A/N: Thank you for your time!
I know I'm changing the timeline of the books here but it was the only way their class schedules made sense.
Chapter 8: Hades
Hermione had always loved the very beginning of each school year.
The new year meant new books, new knowledge and the fresh feel of new stationary and, even with every year that went by, her excitement couldn't be dampened despite the looming threat of another friendless school term. This time, however, she did have a friend.
She had Neville.
The first year timetable had appeared on each of their bedside tables at some time during the night and Hermione consulted it frequently as she carefully placed the required notes and textbooks into her leather book bag. Hefting the strap over her shoulder, Hermione clattered down the staircase to meet Neville in the common room.
"Breakfast?"
Hermione nodded and they scrambled through the portrait hole into the corridor beyond, frowning as they tried to remember the route to the Great Hall.
"Ah, ickle firsties," chimed Fred and George simultaneously, appearing so suddenly behind them that Neville jumped and squeaked. "Lost already, are we?"
"There should be maps of the school," Hermione groused, Neville nodding emphatically beside her.
The twins smirked irritatingly at her, eyes twinkling, before motioning over the railing to the ever-shifting staircases below. Hermione sighed.
"Follow us, you'll get the hang of it -"
"Sooner or later -"
"Maybe this week -"
" - perhaps this month -"
"We'll make sure you know your way around before you graduate!"
Laughing, Hermione and Neville followed the twins down to breakfast, committing to memory as best they could the location of each trick step and false wall along the way.
On entering the Great Hall Hermione supposed that she had walked into her father's worst nightmare. Owls were streaming through the high arched windows and circling over the tables in such volume that the light from the bewitched ceiling barely filtered to the students below.
Hermione and Neville joined Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, staring wide-eyed at the owls that dropped letters down to their owners and then down to the selection of breakfast foods. Hermione's nose wrinkled as she watched Ron pour a liberal amount of sugar over his porridge before reaching over to add a swirl of honey to hers instead.
Harry and Ron greeted the pair before focusing on their food once more, both eating with such fervour that made it seem as if they wouldn't get a chance to eat again. Hermione frowned as she examined Harry, noting his smaller frame and the angular lines of his slight face. The healthiest thing about him seemed to be his thick head of messy hair. At his inquiring glance, his cheeks bulging with toast, Hermione quickly smiled and shifted her attention to her porridge.
"Transfiguration first," mumbled Ron around a mouthful of his food. Hermione's nose wrinkled again, to which Ron rolled his eyes and pointedly swallowed his food before continuing to speak.
"I heard Professor McGonagall's pretty strict."
Hermione shook her head, placed her spoon back into its empty bowl and watched as they both disappeared. Magic was just simply amazing.
"She might be a bit strict but she seems fair. She was the one who told me I was a witch."
Ron looked up in surprise, spoon halfway to his mouth and dripping with porridge.
"Really? I didn't know they did that."
"How on earth was I meant to find out about Hogwarts without her Ron?"
Hermione huffed in exasperation when Ron shrugged. Harry put down his half eaten fourth piece of toast, which was liberally coated in jam, and brushed the crumbs from his hands with a satisfied sigh before standing up.
"Hagrid told me that I was a wizard. Best day of my life."
Hermione blinked and grew a little more worried at the grimness that tinged his statement. Ron shovelled the last bite of his third bowl of porridge into his mouth and stood as well, yanking the fraying strap of his book bag over his shoulder. Harry looked back at Neville and Hermione as he started to walk away.
"We'd better go - if we get lost like Ron and I did getting here this morning we're going to be late to our first class!"
Hermione settled next to Neville and placed her Transfiguration textbook precisely at the left upper corner of her desk, standing her ink pot next to it and positioning her quill beside the fresh sheet of parchment in front of her. Folding her hands in her lap, Hermione stared at the handsome mahogany desk at the head of the classroom. A silver tabby sat imperiously upon its polished surface, occasionally twitching its whiskers and flicking its tail. Hermione felt as if a warm breeze had ruffled her hair upon meeting its glowing eyes but with a quick glance around the room she noted the windows and doors were securely shut.
"How very curious," she murmured, staring at the cat. It stared unnervingly back. Hermione smiled.
The chattering that echoed against the high ceilings of the classroom came to an abrupt halt as the cat jumped from the desk. Professor McGonagall landed smoothly and silently in front of them in its place.
"Bloody hell," whispered Ron from the desk behind Neville's as Hermione felt a thrill run through her chest.
She had never felt more alive in her life.
Towards the end of her first Transfiguration lesson Hermione, and every other student in Professor McGonagall's first year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor class, realised that magic wasn't as simple as a few odd words and a wave of a wand. Despite having committed the theory to memory Hermione still found herself struggling with the deceptively challenging task of turning a matchstick into a needle.
Perspiration beaded at the back of her neck as Hermione stared down at her matchstick. Beside her Neville looked forlorn as he clutched his wand, face reddened and sweaty with effort. Ron was muttering furiously under his breath behind them as he prodded at his matchstick in frustration. When Hermione glanced back Harry was poring over his textbook, eyebrows pulled down into a frown and wand held aloft.
Her magic felt weak, like sea spray against a jagged cliff face, but as she cast the spell for what seemed like the thousandth time she noticed a little spark in her chest. The matchstick in front of her had sharpened almost imperceptibly at one end.
Eyes wide, Hermione concentrated on the new sensation and cast the spell again - this time feeling a tiny flush of magic race from her chest to her fingertips. The matchstick lightened in colour.
Professor McGonagall, who had been prowling around the classroom correcting pronunciation and wand movements, stopped in front of her desk. Hermione glanced up and her and then back at her matchstick at the professor's encouraging nod.
With a whisper Hermione pushed at her magic and felt it flow a little more freely, gasping as it tingled pleasantly through her fingers into her wand. Professor McGonagall gifted her with a rare smile and picked up her matchstick to show the rest of the class how it had turned sharp and silver, bestowing five points to their house.
Hermione, though quite pleased at the praise, was still a little irritated that she hadn't managed the eye of the needle. Before she could try again however, the bell had rung and Professor McGonagall was issuing homework as she ushered them out of her classroom.
Charms was a pleasant class - or, at least, it would have been had it not been a combined one with the Slytherins.
Professor Flitwick was a diminutive man with a fluttering personality that seemed bigger than he was and cloudy white hair that sprung haphazardly from under his wizard's hat. Harry had blushed brilliantly when the professor had toppled from his stool in excitement after calling his name, ducking his head until the pink had faded from his cheeks.
Neville and Hermione had sat themselves at a curved desk near the middle of the round room beside Lavender and Parvati, pulling out their heavy charms textbooks and placing them beside the large white feathers that already sat at their desks. Harry and Ron had meanwhile settled themselves next to Seamus and Dean with some good natured jostling.
Hermione twitched when Professor Flitwick announced that they would be learning the levitation spell, eyes flickering up despite herself to meet Draco Malfoy's across the room. He was smirking at her knowingly, eyes sharp and mocking.
Biting her lip and glancing away Hermione could barely listen to the professor's lecture, instead focusing on the fine barbs that grew from the rachis of her feather and the dust motes that caught the air around it. When it came time to cast the spell she paused and instead watched as Neville tried. Her lips pressed together as she caught the mistake in his pronunciation.
"Try elongating the 'oh'," she whispered, smiling a little as his feather trembled with his next attempt.
There was a flash of light as Seamus' feather caught fire and Hermione couldn't help but snort softly as Lavender jumped with a squeal. Harry wasn't faring any better, his feather stubbornly clinging to his desk as - despite his perfect pronunciation - his swish was too short and his flick too long. Dean was almost doubled with laughter as Ron windmilled his long arms in his attempt to send the feather skyward.
Feeling eyes burning into the top of her head, Hermione looked up to see Malfoy sneering at her, leaning his elbow on the table insolently with his face cupped in his hand, wand held lightly in his slender fingers. She watched as he lazily sent his feather into the air, eyes never leaving hers, and bristled at his condescending expression.
She sharply shoved back the sleeves of her robes and with a delicate hand swished-and-flicked and pushed her magic with a murmur at the feather, watching as it floated gracefully into the air.
Malfoy twitched his wand in a mean little salute towards her and turned dismissively to bask in the rapturous adoration of the pug-nosed girl that sat beside him.
Hermione scoffed and turned to Neville, eyes brightening as his feather jerked into the air, and refused to glance towards the Slytherins for the remainder of the lesson.
Most of the week flew by in a whirl of new classes.
Hermione had sent an absurdly long letter to her parents and received an equally lengthy one in return, congratulating her on her house placement and the success of her first few lessons.
Although accustomed to the tingle of magic in the air and the taste of it on her tongue she was more aware of it than ever - likely due to the way her hair still sparked at the ends and become more uncontrollable with every spell she cast. She had politely declined Lavender's offer to tame it for her, knowing that trusting her fellow first year with a dubious spell would either fail to provide results or, more likely, make the situation irreparably worse.
History of Magic was unapologetically dull, which annoyed Hermione to no end as she knew how interesting history could really be, and although the stars had been beautiful for the first few minutes of their midnight Astronomy lesson Hermione didn't understand why they couldn't simply learn from star charts or projections.
Defence was a downright joke. Ron spared no kindness towards their stuttering professor outside his garlic-scented classroom and Hermione was inclined to agree with his assessment - Professor Quirrell seemed more likely to flee than fight (or faint, as Harry had chuckled whilst rubbing at his scar) if faced by a dangerous situation.
Herbology was where Neville came to life. Hermione joyously watched as, three times a week, Neville would emerge from his shell and astound the class with his seemingly limitless knowledge of various magical flora. He had quickly become Professor Sprout's clear favourite and had a way with plants that would have made Hermione jealous if she didn't know how much being brilliant at something meant to him.
The immediate hour or two after their lessons consisted of revision or 'homework time' as mandated by a strict Hermione, which she approached with enthusiasm and Neville with weary patience, before the rest of the afternoon was wiled away at various locations around the castle.
Neville preferred the outdoors, either in the greenhouses (he had already been given a special pass by Professor Sprout to enter the less dangerous ones even when she wasn't around) or the shores of the Great Lake, where he liked to stand knee deep in the icy waters as he fished out various aquatic plants with delighted exclamations.
Hermione preferred the library. She had found a secluded table in a little alcove towards the back and could be found there without fail in the hour after dinner, where the light filtered through the stained glass window that overlooked the lake and danced across the pages of the books she devoured.
The magic that settled amongst the books was soft and warm and old and Hermione could easily spend hours winding through the stacks, trailing her fingers over the spines of ancient books and feeling their magic brush against hers.
Before they knew it the Friday of their first week was upon them and despite the clear sky above there was a sense of gloom as the Gryffindors trudged in a tight little pack down to the dungeons for their first Potions lesson.
Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione had squished behind a bench towards the back of the glacial room and Hermione deliberately kept her eyes away from the students whose robes were trimmed in Slytherin green. The bullying had already begun, subtly and softly but undoubtably there, and Hermione had learned to keep her eyes downcast in the corridors to avoid their malicious sneers.
Having Neville as a friend helped. Though he was ridiculed just as much as she was it was a relief and a source of strength to them both that they were going through the same thing. Ron, although a little mean himself, had enough of the same protective streak the twins had inherited that he took to purposefully shouldering the first year Slytherins as he walked past when he noticed a harsh word or hostile glance. Harry reminded Hermione of a beaten dog, shying away from a threat with a ferocious gleam in his eyes that had her worried about the inevitable moment he would finally snap.
The door at the side of the classroom closest to the teacher's desk slammed open and Hermione winced as Neville dropped his textbook in alarm. Her eyes tracked Professor Snape warily as he stalked to the front of the room, robes swirling impressively around his feet, observing apprehensively as he glared at the Gryffindor side of the classroom.
He sneered as he called each of their names, pausing at Harry's with a derisive comment that made Hermione frown. His voice was barely a whisper as he waxed poetic about the art of potion-making, eyes as deep and dark as the midnight waters of the Great Lake.
The chill of the classroom settled in her chest and Hermione sidled closer to a trembling Neville for warmth, steeling herself for the next few hours of their class.
Hermione hated bullies.
A/N: Please do leave a review!