"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds."
― Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral's Kiss
"Gryffindor!"
The Sorting Hat had spent quite some time examining Hermione's mind before finally sorting her into Gryffindor. Surprised, she beamed and ran straight to the most cheerful table in the Great Hall, one filled with people who were clapping her enthusiastically as if they were really happy that she was one of theirs too. The brunette sat down and shook her head to focus on the remainder of the Sorting Ceremony, trying to contain the anxiety for being sorted into the House of the brave, courageous and determined. She was not sure whether she could live up to that, but perhaps… Well, there had to be a perfectly logical explanation for that, after all, the Sorting Hat existed for ages. As Professor McGonagall called Greengrass, Daphne!, Hermione held her face on her hands and glanced at the remaining students. Her amber eyes fell on Draco, who was unsuccessfully trying to conceal his nervousness by shifting his weight from one foot to the other, but that made her even more distressed.
Just after Hermione had mentioned her parents, Draco had simply stopped talking and had ignored the girl for the rest of the trip. He had stormed off the compartment briskly before she could thank him for keeping her company and had left her alone during the boat ride to the entrance of the castle. What have I done?, she wondered, trying to contain a surge of panic and the small voice in the back of her head that kept whispering that she would never have any friends.
Draco, on the other hand, was doing his best not to glance at the Gryffindor table. Hermione had lied to him. She had deliberately hidden her heritage and had pretended to be a clever, kind girl. For a few stupid moments, he had felt comfortable around her and believed that her intentions were genuine, that she really meant to be friends with him, without any ulterior motives or hidden excuses – unlike most of the children around him. In the end, however, she was nothing but a muggleborn, one of those freaks, one of those nasty little creatures that his Father had taught him to loathe and keep away. They are not one of us, Draco, and they never will be one of us. They are filth and you ought to keep your distance from them. Malfoys do not condone those aberrations, his Father had hissed over and over again, his grey eyes gleaming maliciously while little Draco just stared at him – pale-faced and quivering.
The boy could look past Gryffindor. He could not, would not look past what she was.
Draco could sense his insides boiling with anger and frustration as the image of that bucktoothed, bushy haired witch flashed in front of his eyes. That liar! Thankfully, before he could make his disgust even more obvious, the Sorting Hat finally shrieked his name. With fists clenched, he walked gingerly to the stool and sat down, ignoring her apprehensive gaze.
"Oh, the Malfoy boy. Are you sure you wish to follow your Father's steps? I see a great desire to prove yourself and a desperate yearning for friendship and greatness. I see ambition and I see cleverness. I also see a fierce determination to challenge whatever plans were devised for you. You could do that. You know you could. You could have power and that," the Sorting Hat hissed atop his head.
"Slytherin," he thought, dryly, hoping that no one could hear what that stupid Hat was telling him. It made his insides boil even harder that that dumb object thought it could read him so openly. That day was turning up to be one of the worst of his life.
"Well, if you have already made up your mind… Slytherin!" the Hat squealed.
Draco leaped off the stool and ran straight to the Slytherin table under the green and silver flags. The fellow students clapped and whistled as he joined them and Draco felt a wave of relief wash over him. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle made room and he grinned before taking the seat between their mountain-size figures. Draco thought they were plain thick and stupid, but they were both from well-respected pureblood families and that was exactly what he needed right now. Two useless friends were better than no friends at all, especially after being completely ignored by Saint Potter just moments before. And pureblood useless friends were certainly much better than… that.
Hermione kept stretching her neck to steal some glances at the Slytherin table to get Draco's attention so that she could congratulate him for being sorted into the House of the cunning, ambitious, creative and resourceful. It was evident that he was ecstatic for not ending up in Hufflepuff and she could see even from a distance the way his grey eyes were sparkling with joy. Finally, after some strangled minutes and some soreness in her neck, Draco looked at her direction. However, instead of returning her kind smile as he had done in the Hogwarts Express, he scowled disdainfully at her and turned his face so quickly that it was like he had just spotted a nasty insect.
Her heart sunk in her chest immediately as her eyes started burning painfully, the kind smile melting off her face. She swallowed a big lump on her throat and looked up to the enchanted ceiling, begging silently don't cry, don't cry, don't cry! Why did Draco suddenly hate her so hard? Had she hurt his feelings? How? She had come to Hogwarts to learn magic and make friends, and Draco had been the first child in years to treat her with kindness and respect. Now, however, he was acting as though nothing had ever happened. Suddenly, the Great Hall was no longer warm and happy, but a cold and depressing place that made Hermione think immediately of her old muggle school with those sneering classmates that called her an ugly weirdo and a freak.
"Why do you keep looking at the Slytherin table?" a ginger Prefect named Percy Weasley asked her all of a sudden, and Hermione did her best to hide her eyes from him.
"I think I saw someone I know," she answered, quietly, sniffing.
"That is highly unlikely. You are a muggleborn, aren't you?" he asked with an aura of superiority, thankfully too focused on showing off his knowledge to care for Hermione's gloomy figure. She nodded. "Very well, Slytherin students loathe anyone who is not a pureblood, that is, anyone that does not descend from traditional wizard families. And of course, they also loathe anyone who associates with them and that would be us. Forget about them, Granger, there are no good wizards there. You are better off without those snakes."
Hermione nodded once more and shrank in her settee, ignoring completely the sorting of that Harry Potter boy, who was received by the Gryffindor table with a standing ovation. She could not care less that the wizard who had stopped the Dark Lord was going to be her classmate. The only thing she felt deep in her heart was pain for once again losing a friend before even making one – and just because she happened to be who she was.
A/N: first of all, thanks to everyone who followed and reviewed the first chapter! I am very happy that you enjoyed that. Second of all, this is a Dramione story that will follow Draco and Hermione from their first year on. Though most of canon will be preserved, I will not get into too much detail of Harry's adventures; this is focused on Draco and Hermione's POV and their own particular stories. Anyway, I hope you like this second chapter. Please let me know your thoughts!
