Ronald was healed by the next morning, and Harry was alone when she went to check on him in the hospital. It was a good thing too because he made a point not to speak with her since she'd refused to go after the Stone with them.
She sighed. Apparently news of their escapades had gotten around the school, because there was an ungodly amount of sweets at Harry's bedside. Even if it was mostly sorted and organized, it was a wonder Madam Pomfrey had allowed it...although it would be nice for Harry to wake up and see people had been worried for him.
She reached over to clear off some room on the chair for herself, and noticed, to her horror, that it was stacked with chocolate frog wrappers. No frogs, no cards—just the wrappers. Ronald was daft, but he wouldn't actually eat his unconscious friend's chocolate, would he? Harry wouldn't mind, of course, he probably wouldn't even know to mind, but that really wasn't the material point. The sweets were meant for Harry, and Ronald should have asked.
It didn't matter, though, Ron was the one who'd enabled him on his quest to save the world. It was a bitter thought. After sitting at his side for a couple hours, she'd finished reading yet another book. Hermione stood up, somewhat reluctantly, giving a final squeeze to Harry's hand and asking him to wake up soon before going to meet Draco in their now guaranteed Voldemort-free clearing.
"I told you it wasn't Snape," Draco said, after a few moments of silence when they'd landed, looking at her curiously to see what her reaction would be.
Quirrell had been, after Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Sprout, the last person they would have expected to be in league with Voldemort. Not only did he appear to be a coward, but he also spent years as a Muggle Studies Professor—preaching tolerance. It gave her a twisted sense of satisfaction to know he was dead. After he left her in the hallways knowing she was seriously injured, she couldn't find it in herself to feel any sympathy.
"I know," she snapped at him, turning away when she felt her cheeks burn.
She went to sleep angry about prejudice, angry that people saw her as less than a person. She was angry that they hated her because she had buck-teeth, bushy hair, and a bit of acne; she was angry that they saw her as a Mudblood rather than as a twelve-year-old girl—but she'd done the same thing to Professor Snape.
He was undoubtedly not a pleasant person, but she'd assumed the worse from him based entirely on appearances. Because he wasn't an attractive man, had greasy hair, didn't particularly like teaching, and, perhaps most shamefully, because he was in Slytherin, she had jumped to the conclusion that he was evil. Her best friend, the first person who made her feel like it was alright to be Hermione—not Hermione Granger, not a witch, not a Muggle, just Hermione and all that entailed, was in Slytherin.
The person who did everything he could to keep his more malevolent Housemates and peers away from her, was in Slytherin. The only person who knew how bad things were for her, who snuck into the hospital wing to see her, was in Slytherin. Her best friend was a Slytherin, but she'd decided he was a 'good' Slytherin- an exception. Like how she knew a lot of people saw her as a good Mudblood- an exception.
"I'm so embarrassed," she said, looking back at him. Tears were starting to cloud her vision.
"It's alright, Hermione," he said, pulling her into a hug where they were both now seated. She saw the look he was giving her, concern mixed with confusion. He hadn't seemed to realize what was bothering her.
"It's really not—I'm just as bad as they are," she said, pulling back.
Now he caught on to what was upsetting her. "No—you aren't. You never instigate anything, you don't bully people just because they exist."
"It doesn't matter—that's not the point."
"Yeah, Hermione, it sort of is. Look, you're going to go confess to Snape that you thought he was trying to steal the Stone, and apologize for assuming it was him. He'll sneer at you, take away House points, but you'll have apologized." he smiled at her, teasing, "Get to keep that Gryffindor moral high ground."
She nodded, curling up closer to her friend and crying for a little while longer. She didn't even know why she was crying, in particular, just that she needed to, and it felt better.
She walked to the dungeons a few hours later, Draco trailing her to make sure she didn't run into any trouble, with all the signs that she'd been crying still evident on her face. Facing the door to Professor Snape's office, it took every last ounce of determination and pride she had not to turn around and run away.
Her hands shook slightly as she raised a fist to knock. When she finally did steal herself to, she hit the door, just hard enough so she would be heard, three times. For a few moments, she thought maybe she'd been spared further humiliation and that the professor wasn't there at the moment, but the door swung open to the man scowling down at whoever deigned to waste his time.
She gulped when she saw him, but otherwise didn't say anything, bile practically rising up into her mouth from nerves.
"Miss Granger," he said, not able to keep the surprise out of his voice. "You may step in if you would like."
He returned to his seat on the other side of the desk, where a large stack of essays was sorted into piles. She walked in hesitantly, sitting down at the seat opposite him, hands tucked under her legs so she wouldn't fidget.
"I wanted to…" she squeaked, looking down quickly.
He still didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue, "I wanted to apologize," she said finally, the last part barely croaked out.
"Apologize for what, Miss Granger?" he asked, genuinely perplexed as to what the girl possibly had to be sorry for.
"I—well we thought—wethoughtyouweretheonetryingtostealtheStone." It came out in an incoherent garble, and the professor looked more perplexed than ever.
She took in a deep breath, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice. "We thought you were trying to steal the Stone. It was a horrible thing to think, and I should know more than anyone that it was a stupid assumption to make."
"I accept your apology, Miss Granger," he said after a minute of silence, surprising her completely.
Not only had he accepted her apology, but he'd done so without a sneer, scowl, or mean comment.
"Why do you think you should know more than anyone else?" he asked, again driven by genuine curiosity.
"Well—I've been harassed by people in all four Houses. Slytherins are supposed to be cunning but look at Crabbe and Goyle. Ravenclaws are supposed to be intelligent but look at Marietta Edgecomb. Hufflepuffs are loyal but look at Zacharias Smith. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, but I know I'm not. I can find people with 'Gryffindor' traits in Slytherin, and vice versa. We should be defined by two qualities based on what a hat decides when we're eleven."
Snape watched her with growing respect, impressed that a twelve-year-old had picked up on something which he didn't think most adult witches and wizards had. He couldn't count the number of people who would scoff at her suggestion and even more impressed that she'd admitted to being in the wrong to him.
"What Potter and Weasley did was one type of bravery, but one might also call it reckless. Potter may be, and will be, hailed a hero, make no doubt of that, but had you not stayed behind to get Dumbledore he might have died anyway. If Potter and Weasley had not gone after him, Quirrell would not have gotten the Stone because of a rather clever enchantment Dumbledore placed.
In reality, for all their good intention, they placed it at risk. If it hadn't been for blood magic invoked by Lil-" his voice cracked slightly, "-his mother's death when he was a child, Potter would have died and Voldemort would have gotten the Stone because of his brave actions. Charging into an ill-judged battle may be brave, but it can be incredibly foolish. You, Miss Granger, are not foolish."
Snape stood, walking over to his bookshelf, he pulled down an old, leather bound copy of Tennyson's poems, placing it on the desk before her. "Borrow the book over the summer; read 'The Charge of the Light Brigade'—I want to hear your opinion on it."
Hermione reached across the desk, taking the old, leather bound book. She found herself once again berating herself for feeling shock that Snape owned a book of Muggle poetry.
"Thank you, Professor," she said with a small smile.
"Make no mistake, the hat wasn't wrong in placing you in Gryffindor. You are an incredibly brave young witch. I think, considering the apology you made, it would only be fair if I made one as well. I have treated you poorly from the minute you stepped foot into my classroom, have never awarded you House points when they were deserved, and took them away for petty reasons. I am sorry, Miss Granger—one hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor."
Hermione looked at the professor, expecting him to add something, or do just about anything in character enough for her to believe it was really him. After a moment, she realized she was being incredibly rude to a man who'd just apologized to her.
"Thank you, sir, and— I also accept your apology."
"Don't tell your Gryffindors I awarded the points—or they might expect me to hand them out in class," he said with a rare smile.
Hermione nodded, smiling as well as she left his office, the book he'd loaned her stowed away carefully in her bag.
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
"I'm glad you're alright, Harry." she said when she saw him walk into the common room later that evening.
"It was Quirrell," he finally said.
"Yeah, I know…I feel silly for assuming it was Professor Snape."
"But Hermione, he's in Slytherin. Hagrid says—"
"I don't care what Hagrid says, Harry. He's wrong. We shouldn't have jumped to conclusions; it wasn't fair to him."
"Since when has he been fair? It's his own fault for acting suspicious."
"No…Harry, it isn't. Tell me though, what happened when you were in there?"
He began telling her about the defences surrounding the Stone, different puzzles defending it. First there was Fluffy, who was already put to sleep by music when they had arrived, next was a type of plant, which she could've identified as Devil's Snare.
Since a good portion of it was already burnt through by Quirrell, Harry simply fell to the floor, lucky to break his wrist rather than his neck. Ron was slightly less so, and only managed to escape after Harry stomped on a tendril attempting to drag him towards the largest remaining clump of living vines. She'd overheard the Ginger Brat, as she'd taken to calling him with Draco, bragging about his injury to some of the other Gryffindor boys. It was pathetic to think somehow nearly being killed by your own stupidity warranted bragging rights, but Dean and Seamus lapped it up.
They then had to play their way across a chessboard, which she was surprised to hear Ronald was good at—if only his aptitude for strategy seeped into the other parts of his life, like when they made the decision to actually go after the Stone.
She kept her commentary to herself though, wanting to hear the rest of the story without upsetting Harry. The last part was the enchantment Professor Snape had mentioned—the one that Harry had allowed Quirrell to get past just by being there. Someone needed to look into the Mirror of The Erised and see the Stone, but not want to use it. Quirrell never would have obtained it, his greatest desire was to use it for Voldemort.
She wanted to scold him, but it wasn't her place to; their professors would see to it that he understood the consequences of his actions. The fact that he spent twenty-four hours in the infirmary would help.
She was seething once again. Sitting at the Gryffindor table the next day, Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter were awarded enough points to tie with Slytherin, then Neville Longbottom an extra ten to win the Cup. Neville hadn't even done anything! After Snape had awarded her points, it had brought them up to an almost respectable third place, a little ways ahead of Hufflepuff, and that was the standing they deserved.
Slytherin and Ravenclaw had worked much harder than they had all year, and as much as she wanted to win, it was Slytherin that deserved the Cup. It was blatant favouritism for Gryffindor, for the boy-who-lived, but her Housemates either didn't care that it was a hollow victory or didn't even recognize it. She wasn't sure which was worse, weren't Gryffindors supposed to prize nobility?
She knew Harry didn't usually want the attention, but it didn't mean he didn't get it. Sometimes, like today, he even seemed to revel in it. It was a little painful, biding her time until the end of the feast. A fake smile was plastered on her face, good enough to fool Harry and Ronald, but definitely not good enough for Lavender or Draco. Finally free to leave, she sprung up from her seat to go to the Headmaster's office.
"Lemon drop?" he asked when he saw her walk in, throwing her off a little.
"No, thank you, Headmaster," she said, hiding her indignation as best she could.
"Harry told me about the enchantments on the Mirror—by going after it he put it in danger. Why would you reward him and Ronald for doing something like that?" she asked at length.
It wasn't a lie, Harry had, in fact, told her about the Mirror—she just wouldn't have made the connection without Professor Snape pointing it out.
"Harry and Ronald showed exceptional bravery, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a small smile.
"Yes, they did, Professor, but they don't understand that there could have been consequences if they hadn't gotten lucky."
"Miss Granger, are you saying this out of concern, or perhaps because you are jealous of the attention that the boys received?"
Of course she was jealous—the two boys who had done very little in the way of reading or work had earned a combined hundred and ten House points for putting themselves and the wizarding world in danger, but that wasn't why she was speaking with Dumbledore. He had shown blatant favouritism, which would result in even more hostility between the Houses—even an idiot could tell that.
"I'm saying this because you are alienating an entire quarter of the school by pitting Slytherin and Gryffindor against each other, showing favouritism for Gryffindor. I want to know why."
The older man chuckled—actually chuckled at her statement.
"I believe you are making more out of this than it is, points were awarded based on merit, leading Gryffindor to win the House Cup. Good evening, Miss Granger" he dismissed with the same kind smile and chuckle.
Slipping on a mask of indifference, she bid him a good evening as well, leaving in a far worse mood than when she'd arrived. She could see why the Malfoys disliked him so strongly. Suddenly, Lucius actively trying to have him removed from the school seemed like a reasonably noble purpose.
Despite her frustration with the boys, she rode in their compartment on the train back to London. Winning the house cup seemed to appease Ron, and he once again spoke to her with at least as much respect as he could usually muster. It would hardly make sense to find her own compartment, and they didn't seem to mind that she spent the entire trip scribbling in her book.
"Look who it is, Perfect Potter and his pet Weasel," Draco snarled into their compartment, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle.
Hermione looked up at him, a disinterested look in her eyes. She knew he was upset with the last minute change in house standing, and, quite frankly, she couldn't find it in herself to blame him.
Ron snarled at him, pulling out his wand and threatening Draco. "Please, you couldn't curse me if you tried. Can't cast a spell, can't brew a potion—are you sure you aren't a squib?" he taunted.
"Get out, Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling her eyes in exasperation as she continued to write- an ongoing commentary about his insults and how he really could do better.
If he was going to come interrupt her peace, he might as well be creative about it. After a few more jabs at Harry and Ron, he finally left. The door closing behind him queued the onslaught of insults towards Draco, then all of Slytherin house.
It was a relief to step off of the train at the end of the ride, after exchanging hasty goodbyes with the boys, she began scanning the platform for her mum and dad. When she saw them, she felt the first real smile she'd had the entire day take over her features.
Hermione rushed towards them, dragging her trunk haphazardly behind her. Crossing the last few feet, she threw her arms around them.
"It's good to be home," she said quietly, an arm around each of her parents.
"We missed you," her mother replied, planting a kiss on her head.
And that's the end of year one! Thanks so much to everyone who's read, favourited, followed, and commented :)
I know Snape seemed really OOC, but he's been driving himself mad with guilt since chapter 8. This side of him won't come out that often.
Next up is going to be Hermione's summer months...More time with her parents, the Malfoys, some with the Tonks, and finally her first interaction with the Weasley parents in Diagon Alley!