hermione comforts the elf, glancing down the platform. A couple people have already arrived and are having their own tearfilled goodbyes.
Of course, they are hugging their families goodbye, not a house elf.
“The Lord needs me,” Pratch sniffles, pulling back.
Hermione just nods, knowing she won’t wait around to say anything else.
As soon as Pratch disapparates, Hermione finds her way onto the train, making her way to the very last compartment.
She slips her hand into her robes and pulls out the book she had thought to pick up that morning. Sitting down with her back facing the length of the platform, she opens her book and slips away from reality.
It doesn’t last for very long. Maybe half an hour later, there is so much noise on the platform she can’t ignore it.
She turns and sits on the opposite bench, glancing out the window at the gathered crowd. Her gaze immediately falls on the Malfoys. They are standing off to the side, away from the peasantry. Narcissa has her arm around Draco’s shoulder and Lucius scans those around him, ensuring they are receiving enough attention from people he has deemed lesser.
Hermione could hurl.
There were a lot of things that could be said regarding the distance that the Malfoys held her. For once, she could only be glad.
She glances at some of the other families, hugging and kissing goodbye. She watches as two identical boys heave a trunk onto the train and then snicker to one another.
Further down the platform, there are people wearing what can only be described as purely muggle clothes. Hermione quickly glances at the Malfoys, making certain they can’t see her, and then her eyes are glued to the muggles.
They are a lovely family, a short boy with dark hair and two women, one with equally as short hair, and the other with long blonde locks.
The blonde one smiles at the boy who Hermione assumes is her son, looking a bit panicked, but proud nonetheless.
Would her parents have been proud? Would they have smiled as they sent her off to a school they could never visit, a world they could never be a part of?
The other woman reaches into a bag over her shoulder and pulls something out, offering it to the boy.
He smiles and hugs her, and Hermione wonders if anyone has a camera. She’d bet anything that his parents would want to have that moment encapsulated forever.
Looking away, so as not to intrude on their final goodbyes, she looks back to the Malfoys. There will be no hugs exchanged, or tears spilled. As always, Lucius will either ignore his son, or offer him his hand. Narcissa will tighten her grip on his shoulder, only briefly. And Draco will soak it all up, like the last rays of sun on an Autumn day.
She doesn’t want to watch the way they express their love. She hates it. She hates them. Yes, she must remember that.
Her cheek feels wet and she curses at herself. She never cries. She isn’t supposed to.
Standing up, Hermione crosses to the door and pokes her head out, wondering if anyone will bother to come this far.
The hall is fairly empty and she wonders what time it is.
Casting a tempus, she frowns. Five to eleven. They’ll be leaving soon.
Most people have probably already found a car to ride in.
Shutting the door and sitting once more with her back to them, she opens her book and pretends to read. Her mind is too full to absorb anything.