A/N: This is going to be a threeshot. I've already written most of the other two chapters, so they should be up shortly. This is fairly short compared to the other two.
"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed."
-G.K Chesterson
The very first time Hermione Granger was introduced to dragons was in a reading circle in her second grade class. Her teacher was a tired, war-weary veteran of her trade, one of those women who had honestly believed they could support and nourish the minds of the young.
Reality, had, of course, punished her for her naive optimism in the form of an infinite loop of temper tantrums, bull-headed parents, and flying projectiles. She had warped into a sort of shade in the classroom, a phantom who ghosted around the class on her tippy toes, praying that her meekness would please the gods of public education and let her escape to her quiet and effortlessly humble abode.
She put in no more effort than was absolutely necessary, a system which seemed to please all parties involved. Naturally, she was the sworn nemesis of a pupil like Hermione, who demanded praise and specialized knowledge in spades, neither of which her teacher could spare.
Even at seven years of age, she was a little know-it-all, her whiny, pretentious escapades already a legend in the staff room. She knew, from the very moment she settled the children down and began reading a very overdone princess/prince/dragon tale, that she would be a problem.
Normal children seemed to be fond of the story, which admittedly had it all, once upon a time. When it was fresh and new, it was chockfull of courtly romance and justice and happily ever afters, all those little elements that fade away with every re-telling of the same damn story to a new group of impressionable brats.
Granger always managed to question the validity of whatever story was being read, and she had sworn that the day she could get through a simple twelve page picture book without Granger's tiny hand shooting in the air would be the day she would buy herself that lottery ticket. That day was no exception. She imagined the brat would have a problem with the existence of dragons, or some other such nonsense.
"Miss, I have a question..." Hermione began.
Well, of course you do, she thought. And looky here, I seem to have a variety of answers to choose from, all along the lines of, "Sit down, shut up, and perhaps I can make my way to my warm bed tonight without fantasizing about your delicious demise."
But of course, things like lawsuits and suspensions exist to curb the flow of such thought, so she put on her best maternal face and said, "What is it, dear?"
"Well, I couldn't help but thinking that this entire thing is a tad unfair, don't you think? The prince slays the poor dragon, and for what? It's not like he ate the princess, or anything. Her kingdom just offered her to him, and assumed that that would be his natural course of action. The dragon is a victim of a terrible understanding, really, and I think it is absolutely heinous that you would read a story glorifying such a senseless massacre to impressionable children", Hermione declared.
The wide-eyed idealist of her youth would have cherished such a bright, gifted student for her vocabulary and wide grasp of sophisticated ideals.
The woman she was at the moment, however, just sighed and said, "Hermione, dear, it's just a story. Dragons don't really exist, you know, so please do try to enjoy it, or at least let the other children listen in peace."
Dragons, of course, do exist, but a woman so devoid of imagination and wonderment would never be privileged enough to know this.
Hermione is nothing if not prepared upon her arrival, four years later, at Hogwarts. She has devoured every scrap of literature she could get her hands on about this business of magic, and is quite certain that there is nothing she could encounter that could surprise her.
Perhaps, had she not had the misfortune of meeting a certain two blustering Gryffindor boys, she would be right.
As far as actual magic went, however, she was likely the most knowledgeable first year in the school. She had resigned herself to the fact that she, born of muggles, was an underdog in the game.
She had found that she was not much of a gambler, so unfamiliar with odds and hedging of bets and pools was she, but when she did indulge in it, she always bet on the clear favourite. It was her mission in life to be somewhat of the favourite in every scenario, the go-to girl if you will.
Perhaps, she thought, as she introduced herself to an awkward redhead and a polite boy with the most startling green eyes, something like that was easier said than done.
The first in a very long line of many books that she would check out from the Hogwarts library is titled A Comprehensive Tome Detailing the Proper Methodology for Dragon-Related Circumstances. It's quite a mouthful, but she will grow used to magical books and their needlessly complicated headings with time.
She mumbles something about finding an edition of Hogwarts: a History to her new friends, who haven't yet been exposed to her enough to know that she could recite the book from heart. Most of the book she actually checks out is useless to a novice to the subject like her.
Where she searched for basic history, she finds the correct temperature at which to boil something called Gideon Root to soothe a dragon's toothache. Where she hunts for interesting little factoids, she discovers the most desirable breeding combinations for a variety of traits, ranging from colouring to flame temperature.
However, all of this confirmed exactly what she had known all along, ever since she was nothing more than one brat among many in a reading circle.
Hogwarts didn't teach her that dragons existed. She already knew that dragons existed. Hogwarts taught her that they could be saved.