"Do you really suppose that's appropriate?"
The first time she heard his voice it was through the thick sliding door of a Hogwarts Express compartment. Though muffled it was still somewhat sharp, barely slurred by the lazy drawl in which it'd been delivered.
"This behavior. These words?"
It wasn't her original intention to put her ear to the door, but she was drawn toward the speech, toward the inflection and the overtly done innocence barely covering what she hoped to be an obvious intellect. At her side stood another boy, ordinary and droll, awkward as he grew into his own body and sense of self-with face barely dry from a few shed tears.
He'd lost something, her mind whispered.
She was supposed to help him find it.
She grunted and waved him away while she mouthed 'Just a moment if you would.'
Her curiosity held her captive, for now.
"I think I'd enjoy being friends with the both of you, if I were honest-"
"Harry-"
"-Potter!"
Two voices, just as adolescent as the first and yet lacking the careful refinement of the former whined in affronted desperation. Her lips twitched, she snorted. That was something she didn't miss from primary school.
"Weasley, Malfoy," The voice groaned, "Let me finish?"
There's silence in the compartment for just a moment and during that time she is hard-pressed to hold her breath. The hallways aren't as full as they were but a few moments prior. They would no doubt begin their journey soon and she had yet to find a proper seat. Perhaps… in there?
No, not yet. She had to help the other boy, Longbottom, wasn't it? With his silly frog. What a bother-
But she was helpful, incredibly helpful. She had to show them she had some use here.
The first voice continued-Potter, The Harry Potter, Hermione presumed with excited elation, "You've both said some nasty things, and I've just come from a nasty place. So… I don't want to be friends with nasty people."
The third voice, the one decidedly not 'Weasley', croaked, "I assure you I am not nasty."
Weasley, seemed to be of a different opinion. "Says the boy with the wicked family. Bet you'll be another Slytherin, I do! Nothing but the worst sort of folk come from Slytherin, it's true."
There's another bout of silence while Hermione imaged the 'Slytherin' as red-faced and offended.
"That's the sort of thing I'm talking about, Ronald." Potter divulged, all exasperation and very little patience. "Nothing but the worst sort of folk come from Slytherin? That's a broad generalization."
"But it's true," Ronald was quick to retort, "My Father said so. He said nothing but Death Eaters, each and every one of 'em. All very Dark, like the sort that killed your family. Malfoy here, his father was the worst of 'em. Real trash, I bet, just like all Sly-"
There's a sudden sound of movement in the compartment, a squeal and a sort of wild strained screech of-"How dare you!"
Longbottom, the boy from before, wailed down the hall.
Darnit-
She quickly turns to leave, her mind a whirlwind of curiosity and confusion.
"I'm coming, I'm coming."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The next time she hears his voice is when they are in line to be sorted. It's an overwhelming and rather exciting affair, and she can't keep the thunderous pound of her heart from buzzing about the inside of her head. He's asking a question of some sort, his voice a slight roll of idle curiosity, but his gaze lacks the wonder reflected in her own.
How very peculiar.
She hadn't had a chance to meet the Potter boy in his compartment. Her time had been eaten away by Longbottom and his toad-which, had been thankfully found but the tedium of the search had been… less than pleasant. She had no idea what had happened between them, only that a red-haired boy looked pouty and cowed at his side and oblivious to most of what was being said by his companion.
Rude.
She turned, just slightly, to rattle off a fact in their direction and while the redhead rolled his eyes he took the chance to look toward her with a curious tilt of head and wrinkled nose. The look in his eyes was… off. The boy-Potter, she reminded herself-inspected her more like she was a piece of meat, instead of a potential fountain of knowledge, which she certainly was the latter.
Inwardly, within some recess of her mind, she hoped he found her acceptable. Friendship was a difficult concept for her, she hadn't acquired a collective before the reveal of her magic. Maybe-
"Hermione Granger."
Ah, never mind that. There were other things on her mind than the spiraling green of Potter's gaze or the intensity that dwelled within them.
So, suppressing her shiver she stepped up to the Hat, already determined on the house where she should be placed. This year would be different, she would be brave-
She hoped.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Whispers, they followed her.
Swot, they called her. A know-it-all.
Insufferable.
What was so wrong with that? With wanting to understand? With gathering the needed knowledge necessary for success? Sure, she had a few convenient though ultimately useless facts rattling about her brain but everything else she had ever offered up had been decidedly helpful, right?
Well, certainly no one else within her year was as brilliant as she was, helpful as she was. The teachers could see that, couldn't they? With each wave of her hand she took great care to express an eagerness to please. These people, these witches and wizards, her peers, they could respect that.
Yes?
Yes.
Certainly, if they couldn't respect her, they could at least respect that.
"Granger."
She stopped, books clutched tightly against her chest, her bottom lip pulled between her two front teeth-goodness, if only she could change that aspect of her person-and turned to glance over her shoulder. She had made sure the hall was empty, if only so she could escape the whispers.
"Potter," She croaked, "Malfoy."
The boy was always with him, the one with the blonde hair and the easily summoned sneer. He made her… rather uncomfortable, despite his boyish charm and regal airs. It was the way he looked at her, as if she were...
Well, filthy.
Muddy.
He took no care in hiding his disdain, and Potter- Mr. Potter-did nothing to defend her from it. Why was that, exactly? When she'd been so helpful to him? When she sat next to him at the Gryffindor table and helped him correct his homework and understand the majesty that was Hogwarts itself? He didn't seem to mind her company, and he didn't snort and huff like dear Ronald.
He didn't say much of anything to be clear. He spoke to Longbottom often enough, and seemed to tolerate Ronald, but he didn't… well, he wouldn't hold a conversation with her.
Why was that?
Why…
"I don't know why you insist on talking to that." Malfoy drawled, disdain a constant companion in every word.
"She's my friend, Draco," Harry said, his tone light and innocent, but his eyes were narrowed.
She wasn't certain if this was how one should look at their friend, with the beginnings of twisting shadows and flickering green. But, she was also not the expert on friendships and the books… well, the books weren't a substitute for true practical experience.
"It's only proper to greet her, appropriately." He came closer, all smiles and crinkled eyes that reminded her painfully of something beyond her naive rudimentary comprehension. He seemed older, even though, it should have been her that carried such a powerful commanding presence.
He gently touched her shoulder, but his grip was painful enough to make her wince.
"See you in the common room, Granger."
"Yes," Hermione whispered as she watched them both stalk by, Draco with a disinterested snort and Harry with a smile that bordered between friendly and something predatory. "Likewise, Potter."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It hurt. Merlin, it hurt.
All her hard work, her extensive studying, her attempts at proper social interaction-
Worthless.
Nothing had changed. Whether she attended the school of her origin or the school of her new beginnings, each child was as vicious as the last. She'd thought that, here at least, she'd become something more. That, here, among those with magic, she could be…
What?
Better?
Just… noticed. Just… something, something other than her mind and inability to...properly interact with those her own age. She thought they'd think her clever, that they'd flock to her genius, but they mocked her in the shadows, hissing cruelty, and spewing discontent. She performed, oh did she perform, like a well-trained dog. She danced to the strings of her professors begging for scraps and trying to overshadow-and that was only a portion of what they'd said. But, she'd done it all in the pursuit of friendship. She wanted it to be different, desperately. She wanted to be different… desperately.
Well, she was different. A different sort of intolerable. A bore. A rule-totting insufferable…
What was it Malfoy had said?
Mudblood.
And Potter, Mr. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Boy-Who-Smirks, he'd only given her a pat and laughed-
"He's right, you know. You're are a bit insufferable. Perhaps you should spend less time, bouncing in that seat, and waving your hand, and more time being a bit self-aware? Inquisitive? No need to brag, is all. We know you're smart."
She could barely breath after that, barely think past the statement that swept through her mind with all the malicious intent it had been delivered with. It did no good that Ronald had picked that moment to approach them, after she had turned her back and searched for the strength to control the painful thump of her heart and the rattling squeeze that seemed to pinch her lungs.
"I don't get it," He'd snarled, unaware or most likely uncaring that she was there and could hear him clearly, "Don't you think I'd make a better mate than her, of all people? What is it about Granger that you cling to?"
She froze with tense shoulders, ignoring the pain that strained her muscles and the burn that spread across her cheeks.
"I mean," Ronald continued, no doubt boastful if his tone was any indication, "she can't possibly have any friends beyond you, if what you're doing with her could be called that."
And how dare he, really? After she had helped him with his worthless ability. After she had explained, rather carefully-if not a bit arrogantly-the proper pronunciation of a spell that was rudimentary at best? Why was it that others in their house still flocked to him when her magical prowess had been so much better?
Potter hummed thoughtfully behind her back, but didn't answer, didn't defend her.
She didn't think he would have.
So, she'd fled, as if her running from the issue could make it disappear entirely. Yet, in her experience, life didn't work like that. One's suffering followed them wherever they went. Whether it came from Malfoy, with his dark gaze of grey and the storms of his hatred, or Ronald who could barely appreciate the flick and swish of a properly cast spell, she would always be haunted.
It was rather disheartening, and she felt entirely too foolish, to swept up in the embarrassment that came with… with wanting something so badly, with wanting to be a part of something bigger than herself.
Her fruitless wishes only made her pain all the more unbearable. The heavy ache of her chest made her feel sloppy and overwhelmed. There was nothing for her there, in that tiny stall, where she'd curled into a ball, but her muffled sobs and the fog that swept across her consciousness bringing with it a parade of self-damaging thoughts.
It was ruined, all of it, every piece she'd tried to carefully build. All of it, ruined.
She was ruined.
And… and…
Goodness, what was that smell?
She snuffled noisily, past the dripping snot that leaked from her nose. A stench unlike anything she'd ever experienced before wafted past her, strong enough to make it past her swollen sinuses. She jerked to attention, blinking away an access of tears and trying to clear her blurry sight. Something wasn't right.
No, something was horribly wrong.
She felt weak, exhausted by her emotional burden and her limbs were heavy and awkward as she scrambled to her feet. The ground trembled with the telltale signs of danger and beyond the flimsy safety of her closed stall she could hear the heavy wheezing breath of something entirely inhuman.
Or, just human enough.
A heavy dose of fright claimed her, made her palms slick with sweat and her gaze wide as trembling fingers applied just enough pressure to the door in front of her. Her intention had been to peek between an exposed corner of the door, just enough to catch sight of the terror before her.
What a horrid idea that had been.
Her tight throat, raw from her frantic sobs, was still more than capable of releasing a wretched scream at the sight of greying flesh and a grotesque frame. That was more than enough to bring the massively tall creatures attention to her and, had she been a bit self-aware, she would have found her devolution into hysterics disgusting.
But, there's a difference between learning to be brave and being it.
With a choke strangled sound of terror she jerked backwards, felt the cool slimy press of moist bathroom walls against her back and the awkward dig of the toilet against her hip and thigh as she tried to squeeze behind it.
An… impossible, idiotic feat but instinct screeched at her to hide even as a tiny voice in the back of her head mumbled at the ridiculousness of her half-haphazard plan.
The beast gurgled, or growled, she wasn't certain. She could barely hear past the harsh buzzing between her ears. All she could do was keep her wide, unblinking gaze, upon the creature as it raised the slab of wood it carried with the intent of smashing her.
Well, she thought, you tried.
Just not hard enough.
But a spark of light shot toward it, making it stumble forward and lean heavily over her stall. That was enough to draw another scream past her lips. Yet, it seemed disinterested in her and with a twisting of its lopsided mouth it shambled away from her stall to be drawn toward the source of those sparks of lights.
She remained huddled in place, knees weak and drenched in the sweat generated by her fears. Spots of black danced in her vision as she turned a barely focused gaze beyond the torn asunder door of her stall. There, a blotch of black and blonde did battle with a much larger smudge of grey. There was yelling and the sounds of destruction. The creature smashed a couple sinks and water spewed from broken piping like disrupted geysers.
Malfoy yelled, or so she thought, and Potter seemed awfully calm about it, commanding the obedience of the other boy despite looking drenched and out of place among the spewing water. The troll, on the other hand, only appeared all the more vexed from their combined distraction, undamaged by what must have been relatively harmlessly thrown First Year spells.
It is unbecoming to huddle like a coward-the thought is invasive, sudden, and harsh-get up.
Like a puppet jerked on strings she hobbled to a proper stand. Her wand, once forgotten, now palmed tightly in hand. She sniffled, trembling, cold and weary, confused and horrified, but she moved with barely any conscious thought to thrust out her wand toward the hand of the beast-which is rising rather high with club in hand, no doubt to smash the children attempting to fight it.
"Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione said, with a voice that seemed far too steady compared to the knock of her knees and the toes that curl within wet and ruined dress-shoes. The spell is flung, perfected and sufficient, but not as impactful as her instinctual mind might have thought. It jerked the creature's hand, but its grip is sure, and distracted it turns its gaze to the slab of wood it cannot move nor control.
It twisted around to face her with a snarl, intention clear and rage thick and suppressive. Her magic faltered, her fear returned, but Potter-
Well, he had never been afraid, had he?
His wand points, his lips move, and Hermione isn't sure if he's actually saying anything or not-though her mind would later deny the idea of a speechless incantation. He is a child, just as she is, and doesn't seem all that spectacular in class. Such a feat is an impossibility, basic logic would make that clear. Yet, the impact is there and the club was torn from the grip of the screeching monster only to be raised above it and… dropped.
Though powerful, it isn't particularly fast nor reactive enough to catch what it once held. The sound of meat and crushed bone is loud against the backdrop of heavy breathing and spraying water, and the beast falls to its knees with all the intention of collapsing… on her.
MOVE!
She isn't sure where the thought, or the power in her legs, came from but she lunged out of the stall and rolled away just as the creature-a troll, her mind spews, now performing at full capacity-tumbled forward to collapse upon her former place.
Well then.
She remained on the ground, trembling, her heart a jack rabbit beating on her ribs, her breath coming in great gulps and despite her earlier pain all she can feel is uncontrollable elation. What a… what a rush. The way the magic flowed from her chest to her fingertips, the horrific excitement of near destruction-
No, no, no, none of that is appropriate at all.
She swallowed harshly, keeping back bile and other such nonsense just as the rapid slap of expensive shoes on tile reached her ears. The world is swirling, her vision tilts, and the most she can see is a gaggle of professors-or what she can assume to be professors since they are just a gaggling of colors-before her gaze is aligned with Potter. Just as one of the larger colors began to assault him with questions she can see him… smile.
There's nothing friendly in it.
But her heart swells with warmth anyway.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Granger."
Her tired gaze is reluctant to leave the page it's on, but it's not like she's reading anything very important. She's just exploring a couple of passages in Hogwarts: A History. Mostly, she's just interested in the Sorting Ceremony and how the magic really works for it. She's suspected a couple of… wizards and witches aren't really where they're supposed to be and-
"How can I help you, Potter?" Her voice is steady but inside her heart is a rapidly beating mess.
At his side Malfoy sneered, but there's a new addition to the duo, one pale-faced Longbottom who seemed as frazzled as she felt within. For a split moment, there's an ache added to her nervous anticipation, a vicious wicked compulsion to ask why she isn't the one in that spot.
She narrowed her eyes at her own… intensity and pushed the thought away, back to the far recesses of her mentality, where most of her worrying ideas sat and festered. The Troll Incident had changed very little in their dynamic. Harry still tolerated her presence, even after she'd tried to get closer, and her life had fallen into… a worrying type of normality that consisted of studying alone, and avoidance.
If a near death experience was supposed to make someone feel closer to another, then that was a load of rubbish.
"You've been avoiding me," Harry stated, but it sounds so simple coming from his mouth that she nearly missed the idle crease of his lips in displeasure.
"I…," Her tongue is frozen. Had she been avoiding him?
She took a steadying breath and tried again, "I've been busy. You've been busy. I haven't been avoiding you."
She's a bit unsettled, he'd never been interested, had never sought her out on his own, and Malfoy, well-
"Now the Mudblood has taken to lying along with her various other faults." His tone is one of complete abhorrence as he idly toyed with the end of his green and silver tie. It's enough to stir… something in her. Some… hot crackling sensation that makes the back of her head tingle and her palms itch. Her magic shifts, called unbidden, eager and ready-
She swallowed harshly, "There is nothing muddy about my blood."
But her hiss is ignored.
"You've been avoiding him, Granger, because you owe him a life debt."
Hermione rose from her seat with enough force to push the chair back on its end. If she cared about the collapse of it on the floor or the loud sound it made against what was normally a quiet space, she didn't care. Let the mistress of the library come to her, if she so wished, she would not sit here and be suspect to nonsense-
"A what now?" She snarled, lips turned up in a brief flash of the utter irritation that curled through her belly.
Longbottom stepped forward quickly then, placing himself between Hermione and the boy that had, effectively, ruined the bulk of her year, "A life debt, a bond formed between two parties when one's… life is saved."
It was only Longbottom's pleading gaze that gave her pause, "And you… believe I have been running from this obligation?''
She'd been unaware, ignorant to this piece of information-
"This is what I'm talking about, Potter," Draco drawled, "They come here, with very little sense and even less information on our traditions and priorities and just about spit on everything a proper wizard holds dear."
Her mouth flapped open with indignation. If she was not aware of some backwards custom-something as medieval as a life debt-than she couldn't possibly be blamed for that. She had not grown up a bloody witch, she hadn't-
"Then, this is a good time to learn a very important lesson," Harry offered cheerfully, "After 'The Incident'-" Here Harry paused to physically add quotation marks to his statement with two curled fingers, "It is expected that a witch or wizard will come to their savior and accept their life debt. I'll forgive your ignorance, Granger. It's not something someone of your status would really understand and no one is forcing you to learn."
The comment was vicious in its own right, a blanket statement of her inadequacy, blood and all. She chewed her bottom lip but there was no threat of tears, not this time. Instead she felt… off, numb perhaps? In another body. Ashamed.
"Stop," She whispered, defeated. "What do I need to do?"
To make this right, to stop these looks.
Longbottom gave her a nervous smile and slowly, he lifted his hand to place against her arm, as if he understood what she was going through. But he couldn't, not really, he wasn't trapped like this, by his blood, by his faults… not in the manner she was.
Draco only sneered, but Harry's smile was brilliant, if lacking any kindness.
"Give me your hand." He chirped.
So she did.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The rest of her year was unexciting. Potter became rather busy toward the end of it, what with Quidditch practice-how he'd managed that, she wasn't sure. Their first flying lesson had been an uneventful mess and due to her own nervousness about flying on a piece of wood she hadn't paid much attention to Potter when he'd gotten into an altercation with Ronald a few classes later-and anything else he had up his sleeve. With his business came a lack of Malfoy to bully her-though others had picked up the slack in his stead.
"Well, I'm surprised you're back."
"Me too," Granger whispered under her breath, her gaze and excitement sullied… tarnished by the reality of her existence, "What do you want, Parkinson?"
"There isn't much I could want, from someone like you," She snorted, a very unlady-like action for a supposedly superior pure-blood, "Just came to express my… surprise, is all."
Then, with a smile that made her look all the more wicked she upturned her nose-now that was very Slytherin, wasn't it?-and shut the door to her compartment.
Yes, last year had been very unexciting near the end of it. Almost calming once she'd… understood what to expect but this year would no doubt be just as… odd.
Unfulfilling. Painful.
Best to just… stick to learning. She only had six more years to go, after all.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Hello there."
Hermione jerked in her seat, the warmth of the body pressed next to her sudden and abnormal. People didn't touch her, not even those in her own house seemed to go out of their way to be in her presence. Her roommates talked to her, sometimes, but it was brief and awkward and all together unpleasant. Especially since Lavender Brown could barely talk about much beyond boys and wizarding fashion.
So, who was this girl with her dreamy smile Ravenclaw colors?
"It's a bit unfortunate, I thought I felt a Wrackspurt and then I saw you here… alone."
Always alone.
"Shouldn't you be sitting with your own house?" Hermione snapped, her tone harsh beneath her breath before she frowned, "And… what is a Wrackspurt, exactly?"
"Ah, well now-"
"Lovegood, what's this? Spending time with the muck? You certain that's a good idea?"
Malfoy.
With hunched shoulders and a gentle release of breath Hermione reached out for her bag. Not even lunch was sacred anymore and without Potter there to run interference there was no telling what, exactly, might spew from Malfoy's lips. The fact that the few remaining Gryffindors in the space were scattered and pointedly not paying her much attention didn't help anything at all.
Not even Ronald, who she was certain was late for some sort of class, could provide her any worth in the end.
"There's gold in the dirt, a great amount of it, actually." Luna stood, her eyes closed and her face serene, "He's making an investment. It's a brilliant idea."
Her look was mirrored in Malfoy's own-one of blank bewilderment-before Luna gracefully twisted away with an idle wave over shoulder and hobbled back toward a red-haired Gryffindor-a new girl, a Weasley, Hermione reminded herself.
"What a load of rubbish," Malfoy mumbled.
For once, she had to agree.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"Are you scared, Mudblood? Frightened?"
Terrified and half crazed, more like it.
"Go away, Malfoy. Please." Hermione cringed, hating the idea that she was begging or whining or anything of the sort. Yet, what else was she do to? Pretending the issue didn't exist wasn't getting her anywhere and it seemed like all of Slytherin were taking great pleasure in her distress. The whole of Gryffindor just seemed worried, the same as the other houses, sans a few oddities-
Ginerva Weasley just looked confused and off, most of the time. There was something a little strange about her hunched over figure and the odd mutterings she kept giving off. Let alone that book that was always in her possession, but Hermione couldn't be bothered with it, she was a Weasley after all and Ronald was a very overprotective, controlling, hovering brother.
And then there was Potter, who seemed amused by the entire ordeal, as if he were hearing about an interesting fairytale and not an obvious disaster. The Heir of Slytherin was a cruel figure, imaginary or real-and Hermione thought it very real, if the petrified Colin Creevey was any indication-and the idea that he would allow some monstrosity to go about killing students…
Well, Muggle-borns, such as herself.
Was abhorrent.
"You haven't much time, you know. The monster is coming to gobble you up." Malfoy's laugh was an ominous thing, enough to suck what little energy she has from her person.
"How is it," She starts, voice strained with loathing, "that you can be so vile?"
His upper lip twisted above his teeth, displaying perfect and pearly whites. "And how is it that you can be so utterly clueless?"
He turned his face away from her then, letting silence reign between them in the nearly empty library before he spoke again, "You're an affront to our very nature, and the fact that you don't understand why-"
Hermione slammed her hands on the table, balled up fists knocking over her ink and quill. She ground her teeth to keep back heavy panting and to control the tight heat that ravaged her chest and threatened to erupt past her throat in a screech, "I've done nothing to you! Nothing, Malfoy! How am I such an affront-"
"-you've done everything! Everything to this world, this world that is mine-"
"-so selfish, can you not even share? I have just as much right-"
"BUT YOU DON'T." Malfoy yelled, his tone a thundering scream that caused several heads to turn in their direction with disgust. Furthermore, Madam Pince was walking toward them briskly, red in the face and mouth open in preparation for a rant.
Yet Malfoy wasn't finished, with his flustered face of red and loose strands of blonde hair nearly covering his gaze that swirled with his aggression- "You come to my world, to my school, with your supposed cleverness and overall irrelevance and think you are some gift to witches and wizards. Ultimately, you are nothing, Granger, just one more Mudblood to be fawned over by our illustrious Headmaster. One more Mudblood to change our ways and spit on everything a proper wizard has ever known. Our traditions, our customs, tossed aside to make you feel all the better. Meanwhile, my world, my very right as a wizard, is stripped to make way for your petty Muggle sensibilities. We shed our culture to make room for yours while you can't even put forth a little bit of effort to understand the wonder and mysticism you claim to have a right to so much."
He leaned closer while she held her breath, frozen, struck between fear of the approaching Madam Pince and fear of the boy that snarled as he reached out a hand. His fist trapped her as it curled among her tie and he yanked her closer as her face balled up in near physical pain-though her distress was all emotional.
"Have you even tried, Granger? Brightest Witch of our Age? Absolute garbage if you ask anyone with a lick of sense. There's little bright about you. You're a walking host of trash information, and while your spellwork is begrudgingly decent you've done little more than wave your arm about like an enthusiastic dog. Where's the proof that you are so much better than I? A wizard of near royal prestige. Why does the Headmaster and his no-thought professors award you points when other answers are just as good? When you have made no effort to really learn? How dare you enter my world and not even bother to understand it, to respect it?"
He let her go abruptly, shoved her backwards with enough force that she fell back into her chair and nearly knocked it over. She was lucky, in that respect at least, and soon clunked back with all four legs on the ground and a tear or two set to squeeze past burning eyes.
But she would not cry for him.
Not this time.
"Really Granger, it's not that hard to see why the lot of you are worthless." Malfoy was once more a collected example of pure-blood aristocracy, though his cheeks were splotched from his rage, and his trembling fingers were set to adjust the lapels of his fancy robes and tie, "You've stolen our magic and won't even use it for a lick of good."
He took a deep breath, closed his mouth, but then opened it again right before Pince was upon them-
"It's because of you that the lot of us are weak, the Muggles might as well come right on in and erase everything that we are."
While Pince tore into them with the sort of verbal ferocity reserved for Seventh Year slackers Hermione stared, with empty eyes, toward her smudged notes and torn parchment.
Maybe…
Maybe he was right.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
She'd been surprised when the creature came upon her. Though she had expected something to happen to her, sooner or later. Especially with the way Potter had eyed her the days after Malfoy's… explosion.
Maybe he was the Heir of Slytherin? Those hushed strained murmurs in the hall had held some merit. Though, Hermione would have put her money on Malfoy himself.
Ah well, it didn't matter now, not when her gaze connected with the creatures in the mirror she'd been using to check the puffiness of her eyes after another lovely afternoon of uncomfortable Gryffindor tension.
Perhaps, now she could have a little peace.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"You owe him again," Longbottom said, his mouth somewhat full of chocolate from the frog he messily bit into, "Rumor has it Potter killed the basilisk."
Slowly Hermione glanced up from her book, but she said nothing. Her tongue was lead, and her mind felt… dull. She was exhausted, though whether that was the fault of being petrified or just her own lackadaisical interest in reality she couldn't be sure.
She said nothing.
"He'll come to collect it after the summer, but it would… be better for you, Hermione-can I call you Hermione?-if you went to him first."
He was digging around in his bag for something and slowly Hermione tilted her head, but the usual ping of eager curiosity she might have felt seemed faraway. Just a phantom echo of an emotion she might have experienced, long long ago.
A shame, that.
"He's really not that bad," Longbottom muttered, "Harry and Draco, that is."
No, he wouldn't be, Hermione thought, you're pure.
She shivered a bit and reached over a hand to clutch her sleeved arm. There wasn't anything different, her blood wasn't actually muddy.
She'd learned that by checking… always checking…
No, she had company in her compartment this time. She really outta pay attention.
"Harry isn't really close to anyone, but I think he has some interest in you." From the depths of his bag Longbottom finally pulled out whatever he was looking for before he held it out to her, a cautious smile in place. "I really think this'll… help you."
She unclasped her hand from her aching arm and reached out for the book, which held no title due to the odd slash across it's aged leather cover.
"Longbottom," She croaked, her mouth heavy and clumsy from disuse-a combination of being petrified for half the year and her own silence thereafter.
"Take it, really. And call me Neville." His smile widened slightly, "Harry helped me and I think… I think he wants to help you, but you need to help yourself first. You need to show… interest."
Hermione gave the book another slow look, her gaze half-closed as her fingers traversed the cover. It felt… strange, like skin-well, she supposed that was appropriate, if this was true leather.
"It's a book on our world. Gran gave it to me, incase I forget anything." Neville blushed, "And I forget a bloody lot."
Her lips twitched in the signs of a smile but she wasn't sure if her face made the appropriate expression, "I… I'm not sure about this."
"'Moine," Neville began, and she felt her shoulders grow tense at having her name shortened into something so familiar said toward her, "I think this will really help you understand… well… everything. It's a bit of a rough read, sometimes, but if you keep an open-mind…"
Silence stretched between them as she looked at the book, but Neville sighed and spoke again, "Think of it as research. An experiment on really fitting in. On earning your place…"
Her head jerked up and she could only imagine the ferocity of her scowl. She was so sick and tired of being told-
"W-wait!" Neville was quick to reach out a hand to place on top of her own, and she thought, for just a moment, about yanking it from him. "What I meant was… s-show them you care! The book, honestly Hermione, just read the bloody book! I… w-w-want you to succeed!"
He searched her gaze. Whatever he found there gave him the strength to continue- "They thought me worthless, you know. That I was just some Squib. They were forcing me to fit into the mold of sorts, kept reminding me of my Father and-"
His voice grew tight, he shook his head, but when he looked back toward her his expression was… powerful. A look of all consuming determination that shouldn't have been so easy to replicate on his childlike face, "Harry believed in me, he knew I was good at something, when everyone around said I was good at nothing."
He looked down for a moment and chuckled, some self-depreciating sound, "Especially Malfoy."
Hermione sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.
"I know what it's like. Not the exact experience, but the same cut of emotion-look at me."
She opened her eyes again, surprised and compelled by the strength of his command.
"Next year will be the beginning of the end of… this." He gave an exasperated wave of his hand. "For me, for you, for both of us."
"Why," She whispered, "Why now? Why are you helping me?"
She couldn't help but be suspicious. She was done with hope, and drained by her pains.
"Because, I could have been you. I have been you. You deserve better than that… even if I'm the only one that thinks it."
She gave a shuddering breath and leaned her head against the window as she watched the rolling hills of the countryside careen by. She barely noticed when Neville stood up and sat next to her and whimpered-how pathetic-when he reached out and held one of her limp hands. This was…
Was this friendship?
"Next year, 'Moine. You can do this. We'll do it together. I'll teach you how to navigate this world, I'll teach you how to get their respect. We'll succeed together. Next year."
Her smile was unusual, and her eyes were bright, but she felt… different. She clutched the book and made a strained laugh. "Next year."
"Next year."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o