Marcus wasn't exaggerating when he claimed History of Magic to be the most boring class one would have to attend. Or perhaps it was just Professor Binns who was boring? Hermione couldn't remember a single class at her magic-less school that was as torturously tedious as Professor Binns's. Despite finding the class painstakingly uninteresting, Hermione paid no less attention than she would've in any other subject, expertly masking her boredom with the diligent writing of notes. It was a collective relief for the students when his class concluded. How could one ghost make a little over half an hour seem like half a day?

Her second class she hoped would go by smoothly, but obviously fate wouldn't let her have even that! Her next class was double potions. She bumped into Terence on her way back to the entrance dungeon.

"Heard about what went down between you and the Malfoy brat, last night," he stated. "You okay?"

"I am. I'm certainly to no degree traumatized," she calmly responded as they walked past the portrait of a previous headmistress. Her eyes fell upon the two of them, and her papery skin lit up.

"Oh! Slytherin students!" she chirped. "Remember to be extra nasty to the Mudbloods!"

"Quiet your bloody saucebox, you dead crow!" Terence barked, thwacking her portrait's frame with his school bag, leaving her wailing in dismay as her rectangular residence swung perilously back and forth.

Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear. "That wasn't necessary, Terence," she chided, though the gratitude in her expression was easily detectable.

"That shrew back there has annoyed me since I was a first year, myself!" Terence pointed out. "Of course she's one of those fuddy-duddies that assumes a Slytherin is automatically a pureblood!"

Hermione's soft gasp echoed faintly through the drafty dungeons. "Terence, are you also a…?"

He smirked. "Not quite: I'm a half-blood. My mom is a pureblood, and my dad's Muggle-born. Induces all kinds of ire in me when someone badmouths them in my presence. The supremacists are just Slytherin's vocal minority, but small quantity doesn't lessen their foulness's quality. It would do you good to just treat 'em like they don't exist."

For Hermione, that action was both easily said and done. If she remained collected when faced by blatant prejudice, the slur those wretches threw around would eventually lose its meaning. And it was that hopeful thought that relaxed her. That and knowing that Terence's kindness towards her was rooted from his own father being a Muggle-born! The gray clouds were finally beginning to part.

"I'll keep that in mind. So which class are you off to?"

"Wizarding World Literature," he responded. "You'll love that class! It's taught by a ghost like History of Magic, but Professor Poe is one of the more well-liked teachers! Catch you in the common room, Granger."

"Bye, Terence." They parted ways, Terence making his way to Wizarding World Literature and Hermione to Potions class.

Potions was taught by the Head of Slytherin House, Severus Snape. Hermione knew little about him, but on her way from History of Magic she had overheard some students conversing bitterly about how he "favored" Slytherin. While the more high-minded part of her recognized favoritism as an unfair advantage, her opportunistic side wouldn't be able to not take advantage of it at some point. She supposed she would try to not be too excessive with the use of that (possible) asset.

Hushed whispers and swift glances swirled around Hermione the moment she stepped through the class's threshold. The unbidden attention made her clutch her books tightly to her chest. She took a seat in the front row to avoid hiding her face should the other students stole glances towards her.

"Right there. The one with the frizzy hair."

"You sure she's a Muggle-born? How could she be in Slytherin if so?"

"Muggle-borns are as capable of being sorted into Slytherin as any pureblood, dunce."

"You think she's evil?"

"Of course! All Slytherins are evil! My brother tells me they are!"

"That can't be! She helped me when I lost my toad. How evil could she be?"

"May I sit next to you, Hermione?"

Hermione recognized the voice as Harry 's and instantly glowered at him. His green optics were perplexed by her instant hostility. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

His question was so naïve and vexing that it almost made Hermione want to take her wand out and hex him across the room. The innocent gleam in his eyes that she'd initially found cute ironically now incensed her. His look of fear at her being placed into Slytherin during the Sorting Ceremony was still painfully vivid. So much as to make Hermione apoplectic, and confounded as to why he was even speaking to her…

"There is a fair amount of Gryffindors in the room," she coldly stated. "Wouldn't you feel safer sitting next to one of them?"

Harry's mouth opened slightly in surprise. "Hermione…h-have I done something?"

Hermione impatiently sighed. "You're a wonder, Potter. I saw the way you looked at me during the Sorting Ceremony. The hat put me in Slytherin and you were instantly frightened of me!"

"No! That's not it at all!" Harry imploringly insisted. "It's just that…Before I arrived at Hogwarts, someone told me that there was no witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin. So I was – "

"What? Scared of me?" she interrogated, her hands becoming angry fists under the table.

"I was scared for you," he eloquently revealed.

It was as though a bullet had shot through the air, leaving Hermione in a remorseful state of disquietude. "What?"

Harry fidgeted. "It was brief…but I saw the scared look in your eyes. You looked like you didn't want to be put there, yourself. Because of what I'd been told, I thought you were going to be tormented by a bunch of evil students. I felt bad for you…"

The sincerity twinkling within those emerald pools inflicted a painful jab of guilt to Hermione's gut. Just one night ago Hermione had been convinced that Harry had undergone a metaphorical double take on his view of her, and it made Hermione realize she'd jumped to conclusions. That was something she very rarely did…Her sensitive feelings were finally starting to overtake her better judgement – she wasn't having that.

She sighed. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry's distraught expression evaporated as he sat next to Hermione.

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you," she apologized with a sad smile. "Very stressful events have transpired since the start-of-term feast – of which I'd rather not get into. Let's just start over."

Harry beamed and whimsically thrust his hand forward. "Harry Potter: Gryffindor duffer."

An uncontrollable giggle escaped her as she shook it. "Hermione Granger: Mudblood Slytherin."

"Mudblood…?"

Before he could ask what that was, a man dressed in black gracefully entered the room. His hair was greasy and slicked back, and he sported a black goatee.

Professor Snape.

All he needed was a huge pitchfork to complete his foreboding apparel, Hermione mentally quipped.

His eyes were black and hollow enough to make Professor Binns's seem vibrant with life by comparison. Hermione noticed how stiff Harry went at Snape's entrance and became concerned. Snape started the class with taking roll call and soon paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said with a curled lip and voice like poisonous honey, "Potter. Our new celebrity…"