Potions was a disaster.

Hermione had been late by ten minutes, due to Parkinson cursing her shoes to tap dance as soon as she wore them. She had tried finite, but her wand arm had been shaking real bad.

And as a suitable punishment she'd been paired up with Longbottom of Gryffindor.

The boil curing potion they had been attempting was supposed to come of as a dull orange and a misty grey vapour. Theirs had come about an angry red with a putrid smell. Such and such, Longbottom had lost Gryffindor thirty five points, and a bonus detention for both of them.

Right now, they were scrubbing cauldrons.

Snape walked in then, looking ludicrously bat like as he sized up the cleaned cauldrons.

'Very well, Longbottom, at least you are not as competent in scrubbing cauldrons as you are in destroying them. That will be enough, you may leave. For homework I expect an essay detailing what you did wrong and where. Ms. Granger, stay.'

'Sit.' It was an order and she obeyed.

'Your night time wanderings, along with Weasley has recently come to my notice. The Prefects might have informed you about the rules of Slytherin. Important note being, don't get caught. Also, it is my duty as your Head of House, to inform you that the Mirror of Erised is highly dangerous. Men have gone insane before it. I do not know what you see in it, but let me inform you, you must stop immediately. Understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Again, Ms. Granger, I can understand your problems with Mr. Zabini but any kind of fighting is not encouraged at Hogwarts-'

'He keeps calling me a mudblood!' fumed Hermione, not caring that she was interrupting her Head of House. 'And the only reason I was late today was because Parkinson jinxed my shoes. And it's not just those two, the whole house except for Ron calls me a mudblood. They call me that like it's my fucking name-'

'Swearing is not allowed in my quarters, Ms. Granger.'

'Then what is, bullying? Racism?'

'Silence, Ms. Granger. I take no cheek, not even from the Girl Who Lived-'

'Goddamn Girl Who Lived,' Hermione muttered under her breath.

'Back to the topic at hand, I would like to stress on you that whatever taunts the other first years start, I want you to ignore them or talk back or whatever but fighting is not allowed at Hogwarts. However good you might be at punching-'

Was that a smirk she saw?

It disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

'-I take no excuses. Bigotry and racists may be everywhere, but you will have to deal your own battles. Now, get out, I have essays to grade.'

Dear Luke,

I know you probably don't want to talk to me, but I'm not like that, I do still want to be your friend. Hope you are doing well.

School is nice. I've even made a good friend, Ronald Weasley. Some kids are mean, but I can handle it. The food here is really good too, I wish you could be here

She crumpled up the parchment, that was just rubbing it in his face. Hey Luke, I have friends, food thrice a day, education? Of course he couldn't be here.

She wrote to Ms. Rehana instead.

The library was her haven, her sanctuary. She had always loved books, the smell of fresh paper, the feel of a hardback, the niggling excitement that she would learn something. But she hadn't read many of them. She'd barely been to a real library twice. Her muggle school hadn't had any. When Hermione had been nine, that whole year she hadn't gone to school. There was only one public school in the area (farther than that, they had to pay a bus fare as well) and when they had told them to get their own uniforms and stationery, the orphanage kids were home-schooled.

Then there had been an increase in funds and school had continued. Kind of, at the very least.

The Pansy episode had put up one idea in Hermione's mind; learn more curses. She had pulled off most of the charms in her school book but those were not offensive. Tickling charms were no good. A conjured snake, that sounded good.

Serpensortia, she wrote down on a parchment. Impedia, that sounded good as well. Locomotor mortis and arresto momentum. And what was this, blasting curse, a Reducto?

She wrote it down anyways.

'You know what Harry found yesterday?'

Hermione scoffed. Potter was a git, who thought he was a major prankster. Ron ignored her sentiments and continued in a whisper (they were in history of magic).

'The third floor corridor that was supposed to have a 'painful death', well Harry found out what's there. You won't believe this, Hermione, but there's a three headed dog-'

'A what?' Hermione exclaimed.

'A Cerberus, three headed dog, apparently he and Longbottom were out, Harry has some sort of Invisibility trick, I'm sure, or he won't be so good at sneaking-'

'A three headed dog? Is Dumbledore mad?'

'Well, no one said he was exactly sane.'

Bulstrode caught her practising spells in an unused classroom the other day. After a rather average first term in parameters of academics, Hermione had quickly started spending more and more time in her studies.

'Hey, Granger,'

Hermione turned, wand in hand, as the goblet she'd been trying to get tap dancing crashed into a thousand pieces.

'Bulstrode,' Hermione acknowledged.

'Practising, eh? Pansy says you failed the last Potions-'

'Did Pansy also mention she'd jinxed my shoes?'

'We all know Pansy, but this conversation is not about that,' Bulstrode waved off her vexations.

'Granger, I can help you with Potions, if you help me with Herbology-'

'I don't need your help-'

'You're clearly lying. Longbottom is useless at Potions. Pair up with me instead.'

'Longbottom is better than the Slytherins-'

Bulstrode laughed. 'Still cowering under the Girl Who Lived image? You've been sorted into Slytherin, there's no looking back now,'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. Even the Slytherins were so… Slytherin. But Bulstrode was right, Longbottom was doing nothing for her grade.

'So, final, Granger? I'm not with Malfoy, if that's what you're thinking.'

'You call me a mudblood.'

'Because that's what you are. Muggle borns are mudbloods, that's how I've been taught. If you find it offensive, I can make an exception'

'I am an exception, to everything it seems…'

Potter tried to prank her once.

He had set off a firework behind her just before she entered the Great Hall. It wasn't much of an explosion, his main aim being to scare her with the sound and lights. Hermione had instinctually screamed a Petrificus Totalus, which had petrified the firework rather than Potter, resulting in said firework to zoom upwards to the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, erupt in a rather violent explosion and sparks flying everywhere, in one particular instance, into Professor Kettleburn's tomato soup.

Hermione's colourful language and Potter's loud exclamation of guilt had led them both into a detention, and twenty five points from Gryffindor. Slytherin escaped unscathed in the matter of house points.

He didn't try it again.

'Potter, you don't scrub glass like that, you wet the cloth-'

'Oh,' said Potter intelligently. 'Sorry, haven't had much experience with this cleaning shit,'

They had been assigned detention with Filch, which Draco Malfoy seemed very happy about.

('You'll have to do it the muggle way, Granger, oh never mind, you're practically a squib, you probably have experience in such matters.'

'Uh-huh. At least I don't need a servant to wipe my mouth after eating. And if I'm a squib, Malfoy, you're a muggle.')

Filch, had, in some bout of insanity left her and Potter alone in a room full of fragile artifacts.

'This is all your fault,' she said, as she polished a Special Award for Services to School. 'And that prank had horrible timing, did you know some firework fell into some professor's soup-'

'Really?' exclaimed Harry, as he scrubbed at the glass cabinet the way you scrubbed frog brains from cauldrons. 'I'll have to write Dad about that, was it Snape? Please, tell me it was Snape, Snape-'

'Kettleburn. And you're scratching the glass, you dolt-'

Harry shrugged it off. 'It's magic, Granger,'

Hermione sniffed. 'And why do you hate Snape so much?

'Snape hates my dad, sort of, well, he and my mum are kind of friends, so I guess me being like my father sort of pisses him off-'

'You're rambling, Potter.'

He ran a hand through his hair. 'End line: it's real complicated.'

'Yeah, I figured that out myself,'

They passed a few more minutes like that, Hermione biting her tongue so as to not reprimand Potter for almost knocking half the things from the shelves. It was clear he hadn't done anything that even resembled cleaning in his lifetime. Then again, thought Hermione bitterly, why would he have had to? Loving parents, Gryffindor, popular, adored, spoilt even.

And growing up magical.

'You aren't like the others, you know. You and Ron.' Potter said suddenly, his tone quiet.

'Like whom?'

'Slytherins. You're not like them, you're not bigoted prats or something-'

'Was that supposed to be a compliment?'

Potter shrugged, and looked down at his shoes. 'You know what I mean, you're, Hermione, you know you're kind of responsible for You Know Who disappearing and all that, right? I mean, my mother says he's almost dead at this rate, been like ten years-'

'Can't you ever stay on the same topic?' asked Hermione, but she wasn't really irritable.

'Yeah, even my mum says I'm too talkative-'

'You are,' Hermione muttered.

'-so, everyone thought you'd be Gryffindor or something, you know Light side and all?'

'Why does everyone just assume all the Dark Wizards are from Slytherin?'

'Because most of them are.' Stressed Potter.

'That's just so-' Hermione struggled to find a word.

'True,' filled Potter. Hermione shook her head.

'See,' started Potter again, wringing his hands like they could explain what he was thinking. 'You're muggleborn, but you're Slytherin. You're Slytherin, but you're not a Dark Witch or mean or a cheat-'

'I'm bloody twelve years old-' she mumbled.

'What I'm saying is, Hermione you're nice. And Slytherins aren't nice.'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. He was immediately distracted.

'Hey, how d'you do that?'

Potter tried to raise his, face all scrunched up in concentration. Hermione giggled, something she hadn't done in a year. His green eyes met hers, and he laughed too.

'God given talent, Potter,' she sang.

'You're an exception to everything, Granger!'

They were still laughing madly when Filch entered.

She ignored Luke's birthday. She kept telling herself she'd forgotten, but she knew, deep inside, she'd ignored his birthday.

By March, Hermione and Bulstrode had managed to successfully coexist in a somewhat civil manner. Spring began, flowers bloomed, Hermione stopped sneaking out, Ron and her got into games of chess in the common room, deliberately ignoring Malfoy's taunts. Of course, he was bullshit at chess, like everything but snobbishness.

She had also managed to avoid the Weasley twins' latest prank spree on Slytherin. She didn't need anymore detentions, she really didn't.

(Malfoy had just had one, because he'd been overzealous in trying to catch Potter, who had been sneaking out to the grounds to see the groundskeeper's illegal dragon raising. They'd both had it in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione had particularly enjoyed reading loudly about acromantula and brutal centaur feuds the whole week.)

'How did you know the pumpkin juice would turn hair red?'

Two identical redheads grinned at her from where she was sitting in the library. She smirked.

'You did it last year, Ron told me.'

'This, Gred, is exactly why pesky little Ronniekins can be so pesky,'

'Yes, slightly less handsome brother of mine, maybe Ronnie needs a freshener course,'

'If anyone needs a freshener course, you both do. You shouldn't be repeating the same pranks, isn't that some kind of honour breach?'

'It's tradition.' Said George solemnly, tipping an imaginary hat.

'Yeah, well, look all this Gryffindor stuff is fine, but you should prank someone who actually deserves it. That's be great-'

Fred squinted suspiciously, before breaking into a wide smile.

'Now, Hermione, any recommendations?'

Hermione smiled. She had a whole list ready. And Draco Malfoy was majorly scared of spiders. And well, anything that had a higher IQ than him, really.

'Serpensortia,' whispered Hermione. Ron was sitting next to her, playing chess with Bulstrode, who was coolly ignoring Zabini's speech on his last stepfather's appetite for French cuisine.

There was a puff of green smoke and then it disappeared. She repeated the word again, waving her wand very slightly, just a slight jerk, the books said. Slight wand flourish.

The greenish smoke rose mid air, molding into a jet black, long, snake. It slithered on the ground below her armchair, rising slightly, forked tongue slipping out.

Ron looked aghast. Bulstrode was as calm as ever. Malfoy and Parkinson stared at her suspiciously. The elder years dismissed the thing, except for the female prefect, Laura Burke, who immediately stood up.

'Do I need to get rid of it for the firsties?'

'No thanks,' said Hermione loudly, but the words weren't English, it was a strange guttural hiss.

'Your accent is horrible,' the snake hissed, slit eyes focused on her. Hermione sighed. Even a bloody conjured snake was criticizing her.

'I'll vanish you then, how does that sound?'

If snakes could scoff, this one might have.

There was dead silence for a moment, as the entire Common Room, including the seventh years, who deemed first years unimportant, were staring at her and the snake.

'But, Granger,' came Malfoy's voice. 'You're a mudblood, how can you be a, a Parselmouth?'

'You're a Parselmouth?' Yusra asked.

'Why didn't you tell us?'

'But, Granger's-'

'That's Dark Magic!' came Ron's voice, all of a sudden. 'Hermione, what-'

'It's genetic, Weasley, of course it isn't Dark Magic-'

'It's the mark of Salazar. That's what he was famous for; talking to snakes,'

'But she's a mudblood!' whined Malfoy again.

Hermione just stared on. She knew Parselmouths were considered Dark, that it was usually passed through bloodlines. Maybe she was descended from some squib somewhere, maybe some century old dormant bloodline had risen…

No, that was too dramatic. She was just one Muggleborn, who happened to be a little famous.

'Everyone, shut up,' said Marcus Flint, one used to authority, even if he did look part troll.

'So, she's a Parselmouth. Granger, vanish that snake.'

Hermione did.

'Now,' he started, voice eerily calm. 'No one, I repeat, no one will repeat a word of this. What happened in our common room stays in our common room. I reckon we're all lucky she chose the Common Room to demonstrate her skill. Granger, you will shut your mouth about this, understand. Not a word breathed? We don't need snake charmers to tarnish our image even more. Understood?'

She understood. Very clearly.

Exams started. Slytherin was after all, the house of ambition, and you could get hexed for so much as looking at the seventh or fifth years, who had their O. and N.E.W.T.S.

Hermione had, against Ron's numerous protests, devised up revision schedules and been spending so much time in the library, that Ron had to physically drag her out. There was just so much, so much to know, to learn.

She was seated in front of Greengrass, with Goyle behind her, as the first years were handed their question papers. Hermione took one look at the first question: describe the wand movement for the levitation charm and smiled.

She was acing this exam.

Hermione stuffed herself silly at the end of term feast. Ron looked at her weirdly and proclaimed that even he didn't eat that much. She glared. He shut his mouth.

(She knew she wouldn't get this good food for the rest of the summer.)

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Kings Cross with a loud whistle. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was crowded with parents and siblings and trolleys and owls and rogue toads. She spotted Yusra, waving at her from a distance, as she was joined by a tall, dark man who was probably her father. There was Potter, whose mother was hugging him tightly. His dad was the spitting image of him with the trademark hair, but he had hazel eyes instead of green and a permanent, mischievous smile on his face. A tall, sandy haired man with several faded scars on his face stood next to them. She pulled her trunk behind her bitterly, repeating in her head that she wasn't jealous. Not at all.

Someone grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd. She was led to a group of familiar redheads, as Ron beamed at her.

'Mum, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my mother.'

Mrs. Weasley was a kind faced, plump woman, who had just been straightening Fred's tie. She didn't seem to notice that George was already pocketing something suspicious looking from a boy with dreadlocks. Hermione thought she saw a flicker of dislike pass her features, as she turned to look at Hermione.

'Yes, Ron's told me about you, dear, of course nearly everyone knows your name,' she said amiably enough, as she shook Hermione's hand. Hermione smiled politely.

She would have to walk to the orphanage, Mr. Lucas wasn't available and the faster she left the station, the better.

'Bye, Ron,' she called out as he gave a wave.

'Would you like to stay for dinner, Hermione?' Mrs. Weasley asked, quite kindly, but there was something in her face, something she didn't understand.

Hermione would have loved to, of course, but she refused, because that was politeness. Manners.

Ron and George waved at her, as they bustled into their car and Hermione waved back, grinning. She was still smiling as she trudged the trunk behind. It wasn't very heavy, and she'd even charmed it a little lighter, with Yusra's help.

She shook her head then and prepared for the long walk home. No, the long walk to the orphanage. She had left home behind, and she wouldn't be seeing it for another two months.