Chapter 7

"Merlin, Riddle, is that a prefect's badge? What was Slughorn thinking?" Hermione asks incredulously, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the silver badge pinned to his robes. Riddle shrugs, nonchalantly. "Something surprisingly smart for Slughorn's usual standards." A smirk appears on his face. "I make a rather good prefect, don't you think?"

Hermione rolls her eyes theatrically, slamming her book shut as she looks up at him dubiously. "I can't agree with you there, Riddle. Now get out of my compartment. I'm sure you can go to the snooty prefect's compartment." She crosses her arms in front of her chest and raises her chin ever so slightly.

Tom looks amused, before shaking his head wth mischief. "I don't think so, Granger. Antagonizing you is so much more entertaining." He drawls, threading his fingers through his curly brown hair. "You don't agree?"

Inspecting him warily, Hermione comments dryly. "I think it's rather obvious. The door is there." She points her finger directly towards the compartment exit, tapping her foot against the floor impatiently. " I haven't got all day. Get out before I decide to hex you."

"You couldn't beat me. I'd kill you before you could draw your wand."

A morbid smile spreads across Hermione's complexion. "A person's last mistake is to underestimate me. Now get out." Her hands reach into her pockets and she brandishes her thin vine wand, directing it at Riddle, who chortles at the sight of it.

"Pathetic Granger." He taunts. Then, he sighs. "Got to go, Granger. My nose can't stand being in the presence of such filth." With that, he saunters away, his steps echoing across the train corridor. With a crash, Hermione slides shut the glass door with a wave of her wand, before settling back into the red bench, opening her book. Her fingers trace the spell in front of her. It is a spell text book, fifth year, yet notes in a curly, neat handwriting have been added to the side by her. Currently, her eyes are glued to the Piertotum Locomotor, which animates armourstands and statues. If she takes the pier away, meaning stone, and replaces it with sanguis, meaning blood, could she reanimate things with blood running through their veins? Or even spina, meaning bone? That might work better. Quickly, she takes a quill, and notes down her ideas. When she is finished, she casts a small charm so no other person can read it.

Her lips twist into a predatory smirk. Some of her modifications are rather... dangerous.

The sorting feast this year is rather boring. As usual, Hermione takes her seat at the end of the table. The younger years whisper, point at her, yet avoid her like the plague. Hermione doesn't mind, after all, she's gotten used to it.

When they return to the common room, she sulks in the shadows as Tom Riddle gives the firsties the Slytherin speech about unity, the same one Hesper Black gave her year back in her first year. Not a word about the mudblood is mentioned, and Hermione knows why, so that soon, when she leaves Hogwarts, she'll be forgotten and the great house of Slytherin will be redeemed. A pile of dragon dung. Nevertheless, it is favorable to being murdered in her sleep.

That night, she stays awake, as she always does, reading through her books and spells and modifying them to become more dangerous, more lethal. It brings her great pleasure imagining using them on Riddle or Malfoy. It makes the task much less tedious.

The next day is potions. As usual, Hermione is seated alone at the back. It a fairly ordinary lesson, at the beginning at least. At the end of the lesson, she is last to hand in her potion. As she puts it onto Slughorn's desk, Professor Slughorn coughs loudly. Hermione looks up at him, smiling politely. "Can I help you, Professor?"

Professor Slughorn scratches the back of his ear, nodding slowly. "Well, Ms Granger, I assume you are aware of the Slugclub." He looks at her expectantly, hoping for a noticeable reaction form Hermione.

Hermione grimaces internally. Of course she's heard of it. Slughorn's little club is a collection of star students. It was there solely for the purpose of making connections that might help in later life, yet notorious for its glamorous events. Hermione shrugs indifferently. "The name certainly rings a bell, Professor."

Professor Slughorn chortles, before wringing his hands together nervously. "I was wondering, Ms Granger, if you would be able to join." He peers down at her. "Your academic success is remarkable, and you are already famous for being the Slytherin muggleborn, the first in hundreds of years!"

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione stares at him inquisitively. "And why would I do this? Does it provide me with any benefits? Professor, I am not a fool. This club excites solely for the purpose of making connections, yet I seem fairly capable of making my own." Hermione says, grinding her teeth together. It's a lie, of course, considering she has absolutely zero connections, perhaps with the exception of Callidora and Hesper, yet that's about it. However, she can't make it look like she's dependent on Slughorn. No, she can let him sweat.

An Oh escapes Slughorn's lips, and his face scrunches up almost instantly. "Connections are very useful, Ms Granger. Through the Slug Club, every career is open to you just by mentioning its name. Surely that is enough."

Hermione choose to stay silent.

Slughorn's voice goes higher by several pitches. "I am sure, Ms Granger, you will see the benefits soon. I am hosting an event this weekend, and perhaps you would be interested in tagging along. You can make you decision afterwards. Many others will be there, such as Mr Riddle, whom you are familiar with."

Almost rolling her eyes, Hermione smirks. Tom Riddle is a further reason not to go. However, her mind wonders to Callidora, who would tell her to accept. She does need more connections, and since most Slytherins despise her for being a mudblood, and the rest of the school hates her for being a Slytherin, she is fairly limited in options. This might be an oppportunity...

"I will ponder on it. I will attend the event this weekend, yet I cannot guarantee further attendance."

Slughorn beams, obviously relieved. "Brilliant! On Sunday, at 7 o'clock in the evening in the room next to my office. Everyone will be there. It will be wonderful, Ms Granger, I can assure you."

Hermione, standing orderly in front of a mirror, inspects her appearance criticizingly. She has never held any interest regarding her physical attributes, unlike the many Slytherin girls she has lived with for the past five years, thus making her unaccustomed to the world of fashion. Sadly, Slughorn's meeting requires formal wear, forcing her to pick from a scarcity of dresses.

She wears a dusty pink, sleevless, form fitting dress with a draped bodice. It reaches modestly to her knees, flaring out at mid waist to create an allure. The neckline is not as modest, reaching just above cleavage, but not low enough to seem indecent. Her hair is surprisingly tame after she coaxes it with a large bottle of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, shaped into controlled waves which reach her halfway down her back. She leans forward indecisively, glancing at herself in the looking-glass and jumping backwards unexpectedly at an ear-piercing squeal.

''Where's my bracelet?"

Druella Rosier stomps angrily as she glares accusingly at Hermione, Lysandra Yaxley and Ursula Flint standing like obedient dogs behind her.

Druella gapes a little, taking in her improved appearance as she attempts to figure out who she is conversing with. The two girls standing behind, sneak looks at each other, as if contemplating the anonymous stranger. The smarter of the three, Lysandra, suddenly grins, putting a name to the face.

''Why bother ask, Druella?'' her shrill voice says, ''It's obvious she's a thief, Granger's a Mudblood for goodness sake.'' Druella gasps haltingly upon that recognition, as if just discovering it was Hermione she had been talking to. ''Nobody could resist the Rosier heirlooms. Of course, not more important than the Yaxley locket, wouldn't you say?" Lysandra drawls, fingering a silver locket which rests on her sternum, completely visible through low V-cut of her dress neckline.

Hermione rolls her eyes, annoyed at the silly antics of the three pure-blooded girls. 'Mudblood this...' and 'Mudblood that...' Did they think she would be affected by such an overused measly insult after five continuous years?

''Are you a witch or what?'' she exclaims, aggravated,''Honestly, cast a simple spell." She declares, refusing to summon the missing heirloom herself. Druella grunts, frustrated as she fumbles around, searching frantically for her wand, Lysandra and Ursula stalking exasperatedly in the background, unable to find an insult to toss at her.

Hermione turns her neck, taking one last quick look at the mirror, before exiting the room using the cramped stone staircases, careful not to trip over the green and silver rugs which carpet it.

When Hermione arrives, the room is almost empty with the exception of Professor Slughorn himself, discussing animatedly with Hesper Black, now a representative of Britain at the International Confederation of Wizards.

For a moment Hermione stands in the doorway, rather awkwardly, before coughing loudly in order to attract attention.

With a large grin decorating his face, Slughorn turns towards her, arms open wide.''Miss Granger, you are early!" He exclaims, his voice filled with surprise.

Hermione allows herself a small smile, and nods. "Well, it's better than being late, I suppose."

Slughorn laughs loudly at her poor attempt at a joke. "Yes, indeed. You look stunning." He gestures towards her dress, and Hermione mumbles a thank you. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies on Hesper trying very hard not to laugh. She shoots him a glare.

"Ms Granger, this is Hesper Black. He represents Britain at the ICW, the international confederation of wizards. An astoundingly charismatic young man. He was headboy when you were in your first year, I believe." Slughorn pats Hesper on the back, and leads him over to Hermione.

A waiter comes past them, handing each of them a glass of butter beer. Hermione takes a sip, before forcing a grin. "We are familiar with each other." More than familiar. Hesper mentored Hermione in her first year, and in her eyes, he was an older brother in all but blood. She knew him and his fiancée Callidora well.

Hesper claps his hands together. "Indeed, Professor."

Suddenly, a footsteps echo outside the door. Professor Slughorn looks up, surprised. "That must be the other guests. If you'll excuse me!" Quickly, he rushes to the door, welcoming the others, leaving Hesper and Hermione alone.

Hesper lowers his voice schemingly, and leans in. "Callidora told me about the stunt you pulled in third year. You know, overtaking Riddle in academics. Apparently he was furious, storming into her office and everything."

A giggle escapes Hermione. "Oh, that. That was ages ago. He still sends me glares in lessons. I'm better than him in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and Charms. He still is better at Potions and DADA, being first in the class, but I'm a close second."

Nodding apprasingly, Hesper asks, "And what about making connections, finding friends?"

Her shoulders noticeably droop at his statement. "I still don't have many. Any, in fact. All the Slytherins hate me for being a mudblood, and the rest of the school hates me for being a Slytherin. That's why I'm here."

"Good choice. You'll make some connections at these parties. The powerful don't care about your blood, even if they say so. All they care about is power. Some pure blood families, if you benefit them considerably, will turn a blind eye to your blood status." Hesper whispers, his eyes scanning the inflow of guests. He points at a tall man at the side. "For example him. Caius Greengrass. Powerful man. His son, Nero, is a year older. His financial manager is a halfblood. He doesn't seem to mind though after the manager tripled the Greengrass Fortune."

Under her breath, Hermione mutters, "I wouldn't mind either."

Hesper shakes with laughter. "That's the right mindset."

"Hesper, how long are you in England?"

His face scrunches up as he does the maths in his head. "A week or so, if I am not mistaken. After that I have a conference in the US, with the American ministry of magic. About the statue of secrecy. There's been a major violation, and although it's been fixed, there's still some mess to clean up."

A thought pops into Hermione's head. "When's yours and Callidora's wedding? You've been together for what, five years, and you still aren't married. Your parents must be furious."

Hesper sighs. "They are." He admits, a crease appearing on his normally flawless face. "The Blacks are quite conservative, and Mother really wants a grandson. Father doesn't really approve of Callidora having a job anyways, so now, my relationship with them is quite strained.at the moment, my relationship with them is quite strained. And Cygnus is being annoying too."

Attempting a good natured grin, Hermione jokes, "Has Cygnus ever not been annoying?"Attempting a good- natured grin, Hermione jokes, "Has Cygnus ever not been annoying?"

Hesper stares in to the distance. "No, not really."

A man taps him on the shoulder, whispering something in Hesper's ear and his face goes earnest. "Listen, I've got to go. Try to meet new people, make some connections. See you around." With an apologeticSee you around." With an apolgetic shrug, he disappears into the crowd, talking in a hushed manner to the man.

For a moment, Hermione has peacebrief moment, Hermione has piece and quiet, yet suddenly, Slughorn appears in front of her, a young girl tagging along. "Ms Granger, are you enjoying yourself?" He doesn't even wait for an anwser before he continues. "Sorry for disturbing, but I have to introduce Ms Fawley. A charming young woman, much like yourself. The smartest girl in her year. A very promising future." He ushers the girl in front of him. Hermione musters her inquisitively. The girl has wavy auburn hair, which is pinned up on her head. Her dress is simple and modest, and she wears a shy smile.

Remembering Hesper's advice, Hermione sticks out her hand. "Hermione Granger. Slytherin fifth year."

The girl smiles weakly. "Georgia Fawley. I'm in Ravenclaw, in fourth year."

Hermione opens her mouth to say something, but Slughorn interrupts. "I think I must get going, you know, I need to talk to Wilhelm Willowson, you know, the famous quidditch player. He gives me tickets for every season, you know. Ms Fawley, Ms Granger." He nods to both of them, before skipping across the room.

"So, the smartest girl in fourth year?" Hermione comments dryly, earning a roll of the eye from Georgia.

"Yes. The title is rather annoying. I'm only here because my father said I should go." Georgia murmurs, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She seems rather uncomfortable.

"At least you're not stuck with a name like the Slytherin Mudblood. That happens to be what most people know me as." Hermione drawls.

The girl's eyes go wide. "That name is very rude. Father told me I should never use it." She brushes her auburn curls out of her face. "A lot of people in fifth year talk about you. They say mean things, but they seem afraid."

Hermione looks down at the girl. Georgia is extremely small, and Hermione towers over her. With a morbid smile, she asks, "Are you afraid of me?"

Georgia instinctively takes a step back. "You have this intimidating presence about you. In a way, yes. But I don't know you, so I don't think I can judge you very well. My father said that you should never judge a book by its cover, no matter what message the cover conveys."

Grimacing internally, Hermione sighs. That's the third mention of her father in a minute. Georgia seems dependent on him, and judging by the adoration in her voice, loves him very much. Hermione never shared that bond with Richard, her father. For a mere second, she feels a tinge of jealousy, that need to be loved, but pushes it down quickly. She's survived fifteen years without any love.

"Your father is a smart man. He seems to tell you a lot of things."

Georgia nods enthusiastically, her head bobbing up and down. "He's taught me everything I know!" She declared, pride filling her voice, coming out of her shell. Compared to the meager girl Slughorn introduced her too, this version of Georgia seems much preferable.

"The Fawley's are part of the sacred twenty eight, aren't they?" Hermione questions curiously.

"Yes." Georgia confirms. "Ma died when I was little, you see, so I was Father's only heir. He raised me to the best I can be. One day, I will carry on my families legacy, just as my father and his fathers have done before me."

"I wish you all the luck when you do." Surprisingly, Hermione finds herself liking this girl. She's smart, and proud of her family in a way that doesn't seem arrogant, like Malfoy when he talks of his supposingly great ancestors.

Georgia blushes. "Thank you. I hope to see you again. You seem nice. The fifth year Ravenclaw are obviously wrong." She doesn't seem very shocked when she says it.

"You don't really seem to like the Ravenclaws in fifth year. Good choice. They're all complete dunderheads. Like Pollux Prosper." Hermione contemplates aloud, tapping her foot against the stone floor.

At the mention of Pollux's name, Georgia groans. "Prosper is an absolute arrogant toe rag. All he ever does is declare how amazing he is and how we should all listen to him. He's worse than that Malfoy in your year."

Hermione shakes her head. "Pollux Prosper might be irritating, but trust me, Malfoy is worse. He drives me up the wall with his stupidity. It's Malfoy this, Malfoy that. In Malfoy's world, everything seems to revolve around himself." She rants, spite accenting her speech.

Georgia smiles. "Point taken. Basically, we're the only one's with a brain in Hogwarts. Is that what you're saying?"

Hermione pauses for a moment. After a while, she answers. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

Both of them burst into laughter. Georgia is grinning from ear to ear. "Friends?" She offers tentatively.

Hermione stares into her eyes. This girl is different, and Hermione thinks she's brilliant. "Friends." She confirms.

And then, a familiar mop of platinum hair surfaces from the crowd. He sneers at them.

"Granger, what are you doing here?"

"Malfoy." Hermione greets in a monotone voice. Both her and Georgia groan simultaneously. Exchanging glances, they turn to face him.

"Oh, C***." Georgia murmurs quietly.