Chapter two! I own nothing, sadly, but the plot.
When Hermione woke up the next morning she had a feeling that it was just another ordinary day at Hogwarts and that everything had been a dream. She figured she was still only a sixth year, and she had slept and dreamed of falling in love with the legendary king Arthur after reading a book before bed. She'd never gone to Camelot, never been tortured, and never fought in the Battle. Hermione stepped into the bathroom and when she looked in the mirror the hope smashed around her like glass. All she had to do was see her face. Look into her own eyes. Then she knew she'd only been fooling herself.
"Oh Merlin, I'm not late am I?" Vicky burst into the bathroom. Hermione turned and stared at the redhead. Vicky's hair was like a haystack, similar to Hermione's, and she had glasses on her face, pushed on hastily so they were crooked.
"Glasses?" Hermione said before she could think.
Vicky shuffled nervously and took them off. "They're fake. See?"
She walked forward and hit a sink.
"Are you sure?" Hermione questioned, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Vicky put the glasses back on, her face flushed in embarrassment.
"No," she said in a dejected tone. "They're real. You can laugh if you want."
"Why would I laugh?" Hermione asked, confused.
"You know, everyone used to. They made fun of me, especially Draco Malfoy and his goons. I got contacts the summer after fifth year. I keep these though, just in case."
Hermione stood silently for a moment and memories came back slowly. She realized Vicky looked very different. If she remembered clearly, the Vicky she used to see would hide in the shadows of the corridors. She wore the very same, big glasses on her face, and she wasn't as thin. She didn't talk much.
"But you.." Hermione, again, spoke without thinking.
"I used to be ugly, I know," Vicky said bitterly.
"I didn't mean that," Hermione backtracked, now a little embarrassed herself.
"I know it's true, you remember now. But that summer I changed. I got contacts after begging my mum and dad for nearly two years. I exercised all summer and lost fifteen pounds. I learned how to use make-up."
"I... you look great," Hermione hoped she sounded sincere. "I don't know many half-bloods with glasses though."
"My dad's a wizard, my mum's a Muggle optometrist," Vicky said. "She finally let me have contacts."
Hermione was vaguely reminded of her conversations about her teeth with her parents and begging them to have her teeth fixed after the bullying.
"I'm... I'm sorry if I offended you," Hermione toyed with her hands, staring at Vicky. The other witch shook her head and hastily fixed an already perfectly latched button on her striped pyjamas.
"I'm not offended," Vicky said with a light laugh. "I mean, you sort of... I mean, when I saw you, you sort of seemed to have the same problems as me in the beginning.. I'm not saying... no, you're not fat or blind! You just didn't really have friends either. And Draco laughed at your hair and teeth. And your blood status."
"Maybe he did, but I'm a Muggle-born and proud," Hermione replied strongly, a surge of pride running through her.
"I know," Vicky said hastily, "that's why I always thought of you when I felt like hippogriff dung. Because you understand."
Hermione and Vicky locked eyes and a sort of mutual understanding passed between them. Hermione realized she hadn't been alone in her teen years.
"What is this, a slumber party in the bathroom? Move over," one seventh year girl named Irene Dorcas pushed past Vicky and yawned.
"Watch it, Irene," Vicky said in annoyance, rolling her eyes.
"You watch it, Four Eyes," Irene turned around, the rough Scottish accent quickly reaching Hermione's ears.
Vicky closed her mouth and turned red in anger.
"Really, Four Eyes?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "Could you be any more unoriginal? Honestly, quit being so rude."
"Stay out of it, you little anorexic stick," Irene shot back as she advanced toward Hermione.
Irene was defensive, rather rude, and actually very intelligent from what Hermione remembered of her. She was the definition of arrogance and not to mention all Slytherins enjoyed her company. Hermione hadn't ever talked to the girl, especially as she was a year under Hermione, so Hermione hadn't run into her in classes when she had been in Hogwarts.
"I'm not anorexic," Hermione defended herself. She stared at the broom that sat in the corner of the bathroom to distract herself.
"And I'm not Scottish," Irene said sarcastically.
"Irene, just let it go-"
"Listen, Vicky, love, mind your own bloody business."
Irene stepped towards Hermione who backed up towards the broom in the corner.
"Look, you may be a hero and you might be the oldest, but you left for a year and we're on the same level now. So that means I'm in charge now... is that clear?"
Hermione said nothing. She hated bigots and people who thought they were better than everyone else, that was one thing that had certainly never changed.
"I said, is that clear?" Irene pushed Hermione back.
In an instant, Hermione had reflexively grabbed the broom from behind her back, held it in front of herself and shoved the bully against the opposite wall. Vicky was frozen, her eyes wide and unblinking. Irene was breathing heavily and she simply stared at Hermione. The latter brought her face close to Irene's.
"I've been through it all," Hermione snarled. "I'm not easily scared of bullies like you. I've fought Death Eaters, monsters, and destroyed a Horcrux. I have had a closer encounter to Voldemort than you could ever dream of in your worst nightmares. I don't feel like dealing with rude, childish people like you while trying to graduate from school. I don't want you to come near me or touch me ever again... is that clear?"
Maybe Arthur's training had paid off after all. Hermione got rid of the thought. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach for what she'd done and thought. Half sick, half satisfied. She lowered the broom and threw it to the side.
"We're going to be late, just get ready," Hermione said to no one in particular. She left the bathroom without looking at Vicky and Irene watched after her, calm on the outside but her heart racing on the inside.
Hermione pulled on her uniform and once Irene had left the bathroom, hastily got ready in there. Vicky got ready quickly as well, so they went down to eat breakfast. Before Hermione could even sit down, Headmistress McGonagall approached her.
"Miss Granger, I wish to speak to you privately," the older woman said briskly to Hermione. Vicky looked worried and Hermione wondered if Irene had told on her. For some reason, she didn't really care. She and Professor McGonagall left the Great Hall. As soon as they reached the empty classroom nearby, Professor McGonagall smiled kindly at Hermione.
"I'm glad to see you back, Hermione," Professor McGonagall said, the usually stoic, no-nonsense woman actually offering her old student a small smile.
"I suppose it's nice to be back," Hermione smiled tightly. "What's the problem, Professor?"
Professor McGonagall stood up from the desk she had been sitting behind and faced Hermione once she had walked around.
"Nothing at all, Hermione," Professor McGonagall replied. "I only wish to give you something I believe may help you in the future."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Pardon?"
Professor McGonagall reached into the pocket of her forest green robes, not yet answering. She pulled out something on a necklace length chain. It reminded Hermione of a pocket watch from the round, metal thing at the end of the chain.
"This is the Compass of Sors," Professor McGongall told Hermione.
"Sors is Latin for.. destiny or fate, isn't it?" Hermione asked, interest piqued as she stared at the peculiar object.
"Correct," Professor McGonagall answered promptly. "This is a magical compass. The wearer of this compass may make it disappear and appear at their will."
"This isn't intended to sound rude, but why would I need a compass, Professor?" Hermione asked carefully.
"This compass, Hermione, is quite an exceptional one," Professor McGonagall continued. "Do you know why?"
"Not really, Professor."
"This compass takes the owner where they need to go," Professor McGonagall explained, pursing her lips. "Not just North or South, but precisely where the owner is destined to be, or to the thing they most need."
Hermione said nothing, only examined the compass in Professor McGonagall's hand.
"I have a feeling you'll be requiring the help of this compass soon, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, her eyes almost twinkling with a foreknowledge Hermione was desperate to hear about.
"What do you mean, Professor?"
"I just think it will help you when you need it most," Professor McGonagall said calmly as she handed it over. "To make it disappear, simply think, 'Lateo.' To make it reappear, think, 'Pareo.'"
Hermione put the chain over her head and mentally said, "Lateo." The necklace instantly faded away. Hermione touched her neck and felt the necklace, but nothing was on her neck. It was like the Cloak of Invisibility in its own way. No one could see it.
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said sincerely, though she was still quite puzzled overall by the meeting.
"You're welcome," Professor McGonagall replied. Then her voice changed back to the serious tone Hermione remembered. "Now hurry along, you must eat before you go to class!"
Hermione nodded and rushed out, back to the Great Hall.
"I just think it will help you when you need it most."
What did that mean? Hermione's head felt like it was filled with cotton. She shook her head and sat down at the Gryffindor table.
"Did Irene squeal on you?" Vicky asked nervously.
"No," Hermione said distractedly as she reached up to touch the invisible chain. Something stirred inside her and she wondered what Professor McGonagall's prediction meant.
Could the past catch up with her?