Spring term, 1999

The first thing Hermione became aware of when she woke up was the pounding in her head, and the second thing was the fact that this was not her bed. She swallowed, trying to quell the nausea, while she tried to figure out where she was. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then her stomach turned again at the realisation that she was in the Slytherin dorms.

"Oh God, no," she said aloud. Last night's memories were still rather hazy, but to end up like this, she definitely hadn't stuck to her promise of just one drink.

The wall on her left slid open, and Astoria Greengrass stepped through, a goblet in her hand.

"Good morning," she said, too brightly. "My, how the tables have turned," Astoria smugly stated, referencing last May when she passed out in the Gryffindor common room.

"What. Happened." Hermione said, already dreading the answer.

"Hangover potion first, then we can recap the evening," was the response.

Hermione held her nose and gulped down the potion. She propped herself up with the pillows on what she now knew was Astoria's bed, then did a few freshening-up spells.

Astoria dropped a thin stack of photographs on top of the covers.

"They're the only copies; we're not so foolish as to attempt to blackmail a war hero ," she said with an eye roll.

The first one was fairly innocuous, except for exposing her terrible singing voice. She distantly remembered sitting around the Girl Guide campfire the summer before Hogwarts, always the first to memorise the words but unable to carry a tune to save her life.

The next photograph had her and Astoria dancing on a coffee table, before taking shots that looked like miniature volcanoes, emitting faux smoke and lava.

But it was the third picture that sent her crawling back under the duvet in embarrassment. Theo and Blaise were both wearing dark sunglasses, while Luna had on those outlandish pink frames, and the three of them were doing ridiculous poses for the camera. Pansy and Daphne were both scantily clad and clearly taking hits of a joint, while Tracey and Megan Jones were not so much dancing as dry-humping each other. There were other students engaged in similar debauchery in the background, but the focal point of the picture featured Hermione, Astoria, and...ugh, Malfoy. He and Greengrass were holding bottles of Ogden's in one hand and brandishing their wands with the other, moving along to the music in a way that looked effortless despite how intoxicated they both were. Hermione herself had pulled out some moves she never knew she had, and she had this stupid smirk on her face.

And what were she and her old school enemies singing along to? Been spending most our lives, living in a gangsta's paradise. Merlin, she might as well have yelled, "fuck the Aurors," and pissed on the graves of the Fallen Fifty. It was fine to have a bit of fun at school, but she had come back to the castle for a purpose: to finish her education so she could work to create lasting change in the Wizarding world. Not to cavort around when others sacrificed everything just so she and others like her could make it to adulthood. Survivor's guilt , that's what the psychologist she was seeing called it. It took her awhile to even accept that concept-to not be so paranoid about letting her fellow muggle-borns down, or the Order members.

"We were all off our faces, Granger...Granger... Hermione ," said Astoria, pressing until Hermione threw back the duvet in anger.

"You think this is no big deal, right? That now the war's over, so let's act like everything's fine, let's have a party, let's borrow and steal from the Muggle world despite all the damage that has been wrought?"

"I never said everything was fine! Salazar. It was one party, in your last term of school. We'll be going our separate ways soon, and then you'll never have to interact with us."

"Oh, stop making this about yourself. You have no idea what it's been like."

"You're right. There's so much I don't know. I can imagine how you've struggled, how you've been tormented, but I can never truly know." Hermione was quiet, so she continued, "I'm the most bookish of all of us, and I still have no idea how most of the Muggle world works. I don't even understand what the word 'science' means. Does that matter? Maybe to you, but not to me. I like their music, their films, their clothes. Otherwise, if I don't know what's going on, I either pretend to be deaf and sign or put on a bad Russian accent and act like I don't speak English-which is probably highly offensive, but it gets the job done."

"No surprise you were Sorted here."

Astoria smiled, mirthlessly. "It'll be a miracle if any of us pass Muggle Studies, despite that little show we put on last Halloween. I orchestrated that because I overheard Tremlett slagging us off to a few of the other teachers. She may be the nice, young, fun teacher to you but there's a reason she put all the older Slytherins in a class of our own on the timetable."

"You can't expect her to coddle you though," Hermione said, annoyed. "It's exhausting sometimes to cut through all your assumptions and misunderstandings, especially knowing how you acted for all those years."

"We don't need it shoved down our throats, though! How do people expect anyone to learn that way? Besides, there is a long tradition of purebloods sneaking out into the Muggle world to see it for ourselves. We do know some things about how they live. It's like...it's like that scene in Titanic when Rose goes down to third class."

Hermione had been far too busy with an actual war to see that film in cinemas, but she already understood the concept from history books. Astoria's analogy was correct-the wealthiest Muggles of Victorian London would venture into the slums for curiosity and laughs. It wasn't surprising that purebloods would replicate that kind of behaviour.

"So you didn't hate us all the time, you were just self-assured prejudiced snobs? Cheers." Astoria shrugged, and Hermione had to give her some credit for continuing the conversation given her sharp honesty.

"It varies. I think the Pansy I grew up knowing would have latched onto any philosophy that granted her superiority over others. Blaise, having little parental supervision, saw it for what it was early on but kept his mouth shut. Theo was forced to keep his mouth shut, that's for sure. And Merlin knows what I'd have done in Tracey's situation, but she decided to dive in headfirst. Hell of a choice: Muggle parents you've never met who you've been raised to hate or Death Eater parents who stole you, put you in danger, and oh right, killed people. Daph and I - well, it's easy to become complacent when you're not the one being targeted."

"Complacency is a huge part of the problem," Hermione said.

Astoria looked away. "I know," she said, drawing into herself a little, "and I knew better. I'm sure I wouldn't have challenged any of it myself had I not been such a mess that Ginny Weasley felt sorry for me. It's so much easier to believe in the things that make you comfortable, no matter how horrible they are. Merlin, you should have seen the books I found in the study at-" she broke off abruptly, remembering just who exactly she was speaking to.

"Say it, don't run away from it now," Hermione said in an admonishing tone. "The books you found in the study at Malfoy Manor."

"Yes."

"It's not shocking news."

"No. I just...don't want to insult you by blaming it all on his upbringing. While I might feel rather strongly about some aspects of pureblood culture and the treatment of children, he wasn't in a situation like Theo's. It's clear where he made the wrong choices."

"He didn't escape unscathed, either. I know he was tortured too. Is it bad that knowing that makes me feel better?"

Astoria's eyes met hers. "No," she said genuinely. "I'd say that makes you part of wizardkind." She continued after a moment, "I'd say it makes me relieved, that you're not as perfect as you seem."

"What? You were just explaining how you had no qualms about going along with pureblood supremacy," Hermione said, both confused and wanting to call out the Slytherin again for the bystander's complicity.

"Right, I went along with it, because compared to you it's obvious I'm deficient in 'moral fibre' or whatever Dumbledore called it. Because I value achievement over courage, kindness, social justice. And there you are, always fighting for a noble cause-and you still get the achievements in the end."

"I try-I try a hell of a lot-to make it look easy," Hermione confessed. "My mum said it was my biggest defense mechanism. Muggle concept, refers to an unconscious psychological strategy for-"

"I inferred that," Astoria interjected, looking half annoyed, half amused.

"Right."

"There's a lot we'll never understand about each other. But why does that mean we have to be hostile?" Astoria asked. "I'm sure I'll say the wrong things and continue to fail to meet your standards of justice. I'm definitely not joining SPEW. I'll keep trying, though, to be better."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Hm, in Slytherin we don't always have a great relationship with accountability," Astoria acknowledged, "but it's a deal. In return, can you accept that even you need to let your hair down once in a while?"

"I suppose," responded Hermione with a small smile.

"On the topic of hair, we really need to sort that out before you go out in public. Let me do it; vanity spells are probably the only area of magic where I know something you don't already."

Before letting Astoria take over, Hermione gathered up the photographs and placed them in her purse. Maybe the layout of the Slytherin common room would have historical significance one day, and she'd need a primary source to consult. That was a very reasonable explanation, she told herself.