Chapter 2: Eleven Years Earlier

Hermione Granger stalked down the train car corridor, keeping her eyes peeled all the while for a toad. Yes, a toad. When that hapless boy Neville had approached her nearly in tears asking if she had seen his pet toad Trevor, of course she had agreed to help him look for it. The two first years had resolved to proceed down the train car in opposite directions, then circle back and meet again in the center.

Trying the next compartment door, Hermione entered to quite a sight.

Two boys were sitting on a plush bench, with what looked like the entirety of the Trolley Cart spread out before them. One boy had jet black hair and piercing green eyes that made Hermione feel strangely warm when his gaze locked onto hers. The other boy had flaming red hair and a wand in his hand, which was pointedly raised over an ugly pet rat.

In that moment, Hermione felt as though the breath had been strangely knocked out of her lungs. Sure, she was winded from hoofing it all the way down that train car, but now she felt like she had no air at all with which to speak. The redhead frowned at her in the most adorable way that Hermione nearly sighed. She quickly masked it into a tired scoff.

"Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

Both boys shook their heads. Pretending to notice the wand for the first time, she remarked, "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

Hermione had never been very good at flirting, nor done much of it back in her Muggle primary school, but this was the best way she knew how. Indeed, her tummy did a tiny, almost inexplicable flip flop when the ginger blushed almost as red as his hair. He cleared his throat impressively.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow... turn this stupid fat rat yellow." An ineffective spark zapped the poor little beast and sent him darting into an empty carton of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hermione mused. "Well, it's not very good, is it?" She mentally kicked herself. Why did I say that? But her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. "I've been working on more advanced spells, but they've all worked for me." She crossed to the empty plush bench, seating herself so she was directly facing the boy with the green eyes. Spectacles hung loosely over his face that seemed to make his irises all the more enchanting. "For example... Occulus Reparo!"

The center piece connecting both lenses righted itself. Hermione was pleased to note how astonished and impressed the green-eyed boy seemed to be, as he took off the glasses to inspect them. That was when she realized: she recognized him...

"Holy cricket... you're Harry Potter! I'm Hermione Granger. And... you are?"

She didn't mean for it to come out so condescending, but at that moment the ginger was stuffing his face with sweets. It wasn't exactly becoming.

"Ron Weasley."

"Pleasure," she deadpanned. It was the only way for her to cover how she was dying inside. She flounced to the door, hoping to scuttle away and pine by herself, but her mouth had other ideas. She just had to get in one parting shot. "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way. Did you know? Just there."

Ron flicked at his nostrils as Hermione turned away. She all but ran back to her own empty compartment, nearly forgetting to meet in the center of the car and report to Neville that no, she had not found his toad.

So that was what all the stories and fairy tales meant when they talked about love at first sight. A strange little voice was whispering in Hermione's head saying, You just met your husband. You're going to give birth to his baby one day.

Oh, Merlin... if only that were true! She briefly frowned at the little voice in her head, asking her which one of those boys was the man she would someday marry. But perhaps it didn't matter which. They were both so bloody handsome. Just thinking of that made her check her reflection in the compartment door. She was less than reassured by what she saw. Why would the Boy Who Lived, or Ron Weasley, or any boy for that matter, want a frumpy girl like herself?

But then Hermione remembered something her mummy used to tell her: when you meet the one you love, you'll be a big girl, and he will be your very best friend.

And so, as the train whistle blew, Hermione resolved that she would be friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. After all, she was a Muggle, and in this world, a Muggle needed friends.

The courtyard was clogged this afternoon, leaving Charms class. Keeping her books tight to her chest, Hermione wheeled her thoughts back over the previous period, scolding herself for sounding so bossy. Even though she was just trying to help Ron. Why couldn't her good intentions translate with a better tone? She just wanted him to do his best. That is all she had ever wanted, these first several weeks of school.

Just then, Ron's voice floated back to her on the wind. He was up ahead with Harry and a few other boys.

"It's Leviooooooosa... she's a nightmare, honestly!"

Hermione stopped short, gasping sharply as if she had just been slapped across the face. Or punched in the gut. Either way, she now had the desire to just crawl into a hole and stay there. Her pupils pricking with tears, Hermione shoved past Ron and his group as hard and as quickly as she could, trying and failing to hold back a sob. She sensed their footfalls halt behind her and was glad they did not follow. But to his credit, she just caught Harry saying to Ron, "I think she heard you."

Hours had passed by the time Hermione emerged from the bathroom stall, wiping at her eyes fruitlessly. She had been unable to stop crying.

There had gone her chance. Her chance to have those two beautiful boys as friends, and possibly have any friends at all. Except for maybe Neville, but it seemed apparent that they were both doomed to share the same leaking, socially inept boat. Her name would be mud in Gryffindor House, and throughout her whole year.

She didn't mean to be such a know-it-all. She loved learning, and just wanted others to love it just as much, and to do their very best. She had never shied away from trying to help out a classmate, especially someone as cute as Ron. Why did she always have to sound so bossy?

She couldn't exactly blame Ron for taking it the way he did. But did he have to say those things about her?

An odd sound - something like a growl - made Hermione look up. There, shadowing out the glow of the overhead lights, was the most foul troll she had ever seen. A troll! In the castle? How...? Hogwarts and its grounds did a good job of naturally keeping magical creatures away from the students. Hagrid, the kindly Gamekeeper, helped too.

Her heart in her mouth, her breath now somewhere in her stomach, Hermione slowly backed away towards the stalls. The troll stalked after her. Well, if she was to die here, maybe it was better to have it over and done with quickly, rather than die a little bit every day knowing she had squandered her chance for the love she so craved.

The troll raised a massive club, and Hermione dived into one stall, curling up under one of the toilets. There was a horrific crash as the entire row of stalls was cleaved in half, sending splinters of wood every which way. Hermione's scream was drowned out by an ominous clap of thunder from the Halloween rainstorm outside.

Just then, right on the heels of the thunder clap, there was a bang as the door to the lavatory was thrust open. The succeeding flash of lightning illuminated, as Hermione peered in surprise through the splinters of wood, no... it couldn't be...

Harry's beautiful eyes locked onto hers. "Hermione, MOVE!" he bellowed, and his voice seemed to have a hypnotizing effect on her. As she began to commando crawl out of the destroyed stalls, Hermione knew that she would do anything that dynamic voice told her.

She was just out of the ruins of the stalls when the troll spotted her and brought his club down hard. Hermione barely made it under the sinks, so that the one directly behind her was obliterated, sending water spraying.

She screamed. "HELP!" At a loss for what to do in terms of combat, Harry and Ron resorted to picking up stall splinters and hurling them at the troll, who was blocking their pathway to Hermione. Between the troll's massive feet, Hermione could see them and she spotted Ron lift a particular large splinter the size of his forearm and chuck it at the creature.

"Hey! Peabrain!"

His aim was true, and pesky enough that he finally got the troll's attention. The beast turned slowly, lumbering, as his focus shifted to the boys behind him. The club in his hand swung dangerously, directionless, reaching back so that it looked like it was going to nearly go toppling backwards into the sinks and Hermione.

Harry seized his chance. Running around the troll, he grabbed onto the club so that its motion lifted the young lad off his feet. Without a plan, and without fully understanding how he got there, Harry had in the next moment ended up perched on the troll's shoulders. Hermione shrank against the wall, watching in fear and amazement. He was so brave...

Harry was jostled violently as the agitated troll worked to dislodge him. Eventually, the black-haired boy was yanked from his perch and dangled upside down by the troll's massive paw. "DO SOMETHING!"

"What?" Ron searched around almost stupidly.

"ANYTHING!" Harry screeched, desperate and frustrated. "Hurry up!"

Ron dove for his wand in his robes, and Hermione quickly figured out what he planned on doing even as he was preparing to do it.

"Swish and flick!" she encouraged, harkening back to their lesson that morning.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron recited the incantation perfectly. Immediately, the club was wrested from the troll's hand and hung suspended, above the fray. The troll looked up in confused shock.

Ron hadn't really meant to release the spell at that moment, but the lowering of his wand prompted the club to fall with a crack on its owner's head. Oh, well. Ron would take it. And the assault forced the troll to drop Harry, headfirst, onto the bathroom tiles, who immediately scrambled backwards like a spider on all fours as the troll swayed, stumbled... and finally collapsed in an unconscious heap before them.

"Cool," Ron breathed, a dazzling grin on his face.

Shaking, Hermione slowly stood and circled the body, moving through the sprays of water still deluging the bathroom. "Is it... dead?"

"I don't think so. Just knocked out," Harry informed her. He happened to look down and notice that his own wand had somehow ended up jabbed into the troll's nose. Wincing, Harry pulled it free, gagging at the troll bogeys.

A stampede of feet made the Trio look up. Minerva McGonagall swept in in the lead, followed by a dithering Quirrell and a flabbergasted Snape. "Oh, my goodness! Explain yourselves, both of you!" she demanded of the boys.

"It's my fault, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione had never lied in her life. But if it meant the boys who had rescued her, whom she cared for, were spared punishment, so be it. Besides, she had to tell them she was sorry some way. "I went looking for the troll. I've read all about them and thought I could deal with it on my own. But I was wrong. If Harry and Ron hadn't come and found me, I'd probably be dead." Unnoticed by the teachers, she shot the boys a tentative smile. Their surprised faces hardly seemed to register it, though Harry recovered more quickly.

Naturally, McGonagall was furious, and Hermione accepted the five point deduction from Gryffindor without complaint. Her fib worked out better than she had hoped, for Harry and Ron were actually awarded five points each for "sheer, dumb luck" in "knocking out a fully grown mountain troll and living to tell the tale." So Hermione's transgression was rendered moot anyhow.

The trio walked in silence through the deserted corridors back to their Common Room.

"Reckon we deserved those points," Harry mumbled.

"Mind you, we did save her life," Ron added.

Even if they were being a little conceited, Hermione could only smile. She stuck out a hand. "Friends?"

Both boys looked at each other, then one by one, grasped Hermione's hand. Neither noticed Hermione's small intake of breath as their grips sent a warm, fuzzy tingle through her fingers.

"Friends," all three agreed.