Originally Posted on Archive of Our Own
DISCLAIMER: I have no rights to the Harry Potter Universe or Characters. That would belong to J.K. Rowling. I only created a plot twist, and I'm still poor.
Her Grandmother liked to tell people Hermione's first breath was a question. She'd been an inquisitive child. It was a trait that was nourished by her grandmother and condemned by her peers - muggle and magical alike. She'd managed to do something most couldn't, she'd found a rare commonality between the magical and muggle communities – there was no home for Hermione in either world.
Yes, she had been positively itching to meet the new student, pick the magical knowledge from their brains like a grooming gorilla. She suspected that like Hogwarts, their schools had secrets that could not be found in ordinary books.
How did they access their kitchens?
Did they tickle a banana?
Did they even have portraits?
Maybe, they even had their own monsters lurking in their drains…
Her excitement plummeted drastically when the day finally came. What she'd hoped for was engaging conversations that challenged her world view. Her first mistake was hoping.
Instead of basic civility, she got looks of revolt from the majority of Durmstrang students for whatever reason. Honestly, they seemed personally attacked by anyone that was not their own, but it felt more personal to Hermione. As if their roman noses could sense the impurity laying in her blood, stealing her magic from the air around them. The cold petite shoulders of the stunning Beauxbatons creatures had not encouraged her either.
Bleary-eyed, she dredged through the halls and dreamt of the end of the Triwizard Tournament. It had only been two weeks since the hallowed halls of Hogwarts received their foreign invaders, every-day dragged like a week and every week dragged like a year. Gone was the girl who was thrilled by the chance to experience a small taste of a different wizarding culture, replaced by an embittered zombie slumping through the halls.
In the absence of her excitement, her idle hands began to fill. Harry decided it was necessary to continue his annual tradition of falling into life-threatening scenarios, and tugging Hermione along for the ride. She spent most of her days lodging in the narrow library aisles, while not unusual, it was less thrilling when you were struggling to find ways to keep the Boy Who Lived alive. On top of that, she was juggling her time between both Harry and Ron, both boys tugged at her like two children fighting over a toy.
There was no escape. Hogwarts had never felt so small for the humble witch, something she'd never thought possible. Every corner unleashed a new horror in her mind. She'd spy a gaggle of giggling Beauxbaton girls swathed in their silk periwinkle dresses, and suddenly she would remember why they were here. Her Harry was going to be challenging a dragon - a bloody dragon.
If there was one witch who deserved a break it was Hermione Granger. Judging by the burly purple faced Durmstrang boys fleeing the halls, she would have no such luck today.
Heaving a sigh, she headed in the direction the frilly-skirted boys were escaping from and towards the hooting and hollering. She'd recognise that cackle anywhere – mostly from her recurring nightmares, where he'd finally achieve his goal and ship her straight to St. Mungo's.
She was tempted to turn a blind eye and accept the cross-dressing students as a mere cultural difference. Alas, she had an obligation to her school, which required her to intervene and prevent a possible international incident.
It was not fear of that caused the hesitation. Fear was a feeling she could overcome and had done so on many occasions. She'd stared in the face of a convicted mass murderer at fourteen years old - well, they had thought he was guilty at the time, his proven innocence didn't negate her bravery.
Fear was something she could overcome. Fred Weasley's presence gave Hermione the urge to throw things, and that was not so easily conquered. She was too physically drained to deal with the Weasley Twins - especially Fred - the most infuriating git to grace these halls in centuries. After Voldemort of course, Nasty Bugger.
It wasn't always this way; she spent the first two years of Hogwarts completely indifferent to twins. She interacted with them on occasion, laughing along genially as they affectionately teased their brother and her dear friend, Ron.
Once upon a time, she'd ignored their pranks and troubles. She'd never admit so, but she'd found one or two of them to be funny. Even now with her near hatred of the boy, a glimmer of a smile ghosted her face as she thought of the twins interrupting her second-year transfiguration class to rambunctiously flirt with their Head of House. She could have sworn she had seen the stern witches lip twitch as they delivered their Honeyduke's chocolates, and invited her to be their (yes, shared) Valentine.
She had seen little issue with their jokes as nobody had ever been harmed really, an act her bleeding heart could never abide by. So, she'd never had a cause to interfere with their shenanigans. Well, until later that is.
.
It all started at the beginning of her third year, she was comfortably nestled in a bed of cushions while the rest of her house had taken the stands in support of their team as they practiced for an upcoming match. Thus, she was been treated with a vacant common room, an interesting tome and a resounding quiet. The perfect ingredients for a day of relaxation.
That morning Ron had christened her 'anti-social', which was an argument lacking any merit despite Harry's backing. She was always there for the house games, even though she despised Quidditch. She simply saw no point in watching the mundane strategy planning by Oliver and company for three hours – the snitch could be caught three-hundred-and-eighty-two times and the practice would still carry on. Ron stupidly thought she hated Quidditch because she could fly as well as a pig with paper wings.
Her poetry writing skills were equivalent to that of a toddler, yet she still loved to read it. Quidditch was boring, and stupidly risky – that was all. It was a show of power, and she'd never been one for showboating. She was glad Harry was a brilliant seeker, and she always cheered for Harry. His success allowed her to return to her reading, a glorious victory for all involved.
She was enjoying her alone time, even if Ron had soured her mood earlier. Normally, she would be so trapped in her reading, everything around her ceased to exist. Part-way through a third edition of Morag's Mystifying Mental Maladies, a suffering whimper sound broke the dead silence, and wrenched her heart towards it and away from the pages.
Hunched in a chair was a light-blonde frizzy haired girl with her head enveloped in an oversized bucket. Hermione was not a mean person, even if she briefly considered ignored it – maybe the girl wanted to be alone, who was she to deny her the right to wallow in privacy?
The girl pulled her head from the bucket, which was twice her size, and revealed her puffy-eyed face to Hermione. It was Mellie Morgans, a first year muggleborn student. She made a point of getting to know all muggle-born students within her house, new and old.
She did not have a saviour complex or anything, there was no harm in watching out for the more vulnerable students or getting to know people who could understand her a little. Precisely how she had come to know the little blue-eyed witch with wetted cheeks. The tiny girl with an almost mouse-like nose, and wild unkempt hair sticking to her forehead and flaying outwards in all directions. It felt all too familiar to her, which was how she found herself rubbing the girls back as spewed into the bucket.
The blonde frizzy-haired girl opened her glistening eyes as the wave of vomiting passed and she sobbed her tale of woe to Hermione. To this day, Hermione had never felt such rage for another student. In the privacy of her own mind, she would say her actions that followed, though justified, were over the top.
The young muggleborn had fallen victim to the Weasley twins and their experimental vomit-inducing candies. She was almost hysterical in retelling, fearing her humiliation would impede on her ability to make new friends after she spewed the contents of her breakfast in front of her entire house. As Hermione looked into her blown blue-eyes, she was instantly transported back to a bathroom with an angry troll pounding to door of her cubicle and not a sinner around to hear her cries for help.
Then the memories came faster and faster, every moment of loneliness played in her mind and refused to stop. Few understand how it felt to be tormented for a freakish nature from the very first day of school.
Then one day everything changed. A cat transformed before her hazel eyes delivering promises of a fresh start with people just like her, and she was no freak at all – she was special – she was a witch. she was more astounded that there were people like her than she was learning she was a witch; you cannot blow up Ollie Parker's winning science project from sheer jealousy and not question your existence. As if ant-farms were revolutionary, she scoffed.
So, when she was told of a magical school with Europe's largest library, she was practically delirious. The night before she left for Hogwarts, her grandmother had threatened to sedate her if she wouldn't go to sleep. Could she be blamed? She was going to finally be around people who would understand her! Sadly, she would learn a lesson that would stay with her for the rest of her life -fresh starts were not always refreshing.
Yes, it was all frighteningly familiar for her.
Hermione did not have a saviour complex, but she'd be damned if she let another witch be antagonised by some cocky red-headed boy without trying to help her. She quickly ran to her assorted potions she kept in her dorm and gave the witch a small vial to settle her stomach. Mellie tipped the vial into her mouth without question.
Once the hiccupping subsided enough, she latched on to her wrist and dragged her to the portrait door.
"You've spilled my wine, have you no respect?" The Fat Lady berated the pair, as they rushed through her portrait abruptly. Hermione ignored her; she was too busy to coddle the Fat Lady's precious ego. They flew down the sliding staircases and beelined to the half-packed Quidditch Pitch, despite Mellie's vehement protests.
"Wh-what are you doing?" the small girl cooed behind her. If Hermione were in her right mind, she would have knelt like her grandmother would and calmed her with soothing sounds, and comforting pats. She was not in her right mind; she was in a blind fury.
"Do you want to be remembered as the witch who spewed in front of her entire house?" She snapped and pulled the girl harshly by the arm to stand in front of her. The girl stood on shaky legs, but her head was unbent. She might have given her a proud smile too if she were not busy scouting for a patch of brazen red hair.
Hermione had these inexplicable bouts of magic on occasion, they were more complex than accidental magic and far harder to explain. It was probably a very normal thing that happened occasionally, she just hadn't read that chapter yet. It was as if her magic and her were two different people, and her magic was three steps ahead of. She hated the feeling, but today was not about her. Her hair began to swirl threateningly around her on the still October day.
She could rarely command a broom towards her hand from three inches away, yet her anger had commanded a school broom from a great distance without her aid. A broomstick detached itself from the shed across from her and darted forward.
Her jaw clenched when she spotted the wispy red strands of the lone Weasley twin. Her fear of heights was forgotten as she climbed the broom mindlessly. With her eyes set on her target, she ascended to the sky in her regulation school skirt.
The magnetically drawn bludgers began orbiting around her. She zoomed by the protesting players to the red-haired menace who had his back to her - a terrible mistake on his part. The players began to dodge her as the bludgers began gaining speed, few were brave enough to try to bat them away, Those few were unceremoniously pushed away in warning by her magic, a flare of wind driving them back. Do not come closer, it screamed.
Her magic craved havoc and she would grant its wish.
.
Fred tried to find the source of the mass hysteria in the stands, he searched for any hints of green and silver within the panicked crowds, but it was a beautiful sea of red and gold. He was oblivious to the danger advancing behind him.
He felt it, more than anything else.
An indescribable feeling climbing his skin, every wizard could feel their magic within. Flowing in rivets and merging through the tip of their wands, it was strange to feel magic outside of his own body and something he heard was common with dark objects. This did not feel dark as such, it was by no means friendly but not dark. He turned towards the aura – well, that made no sense at all. What was she on the bloody pitch for? Had Oliver gone batty? Let's just add Filtch to team as well.
"Granger?" his red brows furrowed, why had she stolen the bludgers? She hadn't a clue how this game worked at all. He'd learn she'd wasn't her for that game, she was here to play cat and mouse.
"Arrogant-" she roared. A bludger dislodged from the circling danger and aimed true, Fred swerved right and narrowly avoided a collision. A loud rumbling sound was heard from behind him. "-Overgrown-" the next bludger zoomed faster, disappointed by the failure of its predecessor. Fred reacted faster now he knew of the coming danger, and he bent low to the handle of his broom. The bludger crashed viscously behind him.
"- Dim-witted -" he inhaled deeply. Two bludgers sprung free, they interweaved with one another before veering towards him. He inverted his broom to hang from it, he hoped to confuse the enchanted bludgers. It worked as he hoped it would. "- Thick-skulled bullying... greasy git! -" she snarled, as the remaining bludgers paused mid-air. He righted his broom and redirected the blood flow throughout his body, he felt dizzy which really isn't what you want when there's an unexplainably angry girl firing bludgers at your head.
Fred Weasley was sure of one thing, his mother's enchanted clock had one half of the dynamic duo in the centre of Mortal Peril. The Weasley Matron might have been trying to break wards constructed by the founders themselves at that very moment, ready to rescue her umpteenth favourite child. There were several popping noises as the remaining bludgers doubled - No - tripled? He shook his head to stop the dizzy feeling.
He was sure of something else too - Fred Weasley was in terrible trouble.
It was time to take his troubles to the sky. He kicked his broom and left the disgruntled witch in his dust. He frantically searched for an exit as the angry buzzing behind him grew closer. He edged around the enclosed field and flew near the fleeing stands of Gryffindors. Ignoring the shrieking, he dipped below the stands as a bludger barreled through the wooden support far too close to his head.
He tried to gain momentum, but Fred was no seeker, his bulky frame was an irksome hindrance slowing him down. The dark underbelly of the ageing Quidditch Stands, and soaring speed were obscuring his vision. The world was moving too fast to think. He paused to regain his senses – he needed something, and he needed it post-haste.
He needed a Fred Weasley sized exit.
A gush of wind brushed his chin. The wall before him crumbled with the force of the heat-seeking demon balls bursting through. He swung behind a wooden beam for protection as they barrelled through the wall. Well – that hole could fit every Weasley through it!
That was a big task. He smiled, and thanked the fates for allowing him the grace of seeing another day.
He appeared from the jagged hole created by the bludgers, he was surrounded by a comforting silence – a good sign, he'd outsmarted the bludgers. He ventured towards the centre of the field, ready to boast his survival to his adoring fans.
He thanked them too soon.
A sneaky bludger clipped the front of his regulation broom and splintered the wooden handle with a clean snap, sending his broom onto a fierce tailspin. He was ejected from the broom and landed harshly on the sanded ground of the Quidditch Field. He groaned as his body sung with pain. His eyes gradually opened to the clear caerulean skies of the beautiful October day.
A small black dot besmirched the empty sky, the glaring sun obscured his vision. The dot began to grow as it came closer. Eventually, the shape of a woman with swirling brown locks formed, the sun highlighted the streaks of golden tones in her tumbling curls.
"Next time, pass your dreadful experiments to someone who deserves it. No! better yet- someone who can defend themselves with more than bloody levitation spell!" she hissed, before she jumped from her broom, and puffed her chin up before storming away. What just happened?
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Hi, all
. All my footnotes and the like are gone, and I was too tired from editing to put them back. This is the last you'll hear from me before the next update. Who cares what I think, anyway?
That reminds me, updates fall on the weekend. I also tend to drop random extra updates during the week when I'm bored, so there's that!
Thanks for reading the story so far! I think it gets better by the chapter, but I'm incredibly bias.
Leave a review, if you're so inclined!
Until next time
Currently undergoing a big edit - story and plot remain the same, mainly fixing some grammar and formatting. Still continuing updates as I edit. Chapter one edited as of 17/05/2020.