The Mundane Challenge of Making Friends –Year 1

"Ugh, I told you! I told you that mirror was—hey! Watch the elbow!"

"You watch your face."

"Watch my…? OW! CHEAP SHOT!"

Lifting her gaze from the printed pages before her to the roughhousing boys at her feet, Hermione frowned. Honestly, were they even going to help? She was trying to find out more about Nicolas Flamel, but she kept rereading the same line as they bickered. As she watched, Ron managed to pin Harry against the hearth rug with an elbow to the gut, still scolding him.

"Gotcha! Quit squirming scrawny and listen to me. I told you not to go back. That thing gave me the heebie-jeebies honestly but you had the nerve to ignore me. You're lucky Dumbledore caught you and not Snape! How'd you think 'Mione and I would feel having to identify your petrified body after he finished torturing you? Did you even stop to consider what would have happened if no one had found you? The castle is huge! It could take hours, days, months, until we stumbled across your starved and shrivelled body staring into your own reflection!"

"Jeez, calm down mate. I wouldn't have let it get that far."

"I dunno Harry. Mum and Dad are always warning us to be wary of magical objects, especially ones that can think for themselves."

"Well I don't think this one was 'thinking'."

"And neither were you." Ron sneered, digging his elbow in further.

"Oi, push off! Hermione, help!"

"Don't listen to him Hermione! Tell him I'm right."

She only squinted at them in frustration, letting her mood hover over them. They were quiet for a moment before Ron muttered, "See, she agrees," which initiated a new fight. Sighing to herself, Hermione shifted in her seat, tucking her feet up under her and away from their wrestling. Truth be told, when Harry told her about his Christmas adventures, she had to bite her tongue. Choosing to focus her own scolding on his being out late at night, she let Ron lecture the poor boy about the mirror; because unbeknownst to the them, she knew exactly what Mirror Harry had discovered. After all, she had spent her fair share of time staring into her desires.

Learning that she was a witch was a dream come true. So many incidents and feelings were explained, answers to the numerous questions overflowing her mind, making room for newer, brighter thoughts. But all tainted with something she couldn't quite name but left a horrible taste on her tongue. At first she had tried to ignore it as she embarked on her first grand adventure, but what was initially new and exciting during those first few months of the school year started to clog up her throat. Contrary to popular belief, Hermione could make friends. Her problem lay in keeping them. She supposed she had a few friends back home who shared her hunger for knowledge but she knew that by the time she returned for the summer they would have nothing in common any more.

Her parents still sent her the paper at their convenience and she tried to dabble in learning mathematics and science, to keep some ties to the Muggle world, but everything felt off. Lonely and homesick, she had taken to wandering the corridors of the castle during her free time, examining the moving portraits and rooms. She spent hours roaming hallways, fingers trailing over the gilded edges of elaborate frames, eyes taking in every small detail of the enormous paintings hanging above her head, their subjects peering down at her curiously. Some of them were just as lonely as herself, and engaged her with adventurous tales of damsels and swordfights, or lectures about the history of magic and its uses.

She'd find a new place to study each day, avoiding the general populace of the castle and instead enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun in a window arch, or beneath her favourite portraits. When she ventured into the disused classrooms it was more out of morbid curiosity than reluctance to return to the common room. She'd poke her nose into the cupboards, finding old chalk, broken quills and parchment amongst the dust and spiders. Every now and then she'd find an item left behind from the last class's study and marvel over it for hours. Sometimes it would be a tome or scrolls she could curl up with. But eventually they all rolled into one. As intriguing as each classroom was, they were all the same: high ceilings, arched windows, cold and damp and furniture stacked under sheets in the corners. So when she was lost in her thoughts one day, dusty and tired, she was surprised to find herself in a carbon copy room except for one difference.

She still remembered how it shimmered in the evening light. Opaque and stunning, trimmed in gold. Taller than her. Taller than her dad, the tallest person she knew. Standing on two clawed feet that made it seem like it could just get up and leave at any given moment. She had drifted towards it cautiously, unsure as to the power it seemed to emit. Standing to its side, she had raised a shaking hand to trace the lines etched along the rim, slowly bringing her gaze up, up, up until it settled on the words carved across the top.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"My heart's desire." She had breathed into the still air. Her hand froze against the cool gold. Her heart's desire. Did she desire anything? Biting her lip, she frowned at her feet, numerous ideas crossing her mind. Her family, home, safety, to be the best in her class, to impress her class, to have a friend.

To not be alone.

Sniffling back her emotions, she stilled her heart of its frantic beating and lifted her head to look at the reflective glass. While all great desires, was it truly the one she wanted most? Never a great risk taker, she slowly worked up her courage to level with her curiosity and took a daring, sudden step to the side, directly in front of her reflection. What she saw nearly made her come crashing to her knees.

She was smiling. She was smiling at the people surrounding her who were encouraging her, supporting her, lending a hand when in need. Her fellow housemates, her old schoolmates, her family. But mostly her fellow year group, calling her to participate in their adventures. Lavender and Parvati giggling and taming her hair, talking to Dean and Seamus about Manchester versus Newcastle, Neville shyly showing her how he was slowly improving his studies. Ron and Harry sharing with her a story about their own adventures in the school corridors.

She wasn't sure how long she had stood there, watching it all reel across the glass, but when her stomach gurgled she had awakened from her trace to find her hand pressed hard against the reflection in the dark, the sun having set a while ago. Distraught, she had pulled herself away, shaking the numb tingles from her palm as she hurried from the classroom, too frightened to cast a glance over her shoulder at the enticing object.

She had made it to the Grand Hall in time for the last of supper, dusty and shaken, ignoring the few curious looks she earned for the thoughts whirling in her head. What had just happened? What was that mirror? How long had she been drawn in by its allure? She had so many questions burning the tip of her tongue, but no one to answer them. Maybe some of the paintings or ghosts knew? Deciding to ask Sir Nicholas later, she slowly immersed herself in her dinner, thoughts of the mirror never truly leaving her mind.

The weeks that followed turned out to be the most distracted she had ever let herself become. On the surface she remained the same, rule-abiding student. But as soon as her homework was complete to a satisfactory level, she'd slip away from the masses and look for the mirror. The first few days she struggled, having no clue as to how she found it originally. But after carefully taking note of her environment and which way the staircases moved, she eventually found herself staring into it again. It held the same images as before, her year group inviting her into their circles and lives, but each day the story would change to fit whatever she had learnt or overheard since her last visit.

It became an unhealthy routine, one that started to wear on her appearance and studies. She ate and slept less, her homework became a foot shorter than her usual standard, her hair wilder with every hand she ran through it as she puzzled over the stories the mirror told her. The paintings began to worry about her, calling to her as she passed, following her from painting to painting until they hit an edge. That only drove her on, her heart broken as she came to the conclusion that the only friends she had were moving egg tempura. The ghosts had shied away from her questioning about the subject and, despite her desire to know the answer, the mirror always showed her with her 'friends' studying a book and dawning upon the answer. But she could never see it.

One night, after a particularly hard day, the reflected images taunted her. The smiling faces turned into sneers, beckoning fingers became rude gestures, kind words curdled and fell flat. She sat huddled in front of their stares, wincing at each cruel word, taking it all in as her desire morphed and became something truly dark. Terrified of her own self-loathing she had fled, tears blurring her vision as she made her way back to the common room. She must have looked a mess to her roommates when she stumbled in, out of breath and trying to hide her sobs, but no one said anything. Turning her back on them, she clambered into her bed, drawing the curtains around her before burying her face into her pillows, bawling. The next day was Halloween. When the troll had burst into the bathroom, a number of thoughts had swirled across her mind (Dear God, that's a troll! Help! I'm about to become another Moaning Myrtle!) but the one that stopped her feet from moving as it swung it's club towards her was please let me die quickly. She really didn't know what she would have done if Ron and Harry hadn't burst in to save her.

Sitting here now, watching as they continued to play, she was still surprised she hadn't completely shattered at that point and revealed all to them. She never did go looking for the mirror after that. It crossed her mind occasionally but as the days went by and she slowly recovered from her near death experience (and her second one at that!), it slipped from her mind, bit by bit. The looming adventure she was investigating with her friends took priority and she felt valued and appreciated for the first time since moving here. She owed these two her life. She'd go to any lengths for them, she realised, no matter how insane it may seem.

"Hey, Hermione, are you okay?"

Startled she blinked back the film of tears to see Harry leaning towards her worriedly, Ron close by looking uncertain. Lifting an ink stained hand to rub at her face, she mumbled a brief affirmative, sniffling.

Harry must have noticed she wasn't, because before she could stop him, he was climbing into the chair beside her, curling his frail arms around her protectively.

Ron hovered to the side for moment before shuffling over on his knees, reaching out to rub away the tears on her cheeks. "You've smudged ink all over your face you know," was all he said.

She burst into tears then and, letting the book fall from her lap, she moved to envelope them both in a bone-crushing hug. Ignoring their weak attempts to escape, she cried into their shoulders, thanking them over and over again in her mind, and aloud between breaths, for everything they had done for her. Yes, she could make friends. And these ones she was determined to keep.