Hermione had resigned herself to the idea that they would spend weeks on theory before they got around to doing any actual magic, but instead they did spells from the very first day. Granted, in Charms it was just the Wandlighting Spell, which she'd already learned, so it might've been dull on her own, but Harry was sitting with her, and they happily worked together on pushing the spell farther, just as they had on the train, and they both earned four points for Gryffindor.

Transfiguration was more difficult, both because she hadn't tried it before and because the spell itself seemed harder, the attached theory more complicated. But still, by the end of the lesson, her matchstick was pointy and shot through with glints of steel, and she earned two points for Gryffindor.

But all that paled next to having a friend.

She kept expecting him to realize that he was the coolest boy in school just by being named Harry Potter and could hang out with whomever he wanted, but Harry kept on sitting with her at meals and in classes, walking with her through the corridors, talking with her about classes and the books she lent him.

"Isn't that due next week?" he asked on Thursday afternoon of their first week.

Hermione smiled up at Harry. He had ash in his hair from playing Exploding Snap with Dean, Seamus and Ron, and he was looking with concern at the beginning of her Transfiguration assignment.

"Yes, but I do so love to get an early start on things. Don't you feel so much better knowing your homework is done rather than having it looming over you the whole week? And it's the same amount of work anyway, whether you do it just before it's due or just after it's assigned."

He shrugged, grabbed his bag, and started the assignment too. It was about the principles behind the match to needle transfiguration. Hermione was the only one who'd made any headway in class, but she was determined to manage the transfiguration entirely next week.

But after only twenty minutes of work, Harry put his parchment aside and took a matchstick from his pocket.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Class."

"You took it?!"

He shrugged and began casting, attempting to turn it into a needle.

"Wand safety," she hissed.

"Right." He turned away a little so any sparks would be unlikely to skitter toward her, and kept on trying. The matchstick was going pointy at the red end. It was no surprise he was making progress. He'd got to understand it better by starting the homework.

He referred back to the book, wrote a few more lines, and managed to create a single silvery splinter in the increasingly pointed matchstick. At that point, Hermione got up and found a matchstick of her own, which wasn't especially hard considering Hogwarts' reliance on candles and lanterns.

Before very long, she had a slightly woody needle, which she grinned at. Then she went back to her homework assignment. By the time she'd finished it, Harry's needle was turning distinctly silvery, but he was shaking out his wrist, the muscles in their hands and wrists still unused to flicking a wand a hundred times a day.

Hermione said, "Do you want make flashcards and memorize everything listed in the index?"

"Not really," said Harry. "Do you want to make flashcards?"

"Yes, if you don't mind. It might sound dull, but I'm sure it would be really very interesting after we got going, and Percy told me that Professor Snape is very demanding, so I want to be prepared."

He looked over her shoulder at the other boys, who had moved on to another game which involved marbles, dye, and a stench. He checked her wristwatch. "How about flashcards until dinner, and Exploding Snap after?"

There was barely an hour left before dinner, which left them barely enough time to make the flashcards, nevermind practice them, and she was determined to make a good first impression on Professor Snape. But Exploding Snap had actually looked like good fun, and Harry was looking at her beseechingly. She didn't want to be the boring friend.

"Alright, but 15 minutes of going through the flashcards before bed, so it's fresh in our minds when we go to sleep. That way, we might even dream about it."

He nodded.

She had, in fact, made the flashcards once already, but then she'd read that, for a witch or wizard, writing magical words on paper was a fire hazard at best, so she had been forced to destroy them all.

So Hermione folded and cut a long length of parchment into squares. Then they set to Magical Drafts and Potions, finding terms in the index and looking them up on the indicated pages. Harry carefully watched her make the first flashcard, then he took it from her and read it front and back as if examining a fallen meteorite.

"Have you never made flashcards before?"

"Right." And then, defensively, "But I know what they are."

They managed to finish a decent-sized set with time to spare and began practicing. After she correctly answered the first six cards he quizzed her on, he looked at her suspiciously and said, "You already know them."

"But I'm sure I've forgot some."

They got in a good bit more practice before potions the next day, with Harry even admitting, as if it were a secret, that Potions was the class he'd been most looking forward to ever since he'd first looked through the textbooks.

They took seats in the second row — Harry was uncomfortable sitting in the very front — and Hermione wished she had worn her winter flannels under her robes, because it was quite cold in the dungeons. She'd have to learn Warming Charms soon.

Professor Snape swept in, robes flowing around him, and began by taking roll. He paused at Harry's name.

"Ah yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity." Hermione frowned as several of the less pleasant looking Slytherins laughed. Not that it wasn't true — it was ridiculous just how much people stared at Harry — but she didn't care for Snape drawing attention to it that way. Obviously Harry agreed, because he glared so fiercely at the man that Hermione elbowed him under the table.

On finishing roll, Snape spoke in barely more than a whisper, yet he kept all the class spellbound. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of softly shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Hermione was on the edge of her seat, feeling that this might well end up being her favorite class. Everything about that little speech — the tone, the look in Professor Snape's eyes, the use of dunderhead — made the promise that Hermione most loved to hear from teachers. This class would move at a reasonable pace. This class would have no time for shirkers. It would be difficult, and she'd learn more from it than she would on her own.

And then Professor Snape went and ruined it all. "Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione knew it, but it wasn't one of the ones they'd studied. Harry glanced at her, but she didn't dare whisper the answer, not with Professor Snape looking right at him. She thrust her hand into the air like a flag.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

"Tut - tut," said Snape. "Fame clearly isn't everything." Nearly all the Slytherins laughed this time, and even a few Gryffindors, she thought, though she doubted if any of them would know the answer.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

She kept her hand up and looked imploringly at Harry, resisting the urge to try mouthing the answer, but she was still quite sure Snape would notice, and because they had made a flashcard for this one.

"The hospital wing, sir," said Harry.

"The hospital wing?" said Snape mockingly, though Hermione didn't think it was a bad answer. "Why is that?"

"Because I don't know where any goats are and wouldn't fancy opening them up if I did."

Hermione couldn't help it — she giggled. She didn't think Harry meant it to be sarcastic — he seemed to be a very direct thinker — but the giggle slipped out, and Professor Snape was livid.

"10 points from Gryffindor," he snapped, a little colour flying to his pale cheeks. "It seems, Mr Potter, that you find it amusing to disrespect your Professors. Hardly any surprise. Now explain to the rest of the class what goats have to do with it."

Harry half-turned in his seat, eyes sweeping over the other students. "Bezoars come from-"

"Facing me, Potter! That's five more points from Gryffindor."

He turned back to face Snape and said, "Bezoars come from the stomach of goats, sir."

"Which goats?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know. And what, Potter, is a bezoar most useful for?"

"For poisons, sir."

"For creating poisons?" pressed Professor Snape.

"No, for treating them."

"You will address me as 'Sir,'" Professor Snape barked.

"Yes sir."

"And what does a bezoar look like?"

"A rock, sir."

"That's uselessly broad. Malachite, granite, shale, basalt, limestone, what?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then what about the colour, the shine?"

"I don't remember, sir."

"But you looked at a picture?"

"Yes, sir."

"You looked at a picture, but you don't remember what you saw? My, my, Potter, your memory sounds like a leaky cauldron. No sooner do you put something in than it oozes out. Perhaps you ought to visit the hospital wing."

There was laughter again from some of the Slytherins, though it was quieter than before. Mostly the class was staring mutely at Professor Snape, terribly grateful that it wasn't them who'd been called on.

"Potter, explain to me why it is that a stone produced in the stomach of a goat can cure most poisons. No, don't worry. I'm not asking for a full recitation. Just a cursory overview of the broadest conceptual facts."

"I don't know, sir."

"Not even the broadest conceptual facts?"

"No."

"Tut-tut," said Professor Snape again. "It seems someone can't be bothered to read. A brief rote memorization of a few basic facts and he assumes he's an expert now. Understanding is for lesser mortals. But let's try again, Potter. I'll give you one more chance. What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

From Harry's expression, Hermione saw he didn't know it. She raised her hand so high she came out her seat.

"Sit down, Miss Granger! Two points from Gryffindor. Well, Potter, I'm waiting."

Harry said, "Wolfsbane is a leaf. It's poisonous but it's used in lots of potions that aren't poisons. Sir. It's also called aconite."

"Wolfsbane is not a leaf, it's a flowering plant. And while it is used in a variety of potions, the potions remain poisonous. It's simply that sometimes, a little poison is what the body needs. But you haven't answered my question. Potter, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't-" Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"They're the same thing," said Hermione. "Monkshood, wolfsbane and aconite are three names for the same plant, it's my fault Harry doesn't know, we made flashcards to prepare, and I made the flashcard for this one, but I only put two of the names on, not three like I should've, and I promise we'll do better next time."

She was breathing hard by the end of it. Her hands were clammy, and she had a sudden urge to pee that only got worse when Professor Snape turned his cold and hollow gaze on her.

"10 points from Gryffindor," Snape said, "for speaking out of turn." Then he smirked and added, "And a detention, Miss Granger, for interrupting another student."

Hermione gasped, and her stomach flipped. She had never got a detention in her life, and almost worse, she'd lost 12 points for Gryffindor. That was more than she'd earned in all her other classes put together. Her eyes prickled, and her throat closed up. She tried desperately to hold it in, but in moments she was crying, the snot and tears running down her throat forcing her into hiccupping sobs.

Professor Snape said, with a tone of mingled disgust and satisfaction, "And another delicate flower desperate for attention." He continued the lesson as if nothing at all had happened. Hermione buried her head in her arms so no one would see, trying and trying to get the crying to stop.

A hand patted her shoulder hesitantly. Harry, trying to comfort her, even though he'd had it ten times worse, and he wasn't crying. The shame of that began to dry her eyes, and she took deep, dragging breaths, wiping away the last few tears. Cautiously, she looked up.

No one was looking at her. Every eye was instead fastened on Professor Snape as he stalked across the front of the classroom. Lecturing.

And it was, she realized, an absolutely scintillating lecture. He was answering, clearly, precisely, and outright poetically, the largest conceptual questions the potions text had raised in her head. Wiping her nose again, she took the most rapid notes she could manage with a quill and inkpot.

Snape concluded by saying, "Due to the time wasted on Potter's meandering and useless answers, we must cut the lecture short and see which of you are capable of following simple directions, and which of you are not."

Snape broke them into pairs, mostly just based on who they were sitting with, and to Hermione's relief, he didn't split up her and Harry. They all set to brewing a simple potion to cure boils, and the two of them worked in almost complete silence, whispering when they needed to say anything at all. Their potion was going rather well for the two of them when Neville melted Seamus's cauldron into slag. Some people who were closer had holes burned in their shoes by the potion, so Hermione and Harry got up onto their stools to avoid it. Neville, who was moaning in agony, had angry red boils all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, vanishing the spilt potion with a wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine pills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus.

Hermione and Harry were both quiet when they finally got to leave the potions dungeon, and she had to search deep for the courage to say what she'd been thinking. This was probably the end of their friendship no matter what she said, but she had to at least try.

"I'm so sorry Harry. I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sure that made him much angrier and I shouldn't have done it. And I can't believe I didn't put 'monkshood,' on that flashcard. Are you very angry with me? Please don't be angry with me. I promise I'll make it up to you somehow. Wh, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Why would I be angry at you?" said Harry.

"Because my giggling really set him off, since it made him think you meant to be smart with him even though you didn't. I'm sure that's why he was so nasty."

Harry blinked. "It seemed like he hated me before either of us said anything. And I lost 15 points for Gryffindor." He said that very bitterly. "And you lost 12. And he gave you a detention. He's awful." Harry looked viciously back in the direction of the potions dungeon.

"He's certainly very unpleasant," Hermione said. Unfair too, a part of her whispered. "But he can't hate you. He just met you. I think he must be one of those very strict teachers who try to cow the whole class by making an big example early on, and if I just hadn't-"

"Want to go see Hagrid with me?" Harry said.

Hermione allowed herself to be sidetracked. She'd been surprised when Harry had got a letter from the man at Groundskeeper at breakfast.

So at five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

The man was even bigger up close than he had seemed getting into the boats. He was whole feet taller than the largest muggle, and she wondered what magic had led to that. The man's black boarhound (named Fang, apparently) was on nearly the same scale, and Hermione's general ill-regard towards the man who had stopped Harry from buying books melted at least halfway on seeing how eager the dog was to get at them. She held out her hand so Fang could sniff her even as Harry shied away. The dog started licking her ears the moment Hagrid let go of his collar.

"Who's a handsome man?" she said, rubbing Fang's side, "You are, yes, it's you, you're the handsome man."

The dog barked happily and ran around in tight, tail-wagging circles as Hagrid invited them in. There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"This is Hermione," said Harry.

"Nice to meetcha," said Hagrid. "Make yerselves at home." And then he served them both some sort of rock cake. She managed to break off a piece small enough to get into her mouth, but then it just sat there, not getting softer like she'd expected.

Attacking it with her molars, she found a few raisins nearly as hard as the rest.

While Harry was telling Hagrid about potions, she turned away, spat the cake out into her hand, and thrust her hand into a pocket. Disgusting, but she didn't have any better ideas.

"Don't yeh worry about it," said Hagrid. "Snape hardly likes any of 'is students."

"But it seems like he really hates me," Harry said.

"Rubbish!" said Hagrid. "Why should 'e?"

But to Hermione, Hagrid looked awfully suspicious as he said that, as if there were something he knew but wasn't telling.

"He was terrible to Hermione too," said Harry.

"Ah well, 'e especially dislikes Gryffindors. House rivalries 'n all. But, speakin' of which, Hermione, eh? Tell me 'bout yerself."

"Well, my parents are both dentists, which is a sort of muggle healer specializing in the mouth, particularly the health of teeth and gums." She discovered in recent conversations that most people who'd grown up in the magical world had no idea what a dentist was at all.

"Fancy that."

"Yes, it's actually a rather prominent profession requiring a high level of education." She moved from family to hobbies, and it turned out that Hagrid was quite knowledgeable about magical creatures. He was telling her about the centaurs in the forest when Harry interrupted.

"Hagrid!" said Harry. "There was a Gringotts break-in on my birthday. It might've been happening while we were there!" He was holding a cutting from a newspaper which led with Gringotts Break-in Latest in a large, blaring headline.

In response, Hagrid only looked down, grunted, and offered Harry another rock cake.

Hermione read the short article, and while she agreed it was a little thrilling to imagine the break-in may have been happening while you were there, she didn't get why Harry was staring at Hagrid so.

"Speaking of Harry's birthday," Hermione said, "And that shopping trip you took him on." She fixed him with her most pointed gaze. "I was wondering why you didn't let Harry get any extra books."

"Eh, well, 'e wanted one on hexes and curses."

"So? Defence is one of the core subjects."

"But Harry was saying he was gong to use it to hex his cousin."

She looked at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Hermione quite thought he should've mentioned that earlier, but she was still far from satisfied. "But couldn't you have redirected him toward other books then? And besides, didn't you hex his cousin?"

"I didn' hex him," Hagrid insisted. "Just gave 'im a pig's tail on 'is bum. Bit of Transfiguration is all. But, er, I'd take it as a favor if you didn' go mentioning that to anyone else. Wasn't supposed ter, strictly speakin'."

Feeling very cold, Hermione said, "But if it was transfiguration, wasn't it permanent?"

"They had to take Dudley to the hospital to get it cut off," Harry confirmed, grinning widely as if it were all a great joke.

Hagrid stood up, laughing uneasily. "Great of you two to stop on by. Nice seeing you, Harry. Nice meeting you, Hermione." And he shoed them out the door.

She felt Harry's eyes on her, and once they were out of garden he said, "Look, Hagrid's really nice. You didn't have to get on him like that over Dudley. It was great, him doing that."

"Harry, he gave your cousin a tail that had to be surgically removed. It's not great, and it's not funny. Why would he even do that?"

"Uncle Vernon had been insulting Dumbledore."

"And what did that have to do with tormenting your cousin."

Harry looked away, frowning fiercely. "I knew I shouldn't have you told you about it," he muttered, looking not the least bit repentant.

Hermione felt like she was drowning, and for the second time that day, tears welled up in her eyes, but this time anger was welling up in her as well, driving them back. "Clearly, you think it's funny when other people are pushed around, made into jokes, sent to the hospital, practically disfigured! I thought you were a nice boy, but you're just a bully!"

His face turned the colour of oatmeal, and Hermione knew she'd messed up. So what if he was terribly mean to his cousin, he'd been being nice to her, and maybe that was just so she'd help him with his classwork, but no one else had ever put so much effort into it. But now they were finished for real.

She took off at a run, the tears coming on for real now, and in her blurry vision she saw every other friendship she'd messed up, every person that had eventually got annoyed with her, every time someone had acted nice toward her just until the homework was done.

"Hermione!"

They were almost to the door the Great Hall, and Harry had caught up to her and got in front of her. He must be a faster runner.

"Hermione, it's not what you're thinking. Dudley's the bully. He and his friends all are, and they beat up lots of kids, punch them in the stomach and take their lunch money, all kinds of things. But after Hagrid did that, Dudley was scared of magic." His shoulders were hunched and his eyes pointed at his feet, and his voice sunk to a whisper so faint she had to strain to hear it. "So he left me alone. Finally, Dudley left me alone, for a whole month. He didn't hit me anymore."

/

I swore this was a one-shot with a complete emotional and thematic arc, but every reviewer asked for a continuation, so here we are.

Admitting to this is very unlike Harry, but I'd still argue this Harry isn't being super OOC.

Hermione taught him his first spell, told him that he might still be alive because his parents sacrificed themselves for it, and showed him the first picture of his parents he'd ever seen. She told him, not knowing who she was, that she didn't approve of people being excited to met Harry Potter because of how happy they were about his parents dying. And now he feels like he's doing great in class because of her. He's ride or die. However she might sometimes grate him, he is, at present, much more committed to being her friend than she is to being his.

It's popular to write Hermione as if she won't say a bad word about Snape and gets on the boys' case every time they fail to refer to him as 'Professor,' but to the extent that that's true, it's mostly a fifth and sixth year thing. (When Harry's dislike of Snape is stopping him from learning things he really needs to learn and he seems close to attacking the man at times.) Through the first few books, she repeatedly expresses the idea that Snape is unpleasant, 'not very nice,' whatever, and doesn't say a word about the need to call him Professor.

She does however consistently takes the most Snape-tolerant view of the trio, often arguing that while 'not a very nice,' she doesn't think he's evil or working for Voldemort, etc. On the other hand, she also steals from him and sets him on fire, so there you go.