Author's Note: Please read and review!
—Chapter Two—
"Where are they?" Hermione said aloud to herself, frustration coloring her tone.
She paced down the train, searching each and every compartment. Harry and Ron had told her in their letters that they would meet her in front of the Hogwarts Express ten minutes before departure time, and indeed, she had seen Ginny, Fred, George, and Percy get on the train around that time, but they had been curiously absent among the rest of the Weasleys.
Hermione pulled another door open, mouth posed to interrogate the inmates of yet another compartment. However, when she saw the scene before her—an embracing couple, getting quite fervidly involved in their reunion—she immediately slammed it shut, her face reddening slightly.
Pulling open another compartment door with crossed fingers—she had no desire of stumbling upon another couple—she gave a sigh of relief when she recognized Neville sitting beside Seamus and Dean.
"H-hello Hermione," Neville greeted nervously, holding his toad Trevor with gentle hands. Dean and Seamus both gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement before returning to their game of exploding snaps.
"Have any of you seen Harry or Ron?" Hermione asked.
"Can't say I have," Seamus muttered. Dean too gave a headshake in the negative, his eye not moving away from the game.
Hermione looked expectantly at Neville.
"I haven't either, Hermione," Neville stuttered apologetically, "But I'll tell you if I see them."
"Thank you, Neville," she replied with a strained smile. She nodded her goodbyes to Seamus and Dean, before exiting the compartment and moving to the next compartment.
She regretted opening the door to this compartment as well, though for different reasons than the previous one.
"Well, well, well," an angelic voice crooned, "If it isn't a mudblood."
She surveyed the compartment. On the left, sat Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini; the first two were immersed deeply in what appeared to be a hole in one of their scarves, while the latter two glanced at her with dark, unreadable eyes, surveying her just as she surveyed them. On the right, sat Parkinson, legs crossed and already in uniform, with Daphne Greengrass on one side of her, and the other side curiously vacant. Distantly, Hermione wondered where the proclaimed king of Slytherin was.
"What do you want, mudblood?" Pansy Parkinson mocked in a viciously sweet tone.
"I seemed to have misplaced something, and was merely looking for it," Hermione answered stiffly, already moving toward the exit. "I apologize for interrupting."
However, before her hand even reached the handle, the compartment door slid open once more, revealing the last person Hermione had wanted to see.
"Mudblood," Malfoy drawled, silver eyes filled with cruelty as he entered the compartment, "fancy meeting you here."
"Malfoy," Hermione responded tightly, "what an unexpected pleasure. Unfortunately, I was just leaving. If you would excuse me."
A hand, not Malfoy's, stopped her from leaving. Hermione's eyes flew wide open, and she turned immediately to see whose hand was crushing her wrist to the point of agonizing pain.
"You haven't been dismissed, mudblood," Zabini growled. Hermione noted distantly that his voice was surprisingly low for a second year.
"Get your hands off of me," Hermione said furiously, pulling away.
"Hands off, Blaise," Malfoy ordered emotionlessly, but there was an inferno raging in his eyes.
Zabini immediately released her and Hermione leveled him with a Slytherin-worthy glare before moving towards the door once more.
"Wait a minute, mudblood," Malfoy spat out, "As Blaise correctly brought to your attention, I have not allowed you to leave yet."
"You have no power over me, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, "I am a free human being with my own will power, and as such, I can leave whenever I want to."
He smirked. "One step out that door," he whispered, moving close to deliver the words near her ear, "and there will be no be no restraint in my harassment of Potter."
There was a long silence, before she complied with ill-concealed hatred. "You have my attention."
Malfoy began to smirk once more, but Hermione stepped forward suddenly, a dangerous adrenaline rush pumping through her blood stream fueling her boldness.
"One day," Hermione said softly, deadly serious, "one day, when I am more powerful and knowledgeable, I will defeat you, and I will prove to you that muggleborns are just as good as any pretentious pureblood."
Malfoy laughed mockingly, his paradoxically angelic laughter ringing thunderously in her ears. His face was lit up with unholy delight, as beautiful as it was terrible.
Then, as though it had all been a performance—though for whom, she had no idea—his laughter ceased abruptly, his face reassuming its hard, mocking expression.
"That day will never come, mudblood," he stated coldly, "the board of governors may look out our scores on paper and state that we are equals, but we both know that as soon as we pull out our wands, I will destroy you."
Hermione glared at him. If only she could do it now…
"Well, let's get this over with. What do you want?" she snapped, her mind snapping back to the cause of this entire prolonged encounter.
"Don't talk to him that way!" Parkinson threatened shrilly.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione repeated, frustration coloring her tone.
He glanced at her hard for one second, before reaching into the voluminous folds of his Hogwarts cloak to full out a crisp, large envelope. "My father was instructed by his fellow board governors to deliver this to you and me. It concerns both of us, and apparently cannot be opened without both of us present."
Puzzled, Hermione gazed at the pale parchment in his hand.
They seem to be under the belief that you will go on to do great things together in the wizarding world.
Looking up again, she took a step back in shock at Malfoy's face. Despite his cultured inexpression, his eyes flashed murderously.
"This kills you," Hermione stated suddenly, realization lighting up her face, "this absolutely kills you inside, doesn't it? The fact that people acknowledge us to be on the same level: a pureblood and a mudblood."
"The envelope must be opened eventually," Malfoy continued, as though he hadn't heard her speak. But she could see from the livid tightening of his jaw that he had heard her.
"I'll meet you at the library after the Ceremony and sorting of the first years," Hermione replied swiftly, and then—with a glance at the other members within the compartment—added emphatically, "without company."
"Keep Potter and Weasley away, and you have yourself a deal, mudblood," the Slytherin bargained.
She turned on her heel, and left.
Hermione sat impatiently at the Gryffindor table, craning her neck in desperate search of Harry and Ron. She hadn't seen them get on the train, she hadn't seen them in the train, she hadn't seen them get off the train, and even now, she simply couldn't find them.
"First years!" Professor McGonagall announced, gesturing the eleven year olds to proceed down the center of the hall. The first year students, many of whom—Hermione noted with a grimace—towered above her, looked around the Great Hall in awe, whispering and chattering among themselves.
With a flourish of his pale blue sleeve, Professor Dumbledore conjured the Sorting Hat and placed it on the stool. The entire school waited in silence, waiting for the Sorting Hat to give its annual song of welcome.
With a sudden snap, the raggedy crooked hat became erect, one of its many tears opening further to serve as a mouth. It took one ancient, rattling inhalation of breath, and then proceeded to sing its song:
"Thousands, and thousands of years ago
When I was but a wee idea in a wee wizard's head
There existed four particular magical individuals
Who ruled with education in oppressive powers' stead.
For their influence as teachers was infinitely stronger
Than any cruel tyrant's could ever hope to be
Influencing and molding the minds of the younger generations
They impressed upon them their own belief and decree.
For sad though it is, such is the power of educators,
A power that is absolute, all-consuming, and thus corruptible
As each served a higher power: bravery, wisdom, loyalty, and ambition
And each believed their respective masters to be infallible.
So when Slytherin and Gryffindor inevitably came to blows,
When ambition and bravery caused the two dear friends to part,
A great divide was subsequently created,
Disallowing the two to coexist in one heart.
Hence, the foolishness of those four individuals
And the creation of me, the renowned Sorting Hat with my annual spiels
Cemented this separation of the four valued qualities
And forevermore sundered the wholeness of Hogwart's ideals.
Because when you put me on your young heads
And I tell you where you ought to be
You are encouraged to destroy all other qualities that you possess
And develop only those declared important by me.
Hufflepuff, the just and loyal
Gryffindor, the brave at heart
Ravenclaw, the wise and witty
And Slytherin, the ambitious and cunning, ridiculed for what they are not.
Such divisions have been created,
The legacy of a thousand year old disagreement,
Is it possible to hate one's existence?
For I find myself in this curious predicament.
But do not fear! I will place myself on your heads many a time more!
I shall continue my prescribed job, as I cannot quit
But keep in mind my warning words, and heed them well
For true greatness cannot be born without cunning, bravery, determination, and wit.
The entire school sat in deafening silence. Hermione too, had to prevent herself from allowing her jaw to drop.
Professor McGonagall, having finally recovered herself, hastily announced, "Let the sorting commence!" And after a short hesitation, the first years proceed to the stool and were sorted one by one.
"Creevey, Collin."
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Hermione clapped politely, rolling her eyes at the obscene roaring from several enthusiastic classmates. As more and more students were sorted, she began zoning out slightly. However, her attention was immediately seized once more when she caught sight of a pale blonde gracefully dancing to the sorting hat. Were those…radishes on her earrings?
"Lovegood, Luna."
"RAVENCLAW!"
Hermione observed as several others were sorted, much to the happiness of their respective houses, until finally it was Ginny waiting in front of the sorting hat. As luck would have it, she was last of the year.
"Weasley, Ginevra."
Ginny moved confidently to the hat, but hesitated at the last step, her gaze searching the crowd for her brothers. Fred and George hollered and whooped their support, while Percy simply gave an encouraging nod. Finally, she stepped forward and allowed the hat to be placed no her head.
The sorting of the last student was always a tense one. For some, it signified the start of another year. For the majority of the others, however, it signaled the moment after which food would be served. Regardless, it was fair to say that every single student and faculty member was paying attention at that moment.
Hermione watched as Ginny paled, the sorting hat having appeared to have reached its decision. But the old hat did not open its mouth until she had nodded hesitantly in acceptance of her fate.
"SLYTHERIN!"
For the second time that day, the hall went silent. The expectant joy on Fred and George's face melted away like a horrific painting set on fire, and Percy dropped the silver goblet in his hand with a loud clang, watching blankly as it rolled off the table and toward the Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindors as a whole seemed to have suffered from some sort of heart attack.
The Slytherins, on the other hand, were jeering and whooping, though it was more mocking than joyful. "We got a Weasley," Flint hollered, "but at least she's got Prewett blood in her!"
Ginny walked on shaky legs, but back straight, to the Slytherin table, taking a seat next to another one of her Slytherin classmates.
At this point, Dumbledore finally stood up and, with a grand flourish, signaled the arrival of the food. "Please, let us enjoy this meal as another school year begins!"
"And what an interesting year it shall be," Hermione muttered, spearing a piece of potato.
"I am here, Malfoy," Hermione muttered, glaring at the blonde who had yet to lift his head from his book. He sat at one of the wooden desks, his legs outstretched and resting rudely on the surface of the desk.
"Mudblood," Draco responded cuttingly (she had decided to start calling him that in her head; he had threatened to 'destroy' her after all, and that definitely demanded some sort of acknowledgement beyond being mere classmates). Hermione sat down with a thump.
Draco pulled out the envelope, and proceeded to bite slightly on his finger, releasing some blood. "The board placed an enchantment on the envelope that allows it to be opened only when in contact with both of our bloods."
"Blood magic?" Hermione questioned with self-righteous incredulity, "Isn't that banned by the ministry because it's considered part of the Dark Arts?"
"It is amazing how such an 'intelligent' individual can be so utterly naïve, another reason why I am superior to you." Draco drawled, silver eyes glinting. "Blood magic was never simply restricted to the Dark Arts, mudblood. Many 'light' wizards and witches support it too. Like all magic, it can be used both to do harm as well as to heal. Unfortunately, however, the ministry chooses to remain ignorant of that fact, taken as it is by Dumbledore and his propaganda. It seems, however, that the board of governors has its own allegiances."
Hermione leaned back with a troubled expression, taking in the information she had just received. Looking irritated, Draco quickly waved his wand, drawing a small cut on her finger, before grabbing her finger and quickly pressing it to the envelope.
"Hey!" Hermione yelled, retrieving her hand quickly, watching with horror as her blood quickly spread across the cream paper.
"Shut your mouth," Draco hissed. The envelope burned away, leaving behind a single, pristine letter.
Both leaned in to read it.
Dear Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy,
As is our duty, it is constantly in the interests of the school's board of governors that we promote the excellence of Hogwarts. At times, this ancient school has been termed archaic and backwards in its teachings, but we now aspire to demonstrate that Britain's school of magic is capable of producing exemplary students who can contribute with unparalleled results in a modern world…through the teachings of the old. We choose to enact Locus Tirocinium, a motion detailed in Section 1075, Paragraph III of the Founders' Guidelines. The two of you will be apprenticed to Claudius Ptolemy, while simultaneously attending your Hogwarts classes. You will be expected to immerse yourself in his teachings and learn in the classical style as the greatest wizards and witches of Britain did in the past: Merlin, Morgan le Fay, Nicholas Flamel, Queen Maeve, Cliodne, and naturally, the four founders themselves. We anxiously await the results.
Regards,
Nathaniel Phosphor
Head of Hogwarts School Board of Governors
Post Script – It should be noted that Mr. Ptolemy has a curious aversion for those of the female gender. We are sure, however, that you two will manage to find a solution. Further details will be sent shortly. These extra lessons will occur at a private hall within Hogwarts.
"A curious aversion for the female gender." Hermione repeated out loud, blinking slowly, before her gaze focused on Draco. Quickly, she pulled back. "Well, I suppose we'll meet again once the next letter arrives. Until then, do stay out of my way."
Draco remained silent, but the threat he had declared to her at Flourish and Blotts echoed loudly in his eyes.
Hermione turned to leave, but stopped suddenly, pausing as a stray thought occurred to her.
Turning around suddenly, Hermione leaned forward again and planted her palms flat on the table, boldly making direct eye contact with the Slytherin while only a couple of inches from his face.
"You are going to do me a favor."
Draco raised his eyebrow, as though he found merely the idea of such a scenario to be entirely ridiculous.
"Yes," Hermione affirmed, "and in return, I will offer you a favor as well. You will be able to ask anything of me, just as long as no one is harmed by your request."
"Indeed," Draco intoned, silver eyes calculating, "and what is it that you ask of me?"
"Watch over Ginny."
The Slytherin looked back at her, no sign of recognition on his face. "Ginny?"
"Ginevra Weasley."
"Oh," Draco nodded, his face mockingly genial, "the Prewett girl. And why, pray tell, would she need protection, mudblood? Her blood is pure; she is accepted by the Slytherins."
"Just because."
Draco eyed her sharply, before a dangerous, purely animalistic grin curved itself across his face. "Very well. I look forward to collecting that favor."
"Hermione!" she heard a familiar voice cry. As soon as she passed through the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione was engulfed in a painful hug by Harry, while Ron stood back with a smile on his face.
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione, clutching them both in quick hugs, "Where the hell were you?"
Ron looked at her strangely. "Did you just…swear?"
"Shut up, Ronald," Hermione scolded angrily, "I have been going insane with worry for the both of you! You told me you would meet me before we got on the train. And then, when I got on the train, I couldn't find you! Where were you?"
Harry looked at her nervously, rubbing one of his bony elbows. "The entrance to the platform didn't allow us to get through."
There was a pause. Then: "That's the most pathetic lie I have ever heard in my life."
"We're telling the truth!" Ron exclaimed.
"It's highly improbable," Hermione muttered, "No witch or wizard is powerful enough to stop that barrier without creating a complex system of runes; that's hardly unnoticeable. And even then, the barrier undoubtedly has defenses against such attacks."
"Hermione," Harry said earnestly, green eyes heartbreakingly sincere, "I know it doesn't make sense—even Snape and Dumbledore don't believe us—but I promise you, I would never lie about something like this. Unless someone messed with our heads or something, I swear it happened."
Hermione analyzed both boys with an uncompromising gaze, before finally sighing. "Fine, against all logic and reason, I believe you. But if you weren't able to take the train, how exactly did you get here?"
Once again, Harry and Ron looked at each other in hesitation. "We took…the flying car."
Hermione gaped at them. "What?"
"We took the flying car to Hogwarts," Ron listed quickly, "crashed into the Whomping Willow, got my wand snapped in two, got caught by Snape, were almost expelled, but now we are here: safe, unharmed, and not expelled. So everything is really alright."
"Really…alright?" Hermione stated slowly, eyes flickering dangerously.
"In any case," Harry cut in hastily, "How did the sorting ceremony go?"
"Yeah," Ron added, gaze wandering as though in search for something. "Where's Ginny? I didn't get to congratulate her."
"Er, Ron," Hermione said, her anger draining away suddenly to be replaced by apprehension. "Ginny isn't in Gryffindor."
"B-but," Ron stuttered after a long pause, "where else could she be? If not in Gryffindor—"
"Slytherin," Hermione concluded quietly.
There was a deathly silence, in which Ron's face first went frighteningly pale, and then alarmingly red.
"Slytherin?!"
Harry had become pale as well, his green eyes comically wide; however, unlike his brash friend, he remained curiously silent.
But Ron's face had already contorted itself into a nasty snarl, his usually light blue eyes dark and thunderous. "Slytherins are all scum, Hermione! How could Ginny have—Why would she be—When did she get so wrong?"
"RON!" a voice shouted furiously. The fierce reprimand had already been on Hermione's lips, but she was surprised to see that the cry had not come from her, but from Harry.
"She's your sister. Family" Harry yelled, "Slytherin or not, how could you call your sister any of those things? You know her. Ginny isn't like that."
"She's a Slytherin," Ron sneered, though there was still an element of horrified shock in his expression, "I clearly don't know her well enough at all."
"Shut up," Hermione cut in, her temper inevitably getting the better of her. "You're being utterly ridiculous, and just stupid. So just shut up."
"What?" Ron snapped darkly.
"There's nothing wrong with being a Slytherin," Hermione hissed angrily, "And there's nothing that inherently makes a Slytherin more evil or twisted than any other human being…"—she paused, before continuing—"The sorting hat considered putting me in Slytherin, but here I am in Gryffindor. If anything, that's a testament to the fact that a person can be both: that a Slytherin can be cunning and sneaky while remaining courageous and noble, and that a Gryffindor can be bold and brave while remaining calculating and ambitious."
"What?"
In stark contrast to his infuriated shouting before, his voice was now a weak whisper.
Ron took a step back, and that one movement managed to hurt Hermione more than words ever could.
However, as she began to leave, she was stopped by a fervid grip on her wrist. When she turned to see who it was, deep, aggrieved green eyes looked back at her.
"Hermione…" he said pleadingly, but Hermione didn't know what he was begging for. "Please…"
Sending the both of them one last look, she finally pulled away, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she climbed up the stairs to the girl's dorms.