If Hermione could describe her first week at Hogwarts, to describe it as brilliant would be an understatement.
First of all, Hermione loved her classes. Ever since she had dived into her copy of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, she had been eager to take the subject. So far, Professor Dumbledore didn't disappoint. In the first lesson, he turned a pair of weighing scales into a set of knitting needles and back again.
"That might have to come later, I'm afraid," he said as he smiled at all of them. "Transfiguration is a form of magic that requires great discipline. Perform it without discipline, and it can have disastrous if not fatal consequences."
They each were given a match, which they had to turn into a needle. Around her, she could see that most of her housemates were struggling. Frances's face was etched in both irritation and concentration as she tried but failed multiple times to turn her match into a needle.
How Hermione saw it, there were crucial factors that had to come into play. Not only was the pronunciation the key, but they had to really visualize transfiguring an object from its current state to the desired form. In the end, Hermione was the only one who had successfully turned her match into a needle.
"Excellent work, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore beamed as he showed the class how shiny and pointy the needle was. "You turned this match into a needle that could join the others in a pincushion. Take ten points to Gryffindor."
"You made it so easy," Judith had moaned as they trooped to their first History of Magic class. "I literally elbowed Felix McLaggen in the stomach when I tried to do mine."
"You have to pronounce it right and visualize it good," Hermione had answered. "That's how it worked for me."
If History of Magic wasn't a class that she had been looking forward to, Hermione would have been nodding off with most of the other students as Professor Binns droned on about important events in wizarding history. However, Hermione wouldn't have lied that if someone had asked, that yes, this subject could have had a teacher that made the whole course exciting. That didn't mean that she didn't plow through her notes.
It was every Wednesday that the Gryffindors had all trooped to the Astronomy Tower for class. To learn all the different names of the stars and the movement of the planets. Three times a week, they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, taught by a Professor Herbert Beery, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.
Charms was taught by a formidable-looking witch named Cassandra Bottlewick. "Charms requires focus," she said at once as they sat down. "Therefore, there must be no drifting away into your fantasy world while you're here. Doing so might cause you to poke your neighbor's eye out."
She all set them to work on a Softening Charm after giving them each a brick. ("The incantation is Spongify," she instructed as she showed the correct movement). Hermione, who had poured over Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, had clearly known that. As with Transfiguration, she managed to make her brick all soft and bouncy.
There was an air of excitement as they all trooped to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Literally, everyone had plopped out their copy of Defence Against the Dark Arts as Professor Merrythought gazed inquisitively at them all.
"As exciting as this lesson may be, I feel as if I must clarify one thing," said Professor Merrythought after taking the class register. "What you will learn in this class will be essential to your survival against the dark forces out there. The older you'll become, the darker the coarse material will become. One cannot risk going into the real world blind, especially in these days."
"One word: Grindelwald," Hermione had heard Charles York whisper to his neighbor. In fact, Hermione had heard about this Grindelwald and his alleged "Acolytes" at the table during mealtimes the past couple of days. She might have to ask more about Grindelwald during dinner.
"I don't expect you to go to continental Europe and take on Grindelwald, now," said Professor Merrythought, as if she heard Charles's whisper. "For those that don't know, Gellert Grindelwald is the darkest wizard to live among us in all time. He and his Acolytes have been causing problems in continental Europe for the past two decades. Should he still be raising havoc when you graduate in a few years, I suggest that only allow a seasoned witch or wizard to take him on."
At least Professor Merrythought answered that question without Hermione having to ask anyone else.
Potions took place down in the dungeons. Where a jovial Professor Horace Slughorn had paired them up to brew a simple concoction to cure boils.
"Now, be careful," he said with a nod as Hermione and Tom took their cauldron from the fire. "Make sure that the porcupine quills are deep in the mix before you put it back on the fire."
"Transfiguration is okay," Tom told her as they left the dungeons for a free period. "It would have been better if I liked the person that taught it."
"You don't like Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione had asked Tom. Wondering how come he'd have such a dislike for one of the teachers.
"There's something about him, I don't know." Tom shrugged. "Are you going to the library again? Gaius's older brother said I could search up the alumni to see whether my father has been here or not."
The library. One of the best parts of Hogwarts. Even if it was not as big as the library that she often frequented in London, it would still put that library to shame with the sorts of titles it had. The same could be said for the library in her home. Hermione had estimated that she might not even have the whole library by the time she graduated.
"Right over there, dears," answered the librarian – Laverne Wordsworth – with a warm smile when Hermione had asked her about where the alumni books would be. They were next to the old newspapers were located. The newspapers were categorized as Muggle News and Wizarding Newspapers. The alumni books were ordered by year. Starting from as early as the mid-nineteenth century to as recent as last year.
It had almost reminded Hermione of how her great-uncle, a retired Oxford professor, categorized his books. "They would have to be around here, I would think," Hermione suggested as she gestured to the tome labeled 1922.
"I think so," said Tom, looking quite hopeful. "I heard that she was quite young."
Hermione decided to leave Tom to it for a few minutes while browsing the newspaper archives. Hoping that she might be able to learn more about this Gellert Grindelwald. Since he was pretty recent, the only place she'd think he'd be mentioned in the papers.
The old issues of the Daily Prophet did not disappoint. Even if his attacks didn't reach the British isles and remained on the mainland, they were still quite a concern as if he might decide to expand to England. Rally at Lestrange Mausoleum Ends In Bloodshed, read one of the articles from 1927. A year after she was born.
But that only barely scratched the surface. There were probably more things Grindelwald and his Acolytes did that were never even reported.
Though Hermione found a few things on Gellert Grindelwald meanwhile, Tom was having no luck on his end. By the time she had checked on him, he was looking through the 1925 alumni tome. A frustrated frown on his face as he whipped through the pages.
"I looked through them, and I couldn't find his name anywhere," Tom grumbled. Hands in the pockets of his jacket as he kicked a quill in frustration.
"Could there be a chance that your mother was a witch?" Hermione had asked. For that was the only other plausible explanation.
Tom shook his head. "I don't see how that makes sense. She died giving birth to me, but if father wasn't even here…."
It was clear that Tom didn't want to believe that the people in this world could easily die. Anyone could die. It didn't matter whether they were a witch, wizard, or not.
When Hermione had returned to the dormitory that night, she could see one of those radios sitting against an empty corner of the room. Gladys Bancroft and Kathleen Holmes gazing at the radio in discomfort as Judith turns the knobs, with Frances right next to her.
"I already asked," Euphemia said, shaking her head. Plopping on her four-poster bed. "Nothing from the Muggle world would work here. Too much magic in the air."
"Armando Dippet had someone fix it to work," Judy replied as Hermione thought she heard a station get through. "Here it is. Let's see if they say something."
"With German aggression mounting against Czechoslovakia, yesterday Time magazine published a piece stating…" drones the BBC reporter. Hermione swallowed hard. Czechoslovakia. Hitler had wanted to seize the Sudetenland, and given how he had swooped in on Austria and taken it with ease…
"Why should we listen to this…." Euphemia steps before the radio and turns it down. "We're in Hogwarts. Away from that mess. We shouldn't have to worry about Adolf bloody Hitler?"
Frances folds her arms as she frowns at Euphemia. "What about those of us with Muggle families in London? Especially the city."
Dear Eleanor,
Oh, how I wish you could see Hogwarts. That you were able to see it. You'll literally feel as if you are in an Arthurian Castle being taught the ways of Merlin (he was actually in this school as a student, you know). Oh, I'd think you'd like it if you were here.
For me, the classes are all the better. So far, my favorite is Transfiguration. We're starting small, our first lesson turning a match into a needle. If that's our first lesson, I wonder what we'll be doing next. Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions are good too. Potions and Charms being the most interesting.
I shall be writing more to you when I get more settled into my routine. Tell mother and father that I'll be sending them a letter.
Hoping that you are safe back home.
Your sister, Hermione.
After signing the letter, Hermione immediately folded it. Putting it in an envelope before penning another letter to her parents. Though similar to the one to her sister, she had this to say:
They put another radio in our dorm so those with non-magic families can hear what's going on. One girl in my year doesn't like it. Says that being that we're in Hogwarts, that we shouldn't have to worry. Another girl said that it was best not to be cut off. For me, it would be nice to not think about Hitler and the Germans, but I don't want to come back for Christmas to see London bombed and not know what happened.
Hermione had made sure that the letters were in their envelopes and straightened them in a neat pile. With everyone else asleep in the dormitory, she quietly retrieved a copy of Wizarding Events of the Turn of the Century before descending down to the common room. There was already one other person in there. An older student sitting at a table that was cluttered with notes and two open books. He looked up at her for only a second before turning back to his work before him.
Hermione had trooped to the Great Hall to get a bite of toast before breakfast. There were only a handful of people sitting at their tables. Of course, not many people would be in the hall at this time of the morning. Hermione scans the Slytherin table and smiles when she sees Tom sitting at his table. Eating a slice of toast as he read a book that was beside his plate.
"Would it be okay if I sit here?" Hermione had asked him.
Tom nods, and Hermione sits in the seat next to him. "What are you reading?" she asks as he returns to his toast. "Looks interesting."
"Oh, this?" He lifts up the dark brown book, and Hermione could see that he was holding an aged volume entitled Magical Accomplishments of the Middle Ages. "Signed for it in the library after dinner last night. I wanted to get a newer copy at Flourish and Blotts, but the stipend I was given could only go so far. The only new thing I purchased was this wand."
Tom holds up his wand that Hermione had thought resembled a carved bone. However, he looked like he was rather proud of it than the distaste any other person could have said. "I was surprised when Ollivander said it was Yew. I would have thought it was carved from a bone of a dragon or something like that"
"It does look like it could be carved from a bone, doesn't it?" Hermione noted as he had set his wand down.
"I was thinking." Tom picks up his piece of toast in contemplation. "My mum died, but I remember hearing that my middle name was from my mum's father."
"And what was his name?" she asked.
"Marvolo," he answered.
It took great strength for Hermione not to laugh, and what came out was a strangled snort. "It sounds like he came from a circus."
"Not like Tom, but it's not what you would consider a Muggle name," he said when Hermione noticed Avery coming up with two of his friends.
"Would you mind moving?" Avery sneered. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "It smells bad enough with him sitting at our table."
"He might not be all Muggle," pitched in one of his friends, looking appraisingly at Tom. "He made it into Slytherin."
"Half-bloods are still filthy as Mudbloods, Antonin," said the third boy. "Mudbloods get sorted into Slytherin too, but not as much as the other three houses."
Hermione didn't know what Mudblood was, but she had a feeling that it was terrible. The blood reached her face as she glared at the three of them.
"Let's go, Tom," she bid, pulling on his arm.
Tom did go, though not before giving the three smirking Slytherins a contemplative gaze.
"I don't understand why you were put there," Hermione stated as they reached outside. The sun having yet to reach the horizon of the blue sky. "Those boys are awful."
"Not all of them," said Tom. "Abraxas Malfoy and Gaius Mulciber seem to have it in their heads to take me under their wing. The former already talking about inviting me over to his manor for Christmas."
The two make it past the courtyard, and Hermione could see that Tom was intently scanning the grass for something.
"What are you looking for?" Hermione asked.
"Something to put them in their place," Tom answered simply.
It only took him about ten minutes to find that something, for Hermione saw him put what looked like a garter snake in the pocket of his jacket. "You really should put that back, Tom," Hermione said as they went back into the castle. "You're not going to get anywhere by setting a snake on them?"
"Setting a snake on them? Poppycock!" Tom exclaimed, continuing his toast. "I have something else in mind."
Whatever Tom had done with the snake, it didn't have quite the effect on Avery and his friends the way Hermione thought it would be. Hermione had thought that Avery would be more forward in his approach to antagonize him. Or that he be frightened into silence.
Hermione didn't quite expect Avery and most of Slytherin to gaze at Tom with a sort of curious awe on Sunday morning. As if he had done something that could have them buzzing for days or even years.
"What did you do?" she had managed to ask him when she caught up with him.
Tom's face lit up in a smile. Almost as if he expected her to ask that question. "I told you I wouldn't set it on them," he said. He leans in to whisper. "You should have seen the look on Avery's face when I started talking to that snake in the common room."
Talking to a snake? Hermione had widened her eyes, remembering what she read in Hogwarts, A History about the meanings in each of the sigils of the four Houses. Most prominent of all on why the sigil of Slytherin House was a serpent.
"Have you read Hogwarts, A History, Tom?" Hermione had asked.
He nodded. "I am as far in at chapter ten."
"Did you read the part where it talked about why your Hogwarts House has the serpent as its symbol?" Hermione had asked. "That Salazar Slytherin could talk to snakes, too?"
Tom nodded. "He couldn't have been the only one, could he? I mean, if I could speak it too."
Hermione has raised her eyebrow. Hogwarts, A History itself noted that it was a rare ability. Too rare for a majority of the wizarding population to have it. Then again, it did say that it had a dark reputation. Whoever Tom was descended from must have not been open about being a Parselmouth.
None of the Slytherins even hinted or spoken about it to verify this. Almost as if they were afraid that it might attract negative attention from the other Houses.
The next day, Hermione found out that she'd be seeing Tom a little more than just in the library and two of her classes. On the bulletin board of her common room, there was a notice that flying lessons with the Slytherins would be taking place that Thursday.
Flying. Hermione remembered the image invoked in her head when Professor Dumbledore revealed that she was a witch. Of a witch and her cat on a broomstick. As predictable as it was, she wasn't surprised that real witches and wizards used brooms to fly. Before the Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts students traveled to the school by apparition or riding on their brooms.
To some of her peers, this was an alien concept.
"I only know that brooms can be used to sweep dust and rubbish from the floor," said Judy. "Mum one time beat a raccoon with her broom."
"Certainly, if we're afraid of heights, we can skive the class, right?" Frances said, appearing as if the thought of being in the air had made her ill. "What if I fall off? I could die!"
Those from wizarding families, on the other hand, were excited at the prospect of Flying Lessons. Euphemia's brother was part of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, and she was disappointed that first years were prohibited from signing up for tryouts ("I plan on trying out for the team next year," she had said hopefully). Felix McLaggen took no time boasting that his father was on the Quidditch team for Gryffindor. Abraxas Malfoy from Slytherin even passed around a catalog of racing brooms to those that were interested.
"Maybe my father could allow me to buy you one if it suits your fancy," Abraxas had told Tom one day in potions. Hermione, not oblivious to an Eileen Prince, nervously gazing at him as if she was afraid Abraxas was more focused on the idea of Quidditch than the hot cauldron before him.
"Now, now, now, keep focused," Professor Slughorn prompted. "Oh, Abraxas, my boy. You might have to focus on your brew. It's smoking."
Hermione had no experience in flying and thought that one would better learn to fly from experience than memorizing from a book. Though she knew it wouldn't hurt to read about it. She had just managed to check out the last available copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. That to better understand it, one would have to read up on its history.
The first chapter was fascinating in itself. Witches and wizards were flying on broomsticks as early as A.D 962. One German illustration was said to show three warlocks dismounting from their broomsticks with "looks of exquisite discomfort." Even the illustration of an ancient broom evoked the feeling that riding on it would be dreadfully uncomfortable.
Frances, who seemed to be getting paler by the day as Thursday drew nearer, had hung onto her every word. Hermione was afraid that at the end of the first flying lesson, Frances would vomit from the pent-up anxiety alone.
Tom, on the other hand, had shown no interest in the sport. Even going as far as bestowing Quidditch Through the Ages with a gaze of contempt.
"Too much fuss about some sport with fourteen broomsticks," Tom had said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Sounds stupid too. You're just chasing a ball and trying not to get hit by two when you're up in the air. I might just watch one game, and that would be it."
Aside from Frances's aversion and Tom's disdain for the sport, Hermione had returned to the Gryffindor common room one afternoon to see Felix McLaggen and Clarence Harlow in the middle of a row.
"How does not one not fall from a broomstick and break something?" Clarence had maintained. "You are really up in the air during Quidditch."
"The Quidditch players know not to do anything that stupid that would cause them to fall," Felix had challenged.
"One is safe on the ground with football, Felix," Clarence had maintained.
Felix scoffed. "Muggles and your football," he had scoffed before turning his back towards Clarence.
The first day of Flying Lessons was not only overcast, but in addition, it was windy. The grass rippled under their feet from the wind as Hermione and her fellow Gryffindors trooped down to the lawn.
"I think it's a bad day for this," Euphemia broadcasted as they made their way towards the training grounds. From a distance, Hermione could see the trees of the Forbidden Forest swaying from the wind.
They were by no means the first ones there, though the Slytherins had come shortly after. Hermione could make out Tom among the throng of Slytherin students. One of the boys – Gaius Mulciber – says something, to which Tom laughs in response. Hermione wondered what was so funny.
"Good afternoon, class," greeted their instructor, Mister Malcolm Wallace. A tall, stocky man with greying brown hair. With wild green eyes befitting of a cat if she saw one. "Stand by your brooms, please."
Remembering the illustration of the splintered broom from Quidditch Through the Ages, Hermione stood by the best-looking broom she could find. Tom standing a broom next to her. He was gazing at it curiously, and for a moment, she thought she the broom rollover from the ground.
"If you take your right hand over your broom," Mister Wallace prompted, "and command, Up!"
What soon followed was a chorus of Ups along the two lines. The more Hermione tried to prompt her broom to jump to her hand, the more irritated she felt. For a good minute, the broom wouldn't cooperate. It had simply rolled over on the grass. All around her, a lot of the other kids were struggling. Frances' voice was shaking as she tried commanding her broom, the broom not budging. Perhaps, Hermione thought, it was sensing her fear of her heights. After what seemed like the umpteenth time, did her broom finally jump into her hand.
Some of the students could get their broom to jump in their hands the first time around. All it took for Tom was to say, "Up" once, and the broom jumped into his hand. His eyes widened in awe in that development.
"At the blow of my whistle, will you kick off the ground, hard," instructed Mister Malcolm as he walked down the row of students who were now mounted on their brooms. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. Don't let the wind blow you away. On my whistle - three - two-"
As with trying to summon their brooms, not every child could lift from the ground smoothly. Some were bucking on their brooms. Others – like Frances – were gripping the handles of their brooms so tight that they leaned forward earlier than they were instructed.
Hermione had managed to stay steady on her broom, though she could feel the handle vibrate in her hands. Gazing at Tom, she saw that he seemed to have no problem at all. Almost as if this came naturally to him.
"You seem to be a natural for flying, Tom," Hermione had told him when they went back to the castle for dinner.
Tom had simply shrugged. "I admit: I'm good at it. Just don't expect me to see me flying for the Quidditch team."