Hermione voraciously devoured each school book, mind whirling at what she absorbed. She made copious notes in the margins and on her personalized notepad, marking pages and chapters that needed further reflection and study with paperclips. She spent one day only on each classroom book, unwilling to spend too much time on one single subject. While she could learn the theories, terms, and words, magic was a practical exercise as well. She couldn't practice magic with her wand just yet: McGonagall had explained to her and her family the consequences of underage magic use outside of school. Therefore, she read her textbooks and studied what she could. The rest would have to wait until school.
Charms and Transfigurations caught her attention, furnishing theories and ideas in her brain. First Year Charms and Transfiguration for Beginners were heavily annotated, smelling not only of parchment but now also of drying ink. Potions for First Year Students had also proved incredibly interesting to her analytical mind. The theory behind potions seemed a bit obscure, but she appreciated the ritualistic order of creating a potion.
Herbology was average, at best. It was a very thin manual that only outlined fieldwork. It was full of safety rules, precautions, and instructions. She skimmed it lightly to familiarize herself and then moved on to Astronomy.
She was even less interested in astronomy. She already knew quite a bit that the book covered from her normal science classes, and the aspects she was not familiar with seemed to stray a little too closely to astrology for her analytical, rational mind. History of Magic had been fascinating, but the book had been dry to the point of making her yawn. How an author could write a book that made even Merlin's War so absolutely boring, she had no idea. Hopefully, the professor wouldn't completely depend on the textbook to teach class. The author, Philo Binns, was one of the only writers that had ever nearly put her to sleep.
Defense would most assuredly be her most interesting class. The book seemed a little sparse, but what it did contain was absolutely fascinating. Except for certain curses, dark magic did not seem deserving of its title. Dark magic sounded like incredibly powerful spells that could certainly wreak destruction, but she couldn't see how that truly differentiated it from all other magic. Any magic could be used for the purpose of evil. Why was dark magic held superstitiously to be so bad when it was truly just not as well understood?
It was certainly worth further study. Dark magic may be zealously ridiculed, but she wanted to learn the truth of it, without the blinders wizards born directly into their heritage would have likely formed.
Hermione packed her school books into the bottom of her trunk, arranging them as she would when she unpacked. In exchange for getting a pet at a later date, Hermione had chosen a trunk that had clever charms placed on it to make the inside much larger than it seemed. She had been glum to pass up on a magical companion, but the trunk was incredibly convenient. She could bring much more to school from home than she had originally known.
Black school robes- plain but well-made of the finest, softest fabrics- went in after her folded winter cloak and carefully packaged dress robes. Slowly, she filled her trunk, clothes segregated to one side and school supplies to the other. Her clothes were the easiest: school clothing, and some normal jeans and blouses. Her mother had purchased one pair of shoes, made in Diagon Alley to magically grow with her. The black leather of the boot was smooth and gleamed dully, with a narrow heel that clicked commandingly when she walked in them. Normal trainers joined her magical boots. Hermione wasn't sure what she could expect in terms of physical activity at Hogwarts, but she would rather be safe than destroy a pair of shoes.
The Hogwarts school uniform was surprisingly attractive for a British boarding school. She had five grey pleated skirts, five white blouses, three grey sweaters, and six pairs of tall grey knee socks. It was a lot of grey, but the white stripes interspersed at the v of her sweater, and her white tie alleviated the drab color scheme. Hermione liked the serious monochrome color palette. It felt sophisticated.
Task completed, Hermione picked up her book on magical theory by the esteemed witch, Morgan La Fey. School would begin in two days, and she had prepared as well as she could. Now, she could do some reading for her most personal interests.
"Hold onto me, mum, dad," Hermione said, offering her elbows to either parent. "Maybe being connected to me will make the passage less disorienting, since I am meant to pass through."
The brick wall stretched before her, innocuous. It looked perfectly normal, but when Hermione focused on it intently, she could feel a tiny itching sensation in the base of her skull. Her father rapped his knuckles against the brick, shaking his head when they met solid stone. "I think this is a joke, Emily."
Hermione frowned at him. "Professor McGonagall said the platform was behind this wall."
"Well, maybe there's a magical train to take you to your magical school behind some other magical wall."
"Daniel," Emily Granger hissed, staring at her husband over Hermione's head.
Hermione was slightly surprised. She had never heard this sort of venom from her father; his recalcitrance to her heritage made her suspicions even more plausible.
"Let me try," Hermione said, eager to diffuse her mother's ire. Stepping forward, the witch poked the wall with one finger. With a cool rush of air, her finger disappeared into the wall. Smug, Hermione stepped back and offered her elbow to her parents once more. Silently, they retook the offering, still trying to twist their minds around their daughter's finger going through a solid brick wall.
With a deep breath, preparing herself for the new life she was burgeoning on, Hermione pushed her cart through the wall.
Noise and commotion exploded around the Grangers. Through the wall, hundreds of children of many ages hurtled at each other, waved wands, and created an immense fuss. Families like theirs bid their children goodbye until Christmas, while the train rumbled with impatience.
The massive red train caught Hermione's eyes, gleaming and golden on the platform rails. Students lugged their trunks through open doors, filling train compartments with chatter. She felt a moment of anxiety when she realized she would have to share a compartment with strangers for the ride to school.
"Wow," her mother breathed, eyes wide at the spectacle.
Daniel Granger was totally gob-smacked. He hadn't expected witches and wizards to look so... normal, he supposed.
"Well, I suppose this is goodbye for now," Mrs. Granger said, extending her arms. Hermione entered her embrace, inhaling her mother's fresh flower scent for the last time until Christmas.
"I love you, mum," she whispered, squeezing. "Be safe."
Mrs. Granger kissed the crown of her daughter's head and smoothed a hand down her bushy curls. "I love you too, sweetheart. You be safe! And make sure to enjoy yourself and make some good friends."
Hermione stepped back and her father clapped a hand on her shoulder and hugged her briefly. "I know we don't have to tell you to keep up with your studies," he murmured. "But make sure that you kick everyone's bum here just like back home, okay?"
"Daniel," Mrs. Granger mock reproached. "Phrase that a little nicer."
He rolled his eyes comically. "Okay dearest. Hermione, make sure you stay on top of the year. Better?" he asked his wife.
"Much," she smiled.
With another flurry of goodbyes, and tears from her mother, Hermione trundled onto the train to find her own compartment. Eventually, she found one that was blessedly empty. After stowing her trunk, she settled on a comfortable bench and cracked open her book. Conversation filtered in to her closed compartment, rushing feet thundering by. Years one through seven were all crowded on a single train. Yet, it was apparent to Hermione that the magical population of Britain was small. McGonagall had told her that her year would only have between fifty and eighty children for all of Britain. The magical population hardly seemed sustainable to her fledgling genetic study.
Plausibly, the British magical population was sustained by a healthy migration of witches and wizards from overseas. It made sense to Hermione that magical societies all over the world would keep contact; the next logical step was that witches and wizards traveled between countries. Invariably, these people would intermingle with the natural population, and then introduce new blood into the gene pool, thus maintaining a fit species (she had a notated copy of The Origin of Species in her trunk that she intended to apply to wizarding genetics to satisfy her curiosity).
Muggleborns then would be an absolute necessity to the survival of wizards as a whole. Muggleborns had the required traits that produced whatever it was that made wizards and witches magical, but also presented a totally untouched vista of genetic possibility. With such a small population, magical society needed what Muggleborns alone could provide, or the gene pool would become quite shallow.
Hermione imagined what a witch inundated with incest would be like. Perhaps her magic would stutter out? How would a genetic cesspool produced by incest reflect in purely magical traits?
Unfortunately, she had no way to conduct experiments on genetics. She could hypothesize, and perhaps observe students that had known incest in their families. The Origin of Species method of cataloguing and observation would have to suffice.
She returned her attention to her book. So far, Morgan la Fey was absolutely captivating. The book itself had been written rather well by a wizard named Catullus Herrings, who had compiled Morgan la Fey's research into a compendium. The magical theories were a little beyond her, since she hadn't even had a basic magical theory class and knew nothing other than what she had read, but she was still eager to read more. Morgan had done intensive research on the esoteric subject of magic itself, hypothesizing that all of magic had a single common source, or was made of a single common element. Hermione could see how magic and muggle science would intersect at the crossroads of magic being an undiscovered, spiritual element that belonged on the Periodic Table.
A brief clatter of the compartment door opening caused her to look up from her thoughts. Two boys shouldered their way in, narrow frames clothed in rich fabrics. Their trunks floated on their own, beckoned by crooked fingers to stow themselves away. The boys looked at Hermione like she was a minor inconvenience, a bug on the ground, or a speck of dirt on their lapels.
"Can you find some other place to read?" one demanded rudely, flouncing onto the bench. The other boy sat quietly next to him, eyes intent upon Hermione.
"I was here first," she replied, "and I wouldn't do anything anyone said with a tone quite like that." She felt a brief flicker of apology for disobeying her mother so quickly. She had said she would attempt to make friends, but this boy had been rude first. Hermione did not allow anyone, much less pale little boys, talk that way to her.
The sneering boy looked her up and down, purposely exaggerating the movement of his head as he took in her clearly muggle clothing. "I think it would be a lot better for you over the next seven years if you learned how to treat your superiors."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, astonished at his manner. She had never been treated like this by an absolute stranger, much less one her own age, or near enough. "Pardon," she said acidly, "but I don't believe I have met a superior as of yet." McGonagall was certainly her superior but this boy didn't need to know she had met her already.
The boy's pale face flushed, detecting the sting of her insult. "You're just another one of those dumb bints that think being clever is all there is," he spat. "Cleverness means nothing compared to real power. Power you can only get from being one of an elite. A pureblood!"
Hermione immediately recalled the book she had read yesterday, Various Customs in the Magical World. It had an entire chapter on the 'elite families' practices, including their obsession with bloodlines. 'Pureblood' meant the witch or wizard had a long history of witches and wizards in their family, descending directly with no muggle taint. Halfbloods were children born from the unions of muggles and wizards, or wizards and muggleborns, and then there were the muggleborns. Like Hermione.
"I see," she said conversationally. "So you are a pureblood, then?"
"Of course," he snarled. "I'm a Malfoy! The most elite of the pureblooded families."
"Never heard of them," she responded primly.
The boy, Malfoy, widened his eyes comically. "No wonder," he breathed. "You're a filthy muggleborn!"
Hermione looked on in interest when Malfoy nudged his companion. "No wonder she's so dumb and ugly," he crowed. "She's a bloody muggle!"
The other boy seemed to be horrified by Malfoy's rudeness, but he said nothing to dissuade Malfoy from his blatant rudeness. He only sat still, smiling tightly at his friend when Malfoy jostled his arm and continued to rant.
"Merlin, I can feel the filth from over here," Malfoy declared dramatically. "It's bloody toxic."
How her 'filth' affected him now, when he knew she was a muggleborn, versus when he seemed perfectly fine upon entering the compartment was not lost on Hermione. She just didn't understand why he cared so much that he would be so impossibly hateful. He reacted so strongly to learning of her parentage that his face had flushed from vitriol. Hermione wondered if all purebloods were so racist; if so, she needed to be careful about what she revealed to others. She didn't want to be distracted from her studies by bullying.
"Tell me," Malfoy asked excitedly, "is your father some alley-rat git like other muggles?"
"He's a dentist," she answered, refusing to let his antics get to her. He was certainly beginning to annoy her, but she didn't want to have a fight on her very first day, before the train even left the station. Although, she could try to establish her reputation early on; it would perhaps deter others from bothering her.
"Whatever that muggle trash is," Malfoy continued doggedly, "I'm sure it can't compare to your mother."
Hermione stilled noticeably. Her mother was not to be insulted, ever.
Malfoy noticed the change and grinned snidely. "A muggle mother, Merlin. What a bloody tragedy to be birthed from some hideous slag that doesn't even deserve to wipe my-"
"What is your full name?" Hermione interrupted. When Hermione became angry, she did not shout or shake. Her fury was cold, hard. Her expression was empty, absent of anything to indicate her next move. Her immediate reaction to becoming angry was not to vent her fury with fists or screams. She planned, she schemed, she hurt. Her parents didn't know where her vindictive streak came from; they only knew their daughter could be unparalleled in pure viciousness.
Malfoy smirked, successful in riling up the filthy muggleborn. "Draco Lucius Malfoy," he stated proudly, sticking out his narrow chest.
"I will remember you," Hermione murmured.
"Good," he snarked. "You should remember me. It would be in poor taste for a muggleborn not to remember her superiors."
Hermione fingered her wand silently, already anticipating the violence she would pursue on this poor, stupid boy. Would it be better for her to imprint on these two boys her reputation now, with a quick flurry of the few spells she could cast? Or should she wait, and enact her revenge methodically? It wasn't a given that she would be placed in the same house as them, so this moment may be her only easy chance to make him regret that comment about her mother. However, it also wasn't a given that she knew nastier spells than they did. Purebloods had a distinct advantage over her; they had been exposed to magic for their entire lives, and doubtlessly had found some way to practice before schooling. If she attacked this smirking cretin, he might retaliate with more than she could handle. Then, her reputation would be soiled before she had even begun.
But it was important for her to vent this cold anger on him. She had to begin proving herself right off the bat if she wanted to get ahead in the magical world. By establishing herself as a witch to fear, not one to push around, she would be taking a major step in the right direction. Hermione had been feared at her normal schools. Students had learned that earning her ire also earned strange burns, bruises, and cuts. Now, she had to build back her reputation from the ground up, with much higher stakes.
The difference she would have to remember well between her old schools and Hogwarts was that normal students could only steal her stuff, push her, or tease her. At Hogwarts, students had magic on their side. Witches and wizards could not only act like her old classmates, but they could charm her shoes to stick to the ground before a set of stairs, transfigure her homework into mice that scurried away, or things not so benign. She had read of spells that constricted the throat, sucked all of the air from the lungs, even froze blood within their vulnerable veins. She couldn't risk that a student wouldn't use any hurtful spells against her. She could trust no one as she trusted herself.
Despite her reservations, she decided it was more beneficial to attack and begin establishing herself as a competent foe, rather than wait and risk missing her chance. Missing an opportunity would let these boys think that she was weak and defenceless. Hermione was many things: intelligent, calculating, ambitious, cold, loyal. But she was not weak.
The spells she knew were essentially only theory; she had had no ability to practice them before getting on the train, where magic was finally allowed. However, she had an impressive memory, and so a respectable repertoire of spells, wand motions, and theories that were all needed to cast a bit of magic.
"Well?" Malfoy smirked victoriously, "do you have anything to add, muggle?"
"Petrificus totalus," Hermione said, flicking her wand at an angle and jabbing it at Malfoy.
His eyes grey wide when his arms and legs slammed to his torso, held stiff by her magic. "How dare you," he fumed, "you filthy mudblood!"
The second boy's emerald eyes grew wide, looking from Hermione to Malfoy. Hermione was surprised when he expressed more consternation at Malfoy's term than her use of magic against his friend.
"Draco, it's not a good idea to call people that," he said uneasily, looking from Hermione's wand to Draco's reddening face.
"I don't bloody well care right now, Blaise! If anyone deserves to be degraded down to the dirt they are, it's this fucking bitch!"
"Dirt can't cast spells, Malfoy," Hermione said, pleased by her wandwork. He wasn't supposed to be able to move at all, but she had mostly achieved the intended affect with zero practice. His angry exclamations actually made her smile slightly.
Blaise, the other boy, had removed his wand and was holding it, seeming to question what he should do next. Hermione glanced at the dark wand and said, "If you plan to try and hex me in revenge, you will not like my reaction. I advise you to put your wand away, at least for now. You are welcome to try something later, if you think that is best, but I would not recommend it."
Considering her differently than he had before, Blaise put away his wand, curious as to how this would play out. The only time he had ever seen Malfoy so powerless was when his father, Lucius Malfoy, had punished him. For a girl, a muggleborn at that, their own age to so easily put him under her control... it was certainly titillating. A girl like this would be an excellent ally. Perhaps not a friend; her blood was a deterrent, and Malfoy would no doubt be seething for weeks after this moment. But she was someone to keep an eye on.
Threat handled, Hermione returned her attention to her bound captive. Malfoy was spewing venomous slurs, including the one that had made Blaise finally react.
"Are you done?" Hermione asked politely when he took a moment to breathe. He immediately resumed his tirade, and Hermione wondered that no other students had investigated the screaming from their compartment. "Petrificus totalus," she said again, and his mouth clamped shut with a clack. Furious grey eyes, melting into silver, scalded her. Or attempted to scald her, she supposed. If she really tried she could nearly feel a tingle, but perhaps that was her own amusement.
"You will never mention my mother again," she said, staring intently into his eyes. Malfoy shook slightly, despite the second spell, seeming to contain his laughter. So, he found her demand repellant and amusing? She would make it clear to this bigoted boy that her demands were not trifles or polite requests.
Hermione stuck her wand to his forehead and pursed her lips, concentrating on willing the magic to do what she wanted. She traced a word slowly, intently, and then tapped it with a whispered colloveria. "Prat" blazed into red existence, neatly stenciled across his forehead. She wished his face weren't so narrow; a broad forehead would be so much more impressive.
She could have sworn Blaise almost snickered, but his face was still when she looked at him. "There now," she said, "perfect. Perhaps now you will take me seriously, as you should have from the beginning."
"Your forehead screams 'prat,' mate," Blaise explained since Malfoy had no way to see his own reflection.
"You know..." Hermione muttered thoughtfully, tapping her wand against her thigh. "Maybe you need something else to drive the point home."
"That won't be necessary," Blaise interrupted, eyeing Hermione's wand. "In fact, if you give me a few moments with Draco alone, I think I could bring him around. Would you mind stepping out of the compartment, just for a minute?"
Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. Blaise smiled to try to dispel her unease, but the muggleborn witch's gaze did not flicker. This witch made Blaise a little nervous, honestly. She wasn't afraid to make enemies. And, the way she looked at him, like he wasn't a human... She looked at him and analyzed his faults and strengths, figuring them in her head and deciding how to handle him. Her gaze was cold, calculating, like a serpent.
"I suppose," she said, standing. She had already changed into her school uniform and robes, eager to begin her new life. Blaise noted the expensive fabric of her black outer-robe. "However, if either of you touch any of my belongings, I will not be merciful."
"I don't doubt that," Blaise said as the compartment door slid shut after her.
"Finite incantatem," Blaise tapped his wand to his friend. Draco's limbs slackened, but the bright red script on his face refused to fade.
"What fucking filth," Draco spat, drawing his wand. "I'll hex her eyeballs straight from her skull!"
"Think about it, Draco," Blaise quickly blocked Draco. "I know she's right pissed you off, but think about how useful she could be!"
"I don't give a flying fuck on a broomstick about her uses!"
"What would your father do in this situation?" Blaise asked desperately, trying to corral his friend's anger. Draco was prone to tempers, and Blaise was very familiar with the tantrums the blond heir could throw.
"Curse her to thousands of pieces!"
"Maybe," Blaise conceded, "but he would also think about it all politically. We are about to begin making the connections we will use for the rest of our lives. A witch like that, despite her blood, will no doubt be someone important one day."
"I doubt it," Draco scoffed. "Real witches and wizards don't associate with mudbloods."
"Times are changing, you know that," Blaise responded, "no matter how we wish society is. What we can do is play to society's whims. Befriend, or at least make allies with, the talented mudblood. Think! It would make other student's think we are more inviting than our parents were, and we would have a powerful witch on our side."
"She's not powerful yet. A few first year spells don't mean anything compared to even fourth years."
Blaise pointed at the book she had left behind on the seat. "Look at what she reads. Advanced magical theory, at eleven years old. She's going to absorb lessons like a sponge."
"I find it hard to believe a muggleborn could be as smart, or smarter, than a pureblood, someone with magic throughout their entire family," Draco stubbornly insisted. "Besides, what does it matter if other students find us 'more inviting'? If the purebloods see us welcoming common filth, it might turn them against us. Frankly, a pureblood is a much better ally than a mudblood. I won't jeopardize future friendships by being nice to some marginally competent mudblood with a violent streak and bad hair."
Blaise nodded in defeat, but tried once more to at least prompt Draco to be more considerate. Maybe Draco didn't see the girl's potential, but Blaise understood the complicated magic she had executed, without any practice. There was no way muggleborns could practice magic before school started, until they got on the Hogwarts Express. That meant the girl could grasp spell theory well enough to not only nearly accomplish a spell like petrificus totalus, but she had perfectly cast a coloring charm, while also directing the magic to spell. Magic like that needed deep concentration for a first year, and a deep understanding of how will shaped force in spells. The girl was perhaps weak compared to higher year students, but she certainly had potential to become someone very interesting.
"Consider things a bit, mate," Blaise implored. "I can't convince you to be friends with her. I see your points, and in most ways I agree. But I don't think you should count her out yet. Once other purebloods start seeing what she can do, maybe others will try to reach out, or at least stop being rude. We don't have to be friends with her, or even loose allies. I just think it's better to at least be open, unless I'm proven completely wrong about her."
"My galleons are on you being wrong," Draco insisted. "My father would never allow me, or my closest friends, to associate with a disgusting mudblood."
Blaise threw up his hands. "Whatever you say, mate." Draco crossed his arms and stared resolutely out the window, finishing the conversation. Blaise rapped on the door, and Hermione slowly reentered.
Hermione looked from Malfoy, glaring silently out the window, to Blaise. Without a word, she sat and resumed reading. At that moment, the train began to slowly move out of the station, into the bright day.