I practically ran to my first Potions lesson. I was so excited for all of my classes, and I just wanted to meet my teachers and put my knowledge to the test. The teacher didn't seem too welcoming, but I didn't care much about that. It was a bit chilly in the dungeons. I shivered as the teacher, Professor Snape, called roll. He paused at Harry's name, just as everyone seemed to do, but I was too busy getting my quills, ink, and parchment ready to notice, or care about, what he was saying to Harry.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," I perked up immediately at this. Desperate to hear what Professor Snape had to say, I sat up straighter and focused hard. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
I was aghast. Me, Hermione Granger, a dunderhead? Not a chance. Never in a million years. By the end of his speech, I was perched on the edge of my chair and ready to start the class.
"Potter!" Professor Snape shouted this out so suddenly that I practically fell back into my chair. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" I knew this! It was the Draught of Living Death! I raised my hand, just as I would have done at my old primary school, even though the question was not directed to me.
"I don't know, sir." I felt bad for Harry then. It seemed that Professor Snape did not like Harry one bit. He didn't even know the poor boy!
"Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything." His gaze traveled, landed on my hand in the air, and ignored it. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to go find me a bezoar?"
Malfoy and his sidekicks were shaking with laughter. I shot a glare at the foul little blonde boy and stretched my hand higher in the air. Maybe Professor Snape wouldn't ignore me this time. I even tried to telepathically communicate the answer to Harry, but it didn't work.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Poor Harry. If only he had read One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Then he would know that a bezoar came from the stomach of a goat! "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Honestly, Professor Snape was asking the easiest questions I had ever heard! They were the same plant! I willed Harry to know the answer; even Ronald probably had a clue of it. I stood up, my hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know," Harry spoke quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" I smiled proudly at this. Was I the only one in the class who actually knew this information?
Professor Snape gave me a glare that would rival Malfoy's on any day. "Sit down," he snapped at me. I sat, discouraged, and tried not to show my great disappointment. Malfoy was looking at me from across the room, so I narrowed my eyes at him as menacingly as I could manage. He simply chuckled and smirked before looking away. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." Aha! I was right on all three! "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
I wrote down the information that I already knew as quickly as possible while everyone else searched their bags for quills and parchment. Well, almost everyone. I looked around me and noticed that Malfoy was, once again, staring at me from across the room. His smirk was still on his face as I whipped my head back to the front of the classroom. What a strange and arrogant boy.
.-. .-. .-. .-.
After having some of my own bad luck during the first flying lesson, Neville Longbottom's trumped my own as he was practically thrown from his broomstick and fell some twenty-odd feet to the ground. I watched with sympathy as Madam Hooch escorted him to the hospital wing.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?" I whipped my head around to see that none other than Draco Malfoy had made the rude comment and was now laughing hysterically, along with the other Slytherins.
"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, another Gryffindor.
Pansy Parkinson, who I didn't know but could tell I wasn't going to like, chimed in. "Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Parvati."
At that moment, Malfoy ran over to what seemed like a glittering spot in the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held up Neville's Remembrall.
"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry Potter, speaking up when no one else would. I saw Malfoy twist his face into a nasty smile.
"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find - how about - up a tree?"
"Give it here!"
Malfoy jumped onto his broom and shot up into the air. "Come and get it, Potter!"
"No!" I shouted as Potter grabbed his broom. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all in trouble." Gryffindor would get points taken, Potter's fault again, and we simply could not afford that. He ignored me, as usual, and shot up into the air after Malfoy.
Up in the air, Potter and Malfoy seemed to have some sort of stand-off that ended with Malfoy tossing the Remembrall and racing back toward that ground. Keeping my eye on Potter, I prepared to scold Malfoy once he was out of the air.
"Malfoy! What were you thinking?" I shouted at him before his feet touched the grass. He turned toward me, annoyed, yet still smirked like he always did. "This is your fault. Now we'll all get in trouble."
"Potter's the one who is still in the air," he commented casually, arrogantly climbing off of his broom.
"While that may be true, you're the one who started this whole thing, and I think it was simply awful of you to -"
"HARRY POTTER!" In the time that I had been focused on telling off Malfoy, Potter had caught Neville's Remembrall. No sooner than he toppled onto the ground, Professor McGonagall was running toward all of us. "Never - in all my time at Hogwarts - how dare you - might have broken your neck -"
Despite Patil and Weasley's attempts to protest, McGonagall simply wouldn't hear it. She dragged Potter off and the rest of us dispersed. After shooting Malfoy a well-deserved glare, I stalked off to where I would spend the rest of the class - the library.
.-. .-. .-. .-.
Dinner that night was rather eventful. I was reading, as usual, when I overheard a particularly interesting conversation. Potter had returned and was telling the tale of his new Quidditch position.
"You're joking." Weasley had stopped shoveling massive amounts of food in his mouth - if any Gryffindor was a 'fat lump' then it was him - and stared open-mouthed at Potter. "Seeker? But first years never - you must be the youngest house player in about -"
" - a century," Potter finished for him, also eating large amounts of food. At this point, I tuned out. Even though I was never originally part of their conversation, Weasley's voice was so loud that I couldn't help listening anyway, I was also completely uninterested in Quidditch.
Upon returning to my book, I was very displeased to be interrupted seconds later when I saw the dreaded Malfoy returning to tease Potter once more. "Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles?" I rolled my eyes.
"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," responded Potter, surprisingly calm considering how hot-headed he had seemed to be thus far. I couldn't help but raise my eyebrow at that comment. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Malfoy's followers, were neither little nor his friends. I'd bet a galleon that Malfoy didn't even know their first names.
"I'd take you on anytime on my own. Tonight, if you want," he said proudly, which caught my attention more. I raised my gaze slightly from my book to look at the 'legendary' Draco Malfoy. "Wizard's duel. Wands only - no contact." Harry didn't answer. I wouldn't either; the thought of taking part in such reckless behavior was absolutely sickening. "What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
Weasley, who always seemed to be sticking his dirty nose in places it didn't belong, took offense to this. "Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours?"
Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle sizing them up. If I were him, I wouldn't want to choose either. "Crabbe," he finally decided. I suppose, if I had to make the same choice, I would choose whoever could put together the most coherent sentence. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked." With that, Draco Malfoy left, his 'friends' trailing behind him, and Potter looked at Weasley in confusion.
"What is a wizard's duel?" asked Potter, confirming Malfoy's suspicions. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"
"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Weasley casually.
"Quite good with words, aren't you, Weasley?" I muttered to myself quietly.
"But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."
"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him on the nose."
"Excuse me," I chimed in, unable to listen to them actually planning such a huge break of the rules.
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Weasley muttered rudely.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying -"
"Bet you could," interjected Weasley. I glared at him as I finished my sentence.
"- and you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you." Though I would never admit it out loud, I was actually a tiny bit worried about Potter's safety. Malfoy was a pureblood; his abilities couldn't be underestimated.
"And it's really none of your business," responded Potter.
"Good-bye," finished Weasley.
These two were so rude! I scooted away and continued to read my book, seething with anger. I guess that's what I get for trying to help two idiots like them.
.-. .-. .-. .-.
Later that night, at precisely eleven-fifteen, I went to the common room to wait for Potter and Weasley to arrive. They'd come down at some point. Even though they had been extremely rude to me, I still didn't want Gryffindor to lose any points. As soon as they came downstairs, I waited for the right time to reveal my presence. Just when the two boys were a few feet from the portrait hole, I spoke up.
"I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry." I turned on the lamp next to me as I spoke.
"You! Go back to bed!" shouted Weasley, obviously furious. He should go back to bed.
"I almost told your brother, Percy - he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."
"Come on," muttered Potter, pulling Weasley through the portrait hole with him. As if I was going to just let them go. I quickly followed after them.
"Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."
"Go away."
"All right," I conceded. It was late, and I was tired. "But I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so -" I turned back toward the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was gone. "Now what am I going to do?"
"That's your problem. We've got to go," snapped Weasley, "we're going to be late."
I chased after them and, after a bit of light persuading, they allowed me to tag along. I think part of why they didn't send me off to be caught by Filch had to do with the fact that Neville Longbottom was also locked out of Gryffindor tower and didn't want to be left alone.
"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Weasley whispered after we had been in the trophy room for much longer than I would have liked. I nearly scoffed, but I didn't want to make any noises. This whole scenario seemed rather strange. Had Malfoy really wanted to duel, he would've made his way here by now.
"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."
I knew who that voice belonged to. Mr. Filch, who was speaking to his cat Mrs. Norris. My heart pounded against my ribs. We ran away from the sound of his voice. "They're in here somewhere, probably hiding."
As we ran through a corridor lined with suits of armor, Neville fell into Weasley who then fell into a suit of armor. Loud enough to wake the whole castle, the crashing and clattering were enough to make me run as fast as I possibly could.
"I think we've lost him," panted Potter once we had traveled through a hidden corridor and emerged by our Charms classroom.
"I - told - you," I gasped; my lungs felt like they were on fire. "I - told - you." Whilst basking in the glory of being correct, I realized something: Filch knew that someone would be in the trophy room, meaning that he had been given some sort of tip from someone else.
"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower, quickly as possible," said Weasley, voicing my thoughts from the whole night.
I turned to Potter. "Malfoy tricked you. You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you - Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off."
"Let's go," muttered Potter, completely ignoring the fact that I was right.
We eventually made it back to Gryffindor tower, but only after being nearly ratted-out by Peeves, finding the forbidden third-floor corridor, and seeing one of the largest dogs to ever walk the planet.
"You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" I snapped after Weasley questioned why a creature like that would be in the castle anyway. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"
"The floor?" I rolled my eyes at Potter's suggestion. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."
"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." These two imbeciles were the dunderheads that Professor Snape had talked about during his Potions lecture on the first day. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed - or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."