Hermione was not happy.
She glared at the floor sulkily, arms crossed in front of her chest. Her hand tightened impossibly on her quill, blotting the page of the book underneath it. She took slow breaths. In and out. She tried focusing on anything other than the girl beside her. She listened intently to Madam Rosier's nasal voice as she discussed uppercase and lowercase letters. She looked out the window into the garden and spotted two albino peacocks. She tapped her feet rhythmically. She counted from one to a hundred and over again when she finished. She did everything to ignore the other girl.
"Now, students, if you look closely, you can see that the uppercase and lowercase 't' is very similar. What sets them apart is the position of the shorter horizontal—that means lying down—line. For the uppercase 't,' it is written on top of the longer line while-" Hermione lost focus as her seatmate pestered her.
"Psst!"
Hermione did not acknowledge her.
"Psssssst! Lestrange!"
She kept her eyes focused on the charmed chalkboard.
Hermione felt Millie scoot her chair closer to hers. She had no doubt that the eyes of her classmates were on her. Leaning her body away from the unwelcome disturbance, she restarted her counting.
"Psst." Millie moved even closer. "Lestrange. Is it true?"
She was in Hermione's line of vision now, forcefully making her look. Hermione closed her eyes. Just a few more minutes. This will be over soon.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Millicent demanded, pounding her fist on the table. Hermione's inkwell wobbled. All kinds of chatter ceased in the room.
At the tone of her voice, Madam Rosier whipped her head around as she was alerted to the commotion. "Excuse me, Miss Bulstrode, Miss Lestrange. What's going on there?" She said from the other side of the room, slowly making her way to the girls.
"Stop ignoring me, I said!" Millie bellowed.
Inhale, exhale. Focus on the letters. The line crosses the uppercase 't' on top-
"Hey, Psycho!" Suddenly, Millicent Bulstrode fisted a handful of Hermione's curls in one hand and gave it a hard yank, causing Hermione to cry out in pain. Hermione's head whipped up as she looked at her, and saw that Millie managed to tear out a good amount of hair.
Hermione saw red.
She sprang to her feet, gripping her penmanship textbook in her shaking hands. Her hip bumped the corner of the table quite painfully, causing the inkwell to topple over and spill on her spare sheets of parchment. She paid it no mind. She looked at Millie with unrestrained wrath. Her whole body radiated anger. "How dare you!" Hermione's hands moved out of its own accord.
Thwack!
Hermione's book struck the side of Millie's head. Hard.
Gasps came from all the other students present as Hermione realized what she had done. Millie's face twisted and deformed, a shrill scream erupting out of her. Her tears flowed freely as she thrashed around. Hermione stepped back because the screeching girl unleashed chaos upon everything within an arm-length radius. Madam Rosier attempted to approach and calm her down, however, she found herself unsuccessful. The three other girls stood from their seats and hurried to see what all the commotion was about. Hermione stood awkwardly in shock.
"Miss Bulstrode!" Madam Rosier yelled. "Stop this at once! Miss Bulstrode!" The governess managed to somewhat take her short arms into hers in order to stop her from further lashing out. Millie cried even harder, causing everyone to cover their ears. Madam Rosier pulled her out of her seat and pried her fingers off the desk. As soon as Millie was no longer holding onto anything potentially deadly, Madam Rosier hurried out of the room, taking Millie with her as she continued her verbal assaults.
Once the doors shut, all eyes were on Hermione. She shrunk into her seat and opened the book she used on Millie's head. She pretended to read as the others stared. From the corner of her eyes, she watched the tipped inkwell's steady trickle of black liquid onto the wood. Her eyes wanted to mimic its dripping. Hermione fought the urge to cry.
There were five students in this class. All of them were girls, which is why Hermione's initially bright morning dimmed. Her only friend Draco would not be in this class. Madam Rosier explained that it was better to cut the ten-pupil class in half for the students to avoid being too overwhelmed. All their parents also agreed to separate the girls from the boys. Apparently, there was plenty of time for co-education in Hogwarts.
Hermione tried not to cry, she really did. But much to her chagrin, a traitorous tear spilled out of her eye and onto the textbook. A pair followed behind it, and in no time, Hermione could no longer make out the letters in her book from the tears that blurred its ink. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Her face felt hot as if she was running a fever. She was embarrassed beyond comprehension and she wanted nothing more than to disappear.
What if Narcissa sends me away... back to France?
From the corner of her eye, a small hand appeared in her line of sight, holding what looked like a piece of ivory fabric, embroidered with intricate lace. Hermione looked up.
"You could use a hanky." Said the brunette, Daphne Greengrass. She was the chattiest one in class. She sat directly behind Hermione, and she was the only one of the girls who attempted small-talk with the others. Earlier, Hermione saw that Daphne gave up trying to talk to Millie after she called her 'Big-Mouthed Daphne'. She took one look at a crying Tracey and decided not to approach her, and Pansy wouldn't even look her in the eye. So now, she was talking to Hermione.
"Thank you." Hermione accepted the piece of cloth and used it to dab at the moisture in her eyes. She sniffed sadly.
"Don't feel bad, Her-minnie." Daphne sat on the chair next to Hermione's; the one occupied by Millicent a few minutes ago. "Millie's not nice at all." Hermione didn't bother correcting the pronunciation of her name from her lips. It felt nice to have somebody there for her.
"But I… I hit her on the head." She said in between sniffles, dabbing at her eyes again.
Daphne shrugged. She was quiet for a moment, studying Hermione. She looked at the other two girls. Tracey was slowly approaching them, and she placed one hand on Hermione's back to comfort her.
Tracey Davis was identified by Hermione as the teary-eyed girl of the group. That morning, Draco and Hermione were hiding behind one of the curtains when Tracey's house-elf dropped her off. Tracey immediately burst into uncontrollable tears at the unfamiliar environment. Narcissa attempted to soothe the blonde girl but was unsuccessful in doing so. Ten minutes before classes started, Hermione noticed that the other girls were starting to get irritated at Tracey. From Daphne, she received a curious glance. From Pansy: an annoyed huff. From Millie: a roll of the eyes. Hermione then decided to take matters into her own hands. She sat next to Tracey and took her hand in hers, much like how Draco did when she was crying in the cellar. She didn't say a word, only rubbing circles on her palm. Hermione gave a small smile. Soon, Tracey's sobs turned into sniffles, and shortly after, they were gone.
It seemed Tracey was returning the favor. Hermione gave her a sad smile.
"She called me a Psycho." Hermione shook her head in frustration. "Why would she do that? I haven't done anything to her!"
Daphne looked at her shoes, furrowing her brow in silence. Hermione also saw Tracey avert her gaze elsewhere. After a few moments, Hermione realized that the two had no plans of answering her. She was about to ask why, when Pansy stepped in front of Daphne.
"She called you a Psycho because you're a Lestrange." She said slowly. It was the first time Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey had heard Pansy speak. Surprisingly, she had a lisp, making her 's' sounds into 'th' sounds. Hermione initially did not learn about her as much as the others because Pansy kept to herself most of the time. She never uttered a word since her arrival, and she never looked at anyone else either. Hermionie would have considered her shy, but the scowl on her face made her look more hostile than hesitant.
"What's wrong with being a Lestrange?" She asked them, taking offense. Draco didn't seem to have a problem with her lineage, so why should they? She studied the three girls. Daphne and Tracey wouldn't meet her eyes, and Pansy gazed at her in contemplation.
Daphne interrupted, "Nothing. Millie probably just didn't like you."
Even at age five, Hermione missed nothing. "You're lying. It's bad to lie, you know? What is it?" Nobody replied to her, and the waterworks started up again. "Please, I have to know. I-I can't—"
"Hermione," Tracey began. "Well… my mother said the Lestranges are mad. Mental, you know?" She paused, looking uncomfortable. "She told me not to be friends with you because your lot is… well, scary."
Hermione's lower lip trembled.
"I've never even met any of my family." She said, trying not to cry.
"Then you're an ex-pec-shun," Daphne said, rather fervently. Hermione assumed she meant 'exception'. "And besides—"
She was interrupted by Madam Rosier opening the door and calling out to them. "Girls, come out here please. All of you."
Hermione, Daphne, Pansy, and Tracey formed a single-file line and made their way to the Manor's foyer. There, an indignant Millicent Bulstrode sat in front of the fireplace with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her nose up in the air. Narcissa was seated next to her, casting cooling charms to the tender side of her head. Movement caught Hermione's eye as she was walking. Hidden behind an archway were several young boys, presumably Madam Rosier's other class. A head of platinum hair flashed in her vision, but it retreated into the shadows again once their eyes met.
"Now," Madam Rosier began. "Miss Lestrange, I have to ask you to apologize to Miss Bulstrode for smacking a book on her head."
Narcissa gave her an encouraging nod. Hermione stepped forward and said with complete sincerity: "I'm sorry, Millie, for hitting you with a book. I'm truly… ashamed of my actions. Please forgive me." Millie continued to ignore her with her nose up in the air.
Under her breath, Madam Rosier muttered. "Well, that didn't take much." Louder, she said, "Miss Bulstrode, it's time for you to apologize to Miss Lestrange for calling her a Ps—erm, a bad word, and for pulling her hair."
The other girls watched as Millie's nose rose impossibly higher. She made no move to acknowledge Hermione, let alone apologize to her.
"Miss Bulstrode, I suggest you tell Miss Lestrange that you're sorry before I let your father know—" But Madam Rosier was interrupted.
"But I'm not."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not sorry, Madam."
"Miss Bulstrode!" Madam Rosier exclaimed. "Apologize at once or else—"
"No!" Millie yelled. "Didn't you see her hit me? She's a psycho, Madam! My father told me so, and he's right!"
Everyone was stunned into silence. For a while, nobody made a move. Hermione wanted nothing more but to melt to the floor in shame.
"Right," Narcissa stood. "I think that's enough studying for one day. Millicent, let me accompany you to the Floo." Millie sprang up, eagerly making her way to the fireplace.
As they disappeared, Madam Rosier turned to Hermione. She looked at her in pity. Her mouth opened, presumably to console her or comfort her in some way. Before she could say a word, Hermione pivoted and ran the other direction, towards the guest house. As if her day couldn't get any worse, she happened to trip over a rock in the garden. Hermione, however, was determined to get away as quickly as possible. She stood just as fast as she fell and ran even faster. She made it to the guest house, but she didn't slow down. She threw the double doors open and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Once she was inside, she crashed onto the bed. She didn't bother closing her door.
Hermione released her hold on her tears and cried onto her pillow. She was so angry. Angry at Millie for calling her a Psycho. Angry at Madam Rosier for pitying her. Angry at her classmates' parents for depriving her of much-needed friends. But most of all, she was angry at her father, Rabastan Lestrange for nothing other than being her father. Why couldn't he have been from some other family? Why did he have to drag her into this? She never asked to be a Lestrange; she never asked to be called a Psycho.
Hermione's fist pounded her pillow in frustration. It wasn't like there was anything she could do about it. Her father was dead. So Hermione cried for herself, allowing herself to feel pity over her unfavorable bloodline.
Draco entered her room, trying to be as discreet as possible. He heard her quiet sniffles and uneven breaths. "Hermione," he called softly.
There was no indication that she heard him, apart from the abrupt halt of her crying. She continued to lie face-down on her bed.
Draco took a tentative step forward. And another. And another. Soon, he was standing by the side of her bed. He paused before climbing up, using his left foot to stabilize himself once he was seated on top, right beside Hermione.
Her hand was right next to him. Without hesitating, he placed his own hand atop hers and he enclosed it by placing his other hand below. Hermione tightened her grip. She began crying again, but this time, it was less grief-stricken and more resigned.
Narcissa entered the room. She spotted her son on Hermione's bed with his hands around hers. Hermione was lying with her face on the pillow, obstructing it from view.
"Oh, Hermione." She made her way around the bed and sat on Hermione's other side. She caressed her hair lightly, feeling her shake from tears. "Oh, dear. She was awful." Narcissa's eyes trailed to her hand connected with both of Draco's.
She said to her son, "Draco, dear, you'd better get back. Madam Rosier won't start class without you. They're all waiting." Draco nodded and released his hold on the girl's hand. He hopped off the bed and stood there for a while, giving one last look at Hermione.
"Go on, now." His mother said.
Hermione heard the sound of his footsteps decreasing in volume as he left her bedroom. Narcissa continued to stroke her hair.
After two minutes, Hermione said something, but it was muffled by the pillows.
"Sorry, dear, what was that?" Narcissa asked.
"It's not fair." Hermione lifted her head to peer up at the Malfoy matriarch. Her red-rimmed eyes gleamed with tears. "I never chose to be a Psycho. And… it's not like I can help being a Lestrange." Her voice broke on the last word.
"Do not," She said firmly, tipping Hermione's chin up with her index finger. "Ever listen to anybody who calls you a Psycho. You are not. Those are just unfortunate rumors. Prove them wrong." Narcissa was moved with pity. She did not think this through. She instantly regretted her decision to pronounce the girl as a Lestrange. If she had known any better, she'd have made her an Avery, instead. "I'm so sorry, little one. You don't deserve this kind of treatment. Don't you worry, I'll have a stern talk with that Bulstrode's parents."
Hermione lowered her head to her tear-stricken pillow again, breathing deeply in and out. Narcissa spent an hour in Hermione's room, calming her down and humming sweet songs. Inwardly, she took the time to bask in regret at her decisions. She made a silent promise that she would make sure Hermione felt accepted as she grew older. The damage was already done, but she would make sure to soften the blow.
Life went on, even though Hermione Lestrange wanted not to. She attended classes every day, diligently answering Madam Rosier's questions and turning in perfectly-marked quizzes. She also had a newfound love for studying. She actually enjoyed it. Every day got more bearable as Millie turned her attention to some other girl, forgetting about her and Hermione's quarrel.
She also made friends with Daphne Greengrass. They got on very quickly after the day Daphne asked Hermione a question about grammar, and Hermione gave her very vivid examples that Daphne couldn't help but giggle. Hermione considered Daphne her second-best friend—second only to Draco. Tracey would join in sometimes, but Hermione concluded that she was harder to teach than Daphne. If Tracey failed in understanding something Madam Rosier was explaining, she'd instantly cry. Daphne herself was not a very bright student, but at least she had the desire to improve. Tracey just sobbed. Pansy, on the other hand, did not join them at all. She preferred to keep her head down and stay quiet. Although, there was a time when Daphne cracked a joke, and Hermione could've sworn she saw Pansy giggle in her seat.
She learned the names of the boys as well. They were the afternoon class, and they consisted of five children: Draco, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Theodore Nott, and Blaise Zabini. On school days, the morning classes would end at twelve noon, and the afternoon classes would start at one. That meant the boys and girls had one hour to socialize.
Today, they were all playing various games.
Draco was beating Crabbe in a game of Exploding Snap (children's version), with Goyle as their commentator. Hermione, Tracey, Daphne, Theo, and Blaise played tag, and Millie was mischievously tying Crabbe and Goyle's shoelaces together. Pansy was seated on a futon, observing them quietly.
Daphne shrieked as Blaise chased her around. She jumped over the sofa, trying to get away from the 'it'. She turned back around and realized that Blaise wasn't following her at all—until she felt him tap her shoulder from behind her. "Daphne's it!" He hollered.
Daphne grunted and jumped off the sofa, chasing Blaise around. In a move that would later be chalked-up to his more Slytherin-esque nature, he cunningly ran towards Hermione's hiding place, making her Daphne's new target. Daphne spotted her, and she chased after both of them.
"Oh no, Blaise, you've ruined it! That was such a good hiding spot, too!" Hermione shoved Blaise playfully as they ran.
"Sorry, Lestrange! You've been in there far too long!" Blaise paused. "Where's Theo?"
Hermione searched the room for Theo while trying to outrun the boy. She spotted him behind a sheer curtain and pointed a finger. "Over there!"
Blaise and Hermione sprinted to Theo and pulled him out of the shadows, with Daphne hot on their heels. Instead of running away, Theo's eyes widened as Daphne's body collided with his. They fell to the ground. Blaise and Hermione stopped running and went back to check on them. Tracey emerged from her hiding spot behind a tall plant and hesitantly walked towards them as well.
"Alright, mate?" Blaise asked Theo, whose face was obscured from view. His body was shaking... and it looked like the game was over.
Blaise extended a hand towards Theo to pull him up, when Theo suddenly shoved the other boy, causing him to stumble. "You're it, Blaise!" He looked up, snickering, and so was Daphne beside him. Immediately, everybody ran away from where Blaise stood, dumbstruck... and mischief ensued.
The game went on for what seemed like hours, and they wouldn't have stopped, but at that moment, something happened that made all kids in the room drop everything and burst out laughing even harder than before.
Millie successfully tied Crabbe and Goyle's laces together, and as their game of Exploding Snap came to an end, the pair stood and stepped in different directions, causing both of them to pull each other and knock foreheads, stumbling to the ground.
Pure childish mirth encompassed the living room that day. The players of tag stopped and surrounded the others, while Draco was laughing so hard, he was in tears. Millie was pretending to be oblivious as she let out exaggerated gasps. Pansy couldn't help but giggle behind the hand she put to her face to stop it. Even the victims, Crabbe and Goyle, were starting to laugh along with the others.
Too soon, the clock struck one, and the boys had to go to class. Crabbe and Goyle tried to untie their laces, but it looked like they did not know how. They left the knotted laces alone and walked to the room in uncoordinated and jerky movements, losing their balance every few steps.
Blaise and Theo left as well, leaving Draco behind. He stood and gave two pats to Hermione's head before following the others.
Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Six of them, to be precise. As time went by, they formed a group of friends. In between classes, it was Hermione, Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, and Theo who were together. Pansy usually preferred being alone, and nobody liked Millie. Draco was not part of this group because Hermione realized that he couldn't stand the idea of being equals with so many people. He usually opted to call the shots in the group. Hermione's friends didn't like that very much, so Draco took Crabbe and Goyle as his own friend group. The pair were happy to be led by Draco. Hermione suspected they didn't like thinking for themselves and were content with following one's lead.
This divide didn't mean much, though; they still all talked to each other and played around, especially Draco and Hermione, as they were naturally the closest pair of them all.
Hermione really liked Theo and Blaise. Theo confessed once that he usually lived alone, what with his father traveling the world, and his mother gone. He had no other siblings. Because of this, he tended to be much more comfortable with silence or being alone. Of course, as his friends, the others never allowed him to be all by himself. They all unconsciously gravitated towards Theo. He was their glue. It also helped that Theo had a yellow aura of warmth and jest about him. Blaise, on the other hand, was just as reserved, but it wasn't out of habit like Theo. Hermione learned that Blaise was mischievous. Not as painfully obvious as Millie was, but more subtle. Blaise's art of mischief included a lot more finesse. If Hermione hadn't caught him pocketing Millie's quill, she never would have known it was Blaise who had hid it. Surprisingly, Blaise wasn't doing as well as Theo academically. He was very witty, and his brain had no trouble keeping up with conversations with the smarter kids like Draco, but he mentioned once that he did not care for books and learning as much as the others.
Hermione and Draco were in the garden one Sunday afternoon. They were lying on the grass and pointing at clouds that looked like objects. The day was slightly overcast, but not enough to cause worry over rain for another hour or so.
Draco pointed to a cloud. "That one looks like a heart."
"No, it doesn't."
"It does if you tilt your head to the side a bit. No, no—the other side. Yeah, there. See it?"
"I guess…? If hearts had pimples and bumps like that." Hermione paused. "Over there! Don't you think that cloud looks like a quill?"
"It does. A very short quill, but a quill."
After a while: "That one looks like an eye." Draco pointed. "Actually, that looks like the Crybaby's eye."
"The Crybaby? Who's that?"
"Oh, sorry." Draco apologized. "I meant Tracey Davis."
Hermione propped herself on her elbows to look at his face. She looked at Draco, appalled at what he had just called her friend. "Draco! You take that back, Tracey is not a crybaby."
"I didn't mean to be offensive!" Draco raised his hands in surrender. "The codenames are what Crabbe and Goyle use to call the others because they can't remember their actual names."
"The others?" Hermione asked, intrigued. "All of us, you mean? You gave us codenames?"
"Crabbe and Goyle gave you codenames. I just use them out of habit. But they aren't supposed to offend…" He wouldn't meet her gaze.
Hermione sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. "Draco Malfoy, you will tell me and you will tell me now. What other codenames did you give?"
Draco sat up too. "Don't get angry," he said.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, expectant.
Sighing, Draco relented. "Alright, fine. But you asked for it." He paused. "Lestrange the Know-it-all, Davis the Crybaby, Greengrass the Blabbermouth, Bulstrode the Bully, and Parkinson the snob."
Hermione frowned, but inwardly, she was relieved that she wasn't known as 'the Psycho'. She just about had it with that word. Know-it-all was so much better on so many levels. She said, "Those nicknames aren't very nice… or creative."
"Yeah, but it's so hard to talk about your lot when Crabbe and Goyle don't even bother to know your names. This way, it's easier."
"They're gonna have to learn our names sometime. I hope you don't use them in front of the others. Tracey, especially. She'd just… cry some more, probably." She chuckled. "What about the boys? Do they have nicknames, too?"
Draco shook his head. "No, Crabbe and Goyle know who Blaise and Theo are."
"That's absolutely unfair." Hermione pouted. After a while, she perked up and said, "In that case, I'm giving you boys nicknames."
"Why? For what?" Draco asked.
Hermione feigned sorrow. "I suddenly can't remember your names, that's why." He laughed at her.
"Alright. Crabbe is—no, Crabbe and Goyle come as a pair. They're a package deal. So they are… Dumb and Dumber."
Draco was unprovoked. In fact, he even laughed. "You are... not wrong."
"Blaise is… the Sly. Theo is the Sarcastic. And you are-"
Draco interrupted her. "The best."
"Absolutely not!" She cried. "I was going to say 'Draco: the Insufferable Prat'."
Draco burst out laughing. "You're not very creative, either."
"Hey," Hermione shoved him lightly. "I'm just not as mean as you."
"As mean as Crabbe and Goyle, you mean."
"Hm? Oh tomato, tomato."
They laughed for a moment, and they were silent. Hermione plucked a blade of grass from between her and Draco and started tearing it down the middle. Draco leaned and watched the clouds go by. Ten minutes later, he was about to drift off to sleep when Hermione asked, "What happens at parties?"
Draco rubbed his sleepy eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Well…" Hermione plucked another blade of grass. "You know how Theo's birthday party is on Wednesday?"
Draco nodded.
"I was wondering… what's going to happen? I-I've never been to a party before, and I don't know what's expected of me."
"Oh," Draco paused. "Well, Theo's father is throwing him a Quidditch party, so it's probably the fun kind."
"How?"
"Well, we aren't expected to dress formally, so that's a plus. And it's a kid's party so there aren't many rules to follow. When we arrive, you only have to kiss people's cheeks, and that's about it."
"Kiss people's cheeks?"
"Yeah, like the French. You'd know all about that wouldn't you?"
"I don't actually. How strange." Hermione said.
Draco shrugged. "Well, that's how Purebloods like us greet other people. Except for Mudbloods. No, we don't touch them at all."
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Mudbloods? What's that?"
He brushed her off. "Nothing you have to worry about. Theo's father wouldn't invite any of those, anyway."
"Well I, for one, am excited about this party."
"Yeah? Good at Quidditch, are you?"
Hermione furrowed her brows. "What's Quidditch?"
Draco's jaw dropped. "You don't know Quidditch?"
Hermione shook her head.
"No way! It's only the funnest game ever!" Draco said. Hermione was about to correct his word-choice with, the word 'funnest' doesn't exist, but she remembered that she was branded as the Know-it-all, so she kept her comment to herself.
Draco then dived into a detailed description of the players, the three types of balls, the rules, and the scoring parameters. Hermione was a very good student, so she was able to catch up… in theory. Nonetheless, she smiled and laughed at Draco's descriptions.
She then realized that Quidditch was more of a competitive sport the longer she listened. Her heart sped up. Hermione was never good at sports or physical activities. She couldn't even run across a surface without tripping over a rock… or her own two feet. She was worried that come Wednesday, her lack-of-athleticism might fail her.
And on Wednesday, it will.