Chapter 12

The next morning found Hermione following her nose down into the bowels of the school. The smells of damp stone and putrid potions ingredients made it rather difficult to get lost.

Her first week of school had absolutely flown by. The professors had so far been wonderful, though the older Gryffindors had told her enough horror stories about the Potions Professor to make her wary of the man she was about to meet for the first time. It was Double Potions with the Slytherins, and a closer inspection of her schedule made Hermione wonder why the two opposing houses were continually being smashed together in the classroom. It seemed like it would make more sense to have Gryffindor and Hufflepuff together, given their more compatible dispositions. But no, the Slytherins were in nearly every class with the first year Gryffindors, and that stupid head of platinum hair was getting bloody distracting!

She didn't know what it was. Malfoy had given her exactly zero reasons to make her interested in him; he'd been a rude, snide, smirking prat at every available opportunity over the past week. Yet still, she found herself glancing at him over breakfast or when she should have been taking notes in class. She knew it wasn't a crush - on the contrary, it was more like a painful awareness of someone she very much disliked.

Whatever it was, she wished it would go away.

Turning into the Potions hallway, she spotted the subject of her thoughts and groaned internally, slowing her gait and praying to the powers above that someone from her own house would come save her from yet another uncomfortable encounter with the pale Slytherin git.

It was not to be. Despite her best attempts at lollygagging, she and Malfoy arrived at the door to the classroom at the same time, and he surprised her by waiting for her to enter first. The effect of his gallantry was quickly snuffed out when he murmured, "I know your pet Longbottom is good at losing things, but did he lose himself this morning? Doesn't seem like you go anywhere without him trailing behind you like a lovesick puppy." Crabbe and Goyle sniggered from their places behind Malfoy, bumping shoulders in amusement.

Hermione didn't want to stoop to his level, so she simply said, "He's my friend. I'm sure he'll be along shortly," and took a seat away from where the Slytherins stood.

She noticed Malfoy's shoulders deflate slightly before he straightened again and took his own stool at a workbench across the room from her own.

Good, she thought, taking the fun out of his bullying at least has some effect.

Just as she'd predicted, Neville and the other Gryffindor boys wandered in a moment later, talking about the game of Exploding Snap that had singed Seamus Finnigan's eyebrows the night before. They seemed oblivious to the tension that coated the air between Hermione and Draco, and she was grateful. Neville sat down by Harry and Ron, which Hermione thought was probably for the best, so Malfoy wouldn't have more ammunition on that front. She was still disappointed not to sit next to her friend, though.

Parvati Patil, one of Hermione's roommates, eventually came to fill the seat next to her, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and smiled at the girl who smiled back politely. Hermione turned her gaze back to her notes to avoid the staring eyes of the various pickled creatures in their little jars on the wall. The smell was making her feel a bit sick; she tried to discreetly breathe through her mouth.

As the last student took his seat, the Potions Professor swept into the room, and the classroom door slammed shut.

Hermione was startled into taking a deep breath in through her nose and instantly regretted it.

The professor was tall and thin with a hooked nose and waves of limp black hair. He already looked well past grumpy, and Hermione had a second to think that probably didn't bode well for her or her classmates before Snape sat at his desk and started calling attendance. His eyes flicked around the room, briefly meeting the gaze of each student that he was to teach for the next seven years before continuing down the list. His dark - were his eyes black? - gaze gave Hermione the chills, and she was grateful she was sitting a few tables away from the front of the room.

There was a darkness about Professor Snape that set her senses on edge.

When he reached Potter's name on the roll, he stopped and stared at the boy, ebony eyes staying trained on him for much longer than the usual split second.

"Look who decided to join us today. Mr Potter… The Boy Who Lived, himself." His eyes bored holes into Potter for another moment, his disdain for the boy abundantly clear, before Snape's attention returned to the roll of parchment in his hand.

The class as a whole seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he moved on to the next name.

When he was finished with marking the roll, he stood and made his way to the front of the class, black robes billowing out behind him. Hermione clutched her quill, eager to jot down her first notes of the day, and waited.

Snape's gaze trailed the room, commanding their continued silence with a mere look before he began. "Today starts your journey in the art of potion making. Unlike most of the other classes offered here at Hogwarts, the use of a wand is not necessary here. If you are willing to put in the time and effort - and are not as big a bunch of idiots as I usually teach - you will be able to brew potions the likes of which would surpass even the most inspired imagination."

He swept around the potion's bench at the front of the room - apparently his own setup for brewing potions or demonstrating various ingredient preparation and brewing techniques - and pointed toward a few of the cauldrons. "Dreamless Sleep for those who suffer chronic nightmares. Veritaserum to force someone to tell the truth. Wolfsbane," and his eyes flashed back to Hermione for the briefest glance, "to keep werewolves tame during the full moon."

Her heart thudded in her chest. It had honestly never occurred to her that professors other than McGonagall would be privy to the information that she was a werewolf. She didn't think she would need to miss class or turn in assignments late. Why did this man - the so-called bat of the dungeons - know? And why was he brewing Wolfsbane?

He continued on with his lecture for a few more minutes before he suddenly whirled to Harry Potter, eyes throwing daggers at him. Professor Snape pelted the scrawny, messy-haired boy with question after question. None of the other students seemed to know the answers - or at least didn't look like they wanted to face the renowned wrath of the Potions professor. Despite her better judgment, Hermione raised her shaking hand again and again in an attempt to help Potter and possibly continue the nice little habit of earning house points she'd developed during the week up until that point. Instead, she merely ended up frustrated - with the professor for ignoring her and with Potter for not knowing any of the answers. They were all in their potions text, after all!

Finally, Professor Snape tired of her attempts to answer the questions that were apparently only for Potter and snapped, "That is quite enough!" She hesitantly lowered her hand, face flaming. Snape threw a few more barbed questions at Potter, took away points, then asked why the class wasn't taking notes.

Hermione's eyes stung with furious tears. What did this atrocious man have against her and Harry? It seemed that she'd been at school for less than a week and was already experiencing prejudice - at the hand of one of her teachers, no less. And what had Harry done to deserve the man's wrath? She hadn't liked the boy much up to that point - largely because of his choice of friends - but this made Hermione feel a sense of kinship and protectiveness for him. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong. There had been no assigned reading for the summer, and she doubted that anyone other than her had bothered with studying ahead.

When Snape gruffly dismissed them from the lecture portion of class and threw instructions onto the chalkboard with his wand for their first brewing session Hermione simply took down the instructions for later use and offered to grab the necessary ingredients. Parvati was still writing down her own notes so she gratefully agreed.

Hiccoughing Potion, Hermione mused, sounded useful enough. She carefully gathered the necessary ingredients, intrigued by the mix of ingredients from both the magical and Muggle realms.

The potion was surprisingly easy to brew. Hermione had spent enough time in the kitchen to feel comfortable with a knife and cooktop, and this wasn't so different. Parvati mumbled something about how their house elf had done all the cooking at home but did her best to copy Hermione's movements. Hermione discreetly checked and fixed the ingredients as necessary, but Parvati was too absorbed in her work to truly notice.

Suddenly, a horrid burning smell filled the air, and Hermione covered her nose. No one else seemed to be reacting yet, but Professor Snape had his eyes on her and started sweeping around the room until he found the source of the stench.

"Longbottom! First day of class and you've already managed to make a complete dunderhead of yourself. Five points from the lot of you for not being observant enough to notice that you were to add the powdered porcupine quills after the potion was off the flame."

Harry and Ron sputtered in indignation but had the sense to remain silent, though Hermione heard a faint thud from her spot a few rows back and suspected someone had received a swift kick to the leg beneath the table.

She sighed. All of her other classes so far were absolutely wonderful.

She supposed it made sense that one of them would be...less so.

XxxX

Hermione happily fell into the rhythm of classes, enjoying the lectures and homework just as much as her time in the common room helping Neville - and the occasional other first year - study. She could tell Neville didn't share her passion for books and learning, but he clearly wanted to make his gran proud. He worked hard to overcome his natural knack for forgetting and breaking things. Despite the way Neville's grandmother seemed to scare the pants off of him, he told her everything. Hermione wrote to her parents often, but it was nothing compared to the amount of owl post Neville was always trudging to the owlery to send off to Lady Longbottom.

Her concern over Neville's growing number of mishaps became evident when she sent him a short note near the end of their second week of classes along with a small square package. The Longbottom family owl dropped it next to his plate at breakfast. Neville read the note with a scowl on his round, red face. Hermione was tempted to ask him what his grandmother had written but didn't want to add to his embarrassment. Instead, she continued to eat her breakfast and waited for Neville to open the gift.

He untied the ribbon around the little box and pulled the lid open before gently shaking out the contents. A small glass orb rolled out into his palm and his eyes went wide. His cheeks grew pink again. Hermione didn't have time to ask why before Dean Thomas shouted, "Oi! Neville's got a new Remembrall." The nearby Gryffindors - and even a few members of other houses - turned in interest, hoping to catch a peek at the new gadget.

Hermione brightened at Dean's words. "Oh, I've read about those! After you shake it the smoke turns red if you've forgotten something."

Neville clutched the gift in hand, his clammy palm slick on the smooth, swirling patterns of the glass ball. He looked like he would rather put it back where it came from than use it - and likely watch the smoke turn red. But Seamus Finnigan, another of Neville's roommates - reached to shake Neville's shoulder and prompted, "Give her a whirl, Neville!"

His shoulders sagged and he acquiesced, shaking the Remembrall from side to side, sighing in disappointment when it filled with scarlet smoke.

"That's great and all," Neville said, attempting to laugh it off, "but I haven't the foggiest idea what I've forgotten."

Hermione and their other year-mates laughed with Neville fondly, but she was the only one who kept her attention on Neville. Everyone else turned to finish their breakfast and homework before classes started for the day. Seamus was busy trying to turn his morning pumpkin juice into something a little stronger, but so far he'd only managed to make it spark and smoke, renewing the laughter around him.

Harry was reading an article aloud from the Prophet, and Hermione listened as she eyed Neville, trying to figure out what he might have left in the dorms this time. It was usually a quill, textbook, or spare parchment. This time it was easier to spot.

Harry interrupted her thoughts. He was concerned that someone had tried to break into a vault at Gringotts that he had apparently visited with Hagrid before coming to school, and that sent her mind whirling. She'd have to save that discussion for another day, though. It was almost time for class.

"It's an easy fix this time, Neville. You just forgot your robes."

He looked down at himself in disbelief before laughing again. "I'm a right mess. Not sure what I'd do without you to keep my head on straight."

Hermione grinned and said, "Come on. I think we have time before class." She stood and led the way back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Neville was right behind her.

XxxX

Draco watched as the Gryffindor duo left, smirking internally at the way Neville really did look like an overfed crup puppy following his owner around. He was utterly whipped by the young witch and it was only the second week of term! Longbottom is hopeless without her, he thought to himself, feeling only slightly less amused when his own two overgrown shadows stood at either side of him and followed him to the first class of the day.

He'd have to pretend to be nice to the boy long enough to try his Remembrall, that was certain. They were rare, from what he had read. Even though he knew his parents could easily afford to send him one, he didn't envy Longbottom the embarrassment that came with that particular gift.

Didn't his grandmother realise how mortifying that would be?

A Slytherin would have had the sense to play it off as some bauble sent from doting family as a "happy second week of school" kind of gift, or perhaps even a joke, but Lady Longbottom should have known her grandson was far too transparent for that.

Draco huffed under his breath. "Bloody Gryffindors."

XxxX

The afternoon was cool and crisp with the smells of leaves beginning to change colour and autumn rain. The Gryffindor first years were making their way down the front steps of the school to prepare for their first flying lesson. They walked out into the courtyard and huddled together to await the arrival of their instructor. The other houses were not far behind. Many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs came over to say hello, but the Slytherins kept to themselves.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at that, but her reprieve was short lived.

Neville was just pulling out his Remembrall - which had quickly become the star of the day as various classmates borrowed it to find out if they'd forgotten anything - when Malfoy strode over to chat.

He just couldn't seem to help himself.

"So the rumours are true, then? You are the lucky owner of a Remembrall." His chipper voice surprised Hermione. By the looks on the faces of her fellow Gryffindors, she wasn't the only one who had been expecting a snarky comment from the blond boy. He went on, "Mind if I give it a whirl?"

Neville handed it over hesitantly, looking like he would very much like to just say, 'No.' But he was pants at standing up for himself and hesitantly dropped the gift into the Slytherin's upturned palm. Malfoy gave it a quick shake, but the tiny cloud inside stayed innocently white. "Pity. Looks like I haven't forgotten anything."

A black-haired girl with exotic eyes and an upturned nose came over to stand next to Malfoy. "Making friends with Gryffindors, are we?"

Draco scowled, handing back the Remembrall and making his way back toward his housemates. The girl - Pansy Parkinson, if Hermione's memory served her correctly - rolled her dark eyes and followed him.

Ron scowled after them, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bloody Slytherins…"

The mood was instantly lightened when a witch with spiked grey hair and glowing yellow eyes marched into the courtyard, commanding the first years' attention instantly with merely her presence.

"Good afternoon, everyone!"

The students echoed her sentiment.

A flick of her wand sent the doors of the nearby broom shed flying open. Two tidy rows of bedraggled school brooms formed near the students. "I'm Madam Hooch. I'll be your flying instructor this year. Please pick a broom and stand to the left of it." When only a few students immediately heeded her words she urged, "Go on! Line up, everyone!"

That sent the students scattering. When they were in their places Madam Hooch continued with her instructions. "Now! Place your right hand above your broom and say, 'Up!'"

A chorus of matching shouts rang out, and Potter's broom instantly slammed into his palm, making him wobble off balance. Hermione scowled. She wasn't used to having someone else best her in class. She continued urging the broom skyward, wishing it would stop twitching like something dying on the ground. "UP!"

Neville was having more luck on Harry's other side. He already had his broom in hand as well. Hermione's frustration was growing, but she got a quick laugh when Weasley's broom flew up to smack him in the face. Still smiling to herself, she did her best to focus on her magic and words.

"Up!"

The broom lifted gently to rest beneath her palm, and she clung onto it before it could decide to drift back down. She wasn't the last person to get it right, and that helped her feel a bit better.

Once everyone had their broom in hand Madam Hooch demanded their attention once more. "This will be the first time many of you have flown, so we will be starting with the basics. Go ahead and mount your broom. Push off the ground slightly. Allow your broom to keep you aloft for a moment before pushing down on the handle and coming back to the ground. Any questions?" It seemed no one had the audacity to question the hawk-like woman. Something about her set Hermione's inner wolf on edge, but she tried to ignore it.

She mounted her broom and was getting ready to attempt flying for the first time - hopefully, it went better than her attempts to take her broom in hand - when Neville pushed off next to her and started to panic. His broom rose quickly, and she wondered why he didn't just push down on the handle like Hooch had explained. She thought he'd said he was familiar with flying, but perhaps he'd exaggerated his skills.

Madam Hooch noticed Neville's plight. "Mr Longbottom! Come back down!"

Neville was already frantically crying, "Down! DOWN!" in hopes that the broom would heed his words if not his attempts to steer.

But he just kept on going, rapidly gaining speed and turning every which way. It looked as if he were possessed. Hermione found herself standing frozen in place, broom forgotten beneath her with her free hand over her mouth in fear.

Why does anyone want to fly if it's this dangerous? And why hasn't anyone invented a safer broom? These are the school-approved models? Her thoughts raced with fear for her friend - and for herself if this class was going to force her to follow in his steps.

Neville's broom had taken him out of sight beyond one of the stone towers of the school, but Hermione's lupine hearing allowed her to continue to hear his screaming and begging for help. If she wasn't afraid she would just put herself in equal danger she would have taken to the air and gone after him.

Madam Hooch was turning every which way, attempting to locate Neville once more and help him return to the ground. He suddenly came whirling back into view, broom turning him end over end and slamming into the wall repeatedly before sending him hurtling toward the other students.

"MR LONGBOTTOM!" Madam Hooch bellowed, wand brandished in front of her.

Apparently, she got angry when students were nearly killed under her tutelage.

Her frustration did little to slow the boy's speed, and he went hurtling forward, forcing Hooch and the others to dive out of the way before he flew beneath a nearby tunnel that led to other parts of the grounds. By the time he came back again, he was soaring over the nearest tower, and his robes (he thanked Merlin and Circe and every other magical name he could think of for those beautiful, beautiful robes) caught on a statue. His broom continued on, but he was finally free of its dangerous designs.

He breathed a sigh of relief but immediately felt the robes shift and tear as he did so.

This was just not his day.

The hem of his robes tore clean through, sending him plummeting toward the blessed ground again - just a lot faster than he'd hoped. The tattered fabric caught on an enormous torch sconce for another split second before he tumbled the rest of the way to the grass.

Hermione's heart clenched in her chest, and she tried not to breathe, too scared she would smell her friend's blood.

Madam Hooch rushed forward, kneeling at his side and checking for injuries. Neville was whimpering as she gave him a once over, but she quickly found his main injury. "Oh, poor boy. It looks like you've broken your wrist." She urged him to his feet, keeping his arm still as they made their way to the front doors of the school.

Before they were out of earshot she called, "There will be no more flying today! Everyone stay on the ground. Anyone who chooses to ignore that instruction will find themselves expelled before they can say, 'Quidditch.'"

Hermione happily tossed her broom back down on the ground, genuinely hoping that this was her one and only lesson with the flying death traps.

She was about to go after Neville when a glint of something shiny sparkled in the corner of her eye. Neville's Remembrall! She stepped forward to grab it, but Malfoy was much closer and snatched it up before she had the chance. The class congregated around the two of them, sensing an impending dramatics.

Malfoy tossed the little ball into the air several times, catching it easily on its way back down. "Too bad he didn't stop to give this a shake. Might have reminded him to fall on his fat arse." His housemates laughed and jeered, but Hermione was not amused.

"That's not yours," Hermione said shortly, feeling the fuse of her temper burning speedily shorter.

Draco smirked haughtily. "Not like he'll remember he lost it anyway. He wouldn't know where his head was if you didn't help him find it most days."

The Slytherins were nearly rolling with laughter by now. Hermione scowled at all of them, wishing more than anything that she could hex them all there and then and be done with it.

Surprisingly, Harry stepped forward to take her side. "Give it to her, Malfoy."

"No, I think I'll hold onto it for now. Might hide it somewhere for Longbottom to find." He remounted his broom, kicking off with ease and gliding upward. "Maybe up on the roof? He seemed to like it up there."

Hermione was seeing red, and she knew exactly what to do. Madam Hooch had said that anyone who flew again today would be expelled.

Well, as far as she was concerned, there was a Hogwarts Express ticket headed back to King's Cross with Malfoy's name on it.

But before she could run to the nearest occupied classroom to find a teacher, Harry had also taken to the air. He rocketed after Malfoy, stopping only a few metres away from the blond boy.

They spoke quietly enough that Hermione couldn't hear them clearly, but her heart went into her throat when Harry rushed Malfoy and the Slytherin ducked, spinning down below the handle before righting himself once more.

How was he so bloody good at flying?

Malfoy said something else before tossing the Remembrall into the air. Hermione nearly whipped out her wand and hexed him after all, but she saw Harry streaking after the little orb and forgot about the pointy git.

Malfoy had an easy confidence in the air, anyone could see that, but Harry was a natural. His chest hugged tight to the handle of his broom, body folded in on itself to give him the greatest speed.

A mere instant before he was about to crash into one of the windows he caught the ball and continued the motion down, flipping head first and jerking to a stop before he gently descended to the courtyard below.

The Gryffindors and their friends were cheering, Malfoy and his group looking on in annoyance, when Harry touched down. Harry gently placed the Remembrall into Hermione's hand and asked, "You'll see that it gets to him?" before the crowd of exuberant first years swallowed him up.

Hermione smiled, nodding to herself as she made her way back toward the school.

Absolutely.

Maybe Potter wasn't so bad after all.

A/N: Happy Monday! I hope the nice, long (for me) chapter helps your week start off on a good note. I just wanted to say thanks for all the reviews and follows! I get a stupid grin on my face every time I see a notification about them. Seriously. My family probably thinks I'm crazy, but you guys are the best! (I know I probably say something like that every update, but it's really true...I don't get sick of hearing from you lovely people! haha)

As always, thank you to my betas - Synoir and Mahawna - for putting up with my shenanigans and continuing to help make this story worth reading.