A/N: AU. I guess I don't really see this as needing to be during a specific time period, but it seems to me to be after Year 2 but before they all really start dealing with some big, grown-up issues and are coming into awareness of things not being as they seem. Year 4 might fit the bill, but I admit that some of the emotions strike me as being a bit younger.

Also, reinforcing this idea, I somehow decided in my brain that Molly Weasley throws the odd French phrase about at home; and its a habit that Ginny has taken up as she is young enough to still emulate her mother. Obviously, this is not canon so I'll list this as AU.

Round #: 4

Wizarding World News- Writing School: Comma types, usage

First word of sentence is freestanding

Directly addressing someone or something in a sentence

Attributing quotes

School: Ilvermorny - Year 6

Prompt chosen: [plot point] Education Equality

Word count: 844

Insidious

It had taken her a few years to notice it. Being Muggle-born, as she was, most of her first few years at Hogwarts had been a wondrous cacophony of the new and surreal. Still, as she acclimated to her new world, Hermione could not help but notice the subtle differences in the way she was treated as compared to others. The barely perceptible nods of agreement or recognition exchanged between witches or wizards, even to the point that it crossed the student-teacher barrier. It left her perplexed until, one day, it finally dawned on her what was happening.

"Like what you see, Granger?" Malfoy drawled as he slid by, a sly sneer on his face. He'd caught her staring daggers at him and Snape conversing in the hall.

"You wish," was all she could manage before the flush started to rise in her cheeks. She stormed off, chased by the sounds of laughter. It made her feel angry, and, somewhat, unsafe.

She stalked over the Gryffindor table and slammed down her sizeable stack of books. Only Ron managed to keep eating.

"That's it! I've had it!" She sat with a thump.

"What is it this time?" Ron managed to ask around his mouthful of oatmeal and raisins.

"Shut it, you sod," Ginny piped up, sliding down the bench to be nearer Hermione. "What is it?"

"The double-standard," Hermione cried. "How do you put up with it?"

Ron just shrugged, picking up his copy of The Daily Prophet and faked an intense interest in the Quidditch scores. Ginny wanted to throttle him, but that could wait.

"Being a witch isn't easy," she began, but Hermione's reaction told her it was something else.

"Tosh on being a witch," Hermione spat. "I'm talking about being a Muggle."

"Well, you're not a Muggle," Ginny insisted. "You're Muggle-born, yes. But you have magic. There's a significant difference."

"Not to some though, is there?" Hermione asked, almost accusingly. Ginny could see the hurt on her face; she knew what came next.

"Hermione," she sighed, her voice softening. "There are some people—some wizards and witches—"

"I thought I knew this," Hermione broke in, sobbing. "I thought I understood. I mean, I've read Hogwarts: A History at least five times!"

Ginny grabbed her friend up into a hug as much to hide her smile as to comfort. Hermione was so smart sometimes. This was not one of them.

"There is more to life than books," she said, allowing herself a small giggle. "Books can't explain how a thing feels. Not really."

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I guess I just thought…" She broke off and blew her nose into a napkin.

"You thought those days were over?" Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow. "Au contraire, mon amie. There are many who cling to the old ways." She glanced over her shoulder at the Slytherin tables. "Most of whom just so happen to be get sorted into the House Salazar built."

"But the professors," Hermione said. "They do it, too!"

Ginny shook her head, but could not disagree. It was evident to anyone with eyes that some professors would always show preference to those of 'certain heritage'. It was sad to admit. Ginny herself had been raised in a proud family with a long line of magical heritage. Yet, it had not ever occurred to her to call herself 'pure-blood'; that was preposterous. The Prewetts and Weasleys both had intermarried with Muggles many times over innumerable generations.

"Well, they're gits," Ron asserted for the first time in a while. "It's pretty simple 'Mione. Once a git, always a git. No need to fret over it."

"Easy for you to say. You're a—"

"Careful now," he said, staring at her intently, a smile creeping over his face. "It's not frequently that I'm accused of being a stuck up prat. You never know how I might act."

She blinked, owlishly and blushed for the second time in only the past hour. How could she have been so insensitive to think they did not feel it, too. That they were not affected, too. She heaved a heavy sigh. "Sorry."

He smiled at her and pushed a bowl of oatmeal in her direction. "You might feel a bit better about the world if you ate before you tried to change it."

She looked down. The bowl steamed, hot and hearty, drizzled with honey and a healthy pat of butter, all swimming in the perfect amount of milk. Just the way she liked it. She glanced up at him in surprise and he just smirked, and went back to his sports section.

"Ugh, gross." Ginny left in a huff. Hermione was never sure if that was about breakfast or her brother, but suddenly, it no longer mattered. She tucked in and shared the companionable silence of acceptance with someone who mattered far more than Draco Malfoy and his stuck up lot.

Maybe Ron was right after all. Turns out, he'd be right a few more times than Hermione Granger was like to admit.