The second Monday of the year brought the first lesson for Practical Magic. Despite Ron's ribbing, Harry had stood fast in his decision to take it with her, and the two of them met up with Neville that evening after dinner to walk down to class together.
It was the first time she'd actually gotten to talk to Neville since their first day back, and she enjoyed chatting with him as the three of them walked down to the second floor.
When they entered the classroom, they immediately saw the cauldrons set up at benches around the room. A small stack of ingredients were laid out on a long table in the back, gently perfuming the air in the classroom. It was a much nicer space to brew than the dungeons, that was for sure.
The professor at the front of the room was a beautiful witch with long dark hair pulled back from her face and robes of dark midnight blue with small embroidered stars. Harry's expression was distinctly starry-eyed, and Neville wouldn't meet the professor's eyes. She smiled kindly as everyone entered and instructed them to sit down at a cauldron. Neville heaved a distinct sigh of relief when it became clear he could join the table with Harry and Hermione.
"I wonder what we're brewing?" he asked, looking around the classroom with interest.
The trio chatted about innocuous things: how's alchemy Hermione?; did you see Ron drooling over that French girl at breakfast, Harry?; I heard you've been helping Professor Sprout, Neville, that must be exciting.
The students who had signed up were a strange mish-mash of people. Being for third, fourth, and fifth years only, it was entirely Hogwarts students: a handful of Gryffindors (she spotted Ginny and Dean Thomas across the room), a phenomenal number of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and even a handful of Slytherins, including Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass.
The clock struck six and the professor stood up from her seat.
"Welcome to Practical Magic. My name is Professor Blanchet. This class will be a selection of spells and potions that are safe enough to perform on your own and that will be useful to you both now and in the future. My goal is to teach you the spells and skills you will need when you graduate and face the world alone for the first time, so that you may enter adulthood with grace.
"This term, we'll be covering basic and complex charms for cooking and cleaning, basic ritual and runic warding, and the fundamentals of healing potions and spells. There is no set curriculum, so I encourage each and every one of you to turn in suggestions about any topic you would like to see covered. There will be a box in this classroom where you may deposit your suggestions if you would like to remain anonymous."
She smiled again, moving from behind the desk to lean against the front. The stars on her robes glittered and winked as if they were real. Hermione swore she could hear half of the boys sighing.
Idiots.
"The instructions for three different potions and their corresponding ingredients are in the back of the classroom. I'd like each table to choose one of the potions and brew that potion during class. While you brew, I would like you to discuss the properties of each component as it is added and how it interacts with the potion and the drinker. I will be observing your current skill level and helping to guide your discussions as needed. You may begin."
"I can go grab the instruction sheets," Neville offered, already halfway out of his chair.
"Thanks, Neville."
It was obvious he was deeply distressed that his first task in this class was a potion.
When Neville returned, he was smiling a little and sank into the chair with a sigh.
"Thank Merlin. These don't look too bad." He handed over the sheets of parchment. "Which one do you guys want to do?"
Hermione looked at the top sheet. "A hair strengthening potion? For strong and shiny locks?!"
She flipped to the next sheet.
"Blemish remover? What, so Eloise Midgen can stop hexing off her own spots?"
Increasingly agitated, she slammed the parchment on the table and looked at the final potion. "Moisturizing face cream?! You have got to be kidding me. This is ridiculous!"
Looking up, she saw that Neville and Harry were both staring at her in horror.
"See me after class."
Whipping around, Hermione saw the disapproving look in Professor Blanchet's eyes. Her expression certainly wasn't open and friendly now.
"If you can compose yourself, you may remain in my class. If self-regulation is beyond you, you may leave now."
At the table behind her, she heard Pansy Parkinson let out a loud guffaw.
Never, in her entire life, had Hermione Granger felt more mortified. And she'd accidentally grown a tail her second year. Before she could even respond, the professor had turned her back, her robes swishing lightly as she walked towards the next table.
"So. Er. Which one do you want to do Neville?" Harry gallantly tried to pretend his best friend wasn't fuming in embarrassment next to him.
"Let's, um. How about the blemish remover? I think that one's got bubotuber pus in it. We've been learning about that one in Herbology. Does that sound ok, Hermione?" Neville's voice trailed off towards the end.
"That sounds fine, Neville." She could hear how brittle her voice sounded but she couldn't seem to regulate it. Her insides were a mix of fire and ice and it took everything within her not to storm out of the classroom. She would not let that pretty, pompous French professor win. Resentment welled inside of her and she felt angrier than she could ever remember.
The boys kept looking over at her while they brewed the potion. They tried valiantly to include her in the discussion of how aloe and bubotuber pus would work together. Even when they got stumped about the addition of turmeric—really, didn't they know it was anti-inflammatory?—she couldn't quite bring herself to contribute more than a word or two.
How dare that woman treat her like a child when she was the one having them brew beauty potions in a fourth year class.
Missing the look of relief on both boy's faces when class ended, Hermione continued to fume while she slowly packed up her things. She could hear Pansy mocking her and it felt like every single person in the class was joining in. Perfect swot Hermione Granger had gotten herself in trouble. Ugh. She felt like gripping her own hair in frustration but wouldn't give them the pleasure.
Eventually, the class emptied. Harry—one of the last to leave—gave her a small, understanding smile. He knew better than anyone what it felt like to be unfairly singled out by a professor.
When it was only the two of them left, Professor Blanchet beckoned her to the front of the classroom and indicated a set of two chairs, waving her hand lightly in an invitation to sit. A petty part of her wanted to remain standing, just to spite the professor, but she eventually (albeit huffily) sat in the chair. It was starting to dawn on her that she was making a terrible first impression on the new professor, no matter how little she respected her class.
Professor Blanchet gracefully sank into the other chair and proceeded to stare at her for a solid minute in silence. Hermione fought the urge to squirm under the inspection and found that her indignant courage had fled her. She couldn't even meet the professor's eyes.
"I would ask you what you thought of your first lesson, but you have already made that rather clear." Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself but the professor held up her hand.
"I have heard of you, Hermione Granger. Your Hogwarts professors have sung the praises of your intellect. I must say, I am not impressed."
Of all the things a professor could say to Hermione, this was perhaps the hardest to hear. She was brilliant. She'd known everything about the interactions in that potion even though she'd never brewed it before, nor even seen the recipe. To know all that and be deemed unimpressive?
"This class was a simple exercise for me to evaluate your skills while providing valuable potions for teenagers. Appearances are important, whether you agree or not. And self-care can be a beautiful and fulfilling ritual."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue.
But the professor wasn't done.
"Your Hogwarts professors obviously see a brilliant student. Let me tell you what I see. I see a little girl, who always wanted to fit in but never did. A little girl who tried desperately to make all the other little girls like her. Who was laughed at for her big words and her passion for books and learning. I see a little girl who has grown hard and bitter and spiteful. Who has learned to hide her own insecurities by mocking and belittling the insecurities and joys of others.
"Let me give you a hard lesson, Ms. Granger. Mocking others does not make you strong. It does not make you better than them. It makes you petty. And ugly. Inside and out. I hear you are about to turn fifteen. Old enough to enter a betrothal contract if you wished. Nearly an adult. Certainly old enough to understand that people find joy in many places, and that all passions are valid even when you do not share them."
Just like that, the vengeful wind was knocked right out of her sails. Her hands began to shake, but this time it was not with indignation but with mortification. She felt like she'd been stuck through with a pin and mounted on a wall for study. Like the professor was determined to flay her open and expose some terrible parasite inside of her: point out her every flaw to the whole world.
"It is time to grow up, Ms. Granger. You are a young woman now, not a little girl. It is time to act like it."
The professor stood, placing a hand gently on Hermione's shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to meet the professor's eyes. Not when her own were threatening tears.
"Next class we will start household charms. If you can learn them with enthusiasm, I hope to see you in class next week."
With that, she was clearly dismissed. Professor Blanchet turned her back and began packing her own bag while Hermione scrambled from her chair and darted from the room.
Harry was waiting for her a little ways down the hall, and seeing him made the tears begin to fall.
"You alright, Hermione?" Brow furrowed with a look of bewilderment and discomfort, Harry stood awkwardly and stared at her.
"I'm" she started but the words died on her lips as they began to quiver.
Nodding like he'd just made up his mind, Harry gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder and began guiding her towards an alcove. Pulling her to sit down next to him, Harry kept his arm around her as she began to cry in earnest.
When she'd sobbed herself out, she finally spoke again, staring resolutely at her feet. "Harry. Am I." She paused again, gathering her courage. "Am I mean?"
"What?"
"Am I mean? Professor Blanchet. She said I…I mock others to hide my own insecurities. That's…that's ridiculous, right?"
When Harry didn't immediately respond, she knew the answer and sobbed again. Her breath came in gasps as she tried to get herself back under control.
Harry squeezed her shoulder. "You're my best friend, Hermione. You care about things. So much. And you're brilliant and brave. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you."
She gave him a watery smile. Harry definitely didn't know what to say to make things better, but she could tell he was trying his best. After all, this…existential crisis or whatever it was, it was her dragon to slay and no one could help her with it. Not even Harry.
They sat there in silence for a long time. Tears finally beginning to dry up, she sniffled and wiped her face with the sleeve of her robe.
"Come on Harry, it's almost curfew. We should get back."
With a weak smile, he squeezed her around the shoulders one last time and got up. They walked the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower in companionable silence.
=/=/=
The following days passed in a whirlwind of stress and self-reproach. Every time she caught sight of Lavender and Parvati giggling together in the dorm room over an article in Witch Weekly, she could hear a faint whisper repeating "it makes you ugly. Inside and out."
She'd cried herself to sleep that night. And the night after. She didn't know whether she was taking the professor's words too personally or not personally enough.
As was often the case when she was struggling through a particularly difficult problem, she took to the library. While there wasn't a book in the world that could solve this for her, everything seemed more reasonable and manageable when she was curled up in the squashy chair by the window in her little sanctuary.
Only now, it wasn't a sanctuary just for her. Viktor Krum had quickly taken to spending an awful lot of his time there. On Tuesday, he'd watched her with quiet eyes as she curled up in her chair, uninterested in being sociable or friendly. Perhaps he'd seen that she had been crying, or perhaps he was simply better at reading people than she was, but he'd left her alone, muttering only a soft "hello" and "goodnight." She could feel his eyes on her now and then, but it was never for long and there didn't seem to be anything more than mild curiosity in his gaze. He was, she had decided, the perfect library partner.
When she arrived at the library on Wednesday to find herself alone, she collapsed happily into a seat at the table and began pouring over her homework for Ancient Runes. It wasn't long before Viktor arrived, his eyebrows raised as he once again asked her "I sit here?"
Smiling up at him, she nodded. "Hi Viktor."
His expression relaxed, highlighting that he'd obviously been unsure and nervous about approaching her. Point one for Hermione the terrible person.
"You ok?" he asked, unpacking his books and quill, settling down in the chair next to hers. The first time he'd done that, she could admit she'd been upset. She liked to spread things out at her study table, and there was plenty of room on the other side for him to sit. Or even at the other table. Now, however, it felt like the habit of two old friends, even though she'd barely known him a week.
Hermione was quiet for a long time. Should she talk to him about her week? Could she? Glancing over, she watched him quietly watching her. He wasn't pushing, wasn't trying to get her to divulge all her secrets. He was a friend sitting next to her and patiently waiting to see whether she wanted to talk. An unfamiliar feeling of fondness welled up inside her and she sighed.
"Have you ever looked at yourself—really looked at yourself—and realized that you didn't like what you saw?"
His eyebrows raised, though whether he was surprised at her sudden speech or her choice of topic, she couldn't say.
"Da. Yes. Nose too big, not very handsome" he replied with a rueful grin.
Surprised, she laughed a little. "That's not true. And not quite what I meant."
She caught a flash of…something indefinable in his eyes before she averted her gaze to stare at her hands.
"I meant, have you ever thought you were one kind of person only to realize that maybe you weren't that person at all? That maybe you weren't a very good person?"
She hated the way her voice cracked on the word good: the way her eyes immediately began welling up with tears again.
Darting a glance over at him, she noted that his eyes were soft, understanding, and a bit shy. With a look of hesitant resolve, he reached over and gently laid his hand over hers, perching it lightly as if to give her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. When she didn't, he tentatively grasped her hand. His fingers were strong, his palm large and roughened with calluses, and his touch was soothing and warm.
"Have felt this too. Is terrible feeling. To realize you are never going to be perfect. That there is darkness inside you cannot get rid of."
He squeezed her hand gently until she looked over at him. He smiled softly at her.
"Truly bad person does not worry if they are bad. You are caring, intelligent, fiery witch. These are good things. Very good things."
Smiling back at him, she found she felt a little better. He hadn't tried to fix it, hadn't told her she was perfect, hadn't reproached her. Without thinking, she leaned sideways until her head rested on his shoulder, finding it more heavily muscled than she'd expected from his thin frame. She sat like that for a long moment, breathing in the smell of salt, soap, and a faint woodsy cologne. For the first time since Monday, her mind felt quiet and her body relaxed.
Maybe everything was going to be ok after all.
=/=/=
Author's Note: I've always thought that Hermione never quite grew up during JKR's series. We see everything from Harry's perspective and never really get an emotional payoff when it comes to Hermione's character. In the books she's got a real spiteful streak that's never explicitly talked about, and I wanted to explore that part of Hermione's personality and the growing pains that would have come with it.
As always, a GIANT shout-out to everyone who has reviewed or favorited this story! Every one of you has made me smile and it's transformed a very awful week into a much better one.
