He always hated the first days of classes. Every year was the same: fifty
or so snot nosed little brats who thought they knew everything. They
thought they were Merlin's gift to everyone, and it was his job to knock
them down to their level, to where he thought they should be: serfs. To
inspire fear in the hearts of students was one of his greatest pleasures.
However, as with every professor, there were students he favoured over
others, giving them preference, ignoring their rule-breaking and allowing
much more leniency. These students were the purebloods. Slytherins; his
own house, of course. He found them to be the most intelligent of the
school's young witches and wizards, rarely giving him trouble and praising
him to their influential parents. It wasn't to say that he himself had no
influence; in fact, he'd been quite a powerful asset to the Dark Lord in
his younger years. However, something unknown and unforeseen occurred deep
within the depths of his brain, rendering him useless to the Dark Lord. He
could no longer search out and eliminate Muggles the way he could before,
and was less capable in aiding the Dark Lord, so he was dismissed. Out of
work and alone (as usual) for several months, until he finally broke down
and applied for a teaching position as a Potions professor at his alma
mater, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He received it
immediately. No one else had wanted it. Potions had always been his
specialty when he was a student, but, he thought, if he could choose what
he wanted to teach, it would be Defence Against the Dark Arts. He could
teach those little brats things that would make their hair curl. He smiled
his cruel, yellow-toothed smile at this thought. The Dark Lord would have
been very pleased.
"Would have" was the unfortunate part. When the Dark Lord learned of his new position teaching in a school full of half-breeds and mudbloods, he had flown into a rage, threatening him and everyone he cared about. He didn't care about anyone; it wasn't frightening to him. He shut himself off from the world, leading everyone away from his life. That was fine with him. He didn't need anyone else. The Dark Lord had let him go, miraculously, threatening his death if they ever crossed paths again. He cared naught for this threat. Death would be sweet release. Remove him from this life of teaching the idiotic children of Muggles and half-breeds, who didn't understand the intricacies of potions making, who would rather give their wands a wave than spend their precious Quidditch time making potions. Abandoning his earlier smile, he scowled angrily.
---
They had heard that Professor Snape was one of the hardest professors in the entire school. Of course, this had been heard from the Weasley twins, who'd told everyone that the Sorting ceremony was painful. They figured that it was an exaggeration, that he really couldn't be so bad as Professor McGonagall. Having already had their first two Transfiguration classes, they were dead scared of her and her attitude with them. Potions was their last class on Fridays, directly after Charms. They liked Professor Flitwick: a small, bearded cheerful man totally devoted and in love with his work. He could tell anyone about anything; a very well- educated wizard. But that was not their concern at the moment. They wanted to find out definitely if the rumours were true; if Professor Snape truly was the hardest professor in the school.
Still talking amongst themselves about the events of the past week, they entered the dank Potions dungeon, which, to them, smelled of mould and filthy socks. They wrinkled their noses in unison and eyed each other. This was where they had to take Potions in the coming years? It was a gloomy prospect.
Sitting down, they saw the same reactions on the faces of the people they recognized, some housemates and others merely classmates. Looking closer, they saw Hermione Granger studying the text intently. Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows and shook their heads. That girl was too much.
Hermione sat engrossed in her text until she felt someone looking at her. The two boys she'd met on the train were staring in her direction. She gave them a small smile and returned to her studies. She'd been studying ever since she got her letter. Being Muggle-born, she felt the overwhelming need to prove herself in the wizarding world. For days upon days, she studied, ignoring the fleeting sunny days in London, learning all about standard spells, potions and transfiguration. She'd always been at the top of all of her classes in grammar school, and she could never imagine anything different. She had forsaken her already lacking social life, if one could go so far as to describe it as such, to study for her entrance to Hogwarts. She'd already memorized her books and perfected her spells. She no longer needed to read.
She'd hoped against hope that she would have friends here. It wasn't that she didn't like spending time alone; no, she'd come to like it in her years. But she was coming to a new place, a new stage of her life in which she needed people to be close to. She wanted to be able to still study hard, but also have people to talk to, people to have fun with, and people to commiserate with when things got rough. She shook her head. 'That's a silly wish, 'Mione,' she chided herself. 'People like that will only keep you from accomplishing your goals. You know that.' She did indeed, but a part of her wanted to ignore that, to strive for friendships in this new place. She again buried her head in her book, staring at the text she'd already memorized. Having no friends, her textbooks passed her time.
---
A door slammed, and, startled, the heads of every student in the room whipped around to see what was the cause of this. A gaunt man with sallow skin and sunken, angry eyes walked forth, disregarding the interested stares of the students. His hair was a disgustingly greasy, matted black mass, and when he opened his mouth, he revealed stained teeth, some with pointed ends that resembled the fangs of a vampire. His eyes flashed with inherent anger, and he held himself in a very hostile position, crossing his arms across his chest, keeping the world at bay.
"There will be no foolish wand waving in this class," he began, in a voice as greasy as his hair and angry as his eyes. "As such, I do not expect that many of you will appreciate the exact art that is potions making. But for those select few." Here he shot a knowing look to a boy known to them as snobby Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin who was every bit as greasy as Professor Snape seemed. Harry and Ron shot irritated looks at each other and then at Malfoy. He returned their glares with a look of superiority.
Professor Snape resumed his speech. "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He noticed one bushy-haired girl taking down everything he said. He sent a scowl of deep hatred and disdain her way.
"Miss Granger!" he barked in his unctuous voice. "Miss Granger, dare I ask why you've copied down every word I've said?"
Hermione blushed furiously. She didn't know what to say. Admitting this would garner nothing but hatred from Professor Snape and the students, with whom she was trying to curry favor. On the other hand, she didn't know if she could lie to a teacher. She couldn't even lie to her parents, much less someone whom she respected as much as a teacher.
"Well, Miss Granger? Do you speak, or will we have to find out another way?" he sneered.
She gathered up all of her courage and replied in a meek voice, "I'm sorry, Professor. I'm just very interested in this subject."
Taken aback, Professor Snape's look changed from anger to surprise and back to anger in less than 10 seconds.
"Very well, Miss Granger. It will be in your best interests to pay attention in this class..." He paused momentarily, and continued with, "..and that includes the rest of you." His eyes shot fiery daggers about the classroom.
Ron and Harry looked at each other nervously. If the first day of Potions was this intense, what would the rest of the year be like?
---
Back in the common room after dinner, all of the first years were discussing classes, save for Hermione. She was holed up in her dormitory studying the books she'd memorized. She longed desperately to join, but she didn't know how. Now was one of those times when she wished she hadn't spent her life studying and became socially adept. She sighed and returned to her standard book of spells.
Not surprisingly, no one missed the presence of Hermione. Their loud chatter about class left them little time to think about her, if they even cared. Even Ron and Harry pushed her out of their minds. She was too studious to ever become a part of their lives. However, soon, the conversation turned to her.
"D'you know that Hermione girl?" asked a redheaded Irish boy named Seamus Finnigan.
Ron and Harry mumbled affirmatives, and Seamus pressed on.
"Whaddaya think?"
They looked at each other and Ron motioned for Harry to answer. Harry glared at Ron, but proceeded to speak. "She seems to be too much to handle," Harry mumbled. "She's really in your face and a know it all. Bet she's never had friends."
Seamus laughed, a loud raucous laugh that caught the attention of most in the room. "I agree. Wonder if she ever will?"
---
Unbeknownst to the boys, Hermione had been standing at the foot of the staircase to the girls dormitories for the duration of their conversation about her. She'd heard a lot of cruel things that people had said about her in grammar school, but these things hurt her much more than the rest had. She already had people talking about her, and it had only been six days since they'd arrived. Tears formed in her eyes, and, instead of going back up the stairs, she sat down. She rested her head in her hands and let the tears flow freely down her face.
None of the boys saw this. Seamus and Ron were talking about Quidditch, with Harry, Neville and Dean listening intently. Dean, being Muggle-born, only knew of soccer, and was trying to learn the ins and outs of Quidditch. Harry didn't even know soccer, he'd been so.sheltered wasn't even the word. Hidden, maybe, but he thought repressed described it better. Neville had never been allowed to fly, and Harry and Dean secretly thought that this was the best thing, because he was so accident prone on the ground that they didn't even want to think what would happen if he took to the air. At a pause in the conversation, Seamus thought he caught movement on the stairs out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Seeing Hermione on the stairs, he turned back to the group, raised his eyebrows, and motioned with his head to the stairwell. The boys turned around and saw Hermione crying. Harry automatically felt incredibly guilty. He turned back to the group and quietly told them that he was going to apologize. Ron and Seamus raised their eyebrows in unison, questioning his decision. Harry shook his head at them and walked towards the stairs.
"Hermione?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer, so he repeated himself. "Hermione?"
"I heard you," she sniffled.
"I want to apologise for the things we said to you."
"Why?"
"Because it was cruel of us. We don't know you, and therefore we don't have any right to say that about you."
Hermione lifted her head at this, her teary eyes flashing angrily. "Do you think that this will automatically make me forgive you, and everything will go on like nothing had happened? Because if you do, you're wrong."
"I never said anything like that," he countered. "I just thought that what we said was cruel and I wanted to apologise."
"Would you have apologised if I hadn't heard you?"
Harry was cornered. He wouldn't have told her, and she knew it. "If I say yes, then I'm a liar. If I say no, I'm a jerk. I'll be honest with you: no, I wouldn't have apologised if you hadn't heard. If my attempt to be nice doesn't make you happy or respect me any more, then so be it. I'm finished." With that, he turned around and walked back to the group, who pretended that they hadn't been listening.
"So.?" Ron asked somewhat eagerly. The rest of the group had their eyes on Harry, interested in what he was going to say.
"I told her we were sorry, and she asked if I would have apologised if she hadn't heard it. I was honest and told her no, and she got really angry. But I understand why," he paused, "I'd be angry too."
The guys nodded, and Seamus said somewhat timidly, "At least we're rid of her." The tension was broken and the guys were laughing again.
---
Hermione retreated once more to the girls dormitories.
"I don't need them!" she raged. "I'll be much better off without them!"
She turned to her books again and, looking at them more closely, shoved them off her desk. She didn't want to read anymore. Instead, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks on her sheets, pulled on a sweater, and nearly flew down the stairs. She ran through the common room, not looking at anyone as she left. She climbed through the portrait hole, and, upon finding herself alone in the corridors, she ran. Here she felt free, far from the pressures of studying and the cruelty of the other students.
She soon reached a staircase that she didn't recognize. She paused a moment, and finally decided to take it. The stairs were much wider and higher than any of the staircases she'd climbed so far at Hogwarts. She soon reached a landing with a shining gold statue on it. She saw an engraved plate upon the pedestal, and, upon leading forward to read it, she found that it was the likeness of Salazar Slytherin. Straightening up, she heard someone coming closer. She began walking away quickly, when the person called out to her.
"Hey! You! What are you doing over here?" said the male voice.
Hermione turned around innocently. Immediately she recognized the blond boy who'd told Harry that some wizarding families were better than others. Draco Malfoy, she thought. He's already curried the favor of Professor Snape, the only one she hadn't. An interesting thought occurred to her, but she quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. "I'm walking; at least that's what I seem to be doing. But the verdict's still out. You never know. What do you think I'm doing?" she shot back sarcastically. The moment those words left her mouth, she wondered where they'd come from. She'd always been meek and quiet; sarcasm wasn't something that came naturally to her.
Malfoy was taken aback. This girl, who looked like such a wimp, smarting off to him? He wouldn't stand for it.
"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?" he countered.
"I'm pissed off is what I am," she said, surprised at her frankness.
"Since when do I care how you are? I asked who you were."
She paused, and then figured there was no harm in telling him. "Hermione Granger.
"What are you doing over here?"
"We've established this already, don't you remember?"
He liked this girl, even though she smarted off to him. Not submissive.but not overly dominant either. The sarcasm from such a pristine girl surprised him.
"I've told you who I am, and I know who you are. Now, what are you doing out here?" Hermione asked aggressively.
"This is where I live, stupid."
Hermione took pause. This was the entrance to the Slytherin house? Hmm, she pondered. This could be handy for her. She shot him a cold smile. "Maybe you could come in useful to me," she said wickedly.
"Why would I want to help you, dirty little Mudblood?"
She'd already heard it, and heard it much more than enough from him. "I'm sick of that. I'm sick of the Gryffindors. They put on a pristine façade, but are dirty liars on the inside. You being a Slytherin, it would be only natural for you to be cruel to them. If I were to do it, it wouldn't be 'right.' You could do something horrible to them." A demonic grin spread across her face.
Draco liked the way she thought. A Gryffindor who hated her fellow housemates? He'd never have expected it of the girl who was such a goody two-shoes. He returned her wicked look with one of his own. "Maybe I could be of service. What will you do for me?"
She paused. She didn't know that quite yet, and she said so to him. She continued, "But if you make their lives a living hell, we'll come up with something." Smiling that wicked grin again, she continued, "I'd prefer you focus on Ron Weasley and Harry Potter." Turning around, she started to head back to the Gryffindor common room.
"Wait."
She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "What?"
"You want for me to just give them a hard time, or be more." he paused, and then continued, ".violent?"
"I don't care. Whatever you want. It would be less obvious if you weren't nice to me. Throw me a few insults, like the Mudblood comments, and it'll be believable. We'll talk later."
She turned around again and left. She was shocked at the way she'd acted. She'd never been so cruelly confident in her life. 'Those jerks will never guess that I was the crucial part of this equation, the one who was instrumental in ruining their lives. They messed with me, and now I'm messing with them. They're in for some fun.' She was still shocked at her audacity, even in her thoughts. She was changing, and she liked it.
Hope you're enjoying. ( This is my first one in about a year, so excuse any of the oddities. Heather (my beta) RULES! **Lauren
"Would have" was the unfortunate part. When the Dark Lord learned of his new position teaching in a school full of half-breeds and mudbloods, he had flown into a rage, threatening him and everyone he cared about. He didn't care about anyone; it wasn't frightening to him. He shut himself off from the world, leading everyone away from his life. That was fine with him. He didn't need anyone else. The Dark Lord had let him go, miraculously, threatening his death if they ever crossed paths again. He cared naught for this threat. Death would be sweet release. Remove him from this life of teaching the idiotic children of Muggles and half-breeds, who didn't understand the intricacies of potions making, who would rather give their wands a wave than spend their precious Quidditch time making potions. Abandoning his earlier smile, he scowled angrily.
---
They had heard that Professor Snape was one of the hardest professors in the entire school. Of course, this had been heard from the Weasley twins, who'd told everyone that the Sorting ceremony was painful. They figured that it was an exaggeration, that he really couldn't be so bad as Professor McGonagall. Having already had their first two Transfiguration classes, they were dead scared of her and her attitude with them. Potions was their last class on Fridays, directly after Charms. They liked Professor Flitwick: a small, bearded cheerful man totally devoted and in love with his work. He could tell anyone about anything; a very well- educated wizard. But that was not their concern at the moment. They wanted to find out definitely if the rumours were true; if Professor Snape truly was the hardest professor in the school.
Still talking amongst themselves about the events of the past week, they entered the dank Potions dungeon, which, to them, smelled of mould and filthy socks. They wrinkled their noses in unison and eyed each other. This was where they had to take Potions in the coming years? It was a gloomy prospect.
Sitting down, they saw the same reactions on the faces of the people they recognized, some housemates and others merely classmates. Looking closer, they saw Hermione Granger studying the text intently. Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows and shook their heads. That girl was too much.
Hermione sat engrossed in her text until she felt someone looking at her. The two boys she'd met on the train were staring in her direction. She gave them a small smile and returned to her studies. She'd been studying ever since she got her letter. Being Muggle-born, she felt the overwhelming need to prove herself in the wizarding world. For days upon days, she studied, ignoring the fleeting sunny days in London, learning all about standard spells, potions and transfiguration. She'd always been at the top of all of her classes in grammar school, and she could never imagine anything different. She had forsaken her already lacking social life, if one could go so far as to describe it as such, to study for her entrance to Hogwarts. She'd already memorized her books and perfected her spells. She no longer needed to read.
She'd hoped against hope that she would have friends here. It wasn't that she didn't like spending time alone; no, she'd come to like it in her years. But she was coming to a new place, a new stage of her life in which she needed people to be close to. She wanted to be able to still study hard, but also have people to talk to, people to have fun with, and people to commiserate with when things got rough. She shook her head. 'That's a silly wish, 'Mione,' she chided herself. 'People like that will only keep you from accomplishing your goals. You know that.' She did indeed, but a part of her wanted to ignore that, to strive for friendships in this new place. She again buried her head in her book, staring at the text she'd already memorized. Having no friends, her textbooks passed her time.
---
A door slammed, and, startled, the heads of every student in the room whipped around to see what was the cause of this. A gaunt man with sallow skin and sunken, angry eyes walked forth, disregarding the interested stares of the students. His hair was a disgustingly greasy, matted black mass, and when he opened his mouth, he revealed stained teeth, some with pointed ends that resembled the fangs of a vampire. His eyes flashed with inherent anger, and he held himself in a very hostile position, crossing his arms across his chest, keeping the world at bay.
"There will be no foolish wand waving in this class," he began, in a voice as greasy as his hair and angry as his eyes. "As such, I do not expect that many of you will appreciate the exact art that is potions making. But for those select few." Here he shot a knowing look to a boy known to them as snobby Draco Malfoy, a Slytherin who was every bit as greasy as Professor Snape seemed. Harry and Ron shot irritated looks at each other and then at Malfoy. He returned their glares with a look of superiority.
Professor Snape resumed his speech. "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He noticed one bushy-haired girl taking down everything he said. He sent a scowl of deep hatred and disdain her way.
"Miss Granger!" he barked in his unctuous voice. "Miss Granger, dare I ask why you've copied down every word I've said?"
Hermione blushed furiously. She didn't know what to say. Admitting this would garner nothing but hatred from Professor Snape and the students, with whom she was trying to curry favor. On the other hand, she didn't know if she could lie to a teacher. She couldn't even lie to her parents, much less someone whom she respected as much as a teacher.
"Well, Miss Granger? Do you speak, or will we have to find out another way?" he sneered.
She gathered up all of her courage and replied in a meek voice, "I'm sorry, Professor. I'm just very interested in this subject."
Taken aback, Professor Snape's look changed from anger to surprise and back to anger in less than 10 seconds.
"Very well, Miss Granger. It will be in your best interests to pay attention in this class..." He paused momentarily, and continued with, "..and that includes the rest of you." His eyes shot fiery daggers about the classroom.
Ron and Harry looked at each other nervously. If the first day of Potions was this intense, what would the rest of the year be like?
---
Back in the common room after dinner, all of the first years were discussing classes, save for Hermione. She was holed up in her dormitory studying the books she'd memorized. She longed desperately to join, but she didn't know how. Now was one of those times when she wished she hadn't spent her life studying and became socially adept. She sighed and returned to her standard book of spells.
Not surprisingly, no one missed the presence of Hermione. Their loud chatter about class left them little time to think about her, if they even cared. Even Ron and Harry pushed her out of their minds. She was too studious to ever become a part of their lives. However, soon, the conversation turned to her.
"D'you know that Hermione girl?" asked a redheaded Irish boy named Seamus Finnigan.
Ron and Harry mumbled affirmatives, and Seamus pressed on.
"Whaddaya think?"
They looked at each other and Ron motioned for Harry to answer. Harry glared at Ron, but proceeded to speak. "She seems to be too much to handle," Harry mumbled. "She's really in your face and a know it all. Bet she's never had friends."
Seamus laughed, a loud raucous laugh that caught the attention of most in the room. "I agree. Wonder if she ever will?"
---
Unbeknownst to the boys, Hermione had been standing at the foot of the staircase to the girls dormitories for the duration of their conversation about her. She'd heard a lot of cruel things that people had said about her in grammar school, but these things hurt her much more than the rest had. She already had people talking about her, and it had only been six days since they'd arrived. Tears formed in her eyes, and, instead of going back up the stairs, she sat down. She rested her head in her hands and let the tears flow freely down her face.
None of the boys saw this. Seamus and Ron were talking about Quidditch, with Harry, Neville and Dean listening intently. Dean, being Muggle-born, only knew of soccer, and was trying to learn the ins and outs of Quidditch. Harry didn't even know soccer, he'd been so.sheltered wasn't even the word. Hidden, maybe, but he thought repressed described it better. Neville had never been allowed to fly, and Harry and Dean secretly thought that this was the best thing, because he was so accident prone on the ground that they didn't even want to think what would happen if he took to the air. At a pause in the conversation, Seamus thought he caught movement on the stairs out of the corner of his eye and turned to look. Seeing Hermione on the stairs, he turned back to the group, raised his eyebrows, and motioned with his head to the stairwell. The boys turned around and saw Hermione crying. Harry automatically felt incredibly guilty. He turned back to the group and quietly told them that he was going to apologize. Ron and Seamus raised their eyebrows in unison, questioning his decision. Harry shook his head at them and walked towards the stairs.
"Hermione?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer, so he repeated himself. "Hermione?"
"I heard you," she sniffled.
"I want to apologise for the things we said to you."
"Why?"
"Because it was cruel of us. We don't know you, and therefore we don't have any right to say that about you."
Hermione lifted her head at this, her teary eyes flashing angrily. "Do you think that this will automatically make me forgive you, and everything will go on like nothing had happened? Because if you do, you're wrong."
"I never said anything like that," he countered. "I just thought that what we said was cruel and I wanted to apologise."
"Would you have apologised if I hadn't heard you?"
Harry was cornered. He wouldn't have told her, and she knew it. "If I say yes, then I'm a liar. If I say no, I'm a jerk. I'll be honest with you: no, I wouldn't have apologised if you hadn't heard. If my attempt to be nice doesn't make you happy or respect me any more, then so be it. I'm finished." With that, he turned around and walked back to the group, who pretended that they hadn't been listening.
"So.?" Ron asked somewhat eagerly. The rest of the group had their eyes on Harry, interested in what he was going to say.
"I told her we were sorry, and she asked if I would have apologised if she hadn't heard it. I was honest and told her no, and she got really angry. But I understand why," he paused, "I'd be angry too."
The guys nodded, and Seamus said somewhat timidly, "At least we're rid of her." The tension was broken and the guys were laughing again.
---
Hermione retreated once more to the girls dormitories.
"I don't need them!" she raged. "I'll be much better off without them!"
She turned to her books again and, looking at them more closely, shoved them off her desk. She didn't want to read anymore. Instead, she wiped her tear-stained cheeks on her sheets, pulled on a sweater, and nearly flew down the stairs. She ran through the common room, not looking at anyone as she left. She climbed through the portrait hole, and, upon finding herself alone in the corridors, she ran. Here she felt free, far from the pressures of studying and the cruelty of the other students.
She soon reached a staircase that she didn't recognize. She paused a moment, and finally decided to take it. The stairs were much wider and higher than any of the staircases she'd climbed so far at Hogwarts. She soon reached a landing with a shining gold statue on it. She saw an engraved plate upon the pedestal, and, upon leading forward to read it, she found that it was the likeness of Salazar Slytherin. Straightening up, she heard someone coming closer. She began walking away quickly, when the person called out to her.
"Hey! You! What are you doing over here?" said the male voice.
Hermione turned around innocently. Immediately she recognized the blond boy who'd told Harry that some wizarding families were better than others. Draco Malfoy, she thought. He's already curried the favor of Professor Snape, the only one she hadn't. An interesting thought occurred to her, but she quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. "I'm walking; at least that's what I seem to be doing. But the verdict's still out. You never know. What do you think I'm doing?" she shot back sarcastically. The moment those words left her mouth, she wondered where they'd come from. She'd always been meek and quiet; sarcasm wasn't something that came naturally to her.
Malfoy was taken aback. This girl, who looked like such a wimp, smarting off to him? He wouldn't stand for it.
"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?" he countered.
"I'm pissed off is what I am," she said, surprised at her frankness.
"Since when do I care how you are? I asked who you were."
She paused, and then figured there was no harm in telling him. "Hermione Granger.
"What are you doing over here?"
"We've established this already, don't you remember?"
He liked this girl, even though she smarted off to him. Not submissive.but not overly dominant either. The sarcasm from such a pristine girl surprised him.
"I've told you who I am, and I know who you are. Now, what are you doing out here?" Hermione asked aggressively.
"This is where I live, stupid."
Hermione took pause. This was the entrance to the Slytherin house? Hmm, she pondered. This could be handy for her. She shot him a cold smile. "Maybe you could come in useful to me," she said wickedly.
"Why would I want to help you, dirty little Mudblood?"
She'd already heard it, and heard it much more than enough from him. "I'm sick of that. I'm sick of the Gryffindors. They put on a pristine façade, but are dirty liars on the inside. You being a Slytherin, it would be only natural for you to be cruel to them. If I were to do it, it wouldn't be 'right.' You could do something horrible to them." A demonic grin spread across her face.
Draco liked the way she thought. A Gryffindor who hated her fellow housemates? He'd never have expected it of the girl who was such a goody two-shoes. He returned her wicked look with one of his own. "Maybe I could be of service. What will you do for me?"
She paused. She didn't know that quite yet, and she said so to him. She continued, "But if you make their lives a living hell, we'll come up with something." Smiling that wicked grin again, she continued, "I'd prefer you focus on Ron Weasley and Harry Potter." Turning around, she started to head back to the Gryffindor common room.
"Wait."
She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "What?"
"You want for me to just give them a hard time, or be more." he paused, and then continued, ".violent?"
"I don't care. Whatever you want. It would be less obvious if you weren't nice to me. Throw me a few insults, like the Mudblood comments, and it'll be believable. We'll talk later."
She turned around again and left. She was shocked at the way she'd acted. She'd never been so cruelly confident in her life. 'Those jerks will never guess that I was the crucial part of this equation, the one who was instrumental in ruining their lives. They messed with me, and now I'm messing with them. They're in for some fun.' She was still shocked at her audacity, even in her thoughts. She was changing, and she liked it.
Hope you're enjoying. ( This is my first one in about a year, so excuse any of the oddities. Heather (my beta) RULES! **Lauren