*Hermione*
The thick wool of warm, fresh pleats played at my thighs as I walked through the chilly August air towards Hagrid's hut. Hogwarts was awash with the crisp ruby, glowing gold, and hazy yellows of my favorite season, and I reveled in the satisfactory squelch of the gooey mud just before Hagrid's door. Harry and Ronald were already there, having gotten out of Herbology early due to a "mishap with the Mandrakes" (of course, I knew it was utter rubbish; Ronald had stuck a Dungbomb into the dirt while Madame Pomfrey was attending to poor Neville, passed out on the cold tile floor of the greenhouse, and the whole pot had spewed chunks of terra cotta every which way); Madame Pomfrey flew past me in a rush, Neville's clumsy feet struggling to keep up with her as they carried the shrieking Mandrakes into the adjacent greenhouse.
I allowed my lips to turn up into a grin and raised the soft lambskin glove to Hagrid's doorknob. The tiny hut was frosted with a twinkling ice that hung on the windowsills like neckties and played about the stairs like crystalline death traps. My black trainers were no match for ice, and I quickly sidestepped the patches while pushing the door open softly, immediately perking my ears up to Ronald's banter: "…And then Harry, Harry, my best mate! Tossed in another Dungbomb towards Shay" (I assumed he was talking about Finnigan, but Ronald had some rather odd pet names for his bunkmates) "and boom! His face!" Ronald fell into a fit of erroneous laughter as Harry shook his head; someone finally acknowledging my presence.
"Hello there, Hermione. How was Ancient Runes?" Ah, Harry. Always so polite, he was. His scruff of black hair was growing out a fair bit too long; for a thirteen year old boy, he exuded at least thirty six. His green eyes peeked out like emeralds lost in a cavern amidst black strands of erratic hair, and I couldn't help but sigh.
"Oh, Harry. Why don't you let me shear that mop of hair? You could really use a cut." Harry shrugged, and opened his mouth to speak, but ever-faithful Ronald interrupted, mouth full of Hagrid's famous rock cake (I'm still baffled by the fact that he actually eats them-I once chipped a molar on a rather biscuit-soft one): "Hermione, you know, you should really cut your hair. It's getting unruly; there's probably a family of squirrels in there! I mean, who are you-"Ronald stopped mid-sentence with my Tongue-Tying curse.
"Thank you, Ronald, for your marvelous insights into my cosmetic appearance. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to speak to Professor Lupin about-"
"Hermione, won'tcha stay? I made cakes!" Hagrid held up one his specialties, his frown fading into the thick scruff of his beard as he watched me shake my "unruly" brown curls to cover my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Hagrid. But I simply cannot stay here when the current company seems to think that I'd be better off as a home for squirrels than a conversation. See you in class on Thursday," I sighed, forcing a split smile for Hagrid and a grimace for Harry, who, before I made it out of the door, proceeded to wallop Ronald in the arm.
My eyes filled with silver tears; I stumbled, trainer over trainer, to a boulder within earshot of a large huddle of Slytherins gawking over some item that continued to shroud them in darkness for several minutes, then pop back into sunlight. I despised Slytherins; there was nothing more that I wanted than to concave into a secluded corner of the library and surround myself with books, but at this point, I could hardly see. The rock would have to be a sufficient place to purge myself of the emotional distress I felt towards Ronald.
I was about a mile from Hagrid's hut, and I could see the crop of red hair that was…him. I was just about cornered at this point; the only way back into the castle was to go through Ron and Harry, and I wasn't keen on a stroll through the forest straight ahead. I only had one choice; meander my way through the crowd of Slytherins to what I knew was my favorite little knoll; a cozy spot full of lacewing flies and nargles, as Luna told me.
It was peaceful beyond the snag of the Slytherins, and I needed peace. I pulled the thick sleeve of my button-down uniform across my blood-shot eyes and straightened my burgundy and bronze scarf, positioning it so that it hung exactly in the square of my shoulders. One final sigh and I was headed straight into the clump of snickering Slytherins.
*Draco*
My Peruvian Instant Darkness powder was beginning to filter through my fingers like flickering ashes, and I snatched up the final remnants and stowed them in the small, inky pouch in my book bag. "Aye, Crabbe! Why don't you go stuff your mouth with that whale over there? She's been eying you for a century!" I smirked coolly as Crabbe's mouth hung open, staring at Millicent like a toad eying a large juicy frog.
"What, Malfoy? Duh, did you say something?" His incompetence aggravated me; if only my minions had a little more common sense.
"I swear, Crabbe, you get thicker and thicker with every word you speak. C'mon, Goyle." I shoved Goyle's fat head to face the castle doors, when I caught a thick head of curly brown hair in my peripherals. "Granger, what are you doing here? Can't you see this is an exclusive pureblood queue here? No mudbloods." My eyes flitted up to her deep brown eyes for a fraction of a second, and my heart stumbled in its rhythm. What the hell? It's Granger, for Voldemort's sake!
The cunt procured an apple from her bag and tossed it at my perfectly gelled hair, and I snarled as it whizzed just inches past my left ear. "Damn it, Granger!" I clutched at the pockets of my school robes for my wand, but found it hovering towards the bushy-haired girl's hand.
"Give it here, Granger! I'll speak to my father about your…intolerance for superiority!" I was stumbling over my words with this woman…no one made me do that! I turned up my nose at the filthy mudblood and stretched out my palm for the thin stick of wood that would be my only defense against this genius of a…hell, no! What was I thinking? My proximity to the ugly woman before me brought a swift flow of honey-dipped marigolds and my stomach flipped like a dog getting a treat. Damn this woman…Granger simply smirked and shoved on past me, tossing my gorgeous wand into the thick pudding that Goyle was now gorging on. I plunged my hand into the deep cauldron of hideous brown sludge (how did he eat this rubbish?) and stabbed the wand in the direction of Hermione.
The whispered trickle of her voice carried on the wind, but I heard "Protego" just in time to be knocked back by my own bloody Stupefy curse. I was knocked backwards, my body a statue on the grass, and I sighed internally at the only witch who had successfully (so far) knocked me off my feet.