Title: Apples of Youth
Summary: A different Hermione starts at Hogwarts under an unusual set of circumstances. AU!SS/PS, pre-femslash, girl!Harry.
Word Length: 8,498
Chapter 1
Hermione woke up before Lysander on the bright morning of September 2nd, 1991. He was snoring in the bunk above her, a brown foot dangling off the edge of his bed, and his ankle visible with the too short pink pajamas he loved to wear. Hermione sat up and immediately put the tip of her right index finger into her mouth and bit down to remind herself this was no dream, this was real. She hadn't dreamed last night, and had briefly worried about what her school would be like, what the students were like, what was going on, but calmed herself now. She knew what she was doing, more than just about anyone else. Felicia Zabini had seen to that. Hermione rubbed her eyes and slid out of bed, yawning, and padded to the bathroom. Business first.
Papa was making pancakes and Mama was sipping at her morning tea, when she finally made it to the kitchen.
"Good morning," She said to both of them.
"Morning, my love," Mama said, and petted her head. Papa saluted her with the spatula. There was a cup of tea for Lysander and herself as well, in their normal spots, and she sat down heavily. Hermione ate two of the pancakes without butter or syrup, sipping at her tea occasionally. In the hot summer, compacted by the fact that their home's air conditioning had broken a week ago, the tea was a welcome relief. She finished breakfast just as Justine-mum exited the bedroom off the side of the kitchen. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and kissed Papa on his mouth, then Mama. She was aware that her parents did not have a traditional marriage, considering that in addition to each other, they'd had girlfriends and boyfriends, and they always took her and Lysander to the Pride parades. Most of their neighbors looked on with bemusement when she and Lysander came back, chattering with excitement, nearly coated in glitter, but had gotten somewhat used to the family's odd behavior. There was a time when her parents didn't want to talk about how certain things were different with them then other parents, but after a while, they'd become aware of the differences and couldn't make themselves care about normalcy.
Justine-mum kissed her forehead, "Morning, pumpkin."
"Morning, Justine-mum," She said. Justine, had, initially, been unable to tell if she and Lysander were talking to Mama or her, after she'd become a permanent member of their family, so they'd put her name in the front.
"You have your first day at school today, right?" She asked, pretending that she wasn't aware. She'd screamed when she'd seen Professor McGonagall turn into a cat and nearly fainted dead away. They'd already known Hermione was magic – the term 'witch' still sent shivers down her spine, made her eyes half close at the memory of that day and the scariness of it, the sense of inevitability in those words or immediately brought to mind the cold Mrs Malfoy, who reminded her of the Ice Queen of Narnia, so she preferred to just say magic as a catch-all – but it was something different to see deliberate magic. Hermione had always done things and they'd accepted it as a part of life. Her books could have been easily ignored as well. It was quite easy when Hermione read occult and history books for fun. The trunk was sitting right at the front door, had been for almost three weeks, along with the robes. Hermione didn't see why they were called robes, really. It was a school uniform and a cloak that made her look like Dracula. She didn't even need to wear dress shoes.
Hermione nodded, "Yes, we leave at ten. The train leaves at eleven."
Justine-mum frowned, "But the station isn't that far."
Her other parents said together, in the scowling motion of adults everywhere, "Traffic."
Traffic was actually not a defining factor in their trip. Waking Sander up and getting him in half-decent clothes was a struggle. He finally relented because he got to put on the sparkly purple t-shirt that they traded between the two of them. Him wearing it meant he got to keep it for the rest of the school year. She rather liked it, so she put on the pink gingham shirt he loved but she tolerated and they'd have fought over pants that didn't match but they both wanted to keep in a sense of vindictiveness, so Justine-mum found two pairs of the matching black jeans that they had gotten for the last party they'd attended and slipped them on.
They still had three quarters of an hour to get to King's Cross after the clothing debacle and they ended up being around twenty minutes early. They weren't worried about being the odd balls out and Hermione searched for platforms nine and ten. It would be in-between them, McGonagall had explained. Personally, Hermione thought it was a dumb system. There was a small notice me-not charm in place, but it was almost too small to be of any use. A stronger charm would have made most Muggles avoid the station altogether, but a rune would have been more specific of the area, less noticeable, and harder to tamper with or fade. Anyone with a modicum of will to approach either of the platforms or any of the platforms behind it would notice the groups of people slipping through the barrier.
"Sloppy," She said to herself, under her breath, hoping that this was not an indication of her future education. Lysander looked at her, quirking his eyebrows up into his curly mop-top of hair. She shook her head, and then bit her lip. The five of them stood at the entryway, and she knew that they stood out quite a bit. Then she took a deep breath, and said, "Who wants to go first?" She could hear the adults murmur behind her, and Lysander didn't look at her at all. Hermione took another, deeper breath, then went at a trot to the space in between the platforms. She closed her eyes at the last second, and immediately slowed to a walk when it felt like she was far enough. The girl opened her eyes and her mouth curled into a self-satisfied smile. People milled about, most of them in robes like what she had on top of her trunk, and the scarlet red Hogwarts Express sat idle on the tracks. Steam rose from its spout, curly and white, showing it was ready to go.
Someone stumbled into her back and Hermione turned to see Sander, then her parents, and all of them had the same dumb, stunned look on their faces, like a rabbit who'd been hit on the back of the head.
"Holy mother of God," Mama murmured. Hermione didn't look up, but if she had, she'd have seen the resignation starting to glean in their eyes. This was where she belonged, and it was as far from them as it was possible to be.
More people came in through the barrier, and the family moved closer to the train. Hermione recognized some people. Malfoy was one of them, and she wrinkled her nose. He was always rude and an insufferably rich boy. He didn't like her and she didn't like him. Still, Felicia took Hermione every time there was a gathering or party. His room alone was probably worth more than her entire house. She'd gone to their house a few times before with Theo and Blaise and had wanted to lock herself in their library. They had books on traditional pureblood customs, which she'd happily read in order to compare them with the Zabini and Nott books, but more on blood purity, which anyone with any sense knew was complete hogwash, and even more on dark magic. Hermione didn't particularly mind that the books were on dark magic, even though she knew that she probably should have. Magic was magic, she figured, and they were not inherently dark or light. Blood magic had originally been used for important ceremonies – birth, marriage, death – but was now generally used for spells that only the desperate and power hungry would think of. She didn't like the books on blood purity. After all, none of the pureblood children had been approached at nine by an old woman and told that they were dangerous beyond measure. The prophecy was a secret, truly, held only between her and Felicia, and was, to a degree, a source of pride but a more overwhelming source of terror. She was beyond frightened of herself.
Blaise was already in his school robes when she saw him getting on the train. He was pushing the trolley by himself and she glanced at her family. They were still flabbergasted by the sights, although Mama was slightly less shocked, having taken her to Diagon Alley already.
The train whistle sounded and she saw groups of kids scrambling to climb in. A porter stuck her head out and yelled, "Ten minutes!"
She swallowed down her nervousness and cleared her throat but found that the words she wanted to say – "I love you, I'll miss you, I'll still be me, don't forget me, for God's sake, don't forget me, I love you, I'll miss you, take me home, take me home, take me home" – were stuck in her chest, pounding near her heart.
"Well," Papa finally said, and scratched his chin. "I suppose it is time for you to leave."
She gave a jerky nod, blinking hard, then burst out, almost hysterically, "I'll write, I'll tell you guys everything about the school, promise, I'll miss you, I love you-"
Her mums surrounded her, suddenly, and her nose was pressed against her Mama's chest, breathing her in.
"Oh darling," Her Mama said, petting her head. One of her hands was around her mother's long, dark plait, like they'd been when she was small and needed comfort. "My little baby, we'll be okay. You'll have your Blaise and your Theo and your books." Hermione let out a sob and backed away, rubbing at her eyes. "I love you," She said to them all, and they all hugged her, Lysander last, Lysander the hardest of all.
He looked into her eyes and she suddenly realized that they'd never been apart for longer than a school day, not since the day that they were born. They even went to the same sleepovers. They had always slept in the same room and just a quick look up or down would yield his small wrists or dangling ankles or even his head. He was as familiar as her own body, moreso than her own shadow. She would look at him and see herself, and he would do the same.
They would be alone.
She embraced him again, fingers nearly digging into his sides, and he pressed his head to her shoulder, so hard, as if they would fuse, as if they would go back to the vast darkness of the womb.
She could hear others murmur, parents and children, and thought to herself, rather bitterly, that they'd never had a love quite like this, where they and this person were one.
"Bye, Sander," She said in his ear, her nose pressed just behind the appendage, and his shoulders hitched with his soft sob.
Papa grasped Lysander by his shoulder and said, softly, "It's okay, kids, c'mon, it's time for Hermione to leave."
They let go slowly, and she pursed her lips to keep from crying out loud as Papa looped his arm around Sander's chest to keep him in place. He had a lost look in his eyes already. The girl squared her shoulders and inhaled the station air slowly, before letting it out. She pushed the trolley onto the train and found an empty carriage where she could see them, just a few feet below and ahead of her.
"Bye, Mama," She called, and everyone looked up to see her. Her Mama pressed a dark hand to her mouth and waved, "See you at Christmas, Mimi." Justine-mum smiled at her, bit her lip, pressed her forehead to Papa's narrow shoulder and her arm curled around Mama's forearm.
She called out all of their names, feeling sadness curl up in her stomach already, warring with her sense of adventure, anticipation of what was to come. The train whistle blew again as Lysander ran to the open window, a last call.
"Kill 'em dead, Mimi," He said and reached a hand up. She was practically leaning out the window to touch his hand. The tips of their fingers were touching when the train leapt into motion. If she'd have been on the other side, she'd have seen a similar scene with a red-haired girl, who ran down the track, half crying, half laughing. She and Lysander did not do that. They let go and stared at one another until they were impossible to see.
It was only then that Hermione turned around in her seat, sniffled, rubbed her eyes, and visibly composed herself by looking around the train. The seats were solid, no space underneath for anything, and a quick look up showed a few runes, mostly for safe travel of the old kind, which meant that the train was not really a train, had been a carriage before this, whatever large mode of travel was popular at the time to ease fears. Letting your children ride on magic not based on something physical tended to yield negative results.
The scene at the station was stupid, she told herself, showed a weakness that they should not have seen. There would be no leeway because it was her family, because it was her first time being away from home for so long. It would be called Mudblood foolishness, even as she'd seen Draco's mother kissing him and passing gift after gift to him, even through the window until Mr. Malfoy had pulled her away.
But it was too late for that now. Instead, she changed into her robes, put her clothes away after folding them neatly, and put her trunk into the overhead compartment with a little effort. The gray tie blended in perfectly, and when she was Sorted, would change to her House colors. She stroked the small knot that the Windsor knot left her with and tucked her skirt behind her knees as she sat again. After a moment, she got up to get her book bag with her books and sat down again. She was reciting the ten least common components of potions when the door opened and Blaise stuck his head in. Hermione winced, "I know."
He advanced on her, nearly snarling, "You're an idiot. We did not work so hard for your sentimental nonsense to get in the way. So your brother is gone – get over it. We're all leaving home."
Hermione clenched her jaw but said nothing, knowing if she did, he would be hurt. Blaise flopped onto the seat next to her and stared at her profile for a few moments, "Fine."
She turned to him, quirked an eyebrow.
He ran his hands over his almost clean shaven head, "Fine! You want to go against the plan, fine. I'm not sticking my head out for you, though. Not ever."
Blaise stood again, robes ruffling, and left without another word.
Hermione licked her lips, smiled a little. It was not really Blaise that was concerned, but Felicia, using him as her impartial spy. Blaise knew that she could take care of herself, but Felicia cared too much, was the one who had planned this out in between husbands. She was supposed to be like all the other Purebloods, although she did not have the Anglo-Saxon features in abundance like they did. She had not wanted to show weakness, but who said that emotion was weakness? Anyone who had ever seen compassion, or wrath, knew that emotion was not a liability. She settled back into her seat, whispered, "I can fix this."
She read for almost half an hour, stood, stretched, and looked around the carriage, then left altogether. She adopted a persona of knowing exactly what she was doing, letting her shoulders roll, keeping her walk a jaunty stroll. People would remember a nervous young thing, identify with her, even, but walking like she owned the place meant that their eyes would slide away, would see arrogance and ignore it accordingly. It was the second best thing, since she couldn't disappear or change her appearance yet.
All of the carriages had a sliding door that was partially clear. She could see Theo and Blaise sitting with Malfoy, already taking their places in the grand scheme of their universe, and walked onwards.
A nervous young boy approached her. He had a round, puppyish face, floppy brown hair, and brown eyes. He had strongly British features, which probably made him a Pureblood, and after a moment, she saw that he was faintly quivering.
She eyed him warily, "You alright, mate?"
He burst into tears, walking closer to her, "I can't find Trevor!"
Hermione stared in mute horror, then looked around to see if anyone would help. The corridor, which had been somewhat occupied, was now empty. The older students must be laughing at her. She patted his shoulder awkwardly, and said, "There, there. Is Trevor your brother?"
He sniffled, "He's my toad."
She grimaced internally. Toads had been out of fashion years ago, when it was discovered that doxie dust was more potent than toad warts.
"I'll help you find him," She said.
He wiped his eyes, then his nose, "I'm Neville Longbottom."
Longbottom. The name was familiar. Then she could practically hear Lucius Malfoy hiss in her mind, "Bloodtraitors."
She held out a hand, then thought better of it, and said, "I'm Hermione Granger."
"I've never heard that surname before."
She licked her bottom lip, "I'm a Muggleborn."
He smiled a little, "I'm okay with that. My best friend at home, Malcolm, is a Muggle. He's going to the local school, and he thinks I'm going to some posh school, that's more exclusive than even Eton."
She nodded, then made a gesture, "I'm going to go this way, maybe search for a Prefect." She walked down the corridor, Neville the opposite way, and looked for the shiny "P" badge. She peeked into the carriages and finally reached the end.
She looked into the nearest carriage and called, "Anyone seen a toad?"
Two kids were there, one a redhaired boy who was long and gangly even from his sitting position with a dark smudge on his nose, and the other a small, almost bird-like, dark haired girl. He had blue eyes but they were almost gray. He had huge hands and in one, he held a wand and in the other, a small field mouse. Freckles were thrown on his face, like paint had splattered. The dark haired girl had very green eyes, like someone had broken emeralds and used the chips to make her eyes. She was fair, not quite pale, and after a moment, Hermione saw that her cheekbones were similar in shape to Malfoy's, as well as the boy across from her. Probably a cousin to both, but not very close. Spending so much time with Purebloods and the lessons had shown her a few things, and she knew that she would learn more as time passed.
"Sorry," The lanky boy said. "But no."
But now Hermione was curious. She strode in and sat next to the small girl, "Are you doing magic?"
He looked at her and scowled, said impatiently, "I was before you invited yourself here."
Hermione waved off the statement and frowned back, "You gonna do magic or not, guy? Not asking you to do the hula or nothing."
He flushed, but the girl said, "Just do it, Ron."
He cleared his throat, held his wand aloft, then pointed it at the mouse, "Sunshine daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow!"
The rat snoozed on even as Hermione said, in a skeptical tone, already knowing the answer, "Are you sure that's a real spell?" There were longer spells that detained exactly what could happen to an object or person, but they were normally in Sanskrit, even ancient Hebrew. There was a reason 'Let my people go' had worked, after all.
"Oh," He said through clenched teeth, "I guess you think you can do better."
Hermione could have been a jerk and said that yes, she could do better, had already done better than most people their ages, but shrugged, "I just thought that if you were doing magic, it'd have to be in, y'know, a different language."
He flushed again, and due to the redness, the dark stain on his nose was thrown into relief. "I suppose so," He finally replied. "I'm Ron Weasley."
Another family of bloodtraitors. She almost winced at her own thoughts, then introduced herself, "Hermione Granger."
The girl next to her said, "Jamie Potter. Well, Jameson, but I prefer Jamie."
The name was familiar but did not immediately strike any bells. Probably Pureblood but nothing particularly striking about them. There were several families that constantly fell in and out of the term, every three or four generations marrying into a Noble House, but they weren't Noble or Ancient themselves, just the last vestiges of an older time. They probably weren't even rich. The Malfoy's had four vaults dedicated to Draco's trust fund and that wasn't even considered excessive, just giving him a leg up. Daphne's dowry was five vaults large, her sister's matching, and they were about as wealthy as the Goyle's, and neither of the families were Ancient, just Noble.
She inclined her head, then said, "I'm going to look for a Prefect, see if they can help me find Trevor."
Jamie hopped to her feet, "I'll help. Poor toad must be scared out of his mind."
Ron didn't seem like he was motivated to move, so the girls left him. Again, she walked down the corridors, this time with a companion.
They were almost back to her carriage when she saw Blaise and Theo again, this time wandering around with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were talking amongst themselves.
"Hey, Hermione," Theo said, and she smiled at him. Theo was one of her favorites in Pureblood society, only Acacius and Felicia ranked higher. He was a very go with the flow boy, and it was hard to ruffle him.
Malfoy looked up and said, coldly, "Granger. You're looking almost Pureblood."
She rolled her eyes, "Malfoy. You're looking almost human."
Blaise sniggered and Theo's face, which was normally blank, softened a little. His thin lips quirked, then he smoothed his already flat hair down with both hands, front then back.
Malfoy sneered, "Yeah, whatever. Talking with you is about to make me lose my breakfast. Seen Pansy or Daphne around?"
She shook her head, "No. They might be in the lav, though."
All of the boys shuddered, as if they didn't pee, and left without saying anything. Theo's fingers brushed the back of her arm as he walked nearby.
Jamie's voice was incredulous, but hushed, "You know them?"
Hermione glanced at her, then shrugged, "Yeah. Theodore and Blaise live in my neighborhood, and I know Malfoy and the others by association."
They continued walking, even as Jamie said, "So, you knew that Ron's spell wasn't real?"
"Obviously."
"Oh." After a moment, she continued, "I thought it might be real, like on the telly."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Telly? You guys have got one? Most magic people I know don't even know about electricity."
Jamie grinned, "Me mum's a Muggleborn and really good at charms. Got everything fixed up perfect."
The pieces clicked in Hermione's mind. James Potter was often complained about in Pureblood circles for being so close to the wayward Black heir, Sirius – and notoriously narcissistic, which probably explained her name – and being a "mudblood lover." He'd married - "Your mum's Lily Potter? She's a genius! I've read a couple of her books, oh man, she's bloody brilliant."
The fair girl blushed to the roots of her hair, "Most people don't really pay her any attention, because she only writes the books on occasion, she's mostly a teacher down at a Muggle school. Me dad gets more attention, next to be head auror and all."
There was pride in her voice for both of her parents, although slightly more for her father. Hermione was equally proud of her biological parents because Papa worked at the same A&E for dentistry, in addition to the private practice their Mama handled. Justine-mum was a first responder, and she thought that was more heroic than anything else.
By now they'd reached the end of the corridor and found the group of Prefects, just leaving a meeting. Jamie didn't seem inclined to ask them for help, despite accompanying her, and Hermione approached one. He had bright red hair like Ron and was already talking with a rather disinterested boy, who was darker than her, had his tie on already, yellow and black, and had long dreadlocks, nearly to his waist. She waited impatiently for them to finish their conversation, then when it seemed like the disinterested boy was going to hurt the talkative one, she cleared her throat and interrupted them, "Excuse me?"
They both looked down at her. "We were talking," Said the one with red hair. "Give it a minute."
The other boy quickly replied, "No, Percy, it's fine. She's obviously new, we just had a talk about being good to the first years."
He turned to her, "I'm Udonis Lee, sixth year Hufflepuff prefect. How may I help you?
"My friend's lost his toad, Trevor. We were hoping you could help us find him."
His eyebrows raised, "A toad, you say?"
She nodded, and he raised his wand.
"Accio, Trevor the toad," Udonis said, doing the proper wand movement, a sort of "come here" movement. They waited a moment, then a loud croak sounded as the toad flew to him.
She grinned at him, "Thank you."
He smiled as he handed Trevor back and watched her put him carefully in her pocket, "Tell your friend to be very careful. I had a toad, she got stepped on from being careless. It takes a very special person to keep a toad."
Percy muttered, "Yeah, special alright."
Udonis glared at him, then said, "I'll walk you guys to him. Make sure to say all of this to him personally."
Percy gaped at their retreating backs, and when Hermione turned around to see what was happening, saw him storm away in a huff.
They were near the compartment Hermione was originally in when they came across a morose Neville, looking down.
"Neville," Hermione called. He looked up, tears in his eyes. She took the toad out of her pocket and handed him to the boy. Neville's face lit up and he made a small, excited sound, before managing to get out, "Trevor!"
Neville held the toad close to him and the toad croaked in happiness. Or whatever passed as happiness for a reptile. Udonis pulled Neville aside for a talk and Hermione went into the carriage with her things in it, sat down, and continued to read her book. Jamie followed and took a seat across from her.
"You have a familiar?" Jamie asked. Hermione answered, flipping the page, and skimming, "No."
"Have you finished all your school books already?" Her voice was incredulous, as she was looking into Hermione's trunk. Hermione slammed it down, nearly on top of her fingers, and said, slowly but seriously, "Don't touch my things."
Jamie shrunk back, "Sorry, mate, just playing around."
"You never know what could be booby trapped or not," Hermione continued. The more she talked, the more furious she sounded, although she didn't mean to. "I could have had something in there to take your hands off, to make boils spring out across your entire body. I could have had something in there to curse you into oblivion and you're just going to go and look through it?"
The girl wasn't cowering, but she was close to it, tears shining in her eyes.
Hermione leaned backwards and covered her face, saying lowly, "Oh Jesus, I did it again." Hermione did not think of herself as threatening – she was under five feet, slender, with a baby face and an almost permanent partial smile due to the shape of her mouth – but for some reason, people tended to have a sort of adverse reaction to her, as if just being around her was enough for their survival instincts to come into effect.
She rubbed her face, and then said, still muffled, "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry, it's just – well, there's no excuses. You're one of those sheltered kids, I can tell already. Did you learn any magic before you got here? Runes, wards, charms?"
Her voice was tiny, "No."
Hermione's eyes shut tight. "Figured." A lot of the Light aligned families didn't teach their children a single thing about magic besides it existed. They believed that Hogwarts would teach them everything they needed to know, which was faulty at best, deadly at the worst. "Don't touch anybody's things, there are all sorts of spells on them to keep thieves out and a lot of trunks don't have intention wards."
She looked at the girl, lifting her face from her hands and said, "Oh, calm down. You're okay, I don't have anything like that on my trunk."
Jamie's mouth fell open, and she lost the meekness, "Then why the Hell did you say all that for?"
She flashed Jamie a dazzling, innocent smile, "Thought I should warn you."
Jamie shook her head, "You're worse than my Uncle Sirius. Mum calls him a huge ham, he makes these big productions about nothing. You know, he started a riot in France."
Hermione waved a hand, "The French always want a riot. They're not happy unless they're rebelling."
Jamie smiled, and Hermione was struck for a moment, watching it light up her somewhat morose appearance, "He said that too." Jamie was very stark looking, she realized. Her eyes were the only real source of color on her face, besides her pale pink mouth, and it gave her a sort of disappearing quality, as if she was all barren landscapes. With Malfoy and Theo, it was not quite so pronounced, perhaps because of their fair hair. Jamie's hair was jet-black, tangled towards the back, and long enough that it touched her neck, and made her complexion almost waxy, sickly. She was still a pretty girl, she finally decided. High cheekbones, almond shaped eyes, a sort of feminine quality to her, probably from her mother, with thick, rectangular eyebrows, probably from her father, that gave her a pensive look.
"When's your birthday?" Jamie asked suddenly.
"Our birthday is 19th of September," She said reflexively.
"Our?"
Her contentment faded, and she again felt the ache of her brother so far from her, "I've a twin brother, Lysander."
"You two look alike?" Jamie asked. "I've a sister and brother, but we don't."
Hermione thought. They were together so often, that spotting differences were hard to think of, harder to think of them as separate people. She had to force herself into thinking of looking in the mirror, as she had this morning to brush her teeth, then on Lysander's face in the station.
"I'm older by seven minutes," She thought about saying, just laying everything out there, telling Jamie about her wondrous brother. "And I've always been shorter. His hair's shorter. We have matching scars on our knees. His hands are bigger and he's getting glasses on our birthday. Our skin is almost the same color, I think I'm darker now, and so are our eyes. He likes dancing more. I'm better at maths. Our middle names are different but we have the same confirmation name." After a moment, she got up and crawled into the space above, where her trunk was. She found the photo and jumped down again, then gave the photo to Jamie to look at. It was a still photograph, which she knew was unusual in magical families. It was a photo of the whole family, even Granny N'kwocha who'd flown in for the holidays from Nigeria. She was the only living grandparent from any of her parents.
"You both look like your mum," Jamie finally settled on, after a few long moments, then tapped Justine-mum's likeness. "Is that your aunt?"
She shook her head. She wondered where Jamie had gotten that idea from; Justine-mum was clearly Middle Eastern in origin.
"That's Justine-mum. She's their girlfriend, my mum and dad's, for now, until polyamorous relationships are legal."
Jamie looked puzzled, but didn't say anything and Hermione didn't elaborate. She didn't feel the need to, just as Jamie didn't elaborate on her own parents.
"How many other siblings do you have?" Jamie asked her. Hermione shook her head, "Just me and Lysander." Then, with casual interest, "You?"
"It's me, and my sister and brother. My brother's almost one, named Harrington, we call him Harry. My sister is named Amaryllis, after some flower or other. We call her Artie, she's nine."
The trolley pulled up, then, and a short, stout woman with curly white hair peeked her head into the room, "Anything from the trolley, dears?"
Hermione shook her head, as she didn't have much of a sweet tooth, but Jamie pulled out a pouch of money and said, eagerly, "I'll have one of everything but, hmm, four chocolate frogs."
The transaction sickened her. Jamie returned with an armful of candy and immediately unwrapped a chocolate frog. Chocolate had a rich smell to it that permeated everything and immediately set her teeth on edge. They'd never had sweets very often at her home, and when they did have it, she and Lysander never indulged heavily, just enough to be polite. She looked away as Jamie ate them, reading her book, then almost jumped in surprise when presented with the chocolate frog card. She never ate them enough to collect them, but she saw it was Nicholas Flamel. He was an old, if lively, man with a beard that touched the floor and very little hair on his head. His nose was long, but thin and straight, and he had dark eyes, the kind tragedy resided within.
"Nicholas Flamel: alchemist, over six hundred years old, creator of the Sorcerer's Stone, fellow defeater of Voldemort along with Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class."
Voldemort. She'd heard the stories, some of them wistful until the adults got a good look at her face, some of them hard and cold, some of them worse than that, different, although not necessarily any better than any of the others. It was rare to get Flamel, though, and she looked back up at Jamie, who was going through a bag of Fizzing Whizbees at an alarming pace. She slipped the card in between the pages of her book, then continued reading about potions. She found potions a very fascinating subject, how things were made from simple ingredients. She'd bought the best first year potions kit the apothecary in Diagon Alley had, then a second, with rarer, better, larger and fresher ingredients at Knockturn Alley for just a few sickles more, along with Theo and Blaise. They'd seen Daphne Greengrass as well, getting the same ingredients, along with some winter cloaks with her baby sister and their mum. Hermione rather liked Astoria, who was shy and quiet, and had hair that was different from Daphne's, baby fine and a pale, tender red, almost blond with a soft, natural curl to it, instead of Daphne's straight black hair. Lots of Pureblood students had dual kits, just as a preference, but not the Light aligned families.
She looked up and asked Jamie, "Do you like potions?"
Her nose wrinkled, "No, I've seen my mum make them for my dad's job. It's really boring and tends to smell bad."
Hermione rather enjoyed the smell of the less pungent potions. They tended to have an oily, briny smell that reminded her of the River Thames. The stronger ones just smelled like dumpster dives and sulfur.
Hermione said with cheerfulness, "You're going to hate your life, then. Most careers require a good NEWTS score in Potions. Even the political ones."
She groaned and threw herself back dramatically. Jamie looked up at her, "You gonna help me, right?"
Her face at that moment reminded her so much of Lysander's when he begged for help on maths homework that she was willing to say yes, her ache was suddenly so profound. Instead, she shook her head and said, "We'll see."
They were quiet for most of the ride after that, Hermione mostly reading. Jamie left once, to change into her robes, and Ron followed her back. They talked Quidditch enthusiastically, comparing teams and stats. Hermione found it a dreadfully boring sport, lacking the exertion of football or the grace of rugby, and beyond that, rather lazy to make the broom do all the work and just hold on. It was dark by the time the train slowed. Hermione threw her cloak over her robes to keep warm and bundled the book close to her before leaving. Ron and Jamie followed her out and Theo was just beyond them, eyes faintly glowing in the light.
"Firs' years!" Yelled a giant man. "Firs' years over here!"
She looked to see where the other students were going and saw that they were going to carriages led by huge, leathery horses with wings. Thestrals, she realized. Felicia had warned her to pretend that they didn't exist for fear of being ostracized.
The children were brought to the partial giant and then into the small boats. Ron was pushed into another boat, and Edwin Yancey climbed into the boat with the three. She grimaced and Theo's nose wrinkled for a moment before smoothing into his normal, stoic face. He was distasteful at best, absolutely horrible on an average day, but he was a pureblood and rich. Richer, probably, than the Malfoy's.
Theo and Hermione introduced Yancey to Jamie and Yancey immediately hissed, "Don't speak to me, bloodtraitor."
Jamie opened her mouth, and then closed it with an audible click. Apparently, even she wasn't willing to fight with Yancey.
"What do you think Hogwarts is going to be like?" He asked Theo and Hermione, obviously excluding Jamie from the conversation, when they were around fifty feet from dry land.
Theo shrugged, "Fun. Learning. Magic. I mean, my dad told me some of it, but just that I'd better be good at Charms or else." Mr. Nott, besides an owl breeder, was also a Charms breaker in the Ministry. It was a suboffice in the misuse of magic department, and it typically involved a Wizarding couple dying, all their belongings left in the house, and the new owners were Muggles with no clue why the rubber duck kept barking and the coo coo clock had "in mortal danger" and "feed the owl" next to the standard hours. He did it mostly for something to do as he didn't have the political aspirations of Lucius Malfoy and he'd inherited money at a young age that he'd invested well. Mrs. Nott had belonged to a subsidiary of the Parkinson family and had been wealthy in her own right. All of her belongings had gone to Theo after her death. He was set up to be one of the wealthiest independent wizards of Europe when he reached seventeen.
Yancey looked at Hermione, "I think so too," She said, feeling the words out. She'd never thought about the reality of Hogwarts, had simply taken it for granted that she was going. "I mean, we've got to be the most powerful to end up here, yeah? It's probably all personal responsibility and watch yourself and whatever else."
"Which house do you want to be in?" Jamie asked, but Yancey ignored her.
"Yancey, mate," Hermione muttered to him, "It's not her fault."
He glared a little, then sighed the sigh of the long-suffering, "Fine. I'm going to be a Slytherin, just like all the other members of my family."
"Slytherin or Ravenclaw," Theo replied. "I'm not very picky."
Hermione shrugged. She didn't particularly care about houses and said so just as the booming voice of the huge half-Giant said, "Duck your 'eads!"
They all ducked, except Yancey who'd turned around with a confused, "Make our beds?"
And, sure enough, he bumped his head against the rock. Hermione grabbed him by the back of his cloak so he didn't tumble into the water. Theo forced Yancey's head down further and they emerged into a cave with glowing lichen overhead and mirrored on the water. He was bleeding, though not profusely, and Hermione pulled her wand out, "Episky." Her first life-debt, before she'd even hit the shores.
The boats coasted to a stop at a small outcropping of bare rock and everyone gathered on it. It was cold down there, colder than it'd been coming off the train, and everyone shuddered. She could see Neville sharing his cloak with Ron, whose own was too short, and it was almost comical, considering their height difference.
There was a huge door ahead of them and Hagrid pounded on the doors.
After a moment, in which Yancey claimed he was going to freeze his bits off, aye Granger, right, forgot, hehe, the door opened again to show a plain woman with long hair tied in a severe bun, and a smaller, rotund woman with a cheerful face dressed in white robes. The taller was wearing green robes and a hat on her head, and she spoke to Hagrid, "Are these all the First Years?"
"Fifty-five, Professor," He responded, "Counted them meself."
She counted them again.
The second woman tapped her chin and her voice was low, but carried in the vast emptiness, "We sent out two hundred letters, not a bad turn out. I'd rather less students who learn more than a huge crowd, like last year and the year before that." She shuddered, "All those injuries."
Theo whispered in her ear, "A hundred forty five kids turned down Hogwarts?"
Hermione shrugged, "Some of them probably didn't know or couldn't afford it. Our parents save a fair bit of money living in Hackney, you know? We lived in Edgewater or something, we'd never afford primary school, let alone this."
"I suppose so," He replied, then whispered to Jamie, "Where do you live?"
"Godrick's Hollow," She replied.
They both winced. No subtlety about the Potter's at all, they said with a glance.
Luckily, though, the professor led them into a small holding room, and then said, sternly, "No wandering round, and no fighting. We'll happily take you back to your homes if you cause a fuss."
Hermione knew that was a lie. There was no way that anyone would bother taking them all the way into the country and making them sign a binding agreement that they would only attend Hogwarts for the school year. A terrible scare tactic. She could tell the students who were versed in agreements and contracts. She took a look around. Most of them, she knew. Families she'd been introduced to, been invited to birthday parties, invited to her own – held in venues bfar/b from her neighborhood so as not to hurt their delicate sensibilities, paid for by Felicia.
She felt a shiver down her back as they stood restlessly, like ice water was dribbled down her back. She thought about moving to stand near someone, someone warm, but slammed her eyes closed as the feeling was stronger, and bit her lip, until someone gasped, and a quiet murmur took place, then swelled. She turned to see what was going on and her mouth quirked -upwards, even as she shivered. The ghosts were colorless, in dated dress, but were not see-through as others had said. They were tangible, she saw, moving the tapestries as they moved, but when one snuck behind a freckle-faced girl and stuck his arm through her, it slid through and she screamed as he giggled. The ghost slid through the girl and then flew backwards, bumped into Hermione and she was pushed backwards by the force.
The ghost turned to her, and she could see a faint line on his neck, a sort of silvery stain on his ruffled shirt. Nearly Headless Nicholas, she realized. Dead almost five hundred years old.
"Oh, my," He said. His voice had a faint quality to it, like it was far away, underwater, to a degree, and he continued, "It's been quite a while since I experienced something like this."
The ghosts crowded around her, some of them less grotesque than others, and each of them touched her, and she could feel them. It was an odd feeling – like touching a reptile, or dry meat, but cold, so cold; a snake in an ice bath. She was shivering, her teeth about to chatter themselves out of her skull.
"Power," An old hag hissed. "So much of it. I can taste it."
She licked Hermione's face and she'd had enough of the ogling, the loud whispers of the other students. She pushed the ghost away, feeling the shivers course through her at the touch, then pushed past them all, then the students, so she was nearly at the door. She crossed her arms to warm them surreptitiously and then curled her fingers around her forearms.
"Freak," Someone muttered, and then there was a yelp.
"Shut your gob," Yancey replied, always the hot-head. "Granger's decent magic folk."
The boy said again, "She's not worth it."
Malfoy's cool voice was next, "And I suppose you're of some significance, Baylor? We all know that you're practically a squib. The power in my toe would probably blow you into the water."
One by one, her Pureblood companions turned on the boy and brought him down, piece by piece, until he was utterly humiliated, nearly on the verge of crying. The others stared at him, and then he began to sob in his isolation. McGonagall stepped through again, took a look around, and snapped, "Why is he crying?"
The group was silent, staring at her with blank eyes.
"You," She turned to Hermione, who was closest, "Why is he crying?"
Hermione blinked, effecting the angelic look she and Sander had spent hours using on the other, until they were both immune to soft, apologetic eyes, and knew that the look would get them out of trouble. Her hat was even askew a little, making her seem a tiny bit younger.
"I'm sorry, professor, but I don't know. Perhaps homesickness."
The woman shook her head, sighed, "Hogwarts doesn't tolerate bullies, children. Please, if you've offended him, apologize."
The crowd looked at her with innocent faces as he sniffled and rubbed his eyes.
She gave them a look, and muttered, "Difficult class already." Louder, "Follow me."
They began walking, Hermione in the front, and after a moment, she looked back. Jamie was almost directly behind her, then Neville, her Pureblood friends behind him, then some of the Dark and Neutral families, Light furthest back. For a moment, just a single one, she could see the future, all of these people behind her, letting her lead them, following her to either their doom or their glory. She blinked and the vision was gone. Hermione licked her lips as they stood in front of the heavy, wooden doors.
McGonagall said to them, "Form a single queue. We're about to enter The Great Hall. You will be silent and then stand before the judge who says which House you are put in."
The crowd slowly morphed into a vaguely crooked queue and they entered The Great Hall. They all looked around, some more impressed than others, at the ceiling that showed what the night sky looked like, the floating candles, the gold cutlery. The students were a sea of black, hats on their heads. They were led to a hat like their own, patched and faded from use. They stood quietly, and some gasped as the hat unstitched itself and sang a pithy little song. Hermione stared at it, wondering how much life energy had gone into it. This was more than a simple incantation, this was life itself, found in an inanimate object.
McGonagall called them by surname first and Hermione spaced out, observing the table, the marble floors, too slick under her trainers, the teachers, who peered at them all. She mentally evaluated them for later, then started when she heard, "Granger, Hermione!"
She walked up the stairs in as graceful a manner as she could manage, took her hat off, sat on the stool, then put the patchy hat on.
"Oh, my," Said the hat in her head, directly into her brain. "You're interesting. You've plenty of brains, loyal, cunning, brave – oh, so much potential in such a small body. A good fit for each House. I'll have to look further, my dear."
She remained silent, unsure of what it wanted her to say.
The hat rummaged through her memories, and she felt it like the slip of air through wings, natural, but in a manner that was too natural, as if this had already been taken into account. Hermione could tell when he'd stumbled onto the memory of the old woman, and he made a hawing sound, then drifted further, to her memories of dark power, hurting those other kids, and finally, to her oldest memory, the warmth of her hands, the stickiness and the clawing sensation of WRONGWRONGWRONGWRONG she'd experienced then.
"My darkling," The Hat finally said to her, when it had surfaced again. "Oh, my darling. You are ruined already. You will shed blood before you have your first blooding, know this."
The Hat sighed, and continued, "And still, there is no House that stands out for you, even with this knowledge. You are loyal, you are kind, you are smart, you are brave, you are many, many things – perhaps manipulative, perhaps brash, perhaps this or that. You pick your House, then, dear. You will know where you belong."
She opened her eyes and looked at the full Hall. They might have spent too long, as some looked impatient, and she looked at the ties, brow furrowed. Too many choices, she finally realized. Her Pureblood friends stared at her with flat eyes, like lizards, and the Lighties with darkened eyes, steps away from drawing wands already, no spell at their lips, just feelings. Blaise and Theo stood next to one another, and she imagined herself between them, like her entire childhood. No; this was the time to put away childish things. She looked at Jamie and Ron, then the rest of the class. Hermione closed her eyes and said her choice.