Don't forget to review! Happy reading :)
The day progressed normally. It made Hermione suspicious.
Most of her professors hardly acknowledged her at breakfast. She had expected covert stares or whispers, especially from more Light-minded teachers like Professor McGonagall. But most of the professors at the head table didn't spare a single glance in her direction. Even Professor Snape ignored her, although Professor Flitwick waved happily. Dumbledore nodded, but she pretended not to see him. Only the students really acted differently, but she didn't expect curious students to do well at hiding their reactions anyway.
Students from the other three houses seemed to have little to say. A few notable Ravenclaws, purebloods all, nodded to her when they normally ignored her or outright glared because her marks were higher. Hufflepuffs were always friendly, so she couldn't tell if they thought any differently of her. The only Hufflepuff that seemed to care was Ernie Macmillan. He stiffly greeted her as she left the breakfast hall, but the unwillingly given polite gesture curdled his face like sour milk. She figured his head of house had heard of Ernie's father's public dramatics, and had forced the son to atone for the father's sins. She looked forward to Ernie's continued forced friendliness; anything that bothered that pompous family sat well with her.
Gryffindor reacted most unpleasantly to seeing her back in school. Before, they had treated her with gentle confusion, unsure how to act around a muggleborn Slytherin, positive she was being horribly abused by her housemates. Their cautious manners had eroded into sneering glares and turned backs. Which was fine with her; she hadn't been too interested in befriending any of them anyway. There had never been a tolerable Gryffindor intriguing enough to speak to outside of class, and she hadn't needed a new reason for Slytherins to gossip about her. Being friends with Gryffindors was as good as painting a target on her back herself.
The Weasley twins spent all of breakfast covertly glancing at her from their table across the great hall, and she sighed unhappily. That was something she really didn't want to deal with. The boys were unrepentant trouble makers, but she had no quarrel admitting they were both very talented wizards. She didn't trust her abilities to defeat either of them in a one-on-one duel, and she outright disbelieved she could defeat both of them at once. Best to avoid those two, if she could.
Within her own house, she had made it clear at breakfast that despite her gifts, she was not planning on befriending any of the witches in her house again. She sat in between Theo and Blaise, directly across from Draco, who looked at her nervously and tried not to catch her eyes. Greg and Vincent sat on either side of Draco, their bulk keeping the pale boy squished between them like cream filling. The boys looked anxious when she insinuated herself into their group, but they accepted it well enough. Breakfast passed with stilted conversation, during which she discovered that she actually liked the first year boys. She was irritated with that realization and endeavored to remind herself of why she intended to hold herself away from her fellow Slytherins.
Theo sat beside her in class. She could have sat next to Draco and begun to devise her tasks for him, but she was afraid he would try to talk to her as he had last night, despite his obvious fear. She had considered sitting beside Blaise, but his mouth had never remained closed for more than fifteen seconds his entire life. Theo was the obvious choice. He was intelligent enough to figure out each lesson without drawing the teacher's attention, and, most importantly, he was reliably quiet.
Before her attack, she had already been several weeks ahead in all of her coursework. She followed the motions of each class as she always had, patiently listening to lecture before executing the spell perfectly on her first try. Nonchalantly, she eyed her housemates' work as well. There would be no Opals in her year if she could help it. Anyone who looked to be struggling, she would make a note of to privately offer help later. She refused to be associated with morons. She wasn't a Gryffindor.
Thankfully, her classmates were all decent witches and wizards. Even Greg and Vincent managed to get their spells right within the first ten tries, at least. She wasn't surprised. Slytherin was the house of ambition. They may not have the brightest students, but they were no slouches, either. She felt a tingle of pride to be in Slytherin, the first warm feeling toward her house in weeks.
The next days passed much the same. Opal glared impotently from her spot across the common room; Hermione sat with the boys at breakfast; suspiciously normal classes throughout the day; and at night, she sat in her chair and worked on her research. She had finished the book on pureblood customs, moving on to the next item on the list: The Wizengamot. She had charmed the covers of all the books she kept to innocuous titles on history or creature lore. It had taken some clever finagling to find and adjust a charm that would work for her, since charms that fooled other people for days on end without sputtering out were a bit more complicated than her talents allowed. However, she stayed up late several nights to figure it out, wasting precious time she could spend with her sister. The last thing she wanted was for people to begin asking questions when they saw what she read so diligently.
The weekend allowed Hermione the freedom to make the trek up to the owlry to send correspondence to Scrimgeour and Murdoch. She needed to discuss how to release her father, and she wanted an update on her stolen assets. The head of the DMLE had yet to respond to any of the letters she had sent to him or his assistant, and she had sent him a letter every day since she had returned to school. She felt as though he was avoiding her. As for the letter to Murdoch, Lucius had never owled her to let her know how his conversation with the Minister had gone, so she wanted to know the status of her finances. She knew Murdoch would have kept a personal eye on things for her; he had been nearly sickeningly ingratiating when she had met him.
A letter to her mother burned a hole in her pocket also, ready to be sent, but she didn't owl it just yet. She still had more thinking to do on that subject. Her mother was one person her feelings twisted themselves in knots about. Perhaps Badb would have advice. Although, her sister wasn't exactly the type to either understand or empathize over complicated feelings; she was more of a physical confrontation sort than a discussion based problem solver.
Hermione also set up shop in the library, where she had resources and reference books to the stilted, medieval jargon of her Wizengamot book. Draco, Theo, and Blaise took turns accompanying her, occasionally joined by Greg or Vincent, all of them taking it upon themselves to keep the curious people of other houses away. They had easily become her go-to group for any sort of social interaction. Their heads of house, or, in Blaise's case, mother, had been thrilled to hear that Astarte Black had chosen them as her companions. No one would turn away such a powerful ally, even considering her young age. And if anyone could nurture an alliance built on years of companionship using their child, even better.
When Hermione finished thinking of tasks for Draco on Saturday night, he made an effort to thoroughly do each thing she asked as quickly as possible. By Sunday morning, when Hermione's lesson with Narcissa loomed, Draco had created a summer calendar marking each tea she had been invited to, ordered a jewelry box to hold her heirlooms, hung her tapestry of Elladora Black, scrubbed her cauldron, and gone into the owlry to find the shed primary feather from each owl species present at Hogwarts. The last task she only included to see if he could manage it, avoiding curfew patrols and successfully finding all of the various feathers. She was reluctantly impressed when he presented her with a bag full of feathers early Sunday morning, deep circles under his eyes.
Keeping Draco up all night completing menial tasks served its purpose perfectly. When Narcissa arrived before lunch, he was too exhausted to join their lessons, retiring to his dorm. Hermione knew Narcissa worried about her son incessantly. Preventing her from seeing him would remind Narcissa of the kind of person she was dealing with. It also saved Hermione from having to listen to her elder cousin coo over her 'darling Draco' for several hours.
Thanks to her reading, Hermione was well able to follow Narcissa's strict instructions on how to act. Pureblood etiquette was complicated and complex. She was never to accept jewelry from a man unless a courtship or betrothal had been accepted. Finger food was only acceptable in private settings or at teas. The list went on and on. Narcissa, once she realized Hermione knew all of the rules, spent the remaining hour teaching Hermione how to walk.
Apparently, pureblooded women were expected to walk so their steps fell one in front of the other gracefully. It was not easy to learn; Hermione had never been particularly graceful. At least pureblooded women weren't expected to know how to ride a broom. It would be a battle to get her back on such a rickety death trap ever again. She had nearly incinerated the school's practice broom in a childish tantrum. She was talented at many things, largely academic, so she was not upset over any potential career in professional quidditch going down the drain. Her housemates had laughed themselves sick during Madame Hooch's first lesson as they watched Hermione's broom buck all over the pitch.
Hermione wobbled again, and Narcissa clucked her tongue. "You're getting better, at least. Now you won't stalk around like an auror in the ministry anymore."
"I don't know how walking like this is so hard," Hermione complained.
"After years of dancing, it comes naturally," her cousin explained, watching her with eagle eyes to track her progress.
Hermione tipped forward slightly too far. "Dancing?"
Narcissa's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you ever had lessons?"
"No," Hermione answered. "Dancing was never one of my better skills."
"Well," Narcissa said primly. "As soon as you are passable in public, I'll hire an instructor for the summer. Draco's instructor was excellent. Perhaps I'll owl her."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned on her heel to try and walk correctly back across the empty classroom. "I'll take lessons, but I'm not good at things like that." It galled her to admit she wasn't good at something, but she couldn't lie. She was an abysmal dancer, and even worse at sports. If she absolutely had to, she would run, but she had to be in dire straits to move more quickly than a clipped walk. Throwing and catching anything was out of the question. Once, her parents had signed her up for a children's league for football. It had been such a disaster, she scowled at the sight of anything related to the sport.
"You don't seem too graceless," Narcissa commented. "You're young, so your long legs and arms make you seem gangly, but I'm sure you will grow out of it."
She didn't even bother to glare at the insult. She was too busy trying to roll her hips exactly as her cousin had shown her. Her trainers scuffed the stone floor, causing her toe to drag. Narcissa sighed.
The older witch had been horrified when Hermione had arrived to their lesson in casual muggle clothes. "You've been dressed like… this, every weekend?"
"I don't have anything other than my uniforms," Hermione had explained. "This has been good enough."
"I'll owl the seamstress as soon as I leave Hogwarts," Narcissa had promised, averting her eyes from the horrid jeans her cousin wore. She didn't know what sickened her more: the navy, hooded jumper, made of velour; or, the baggy jeans that trailed about Hermione's ankles. "She has your measurements, so it will be quick work to get you normal clothing."
"This is normal," Hermione had argued. She had seen what the other girls wore on the weekends. Long silk dresses, corseted at the waist. The kids of the other houses wore more normal clothing, although still formal compared to muggle wear. The medieval aesthetic was alive and well in Slytherin, even among the students who were not pureblood.
Narcissa had dropped the topic quickly. Hermione suspected even the thought of her being dressed like a muggle for so long needled her into near hysterics. Narcissa was very particular about ensuring her young cousin fit into pureblood society like she had grown up in it.
"Have you made amends with your classmates?" Narcissa asked pointedly.
Hermione nearly tripped at the unexpected question. "Everyone liked the gift baskets," she evaded. "And I've been sitting with Draco every day at lunch."
Narcissa knew she had avoided the question, but let it slide. "Good. He will be a good friend to you."
"I'm sure," Hermione agreed pleasantly. "He's been so helpful."
"He's such a good boy," Narcissa claimed proudly.
Hermione wondered how the witch would feel if she knew that Draco had become her errand boy overnight. It was quite a step down from his previous social position within Slytherin.
"I spoke with Professor Snape. He says your marks are the highest in your year?"
Hermione looked at her cousin sideways. "Yes," she replied, "they are." She had a suspicion her cousin was trying to make conversation like they hadn't threatened or blackmailed each other over the past weeks they had known each other.
"Soon, you will need to talk to the Prophet," Narcissa continued. "If we control who interviews you, we can control the flow of information to the public. My friends have been owling me all week asking about you since the photos from the Ministry were published. Something this interesting hasn't happen since the war."
"I can handle an interview," said Hermione. She focused on placing one foot in front of the other.
"No doubt, your headmaster will insist on doing it here," Narcissa complained. "However, Lucius and I will both be there, as your legal guardians."
Hermione stopped walking and frowned at her cousin. "I do have my muggle family, you know. You may be legal guardian in the magical world, but over the summer I am going home to my mum."
Narcissa smiled widely. "Of course, my dear. I never expected otherwise. It may be wise, however, to spend some weeks at the Manor before the new term starts."
"Maybe," Hermione murmured noncommittally.
"There is also a banquet during hols you should attend," her cousin added. "It's an annual tradition. Anyone who you still need to meet will be there."
Hermione understood the necessity of making connections in her new world. A banquet would be a perfect opportunity to make appointments to speak with the ones in charge of her family's business ventures, as well. "I'll need a dress for that, won't I?"
"I already ordered a set of dress robes for the occasion," Narcissa admitted. "They will look beautiful on you."
So her cousin had known she would agree to attend. Hermione knew her cousin had made the same conclusions she had. She needed to meet more people, further cementing herself into her new society. However, if she matched Draco again like she had on their errands, she was probably going to vomit.
Thankfully, the lesson ended shortly after. Narcissa looked ready to faint from so much exposure to the muggle lifestyle; she quickly made her escape, holding a handkerchief over her mouth.
Hermione's life fell into a comfortable pattern of classes, self-driven research, etiquette lessons, harassing Rufus Scrimgeour by owl post, and conversations with Badb. However, as weeks passed and Christmas break loomed, she began to feel as if things around Hogwarts were winding tighter and tighter from stress. She couldn't figure out why she felt so on edge.
It was a Saturday in the library, two weeks before the advent of winter hols, when she met Harry Potter for the first time since the boats that had escorted them to Hogwarts that first night. She hadn't spoken to him since that journey, so she was quite surprised when his green eyes flared, and he hexed her without warning.