I've tried to post the story some days ago, but something went wrong with the copy/paste system on Archive of Our Own, where the story's also being published. Some fair warnings beforehand:
1) Slow romance in this fic will be real slow. The main pairing is Severus/Hermione, but it's not going to go romantic for a long while. Let's face it, Hermione is eleven at the beginning, and it's Harry Potter and not A Song of Ice and Fire.
2) There will be no Ron- or any other Weasley-bashing. I like Ron well enough, it's just that I don't like Ron/Hermione.
Hm… a bit difficult, the Sorting Hat mumbled. Hermione felt her hands getting sweaty. What if she wasn't chosen for anything? What if she didn't have enough magic in her? She was Muggle-born…
Never worry, Granger, you will continue to the welcoming feast, it's your table that's the question, now the Hat was actually sniggering. The girl thought how embarrassing she must look, with this old thing comforting her.
Only you can hear my ramblings. The rest will only know the final choice. Well, it's not as hard as some. Definitely no Hufflepuff – too disciplined and idealistic for Slytherin. The question is – a bookish Ravenclaw or a valiant Gryffindor?
The Hat seemed to be asking her, not just muttering to itself (himself?). Hermione pondered. She loved books – she will never spend her life without books. But friendship, loyalty and courage, they were so much more valuable. However, the thought to give up books and studying shocked her.
The most nervous and torn student I've had in about thirty years, since the day Molly Prewett went to pieces because she suddenly realized she had forgotten to store chocolate away from her brothers. Aaaall right, Granger. Tell you what. You don't have to give up books if you don't go to Ravenclaw. Fair deal? Okay? Well, relax then and be braver onwards, for it is GRYFFINDOR!
Hermione almost cried from joy as she handed the Hat back to the spectacled Professor McGonagall. The Gryffindor table stood and cheered for her, and the red-haired prefect shook her hand:
"Welcome, Hermione Granger," he said. "I am Percy Weasley, one of this year's prefects."
"Pleasure to meet you," Hermione said happily. "You are a pure-blood wizard, aren't you? Read of your family in Wizarding Clans of the South of England. I am so afraid of doing things wrong because I am Muggle-born. Can you advise me in any case?"
Percy looked incredibly pleased with the question and glanced at his prefect badge:
"That's my duty. But you needn't worry. Every year we have a dozen Muggle-borns, and they adjust quite easily. Oh – see there? – it seems old Augusta Longbottom's grandson is one of us after all."
A plump, scared-looking boy was as un-Gryffindor-like as possible as he stumbled towards their table. But Hermione, adamant on proving herself worthy of her House, clapped and cheered for him as well.
Several more students were Sorted into Gryffindor, including the famous Harry Potter and Percy's younger brother Ron, who had so spectacularly failed to recolor his rat on the train. After the Sorting there was the feast, and Hermione could say she had never eaten anything more delicious than Hogwarts food. Her favorite dishes, and all tasted twice as good as at home!
Percy Weasley, eager to show off his prefect status, was glad to tell her some useful things about the lessons and point out the teachers at the staff table.
"Our Head is McGonagall, she also teaches Transfiguration," he commented. "Strict but fair, that is her motto. Never favors us over the rest – unlike Dumbledore," he added with a chuckle. "That short one's Flitwick – Charms and Head of Ravenclaw. A cool old man, and he makes decorations for every holiday. The guy in black is Snape – Head of Slytherin, teaches Potions and is horrible."
"You mean very strict."
"McGonagall's very strict. When I say horrible, I mean it. Especially to us Gryffindors. Always taking points off for no reason at all, and woe betide you if you're not skilled in his subject. Ah well. You don't believe me – you will see for yourself very soon. That one in a turban is Professor Quirrell, used to teach Muggle Studies, now it's Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a competent teacher, but they say his last year's sabbatical ended really bad and he now stutters and makes mistakes. Over there is Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff and Herbology Mistress…"
Hermione listened gratefully. It was useful to know about the professors before the lessons began. She had always been the teachers' favorite at school and knew well that it depended not just on your marks and behavior, but on the teacher's character.
Mentally she made notes.
Professor McGonagall: seems to appreciate hard work and good behavior. Easy.
Professor Flitwick: looks like he likes a good laugh. The same as above.
Professor Snape: biased against Gryffindor. Reason unknown. Work extra hard. If possible, no excuses for taking points.
Professor Quirrell: rumored to make mistakes. Find out if he likes to be corrected (some do, some don't)…
Late in the evening, the new Gryffindors were walked to their common rooms by the prefects. Hermione got to share her room with Parvati Patil, an Asian girl who was extremely homesick and upset at being chosen into a different House from her twin sister.
"Look at the Weasleys!" she whimpered. "All four of them stocked in Gryffindor! I've asked the Hat to put me in Ravenclaw like Padma!"
"The Hat should know better," Hermione said, trying to comfort her. "It recognizes your abilities and shows you your path to future life. Also this is not the first time for siblings to have been Sorted into different Houses. Sirius and Regulus Black, both later grimly famous as followers of You-Know-Who…"
"Shut up!" Parvati cried and covered her ears with a pillow.
Hermione felt hurt. She was trying to help, for goodness sake! But then she was the only child in her family. Perhaps she didn't understand properly.
As Parvati still wouldn't talk to her, she spent a couple of hours reading An Overview of the Goblin Wars. She felt that these wars were described too briefly and one-sidedly in Bathilda Bagshot's book that was on the school booklist.
"Gryffindor must win the House Cup this year," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry Potter's there."
"So should we give ten thousand points to it just for the sheer presence of the Boy-Who-Lived?" Pomona Sprout asked bitterly. When students were not around, the sweet old lady that taught Herbology allowed to let out some of her hidden feelings. She was Head of the House-That-Never-Won-The-Cup, and naught could change it.
In reply to her anguished question, Severus Snape shrugged:
"I wouldn't be surprised if that's what we are to do."
His eyes flickered towards Minerva McGonagall, whose glasses almost fell off as she stood up angrily:
"Unlike some people present here, I never favor my House above others! Potter or no Potter, they will get what they deserve, not more, not less! Professor Dumbledore merely wants Gryffindor to try harder this year. He's a bit partial to that House, which is natural, as it used to be his own!"
"Now, now, Minerva, calm down," Dumbledore smiled. "It's the start of the year, everyone's agitated and full of ambitions."
Except me, Pomona Sprout thought. She loved Hufflepuff – she grew up with it – but she had read Hogwarts: A History carefully enough. Her House had won the Cup only four times – twice in the era of the Founders, under the guidance of the great Helga Hufflepuff, once in the Late Middle Ages when the goblin wars shook the school badly and Hufflepuff just happened to have the smallest loss of life, and once in the 19th century when Everard Bulstrode from Hufflepuff helped defeat a Dark wizard.
The House for dunderheads. They say so, and, sadly, it's true.
How she had hoped for someone capable of doing really well to be Sorted into Hufflepuff! Harry Potter – of course, everyone except maybe for Snape dreamed of having him in their Houses. That girl who was quoting Hogwarts: A History – Granger, wasn't it? – very bright one, too. The intelligent-looking shy girl, Lisa Turpin…
Hufflepuff's not a House, she mused sadly. Only the place to put those who fit nowhere else.
"Now, as for the schedules for this year…" Dumbledore paused. "Where's Quirinus?"
"He said he had a headache and went to bed early," Septima Vector explained.
"There's something wrong with the poor boy," Pomona said. She remembered Quirrell from his Hufflepuff school times. "He was always a bit nervous, but never like this. Do you think it was wise, Albus – appointing him in this state of health?"
"He applied for the job himself," Dumbledore said (Snape grunted something under his breath). "He hasn't lost his intelligence."
"But his health!" Pomona argued. "He's going to get a disorder as sure as I'm standing here. Muggle Studies would have been exhausting enough, but Defense!"
"I think Quirinus will manage," the headmaster said with a confident smile. "Tonight we'll have to discuss the schedules without him, however…"
Severus Snape was still frowning. In his opinion, Dumbledore gave the job to a lackwit like Quirrell just to avoid giving it to him. Not many people wanted to apply for the jinxed post.
The lessons started on the next day, and Hermione was elated, as magic seemed to work for her – even better than for most of the pure-bloods. In Charms she was the first one to make her wand glow, which earned her a point for Gryffindor. Transfiguration was more demanding, but it only led to a bigger triumph – Hermione wasn't just the first, she was the only one to turn her match into a needle. Professor McGonagall beamed at her and gave her five more points – and with the fact that the stern professor rarely smiled during the lesson and Percy's words that McGonagall never favored her House, Hermione knew the high value of it.
Professor McGonagall kept her after class.
"You've got a natural talent for Transfiguration, Miss Granger," she said. "For your information, I rarely draw such conclusions after the very first lesson, but your way of handling your wand and the quickness of the transformation you made prove it. If you want, I can give you some books for studying this subject further."
"Oh thank you, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed. "I think Transfiguration is fascinating. I liked Charms in the morning too, but it's like in our – Muggle – world: some things are arts and some are science. Transfiguration is a true science."
"Correctly noticed, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said appreciatively while looking in her enormous bookcase. "There you are…"
She walked back to the desk, levitating a pile of books after her.
"Transfiguration of Air and Liquids is a must-read for every expert, though it's considered too complicated to be studied at Hogwarts. Not that I agree – I can give you some extra lessons in this later. Wand Movements in Transfiguration is a very nice guide for beginners. Don't think that it's old-fashioned because it was written in the 12th century. Some basic things never change. And here is my own Mechanics of Switching – the first two parts should be easy for you, though the following are focused on the spells which you do not learn until the fourth year."
Hermione took the books and felt she truly was in a fairytale.
"Thank you so much! I will return them as soon as I can, I am a very fast reader."
"It's all right, Miss Granger – as long as they are not damaged or carried outside the castle, you can keep them until the Christmas holidays."
Transfiguration was the last lesson before lunch break, so Hermione had time to bring the new books to her dorm. She was happier than she had ever been. That was definitely an achievement – noticed and selected by a teacher on the first day of classes! In her small notebook, where she had previously copied her yesterday's mental calculations, she wrote:
Charms – good. A point earned for Gryffindor, Lumos charm mastered. Professor Flitwick: explains things very well, kind and patient.
History of Magic – tolerable. A foot of parchment written down on ancient Mesopotamian magic. Professor Binns is a ghost. Drills on without stopping. Selects and favors no one, only gives points for the written essays.
Transfiguration – excellent. Five points earned for Gryffindor, Basic Metallic Switching Spell mastered thoroughly. Professor McGonagall: strict but fair, exactly as P. W. had said. Tells amazingly interesting things. Said I have a talent. Gave me three books for extra reading.
The lunch break passed without anything of note, and in the afternoon Hermione, pleasantly tired and still hardly able to believe all these wonderful things were happening to her, added another note:
Herbology – good. Yet another point earned for Gryffindor, a lot of things learned about the use of roses in magic. Professor Sprout: very nice and pleasant, talks in such a way that even the least bright ones can understand. N. L. was no good during the whole day, but at Herbology he managed to comprehend everything.
She started doing homework immediately – time-management was a trait she had mastered since infant school to perfection. They had essays for History of Magic and Herbology and practical tasks for Charms and Transfiguration, and all of that was easy enough. Hermione supposed it was just because they were only starting.
"Will you please stop it?" Parvati asked after Hermione practiced the Nox charm for the fifth time, just to be sure. "This light-dark switch is very unnerving, you know."
"Sorry," Hermione said. "I just wanted to do the task for Charms."
"We haven't got it again until Wednesday!" the girl protested. "You have the whole day tomorrow for it!"
"Tomorrow we have double Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, which means more tasks!"
Without a word Parvati left the dorm and didn't reappear until bedtime. Must still be nervous. Despite that Hermione was a bit sad that she wasn't getting along with her roommate.
True, she was getting on with teachers much better than with the classmates. She wrote yet more notes on the following day:
Defense Against the Dark Arts – fine. Earned a point. Mastered a more modern classification of specters than in Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell: rumors aren't lying, he stutters a lot. He confused phantoms with poltergeists once, and gave me a point for correcting him.
Second Transfiguration lesson: better and better still. Six points (one for knowing the difference between Basic Metallic and Iron Switching Spells, five for correctly performing the latter). Prof. McGonagall: very pleased, especially after I stayed after class to ask her questions about the first five chapters of Wand Movements in Transfiguration. She is extraordinarily clever. As for now, I think she's my favorite teacher.
The aura of wonder that seemed to surround everything for Hermione persisted, but the girl quickly adjusted to the new and unusual life. After all, the principal things were the same as at her old Muggle school. She thrived on lessons and reading books, though she continued to have troubles communicating with her Gryffindor classmates – only Neville Longbottom liked her because she helped him a lot. But it wasn't her fault that many of her fellow students weren't nearly as much interested in studying as she was absorbed in it. Perhaps the Hat was right. I should have gone to Ravenclaw.
But as they had Charms with the Ravenclaws, Hermione soon got to know them. She became friendly with Lisa Turpin, a rather shy and reserved half-blood girl who, too, liked learning and reading. Lisa wasn't very talkative, but a good companion for the library. Among the Gryffindors, though, the only ones to talk to Hermione were Neville and Percy Weasley. The prefect must have heard of Hermione's successes, and he could observe her exemplary behavior every day, so he took to be a sort of patronizing guide for her like on the first day. And he was very intelligent – his greatest ambition wa to become Minister of Magic, so naturally he strived for full marks.
By the week's end, Hermione counted her achievements and was very happy to find out she had earned thirty-four points for Gryffindor in total. Every teacher had given her at least one point. Every one, that is, except for Professor Snape, who turned out to be just as nasty as Percy had described. He took to bullying Harry Potter and Neville especially (with Neville it was explainable, for the poor boy was terribly clumsy and slow, but why Harry – Hermione had no idea), and he had never given a single point to anyone during the lesson – even his precious Slytherins whom he praised. But for Hermione the lessons had good results in spite of it all, so she wrote "fine" in her notes after his class. Potions seemed interesting too, very scientific – and, strictly speaking, it was chemistry, only with magical ingredients. Hermione reminded herself to go to the library on Saturday and pick some books on it – she wasn't a fool to think that Professor Snape would agree to give a Gryffindor advice on extra reads.
She did sit almost the whole of Saturday in the library – not only Potions, but other subjects too needed to be studied thoroughly, and thoroughly means not only with books from the school list. Furthermore, there was a note that Flying was starting next Thursday, and this was going to be decidedly hard. Gym class was always the place where Hermione's skills were moderate at best, and Flying apparently would be even worse. Hermione struggled with Quidditch Through the Ages and other books that even mentioned broomsticks and flying techniques, but she was still highly unsure of herself.
"Ah, yes, Flying's not something that books can help you with," Madam Pince, the librarian, nodded, handing Hermione the seventeenth book. "But Rolanda Hooch is a capable teacher, and you will learn just fine, with your assiduity. It's not like you all ought to play Quidditch for England."
That calmed Hermione a little, but not much. On Sunday, when coming to see Professor McGonagall for a discussion of Mechanics of Switching, she asked her shyly if there had been any bad accidents in Flying.
"Oh, nothing one can't cope with," Professor McGonagall assured her. "I won't lie to you, we do have some nasty falls every year – especially, unfortunately, with those who hadn't flown before school," she tactfully avoided using the term "Muggle-born". "Yet everyone learns the basics by the end, and you don't need more if you aren't going to race or play Quidditch or do something of that sort."
"Quidditch sounds exciting, but I've never been the one for sports," Hermione agreed. "Now, Professor, I also have a question about that chapter on nonverbal Switching…"
On Thursday, Hermione felt almost as fearful as she did before the Sorting. Of course, everybody said that one couldn't be perfect in everything, that Muggle-borns never mastered Flying quickly, but for her it was a torture. Hermione Granger not topping the class in a subject? It would be terrible!
To comfort herself and those who listened, she read Quidditch Through the Ages aloud during lunch. The leaps, dives, ducks and all sorts of movements were described there in every detail, but still there seemed to be the rider's own ability involved. And if the rider had none, then no description, however full, could help him.
"Hermione, don't fret too much," Neville squeaked, looking over her shoulder at the broomstick diagrams. "You can't be worse than me anyway."
Draco Malfoy, an extremely annoying first-year Slytherin, was sitting just across them at his table and bragging about his broomstick at home and the great things he did when riding it.
"A helicopter nearly knocked me off!" he told his Slytherin admirers. "But I saw it at the last moment and – whooooosh!" He gave a big wave with his hand. "Three-hundred feet dive. They've never noticed me."
"What is a he-lee-kup-tah?" one of the girls asked.
"A Muggle flying device. How I pity poor Muggles who can only fly locked inside in a box with a pack of primitive machinery," he sighed mockingly.
"How I pity poor nearsighted people who can notice a several-ton helicopter only at the last moment," said Hermione.
"Muggles who like their machines so much should stay in the Muggle world," Draco commented. "I am going to a Flying lesson."
Despite telling herself to stay calm, Hermione felt tears forming in her eyes.
"Why do some people hate Muggles so?" she groaned, lowering her head down so that the Slytherin wouldn't notice her tears.
"I don't know," Neville said miserably. "I am so awfully bad at magic I'd rather be a Muggle flying pehilocters. But Gran won't hear of it, of course."
"It's helicopters, Neville," Hermione corrected gently. "And you know what? I came to see Professor Sprout this morning (needed to get the foxglove for our Potions task), and our checked essays were there on her desk – well, guess what? Yours has ten out of ten."
Neville blinked at her:
"You sure?"
"Perfectly sure. Cheer up."
Not that either of them was very cheerful ten minutes later, heading outside for Flying. Madam Hooch, a middle-aged witch with piercing eyes and an air of impatience, was already waiting for them. She pointed to the brooms lying on the grass, and told the students to stand by the brooms and command them to rise up.
"Up!" said Hermione. It's like a charm to make it move, shouldn't be difficult.
Her broom rolled a little on the ground and stood still.
Remember Professor Flitwick's advice? Confidence and careful pronunciation!
"Up!" said Hermione, trying to convince herself that right now the broom will rise. No result. Difficult without a wand, of course...
She moved from her Charms technique to the Transfiguration one. The magical field of the broom needs to be bent and twisted so that it would change its physical characteristics. It's just transfiguring a broom into a flying broom.
"UP!" she cried. The broom made a small jump, then seemed to hesitate for a while and flew up so fast it hit the palm of her hand quite hard.
"Now, mount your brooms..." Madam Hooch was instructing. Hermione did as she was bid.
"Get a firmer grip on it, my dear," the teacher said to her as she walked along the row and checking everyone's readiness. "And move your hands away from the very end of the handle; it's dangerous to hold a broom so. You can get turned upside down."
At least, Hermione wasn't the only one who did it wrong – to the Gryffindors' delight, Draco Malfoy with all his helicopter adventures didn't know at all how to hold a broom or sit on it properly. The only one whose grip Madam Hooch didn't criticise was, surprisingly, Ron Weasley.
"You must have been training to fly a lot already," she said approvingly. Ron's face got almost as red as his hair.
"But of course, you Weasleys have flying skills in your veins," Madam Hooch smiled. Thanks to Percy, Hermione understood what she meant – she knew lots of things about the five Weasley brothers who had already "made a name for themselves", as Percy had put it. Charlie, his elder brother, used to be a Seeker and Quidditch Captain, and the twins, now in their third year, were currently Beaters. No surprise if this one ends up in the Quidditch team too. In spite of her better judgment, Hermione felt jealous. Ron couldn't even perform Basic Metallic Switching Spell properly – and now he was better than her in sitting on a broom?
Madam Hooch told them to kick off the ground at her whistle. Hermione forced herself to stop musing on the unfairness of the world and listened attentively.
"One... two... three!" and a high-pitched whistle broke the air.
Hermione jumped up, certain that her broom will refuse to behave again, but the broom apparently changed its mind and decided it would rather fly. It shot up, up, higher and higher, until Hermione shook off her horrified stupor – and screamed, seeing she was about a hundred feet up already.
"Down," she ordered the broom. Rather, attempted to order. Her voice faltered, and the broom, instead of going down steadily, did a giant somersault and hit the wall. Distantly, Hermione felt a stabbing pain in her hip, but right now her only concern was getting back, back to the firm safe ground.
"GET ME DOWN!" she cried in panic, looking at the confused and frightened crowd below and feeling her stomach lurch at how far away the earth was. Madam Hooch was already up in the air on her own broomstick, yelling:
"STAY STILL!"
"Down, please, please!" Hermione begged, hardly hearing her. The broom, obviously confused, decided to heed the rider's words and dived down vertically.
"NO!" Hermione cried, losing her grip on the handle. The horrible device, wobbling and shaking, tried to point upwards, but something seemed to break in it, and it continued to fall in zigzags.
Madam Hooch was too far away to do anything. She almost fell from the sky herself to catch Hermione, but the broom wasn't fast enough.
Falling down, Hermione marveled at how detailedly she noticed things at the last moment of her life. Several owls floated up in the sky – Hagrid was standing near his hut, chopping wood... The broom turned over. Hermione saw the walls of Hogwarts, the window of a first-floor corridor opening – a figure leaning outside. The figure of Professor Snape.
He shouted a charm that Hermione didn't recognize – but whatever it was, her broom steadied at a five-feet height and hovered there quietly long enough for Madam Hooch to come down and put Hermione on the ground.
"M-m-my hip and leg ache," Hermione complained, finally aware of the pain.
"You must have broken something when you hit the wall," Madam Hooch said. "Come, my dear, I will take you to the hospital wing."
She turned to the window:
"Oh, if you hadn't been there, Severus! These Shooting Stars are too slow – the girl would have smashed on the ground before I got to her..."
But Professor Snape had already gone away.