The week seemed to pass by like a casual rush of wind – for Hermione at least. It was a lovely convenience that Harry and Hermione had several classes together. Harry had run into her on the way back from Rubeus Hagrid's hut, the pockets of his trousers filled with rock cakes that Hermione could only assume had been given to him by this Hagrid person. Harry was kind enough – nearly insistent – to share the unappetizing treats with Hermione; she wondered if he was just trying to get rid of the load...

But the ghastly treats weren't the weirdest features of their meeting, no. It was the two red-haired twins flanked loyally at her sides. Ron, Harry, Hermione and the Weasley twins stood in the quiet courtyard.

"Congrats on making it into Gryffindor, Ronnie," George said with a taunting grin. "It's so fitting that you'd be placed in the second-best House."

Hermione nudged her fellow Slytherin with her elbow. "Play nice, George."

"It wouldn't be a very convincing performance, trust me," Ron grumbled, folding his arms. Hermione tuned out Fred and George's mocking laughter before addressing Harry again.

"Just want to give you a heads-up, Harry: tomorrow is when Flying lessons start," Hermione stated. "Sadly that's a subject that can't be memorized from a book..."

The girl recalled the distaste she held for P.E. back at her Muggle school, and the bizarre incident when she had unintentionally caused all of the dodgeballs to deflate all at once. Perhaps handling an airborne broomstick would be different? It's not like Muggles haven't built or operated their own flying mechanisms.

"We have that with the Slytherins, too?" Harry groaned. "Not that I hate being in the presence of Slytherins, Hermione! It's just…I'm probably going to end up making a fool of myself before that Malfoy terror…"

"Of course you'll probably make a fool of yourself!" Hermione laughed. "Most of us probably will! We're novices, Harry – not professionals. Consider humiliating blunders as growing pains you have to learn from."

She always knew just what say, Harry thought with silent gratitude. The past week couldn't have been any more confirming of that notion; Hermione had managed to talk Harry out of trouble whenever Snape had tried to rake him over the coals. Sadly this didn't prevent the Potions Master from deducting points from Gryffindor at the expense of the other members – Ron included. It caused Hermione a subsequent twinge of guilt whenever she won excessive points to Slytherin from Snape for an impeccably brewed concoction. Harry expressed no bitterness, even congratulated her occasionally.

Ron – predictably – wasn't as supporting…

Over the gradual days the students had spent in each other's presence, Hermione had begun to reciprocate Ron's dislike. His disdain towards her academic strength was something of a bittersweet reminder of how her Muggle classmates resented her for being so erudite and the source of many of the teachers' adulation. Whenever Fred or George made a mean-spirited jibe towards their younger brother back in their common room, Hermione, without remorse, would contribute her own callous giggle. Without a doubt, Hermione and Ron would never come in contact with each other if it weren't for their mutual friendship with Harry serving as their sole bridge.

"Thanks for reassuring me, Hermione," Harry said.

"Ha! If you think Flying is going to be a right fright, wait until you're a third year and taking Care of Magical Creatures," Fred said, causing Harry's skinny anatomy to stumble slightly via a playful clap upon his back. "Did you know it's taught by a werewolf?"

"A…werewolf?" Harry gasped, adjusting his glasses back over his apprehensive eyes. Harry's only knowledge of werewolves was sourced from late-night horror movies and stories Dudley would tell him essentially to frighten him.

"Is it really?" Hermione chirped. "That sounds like it would be so fascinating! I've read about them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!"

Ron folded his arms and looked away. "What haven't you read about?" he grumbled lowly.

Hermione caught this, but was unable to give any care over her fervent fascination.

"Ever since the Ministry passed that decree that banned discrimination based upon lycanthropy, it's been easier for werewolves to jobs," George informed with a smirk. "Lots of students find it fitting for Care of Magical Creatures to be taught by one! Settle down, Granger, the subject is a third-year elective. You've still got some time before you can take the class."

Maybe I have to wait before I can take the class, she thought mischievously, but who says I have to wait to meet the teacher?

"Would either of you happen to know where this teacher is at the moment?" Hermione asked Fred and George, who both detected the glint in the young Slytherin's eye. Along with his name, they revealed that he would be coming from the edge of the Forbidden Forest and be making his way through the very courtyard they were standing in.

The werewolf would be coming to them, Hermione gleefully realized.

"Did you hear that, Harry? A werewolf teacher! I have so many questions to ask: What monthly cycles are like for him! How his senses are affected during his time as a wolf!"

Harry nervously fidgeted. "Yeah…Can't wait to ask him," he replied, the enthusiasm in his voice forced.

"Monstrous curiosity you have there, Granger," George said as he patted the top of her head. "That's one of the things Fred and I like about you!"

At Hermione's coy chuckle, an unexplained stream of jealousy seeped into Ron's chest, spreading like green poison. Fred and George certainly were never his favorite siblings, yet Hermione earning jovial smiles from them caused his blood to simmer. But the presence of the awaited werewolf snagged the attention of the five students.

"My, my, students in the courtyard after class hours instead of their common rooms…how quaint."

When he was sure none of the others would notice, Harry took two fearful steps behind Hermione, trembling silently behind her. Fred and George sneered as their brother stood petrified on the spot. Hermione – excitement tinged with a modicum of fear – was the only first year to step forward, beaming her anticipation.

"Hello! I'm Hermione Granger!" She confidently thrust her hand towards him. "Professor Greyback, am I correct?"

Hermione's delicate hand was gingerly enveloped in Fenrir Greyback's strong grasp, and he was careful as to not scrape her skin with his wolfish nails.

"Correct you are, little lamb," he purred past his beastly canines. "I call all first years that…don't take offense."