Forgive Me, Hermione
[ By Alanna, who still thinks this title is crap ]
A/N: I hope everyone had a merry Christmas…if you celebrate it, that is. I think I had the best Christmas of my life…most of my family was present this year, and it actually snowed. Whoo! Uh, yeah. Anyway, I know most of you haven't a clue where this fic is going…and to tell you the truth, I wasn't sure either, until today. I'm going to write this chapter before I forget…o.O Merry new year to all. And don't get drunk…that's not fun, though it's fun for everyone else to see you act stupidly.
By the way, Hermione's "flying lessons" WILL have some significance later on.
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/hpthelostchaptershp
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CHAPTER TWO: Back to Hogwarts
Headmaster Albus Dumbledore rose, smiling just as he always did at the start of a new school year. The Great Hall broke into enthusiastic applause, eager to get the announcements, the sorting, and the start-of-term speech over with.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" He began. "Before we begin the sorting, I will ask that you give a welcome to our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Fleur Delacour!"
Hermione choked. "Fleur Delacour?" She hissed to Harry and Ron over the thunderous applause from the Hogwarts male population. "/Her/? A /professor/?"
"She's not so bad," protested Harry.
"You only say that because she's /pretty/," Hermione returned scathingly. "She just graduated from Beauxbatons! She can't teach! Honestly…"
Ron, too, didn't seem to share Hermione's opinion on Fleur. "Yeah, well, Dumbledore hired her, didn't he? He's got his reasons." Hermione fell silent, but it was obvious that from the look on her face, she was not pleased in the least.
Most in the hall were standing up to get a good look at Fleur. She was smiling rather nervously, but there was no mistaking the pride with which she held her head. Her blonde hair was loose, her robes sparkling blue.
When the applause (and whistles) had finally died down, Dumbledore gestured to someone in the doorway. "And to our newest student, Silvia Castelli of Italy. If I'm not mistaken, she'll be joining the fifth years."
The first thing Harry noticed about Silvia was that she was…well, dark. Her skin was deeply tanned, and her hair was straight and nearly black. A few meager handfuls of applause broke out, but Silvia didn't seem to mind her apparent lack of popularity. Solemnly, she passed the line of first years and approached Professor McGonagall, who stood waiting with the Sorting Hat.
Silvia muttered something to the Transfiguration teacher, who nodded. She then seated herself on the stool, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The Hat slipped over her eyes. There was a long, awkward pause.
"SLYTHERIN!" Declared the Hat. The Slytherin table broke into applause, and Silvia rose once more, heading for a seat at the farthest end of the table. Apparently, she didn't want company. ((Yeah, I know…EVERY new character is either in Gryffindor or Slytherin…but Gryffindor doesn't really have any classes with Ravenclaw, which is where Silvia would have gone. It's easier if she's a Slytherin.)) There she sat, staring at the plate in front of her, and not looking around at anyone.
"Bit unnerving, isn't she?" Muttered Seamus Finnigan. Those surrounding him who heard nodded.
Harry didn't know what to think. The impression Silvia gave off was uncannily eerie. He stared at her. He couldn't help it. And as if sensing his gaze, Silvia looked up and met his eyes with hers. He shivered. They were a cold silver. He was half-expecting his scar to hurt, or the room to burst into flame, or Voldemort to appear suddenly, but nothing unusual occurred. Odd.
Dumbledore continued on. "The new Prefects have been chosen. Representing Gryffindor is Hermione Granger." Harry tore his gaze from Silvia to applaud his friend. He noticed a few Ravenclaws nearby rolling their eyes. He had to admit, it WASN'T really a surprise. Hermione looked down with a bit of a smile on her face. It was obvious she wasn't trying to look too pleased with herself.
"For Ravenclaw, Lisa Turpin." More applause. "Prefect of Hufflepuff is Justin Finch-Fletchley." Ron looked surprised.
"That idiot? A prefect?" He stared at Justin, who was grinning broadly.
"And for Slytherin, Draco Malfoy." Almost at once, the Gryffindor table burst into boos. Slytherin, however, was ecstatic.
Ron looked horrified. So did Hermione. Harry just gaped. "/Malfoy/? Prefect of Slytherin?" Draco was smirking, and was turning his badge this way and that, to show it off. Harry snuck a glance at Professor Snape, who was looking immensely proud. Obviously, the Potions master had played a big role in making Malfoy a prefect.
"Bloody hell," Ron hissed. "Malfoy, Prefect of Slytherin? Snape must've poisoned everyone the day they elected prefects." This earned him a sharp look from Hermione.
"Oi, Malfoy!" Fred Weasley called over to the Slytherin table. "How much did your dear old dad pay for you to be named Prefect?"
The Gryffindors were muttering darkly amongst themselves, so hardly any of them heard Dumbledore announce the start of the first year Sorting Ceremony.
"Bugger," Ron murmured. "Hermione, you're not going to let him take points off of us, are you?"
Hermione blushed. Everyone seemed to be looking at her. "Of course not. Unless it's really necessary."
Harry was annoyed. He knew it shouldn't bother him, but Malfoy was now both captain of the Slytherin quidditch team and prefect of Slytherin house, while he was only captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. He wouldn't have cared if it were Ron or anyone else, but the fact that Malfoy held TWO positions of power at Hogwarts upset him. Malfoy was his chief rival…and now it seemed that the pale, blonde Slytherin held the upper hand. He could take points off Harry any time he wanted to.
"Hermione," he hissed, "he's going to be watching every move we make. Can't you be a LITTLE more enthusiastic?"
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as the Gryffindor table erupted in clapping. A shy, brunette first year was making her way over.
"Seriously, Hermione." Neville Longbottom whispered down the table. "You know how bad I am at…at avoiding accidents. And I'm really stupid…Malfoy's going to be taking points off by the hundred."
Hermione scowled. "Neville, don't call yourself stupid. And Malfoy's not going to do ANYTHING that excessive, or I'll have something to say about it." She couldn't mask the worry in her face. Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prefect? As much as she wanted to deny it, she was sure Malfoy would do everything in his power to kick Gryffindor out of the House Cup running, especially during the first few school days. Hermione knew Malfoy would love to see the looks on everyone's faces when Gryffindor had a negative amount of points.
Ron appeared to be digging holes in the table with his fork.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" Shouted the Hat. No one in Gryffindor seemed to be paying much attention to the Sorting anymore. They were all worried about Gryffindor's trophy future, and Harry noticed a few of them looking his way.
/Probably wondering if I'm any good at being Captain,/ he thought bitterly.
"Webber, Katie!" "RAVENCLAW!"
Ron dragged his fork along the table, carving an abstract pattern until an annoyed Hermione told him to stop.
"Zander, Carlson!" "GRYFFINDOR!"
Vaguely, Harry noticed that the Sorting was over, and the golden plates in front of them all were beginning to fill with food.
"Well, Gryffindor's got Longbottom. They ought to lose points fast enough," Draco drawled loudly. "And then there's Potter, who doesn't know a damn thing about being Captain. These House Cup and Quidditch Cup trophies are a done deal, I'd say."
Ron bristled, and was about to leap out of his chair and storm over to the Slytherin table, when a soft, musical voice interrupted everyone's thoughts.
"Bonjour," Fleur was standing behind them, and she smiled straight at Harry, who found himself blushing in spite of his wishes. "I 'eard zat 'oo are Gryffindor's new Captain. Congratulationz, 'arry."
"Er, thanks." Harry smiled weakly. "I hope I can do it."
"Bonjour, Monsieur Weasley…Ron, eez eet?" Fleur had turned her gaze on Ron, who was as red as his hair.
Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed Ron's plate, where she began piling food. Ron was so interested in the veela that he appeared to have temporarily forgotten about dinner.
Fleur stayed for a few more minutes, chatting politely with the nearby Gryffindors, until she was called away to sit with the rest of the teachers. "Au revoir, mes élèves," she called as she returned to the teachers' table.
"Élèves?" Dean stared after Fleur, his mouth hanging open.
"It's French for 'students'," Hermione informed them impatiently. "And if you don't eat soon, you'll just have to do without dinner." Briskly, she began cutting her filet mignon.
Slowly, the males went back to normal, and the rest of dinner at the Gryffindor table took place in unusual silence until Dumbledore rose again to announce the curfew.
Hermione rose huffily and waited for the rest of the Gryffindors to do the same. Angelina Johnson, the Head Girl, was already waiting at the doors leading out from the Great Hall. Harry and Ron pushed past people to catch up with Hermione, who was moving at a fast pace. She didn't say a word to them.
"Hermione," said a quiet, icy voice nearby. Hermione looked around for the speaker, and her eyes settled on Silvia, who was behind them. "A word, if you'd please."
"'A word'?" Muttered Ron, snorting. "Who does she think she is?"
When the crowd of students had left the Great Hall, Hermione parted from the crowd, heading for a place near the other side of the hall.
"You're not seriously going to give her a word, are you?" Ron called. She waved them on, indicating that they should go ahead to the common room without her. "I don't believe it…." Ron laughed quietly. "She is!"
Harry, however, was a little more reluctant to leave Hermione with Silvia.
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Hermione was soon joined by Silvia, and the two waited quietly until the hall had been emptied. While they were waiting, Hermione got a good look at the new Slytherin. Silvia was about her height, if not a little taller. She was rather pretty, in a dark sort of way, and her eyes were an odd shade of gray. In fact, they were almost silver.
Silvia was looking at her oddly, as if deciding if she was worthy of something. "You are Hermione Granger," she stated.
"Yes." Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. "I'm sorry to sound rude, but I really have to go to my common room soon. I have a lot of studying to do."
Silvia's dark lips curled into an odd smile. "You like to study?"
"Well…" Hermione faltered, puzzled. Why did it matter? "There's nothing wrong with studying," she said defensively.
"I never said there was." Silvia's silver eyes glittered. "I was top student at my school in Italy."
"Really." Hermione feigned interest. "Why did you leave?"
Silvia shrugged. "I was caught plotting to kill the headmaster." She smiled then, showing off perfectly white teeth. "I didn't like him very much, you see."
Now Hermione was more than a little unnerved. "We don't allow that here."
"I've noticed." Silvia's smile grew. "I've heard that you're the top student here. Is that true?"
Hermione blinked. "Well, yes, I suppose so," she answered. "In my year, that is." She fidgeted a bit. She didn't like Silvia Castelli.
"Oh. Well, I just thought I'd tell you to enjoy it while it lasts." Silvia said silkily, stretching a bit and beginning to head off in the opposite direction.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"Just a bit of friendly competition," Silvia called back. "But don't worry. I enjoy challenges."
Hermione stared after Silvia, shocked. Dumbledore had let in a possible murderess! And not only was Silvia unnerving, she was exceptionally cryptic. Shaking her head, Hermione turned and began walking toward Gryffindor Tower.
No one had ever challenged her before. Not academically. So why did it bother her, now that someone finally had?
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A/N: If you're going to be a moron and tell me I hate Italians, then you might as well not leave a review. I'll only make fun of you. I happen to have Italian blood. Believe it or not, people have actually accused me of hating Americans, since Alexandra, the last bitch character I wrote about, was American. Get this, people: I'm American. I've lived in this country all my life. I don't think I'd hate Americans. I just randomly chose Italy.