Chapter 7: Like any other.

Whatever temporary confusion there had been over the Hat's stumble had long been forgotten in the cheers of the Gryffindor table.

"Welcome to Gryffindor!" Ron shook her hand, resisting the-large-temptation to pick her up and swirl her, like Oliver had. "This is Herm, she's like a sister to me," he emphasized sister as he pointed to the bushy-haired girl to his left. "And Harry, my best mate." Harry pushed the glasses up to the bridge of his nose and waved.

"Your name is Gwenaëlle, right?" Harry asked. "Mind if we call you Gwen?"

"I order it," Gwen laughed. "I'm not quite sure what my parents were thinking."

"Probably too engrossed in how beautiful their baby girl was," Ron muttered, chuckling. Gwen flushed a deep scarlet. The four sat in a small silence and ate, listening to the clatter of cutlery around them.

"Uhm-Gwen," Hermione asked around her potatoes. "What classes are you taking this year?"

"Besides the usual? At Beauxbatons I was going to take Advanced Ancient Runes and-oh, what was it-" Gwen took a sip of her Butterbeer. "Independent Astrology study, I think it was."

Even Gwen did not miss the glazed-over look in Hermione's eyes. Here was a student that could rival her! Suprisingly, she did not feel envy but contentment. There had never really been anybody that could even bother to- to try- to challenge her, and now the Beauxbatons girl could.

"Seventh year courses," Hermione whispered. "Good for you! I've always needed another brain around here," she glared at Harry and Ron. "And a motivated person at that."

"Now see here," Ron tapped Gwen's shoulder. "Don't let Hermione convert you into brain-ism. Before you know it, you'll be studying until past midnight trying to understand some potions concept that would puzzle Snape."

"Snape?" Gwen asked uneasily. "Your potions master?"

"Unfortunately," Harry breathed. "Heard of him?"

"Just know about the family," she shook her head. "I heard they had somebody over in England, but they never told me he was a professor here."

"You'd never want to cross a Snape," Hermione dropped her voice low. "They're dark wizards, every last one of them. For all we know, our Potions master is still a Death Eater."

"Every last one of them, hmm?" Gwen raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

"A skeptic?" Ron laughed. "My girl, soon you won't be."

"Excited about our first day of school?"

She stared at Him blankly. There was no point, she thought. Why talk when He can read your mind just as easily?

"But it's so fun hearing a desperate voice. Surely," He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Surely you wouldn't deprive me of that."

"If you want to hear a desperate voice, look elsewhere." Her tone was uneven, as if she were on the verge of a tears.

Or a nervous breakdown.

"There, there, honey." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

The feeling of a thousand daggers plunged through her chest would be nothing compared to this, she thought. Please crucify me. Have horses drag me through a path of nails and let me live long enough to scream for the ages.

But do not have him touch me.

"You know, that can be arranged."

Damn him! Damn him to the deepest level of hell!

"There, now. I have a job for you."

She could not listen, would not listen…

but she did.

The morning dawned clear, the antithesis of Gwen's mind. Couldn't it at least be a cloudy day? She thought, scowling. Or does the world spurn me?

"So you're an early riser! By the looks of things, you've been up for a while…"

Hermione's voice broke the spell. Everything was going to be all right, a hundred voices said. Listen to Hermione.

"Yeah." Gwen turned to face her unwitting savior. "Actually, I'm a night person too. I think I might be slightly allergic to sleep." She giggled. "When do classes start?"

"We should be heading down to breakfast now," Absentmindedly, Hermione began to play with a strand of hair. "By the way, Hogwarts robes really flatter your figure. If you're on the lookout-?"

Gwen forced a laugh. No, not really, she thought. Nobody here that I'd wish that fate on. All things equal I'd say I'd found someone already, Hermione, even if I did have the mindset.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," she said instead, rushing down with the taller, bushy haired girl to breakfast like any other fifteen-year-old girl would.

Like any other fifteen-year-old girl.

"What do you think of the new girl?" Hermione took a sip of orange juice.

Both reactions were interesting. Harry was taking this opportunity to stare at her, and Ron had flushed a deep magenta. Ah, the voice of logic purred. That first reaction told her more than any response-which had the potential of a lie or half truth- would.

"All right," Harry murmured, reluctantly looking back to his cereal. "At least she's not quiet. Those types are eerie."

"Yeah," Ron breathed. "Creepy."

"Barely ate anything though," Hermione drove the conversation on. It was obviously making both boys uncomfortable (for different reasons, she doubted any conversation she would have with Harry would be less than awkward).

"'S why Oliver can carry her," Ron began to scrape the last of his waffles of his plate.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Jus'-hold on-Jus' saw a picture at his house. He's picking her up-" Had he ever been redder? Hermione reddened. Ron was nearly green.

"Ron stuttering about a girl," Harry shook his head. "Below par, Weasley." It was a perfect imitation of Snape.

Ron didn't notice.

He was in his own world, one where he carried Gwen and didn't stop there.

By any means.