Disclaimer- I really believe that you people should know by now that J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and that she does not need to write Fan-Fiction, so there is no way I am her.

Author's Note- Warning! Ron-bashing ahead. I don't like Ron; he's always been a prat and was never properly loyal to his friends and was never much use, so I'm going to make him be shown as entirely useless and rotten. The thought makes me smile and laugh semi-maniacally. ;)

This chapter also changes POV a few times. I made sure to put a break in the text each time the view changes, and, as always, thoughts are in italics. If the POV changes confuse people make sure to let me know and I'll try not to do it anymore, but I think I make it clear who the view is focusing on every change. Thanks.

I added a bit to the end of Chapter One! You might need to read that if you read Chapter One before 6-22-11. Thanks.

"Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it."
— Robert Frost

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CHAPTER TWO

Jean Granger wasn't really as sure about this whole School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as she let her daughter think. The Doctors Granger had always known that there was something special about their little girl, but they had never thought to suspect that Hermione had magic. Looking back on it, Jean supposed it made sense. Odd sorts of things had always happened around Hermione, ever since she was old enough to crawl.

But never, never, did any of the Grangers suspect that Hermione was a witch. When that kind little man, what was his name…ah, yes, Flitwick, when Professor Flitwick had shown up on their doorstep a week after Hermione's eleventh birthday last September and started talking about how Hermione was a witch, Hermione had immediately fallen in love with the idea of unraveling the mystery of an entirely new world. During their very first trip to Diagon Alley, the elder Grangers had thought their daughter would pass out at the sight of all the books. Hermione was hooked on the thrilling idea of being a witch.

But Jean Granger just wasn't too sure about the whole idea. Professor Flitwick had assured her that Hogwarts was the best possible education and that it was perfectly safe, but Jean Granger didn't think having her daughter learn curses and jinxes and all that other nonsense sounded too safe.

She had tried to subtly convince her daughter not to do this, to just go to that accelerated learning center that she'd been accepted to instead, but she couldn't make her daughter listen.

It had been nearly a year since they'd discovered magic and known that Hermione would leave them for her school, but it didn't stop the Grangers' hearts from breaking as they had the feeling that their little girl would never be the same once that scarlet train finished pulling out of the station.

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As David Snape exited the loo he was nearly run over by a girl with a bushy mass of brown hair, but the little girl didn't stop her running.

He heard a faint snickering coming from somewhere in the direction the girl had run from and saw a rather stupid-looking boy with flaming-red hair and freckles. David had seen more Weasleys than he cared to think about over the year at Hogwarts, and he recognized this to be one immediately.

Most of the Weasleys had been, admittedly, quite brilliant and talented. Bill had been Head Boy and incredibly talented in Ancient Runes. The one that had graduated last year, Charlie, was a Quidditch captain and fascinated with animals. The twins were complete menaces, but they were brilliant enough to invent the items used in their pranks. All four of those Weasleys had seemed to be both, at least somewhat, kind and smart.

This one wasn't doing a good job of making himself appear either. David had the sneaking suspicion that the little Weasley was the reason the girl had been running off. And he was not making himself appear too smart just from the expression on his face. It was the worst impersonation of a sneer David had seen in ages. And the kid was muttering to himself, the same words over and over again. "Did you know you've got dirt on your nose?" in a high pitched voice. David didn't really get what the kid's obsession with that question was, but the Weasley did have a bit of dirt on his nose. David had to resist the urge to roll his eyes and hex the little bugger when he heard him snort derisively "Uppity little mudblood."

I've never heard such language from a Weasley!

Instead, David turned on his heel and headed in the other direction. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't get involved in the affairs of other students, especially over something as trivial as a first year's hurt feelings.

He was outside his compartment looking through the window by the time he realized the girl was in there sobbing.

Ugh! A crying girl in my compartment? What am I supposed to do about that? I suppose I could go someplace else until she leaves…but, no, my book is in there.

David sighed as he quietly opened the door to his compartment and tried to surreptitiously grab his book off of the seat and leave without attracting the girls notice, but he had no such luck. The edge of his book hit the door of the compartment as he tried to ease it through the small opening he had made and the girl started.

It's no use; I'll have to go in there now. But there's a crying girl in there, why do these things happen to me?

"Oh…Er…Hello." She wasn't looking at him, clearly embarrassed to be caught crying.

"Hello." He said, reluctantly entering the compartment.

"I'm sorry, you we're sitting here, weren't you? I'll just leave."

"It's alright, you can stay." David said, kindly, all the while wondering why he had offered that.

Because you know how it feels to be alone and friendless, which it appears she is. Commented a little voice in the back of his head.

"Thank you. My name's Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"David Snape. Do you mind if I ask why you nearly ran me over in the hallway and then I find you crying in my compartment?"

She looked at him, suddenly tearing her tear-filled eyes away from her lap where they'd been focused previously, with a horrified expression. "Oh! Did I do that? I didn't even notice! I'm so sorry. It was just that horrible boy. All I was doing was trying to help Neville find his toad, and then I noticed that rude little red-head, I don't know if you saw him or not, was about to do some magic, so I stopped my search to watch. Well, his spell didn't work. It sounded rather made up, if you ask me, so I told him so. He started yelling about uppity little mudbloods having no business making fun of him; I promise I wasn't trying to make fun of him! Then he shoved me out of the compartment and said that if I kept on behaving in such a way, I would never make any friends. So I left and when I saw no one was in here, I came in."

By the end of her little spiel David was in shock, wondering how in the name of Merlin she had said all that while stopping for maybe two breaths.

But apparently that wasn't the end of it. He barely contained a relieved sigh when all that she said was one simple, or not so simple, question. "Do you know what he meant when he called me a mudblood?"

David grimaced at the question.

How to explain this delicately?

"It's a rather foul name for someone who is a child of two muggles, people without magic. It's not a word one often hears in polite conversation. I, for one, find it a repulsive word for anyone to use. It's mostly used by stuck-up purebloods, that is, people who have had all magical families for more than three generations, who believe that people who are closely related to muggles shouldn't be allowed in wizarding society because they aren't worthy."

David knew it wasn't exactly nice of him to tell the girl she wasn't welcome by some people in their society, but he felt it would be even worse of him to go off to Hogwarts ignorant of what she would soon be facing. And besides, when had Snapes begun to care about how others felt?

"That's awful. Why would they ever believe that some humans are worth less than others?" The tears had stopped falling now and instead they were replaced with the fire of righteous indignation.

"It's just old prejudices that refuse to die, Granger. There is no proof that muggleborn students do any worse than pureblood students. In fact, some pureblood families are so filled with inbreeding from trying to keep their line pure that their children have some nasty defects. Some of them are so stupid that they couldn't manage to pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel; and a lot of them are so weak that they're nearly squibs. A squib is basically the opposite of a muggleborn, a descendent of a pureblood line that can perform no magic; and, though the purebloods do a good job hiding them, nearly twenty percent of the children born to pureblood lines are squibs."

"They use incest to keep their family pride? That's disgusting! And don't they realize that they're going to end up with a bunch of sick, dumb, and powerless people that way? That might be why that Ronald Weasley was so horrible."

David nearly rolled his eyes; it looked like she was one to hold a grudge.

"Well…put it this way: from what I've seen and heard, from both you and Ronald's older brothers, most of the Weasley family drank from the fountain of knowledge while Ronald only gargled."

"Huh?"

"He's a few boats short of a fleet? As quick as a snail crossing superglue? A few pineapples shy of a luau? Not the brightest crayon in the box? Oh, for Merlin's sake, Granger! Most of the Weasleys are brilliant while Ronald seems to be a little slow."

Some people just aren't too quick to catch on to metaphors. Shame, really, to waste all those good ones on someone who didn't get them. Oh well, more where those came from.

"Why didn't you just say that to begin with?" The expression on her face was priceless, mostly because it was obvious that she was embarrassed for not catching on to what he meant and mad at herself because she made such an effort to never be confused.

"I was trying to be nice about it." he said dryly. "And I was having fun seeing how many ways I could manage to say it without actually saying it. I've got a few dozen, if you'd like to hear more?"

She laughed a little and said. "Perhaps another time."

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"So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

David applauded politely with the rest of the Great Hall's inhabitants as the Sorting Hat finished its song, but he was not afraid to admit that after nine or ten times, the sorting did tend to lose a bit of its novelty.

The sorting began with Hannah Abbot who quickly became a Hufflepuff.

David wasn't altogether interested, though. He was half asleep where he sat after the long day he'd had. He made sure to clap and welcome the newcomers whenever his Housemates did.

He was brought out of his half asleep state by the sound of a familiar name. "Granger, Hermione."

She was trembling a bit, but other than that David couldn't tell that the girl he'd spent the train ride talking with was nervous.

He found it faintly amusing when the Hat didn't manage to sink over her face as it did everyone else's because of her bushy hair. Then he wondered why he was paying attention to her sorting and not the other first years' sortings. He decided it was because he hadn't even met any other first years and therefore didn't have reason to be interested in their sorting. It wasn't like he actually cared where the girl got sorted; he knew better than to even think of trying to make friends with her because she would make friends in her first year classes and then she would meet his father. Both of which counted as reasons for Hermione not to want to be around him, even if she became a Ravenclaw.

He knew better than to hope this time.

While the Sorting Hat took it's time digging into her mind, Hermione looked around the Great Hall, wide eyes taking in many details.

Just as he was beginning to wonder what was taking so long, the Hat's brim opened wide and it shouted out the name of Hermione's future House.

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"Ah, another one! You have a very interesting mind young Lady. It would be possible to put you in many different Houses."

"Anything but Gryffindor, please; Anything but Gryffindor." Hermione chanted mentally. She did not want to be stuck with Ronald Weasley for seven years, and, if the amount of red hair at the Gryffindor table was anything to go by, that's where he would be sorted.

"That's an odd request, most who ask for something want either Gryffindor or Slytherin, but with your mind there is no problem for me to put you in RAVENCLAW!"

Hermione whipped the Hat off of her head and hopped off the stool. On her way over to the table beneath the blue and bronze hangings, the one that was cheering the loudest, she saw the boy from the train, David Snape. She wondered how she could have missed the patch on his robes that showed he was in Ravenclaw. She also wondered why he sat alone at the far end of the table, with the nearest person sitting at least two meters away. It was obvious that they were avoiding him because no one else was so far away from other people at the table.

It's not like he bites, people, really!

Hermione Granger was quite used to playing the outcast at her old school, and could spot an outcast, like David seemed to be, a kilometer away.

Before spotting David she had been heading toward the other people she had seen sorted into Ravenclaw, the ones that she would go with to classes for the next seven years. Making a last second decision, after seeing David cheering happily for her, she headed to the abandoned corner of the table where he was seated.

When he noticed her aiming to sit near him, David blinked and looked around, as if he were checking to make sure he really was the only one around for her to be heading toward, and gave a slight, tentative grin when he determined that Hermione really was planning to sit next to him.

Hermione grinned right back at him.

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The only other sorting David really paid any attention to was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

The Hall was in an uproar when their 'Savior' got sorted into Slytherin. David, and maybe a few staff members, was among the very few people who were ever capable of reading the expressions of the Head of Slytherin: the feared Potions Master, Professor Snape. While the rest of the Hall stared at the one they had expected to be their Gryffindor Golden Boy, David looked to see his father's reaction. If he wasn't as capable of controlling himself as he was, David might've fallen out of his chair with laughter.

He looked like he might die of shock, but only the people who knew him could tell. David had heard his father talk about James Potter and knew that the man was the epitome of all things a Slytherin could hate; he knew that his father expected Harry Potter to be the same. The Professor was sitting perfectly still, his hand still outstretched toward his goblet where he had been reaching before the Hat's announcement, and his eyes were slightly wider than usual.

David knew his father wouldn't appreciate the fact that he had allowed his mask to slip, so he did the only thing he could think of to bring him back to himself. He aimed his wand and, nonverbally, used the legilimens spell on his father. He didn't even try to get any information from his father's head while he was in there, because he knew it would be a waste of effort, but he did send one sharp probe at his Occlumency shields, just enough to jar him and catch his attention. It was the mental equivalent of a slap on the face.

He knew it had worked when the Professor suddenly shook out of his trance and then glared in his direction before realizing that it was David that had done it and why. He nodded his head, barely, but enough to let David know that his help was acknowledged and welcome.

No one noticed the exchange because of the chaos that currently reigned supreme in the Great Hall.

Suddenly, David was more awake than he had been the entire feast.

It was a little known fact that David absolutely loved chaos. He thrived on it. If it had been up to him, his middle name would've been Chaos rather than Alexander. The love of mayhem was probably an inherited trait, and it definitely didn't come from Severus Snape.

Author's Note- The whole time I wrote this chapter I had 'God Help the Outcasts' from Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame stuck in my head. Just thought you might want to know…