Hermione was bent over the old sink, hands on knees as she heaved the remains of her meagre dinner. Bile rose in her throat as she vomited it all, throat burning slightly.

She cursed herself internally, she had gotten too used to the Hogwarts food, with its fresh ingredients and richness. The cereal and old cabbage soup had been new for her stomach, after getting used to the three meal delicacies at Hogwarts.

Her legs ached from all the walking. Her shoulder was slightly bruised from being shoved into a wall by a zooming car.

('What are you doing all alone, little girl? This ain't your neighbourhood.')

Hermione sighed. She should be used to this by now, really.

She wiped her mouth, and straggled out of the bathroom, hunger making its presence very clear.

When Hermione woke up, it was already late. She glanced at the old clock hanging on one of the walls. It was nearly nine.

She wolfed down some breakfast, and then walked to the backyard. There was the crunch of shoes on grass as Luke walked towards her. His black hair was tousled, and he looked at her awkwardly.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'You don't need to be,'

'No, I really am. Its kind of lonely without you, Hermione.'

'I wanted to write,' she confessed. 'But, we, I mean they, they use owls and stuff, and if I needed a normal post, I had to pay extra.'

'You wrote to Ms. Rehana though, I know.'

'Because Professor McGonagall gave me the money to. She said I should write at least once,'

'Whatever you say. By the way the Olympics are going to be held in July in Spain-'

'Barcelona.'

He shrugged. 'It's all everyone is talking about.'

He never asked her how her year had been.

This wasn't friendship. This was just a weird mix of fourteen year old remorse and guilt. The word magic didn't cross her lips for two months.

This time, she took the Underground to Kings Cross.

('It is dangerous,' said Ms Rehana, 'for young girls to be walking through London alone. Last time was unavoidable. Also, you're barely here as it is, so I believe I can fork off some money for you.)

She knew what to expect at Hogwarts. Food, slurs, a library, magic and a little friendship.

'Hi, Ron,' she greeted as she boarded the compartment. He grinned slightly and handed her a sandwich.

'How was your summer, then?'

She bit into the sandwich and shrugged. 'Boring. You know I live in an orphanage, right? Can't even say the word magic there.'

'We went to the Potters, you know Harry's. And I got a pet,' he said with his mouth full, and produced a very ugly, squashed up rat.

'That doesn't look new, Ron.'

'It isn't, it's my brother Percy's, but I reckon Charlie had it for a month before, but well, its generally useless. He's called Scabbers by the way.'

The compartment door slid open. Potter stood there, Longbottom behind him.

'Hey, Ron, Fred and George smuggled a salamander, well it was sort of overexcited, I reckon and now its run loose along with Nev's toad, wanna help?'

Ron glanced at Hermione.

'Coming?'

It was then that Hermione realized that Ron actually thought of her as a friend, not the only tolerable person in the house he'd had the misery of being sorted into. She blinked stupidly.

'Yeah,' she said and got up, following the boys out of the compartment.

'There, that one's my sister, you saw her before summer, didn't you?' said Ron, pointing out a small red haired girl standing in line. They were sitting at the house table, Nott beside her. She had no idea why he was beside her, maybe he was doing it to avoid Malfoy bragging on his Nimbus.

'You think she's going to follow in your footsteps?'

Ron snorted. 'Fat chance. She has too much of a temper to be cunning. Also, there's only one black sheep per family. We all thought it would be Perce, but hey, at least I don't get hand me down robes now.'

That was one way of looking at it, thought Hermione as the Sorting Hat yelled GRYFFINDOR for Ginevra Weasley.

If Ron was even slightly disappointed, he hid it well.

September ended quickly. Classes went normal, she and Bulstrode had reached to the point where they could use each other's first names in rare circumstances, Potter was up to mischief as usual and she managed to win Ron over chess.

Draco Malfoy was also somewhat very pleased about this year, a sure sign that something was going wrong. When she voiced this thought to Ron he simply said that someone must have complimented him on his hair and resumed searching for Scabbers.

She spotted the Weasley twins hunched over a piece of parchment mid way through October. No major pranks had been inflicted yet, which only meant that something huge was coming.

Hermione, used to sneaking about, silently creeped beside them, partially hidden by an ugly tapestry. From here all she could see of the parchment was a myriad of ink blots and small written names that seemed to be moving all around.

'Sunday's going to be it, I'm sure. We know Filch is ill, and we haven't caused trouble yet, so he's probably being lulled by some false sense of safety-'

'Hey, George, check this out. Someone's trying real hard to know our secrets...' George looked taken aback, and then grinned.

'Will Hermione Granger please step out?'

'How did you know I was there?' spluttered Hermione. 'And what's in the parchment, why's the ink moving?'

'Prankers intuition,' said Fred while George answered quite solemnly that it was a secret.

'You can trust me, I won't tell a soul.' she said.

'Never trust anyone who says that.' Said Fred and the two of them saluted her before leaving.

'The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware! Ha, you'll be next mudbloods!'

The image of the petrified cat seemed to be burned into Hermione's eyes, the unknown words only she could hear echoing in her ears, in her mind…

(Rip…tear…kill…)

She didn't dare tell anyone she was hearing disembodied voices.

The Chamber of Secrets, the Chamber of Secrets, she had to know what it was. The library offered no solution. Nor did the old Daily Prophets. Ron was useless.

In the end her last resort turned out to be the answer. Bulstrode.

'An old story, a legend you can say. Well, Salazar and Gryffindor had a fight and Salazar left, but before he did, he wanted to purge all the mudbloods and blood traitors, don't look so sick Granger, its an open secret he thought mudbloods unworthy, and well, he made a secret chamber with some monster inside it, which only his Heir could unleash. If it was the real deal though, the cat should be dead, don't you think?'

Hermione didn't answer.

Whenever Malfoy opened his mouth there were only two words: Father and Quidditch. By a mixture of family name and money, he had gotten onto the House team and would be playing against Gryffindor's new found star, Harry Potter.

Hermione, who had never cared about Quidditch, was back to her routine. A quick examination of the DADA books and one look at Lockhart had shown her how competent this year was going to be. The spells she'd tried last year were practised and new hexes were written down. While Slytherin had recently seen a downfall in bullying her or Ron or even Davis at times due to the upcoming Quidditch season, there was no reason she shouldn't be prepared. Yusra accompanied her at times and while Hermione could certainly catch up with her, Yusra was in her third year. For her third year, Hermione had already chalked out the subjects she would like to take- Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and if possible, Care of Magical Creatures.

It was all fine till the news of Colin Creevey being petrified reached her.

'Well, I do know that the last time the Chamber was opened, a mudblood died,' drawled Malfoy. Zabini and Bulstrode, who were indifferent to him, continued the game of Exploding Snap they were playing. The Common Room was not yet full, as it was a Hogsmeade weekend for the third years and above. The firsties were hooked. Another batch of snooty, bigoted upbringing.

'Heard that, Granger? And now the Chamber's been opened once again.'

As the only Muggle born in the room, of course she'd heard that.

'You do know who the Heir is, then?'

'Going deaf? I said a mudblood died.'

'Well, the Heir of Slytherin must be a Parselmouth, right?' started Hermione patiently, like explaining math.

'Any self respecting descendant of Salazar would be a Parslemouth.'

'And who's the only Parselmouth you know? Well, let me disclaim that I am not suicidal. Homicide, however, is not something I'm opposed to.'

Malfoy laughed. 'Pathetic, simply pathetic. The mudblood is so delusional she thinks she's the Heir!'

Parkinson giggled. Zabini seemed to pore over it.

'Well, I doubt Slytherin's monster is unleashed by blood. Parseltongue, was after all his speciality and we all know Granger's a Parselmouth…'

Ron glanced at her darkly for a moment and didn't say anything. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

It all happened very quickly. One second she'd been returning from the library and she'd heard a sort of muffled gasp and there were Nearly Headless Nick and Justin Finch Fletchley, lying like statues.

Ernie Macmillan, had of course, chosen that exact moment to bustle in. His eyes darted from her to his Petrified friend and the words that came out of his mouth would follow Hermione for the rest of the year.

'Granger did it!'

'Did you go snake charming in front of that Hufflepuff fool?' were the words that greeted Hermione as she walked into the Common Room after being interrogated by Dumbledore.

Marcus Flint was looking murderous.

'It's you I'm asking, little girl!'

('This ain't your place, little girl, go on, run away-')

She shook her head. 'I haven't spoken Parseltongue since last year. I just happened upon the petrified people, I didn't do it-'

He waved a hand. 'Of course you didn't do it, you're a mudblood and a second year. But not everyone has brains and it's always easier to blame blindly.'

'Granger was in Dumbledore's office, I know-'

'He was asking me if I happened to see anything, that's it, its that stupid Macmillan who's spreading these rumours-'

'Rumours always have some truth in them,' said Zabini darkly and despite himself she saw Ron nod. Very slightly, but it was there.

'The Heir of Slytherin, they call her, but she's a muggleborn, Hannah!'

'Susan, Ernie saw her there. Caught red handed, hissing curses in some ancient tongue, to tell the truth.'

'Then why's Dumbledore being so lenient?'

'He thinks she's good that's what, but even if she is the Girl Who Lived, Susan, she's a Slytherin.'

The Ravenclaws who frequented the library had taken up the logical aspect of it. It was a very good thing, thought Hermione that they didn't know for sure she was a Parselmouth.

'The Grangers are so completely muggle, their names aren't even mentioned in any books. You'd think what with her being the Girl Who Lived, there'd be something about her family history-'

'But what is Slytherin's monster?'

'I think its an Acromantula.'

'He was famous for speaking to snakes, you dolt, not arachnids!'

'The Chamber was last opened 50 years ago, wasn't it? Well, then we have to find who did it then, and voila!'

A boy yawned. 'Granger's a muggleborn. No way she'd petrify her own kind.'

'So, Hermione, what's the new evil plan to take over the world?'

'But do keep in mind that Fred and I don't like green for robes-'

'Or red-'

'Clashes with the legendary Weasley hair-'

'Black is sufficiently evil for henchmen, don't you think, Gred?'

'Simply perfect. Now make way for the Dark Lady Granger, everyone.'

'Hi, Hermione,' came a shy voice. Hermione turned from where she had been sitting in the library. Red hair, freckles, Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley. She had never spoken to her apart from a single hello but the girl even seemed to remember her name.

'Oh, hi Ginny.'

'I just wanted to talk to you, once. I mean, you really must be upset, because everyone seems to think that you're the one who's I mean, you know-' she finished awkwardly.

'I'm kind of ignoring them all actually. It's stupid and if they want to believe it, they can. Your brothers seem to think its funny-'

'I know, they try to scare me by dressing up in fur and things. But, Hermione, I really don't think it's you,'

'It's glad to know someone's sane in this place.'

Ginny gave a weak smile. Hermione noticed she looked quite tired and frail. For someone who had grown up in an orphanage dependent on funds, Hermione thought she seemed more fit.

'Aren't you eating enough, Ginny? You look tired.'

She went white and managed a 'Had a bad cold.'

The girl rummaged for some parchment, and started to write. The hour passed in companiable silence, and Ginny soon left.

Hermione finished the essay and as she prepared to leave, she saw that Ginny seemed to have forgotten one of her books. It was a tattered, very old copy of Transfiguration for Beginners.

She picked it up and placed it on the table as a small black diary slid out.

Tom Riddle, where had she read that name… Tom Riddle, T. …somewhere behind a glass cabinet, polished…

Tom Marvolo Riddle, recipient of Award for Special Services to the School.

Hermione refrained from reading it, and promptly gave it back to Ginny. She wouldn't remember that name for another few months, and after that, it would haunt her life for ever.

But then all she'd thought was Marvolo was a very odd name. Tom Marvolo Riddle…

For the first time in three months Malfoy had got a new topic to talk on – Potter's valentine. Apparently Lockhart had a thing for winged dwarf monstrosities.

And Ginny Weasley for Harry Potter.

The pink confetti and monstrous cupid hybrids were, to put it kindly hideous. For the first time, she actually sympathized with Potter.

Just as the castle was enveloped in a false lull of security, as spring seemed to rear its head into the bleak castle, as Professor Sprout reported that the mandrakes seemed to do well, the petrified body of half blood, Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater was found.

Hermione threw herself in a frenzy, into an obsession. The library became the target. Every book on blood purity, Slytherin's works, legends, Wizarding history, random tidbits she had never wanted to know were all swallowed in, even going so far as to trying to break into the Restricted Section. All of this information, and she was still hearing the voices…

(Blood…rip…smell…kill..)

-which was Parseltongue for sure, she had guessed, after all Slytherin's monster- fitting that it would be some snake monstrosity.

She couldn't find it, she couldn't sleep, she couldn't think, even Bulstrode had announced that her Potions level was going down to Longbottom.

Snape was less kinder, the P on her last essay was like a brand of failure. The theory that she was the Heir didn't seem so distant now. The word Slytherin, the colour green, she was slipping into an obsession to find an end, because if Hogwarts, if magic was taken from her, she was nothing. Nothing.

'I'm worried about Ginny,' said Ron. 'She looks so pale half the time, and even Fred and George haven't managed to cheer her up. She's never this subdued at home, really.'

Hermione was worried about other things. The Groundskeeper had been taken to Azkaban, the wizarding prison, which Hermione had been most shocked about- he seemed so kind, so innocent and yet, the attacks hadn't stopped. Now even their only ally, at least what Ron believed, Dumbledore was gone. Malfoy might be happy, but no one else really was. Talks of closing the school echoed in her mind.

What would she do, if they did close Hogwarts? How could she go back, once she'd had a taste of this? She, despite all the racist slurs, taunts, truly, truly belonged here. It was something she clung to, this identity of hers as a witch. How could she leave this, when she could make things float and burn and shine and sparkle? When she would always be the outcast? The purebloods would manage, the half bloods would too, but her?

She didn't even have the money to take a train to Scotland, forget foreign academies.

They couldn't. No way they could.

She was of course, proved wrong the very next day.