A/N: This is where the changes to the plot begin occurring!
The reception Hermione received from the girls of her new year nearly froze her as she stepped across the threshold. Two of the girls pointedly turned away from her as they talked on their beds, and her bed was the farthest in the corner, tucked out of sight from most of them with the curtains still drawn.
An old and familiar loneliness settled in her chest. Intellectual, insecure and intimidating, Hermione had never had many friends. And few of them had been female. But it was still a school, and girls were still girls. Worse, these girls were thirteen, at the height of their careers in Petty Gossip and the Art of Exclusion. She wondered that she had skipped that stage, but between Harry and reading, there had never seemed to be time. Without a word or a glance for any of them, she went to her bed, drew the curtains, and settled down in front of the trunk she assumed the house-elves had set there for her.
It was full of school clothing, all the right size, and even a pair of dress robes- although they were nothing like the ones she owned- would own?- and all of the books she would need for her third-year classes were there. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were apparently her Dumbledore-chosen extra classes. She smiled. Even in the past, he was omniscient. She closed the lid after pulling out a pair of pajamas and dressed. It was after she slipped the last button into its hole that she turned around and opened the curtains to find herself the study of her roommates, many who hastily turned away as the red curtains flipped back.
"Lily Evans," Lily introduced herself from the bed next to Hermione's.
"Hermione Granger."
"I know. They announced your name at the Sorting." Pause. "We've never had a transfer here before. What made you switch?"
"Mum and Dad decided I was old enough to handle myself abroad. And Hogwarts is supposed to be so much better than American schools."
"Are you really American? You don't sound it."
"No. I was born in Aylesbury," Hermione told the blond girl three beds away. This caused a bout of disinterest, and some of the girls busied themselves once more with readying for bed.
"What classes are you taking?" Lily forayed into conversation again after another long silence.
"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, plus all the regular classes we have to take."
"So am I!" It was the first genuine spark of interest Hermione had seen from any of them, and she smiled in response. She noticed several of the girls roll their eyes and the remainder turned away, the subject of newcomer becoming completely stale as Lily talked about classes.
"They won't bother you," Lily told her in a low voice, her eyes following Hermione's as she looked at the other girls turning away. "Since you acted like you don't care what they think."
"I don't care what they think," Hermione told her honestly.
Lily gave her a startled look that rapidly turned rueful. "Well- no- I don't suppose you would. You already made your friends."
More silence. But Lily had handed her an opening, so Hermione took it.
"They clearly aren't yours."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Sirius Black is a prick," one of the other girls interrupted loudly. Turned backs apparently did not mean closed ears. "Trina Bell," she added by way of introduction. The name sounded like a challenge.
"James Potter and Sirius Black believe they can get away with anything," Lily shrugged as she pushed her head through her nightgown.
Too bad they can, Hermione thought whimsically, remembering her anger with Harry and Ron that first year when they broke rules to stupidly duel Malfoy.
"And they often can. So it basically just makes them super-arrogant." Lily lowered her voice, leaned closer to Hermione. "Black cheated on Trina over the summer by snogging a sixth-year Hufflepuff."
Hermione winced a little, but had to admit that recklessness with other's feelings was not at all at odds with what she knew of the man. "Understandable. But still…"
Lily nodded. "They're childish and immature. But…I won't hold it against you." She tried to grin as she jerked her head in Trina's direction. "They might."
Hermione struggled not to snort as she observed the two distinctly separate groups of girls glaring at them suspiciously. Childish and immature indeed. But Lily's eyes were sincere, and Hermione could use a good female friend. "Thanks." As she relaxed onto her pillow with a book she released a nearly-inaudible sigh.
Thirteen-year-old girls. And her mental voice sounded surprisingly like the impatient tones of her ex-Potions Master.
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"Thanks for getting up and coming down," Remus said shyly as she joined him at the Gryffindor table. There seemed startlingly few students present, given the size of the feast the night before. In her own time, students were required to eat breakfast- and get their morning mail. She wondered when that rule had come into effect as she buttered her toast.
"I love mornings. My friends at my old school hate them. They can't see straight when they get up in the morning."
"That's Sirius for you," Remus agreed with a laugh.
"'Morning," Sirius and James grunted in unison as they arrived, just five minutes before class.
"You nearly missed your schedules," Remus hissed, much like a disapproving mother. "I had to get them for you." He slid the sheets over to them.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins on Mondays and Wednesdays!" Sirius yelped, sloshing coffee all down his front. Glaring at the burning liquid running in rivulets down his robes, he muttered a cleaning spell and returned to the object of his horror, eyeing his schedule like a poison.
"As if we needed Mondays to get any worse," James agreed.
"Who teaches Potions?" Hermione asked, glancing at the head table. Something prickled in her gut with the absence of too many faces she had come to rely on, and her missing Potions Master left her with an uneasy sense of foreboding.
"Professor Slughorn. He's okay. Definitely picks favorites. He has a little 'club' that gets together for dinner and brandy every week or something. I don't know why James isn't in." Remus glanced at his friend slurping coffee. "George Potter works at the Ministry- very well connected."
"Indeed. Who is in?" Hermione asked, eyes settling on the round figure that she should have recognized before. Wasn't he always going on to Harry about how much he loved Lily Evans as a student? It was one reason Slughorn was always willing to help Harry… but the roly-poly professor's insistence on creating and maintaining connection might be a good place to start seeking the clarinet. Or was it the clarinetist? "Is getting in always about being well connected? How does he choose?"
"Loads of Slytherins," Sirius muttered. "Invited me to join. Something about 'father's a friend' and 'wouldn't want to exclude me just because the Sorting Hat made a strange decision.' But I'm obviously not interested in breaking bread with the likes of Malfoy."
"Malfoy's in?" Hermione wrinkled her nose.
"See what I mean? You don't want to be in it either. But of course he is- his dad's famous, very wealthy, supposedly a decent chap. His son didn't inherit it though."
Hermione shivered. No, if Draco Malfoy's grandfather was a good man, it had clearly skipped the next two generations.
"Snivellus is in it. Because he's the world's biggest prat," James announced. Lily Evans, only four seats away, glowered at him, backed by the glares of the other girls in their dormitory.
"Because he's excellent at potions," she shot back. "And incredibly smart. And applies himself. Unlike some people I know."
"Snivellus?" Hermione wondered.
"Potter, if you're going to have go at me, why don't we do it somewhere that something
more than a coward's mouth are allowed," said a cold voice. Hermione's back automatically straightened at the sound. It was younger, undeniably less menacing, but it was still he, and the ringing cold in his voice froze her bread halfway to her mouth for an instant.
"Snape?" As soon as she recovered movement, Hermione spun in her seat to face a thirteen-year-old Snape, hair tied back at the nape of his neck, wearing a shadow of the sneer that would become his permanent expression as a professor, one hand casually thrust into his pocket, holding a wand.
"Have we met?" he asked icily.
"No," she floundered, "I'm the transfer student."
"I know who you are. Yet one more lost to Gryffindor." He turned to James, ignoring her.
"Clearly your reputation precedes you if she already knows who you are," James replied with an easy leer. "You should be flattered than anyone would take the time to learn and remember your ugly face."
Snape's jaw tightened, as did the fingers clutching his wand, but a hand clapped on his shoulder and a flint-faced boy with hard eyes was standing behind him.
"Trouble?" The word seemed to glide ice cold and steel bright over the table, begging the affirmative answer to the question. Snape had visibly flinched at the touch, and James was glowering. Sirius was leaning forward, hatred bright in his eyes, looking more than ready to find an excuse to hex Snape into next week. Remus shifted uncomfortably. Peter was watching, an eager, greedy and spiteful look glittering in his eyes. The seats around them had gone still to watch the confrontation. No matter how often it happened, it was popular entertainment to watch a Snape and Potter fight.
"They threatening you, Sev?"
"No, Les." The boy's voice was even, in spite of his fear and dislike of the other.
"Good. Don't damage him." Les cuffed Severus in a none-too-friendly way on the ear, but his words were clearly addressed to James. "I need someone to do my homework."
"Don't worry. All work and no play make Snivellus a dull boy indeed," Sirius returned. "We're just…playing." Les laughed, striding away to join his silently watching housemates.
Snape did not turn to see his second tormentor go, but narrowed his eyes at James. "Well Potter. Play, is it?"
"Name your challenge, Snivelly."
"The Forbidden Forest. We each have to bring out a pint of thestral blood." He smiled. There were gasps, and Hermione could have sworn that all four tables bent towards them, heads inclined to listen. Remus was shaking his head violently.
"What? What kind of blood?" James looked completely non-plussed.
"Thestral." The smile on Snape's face widened cruelly. "What, Potter, you can't see thestrals?"
"Enough, Snape," Remus warned. Snape ignored him.
"What're thestrals?" James demanded.
"Ohhhh. But of course. Perfect little Potter's life is so wonderful he's never even witnessed death," Snape's voice trilled high and mocking before dropping to a tone ugly and sinister. "You can't play with the big kids unless you know the game, Potter." Snape withdrew to the Slytherin table to uproarious laughter, some cheers and modest backslapping from his peers. He took his place between two willowy girls with dark hair, reaching for food.
"That was unpleasant." Hermione had scooted down the bench to sit next to Lily. The other girls arched an eyebrow.
"They do it all the time. The teachers even ignore it now until it gets out of hand. If they had agreed to go to the Forbidden Forest, someone would have stopped them. But since it was just words…" she shrugged expressively.
Hermione shivered and went back to her breakfast, but the incident seemed to have settled in her stomach like a lump of porridge, and she pushed her eggs back and forth on her plate. James, and even Sirius, had seemed a bit…cruel…about Snape.
She remembered hearing people say, "You're just like James…" to Harry. Even Sirius had said it. And she remembered, horribly, Snape's inhuman rage towards Sirius Black in the Shrieking Shack and when he had escaped from Flitwick's office…and the fact that one day before they graduated, Sirius would send Snape after Remus and nearly kill him…
And this James Potter had just done something Harry would never do. Harry had never deliberately provoked Malfoy like that, and had never been so pointlessly mean. Temperamental, yes, fragile, sometimes. Cruel? Never. And the look on Sirius' face…
"Come on. History of Magic first," James broke her reverie. Hermione stood with some reluctance, reflecting on Trina's, and indeed, all her roommates', bitterness the night before in a slightly new light.
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"It was amazing- she completely fixed my potion, like that," James was telling them enthusiastically after Potions that afternoon. Hermione smiled, no embarrassment evident at the praise. She had long ago schooled herself not to color when Ron or Harry extolled her intelligence extravagantly. Within thirty minutes, she would be back to being a bore because she didn't like Quidditch.
Hermione sighed internally. Sorted into third year. Even in her own time she was often bored in class. This was almost unbearable. Only the task of fixing James' potion had kept her focused and engaged.
That, and watching Snape. Hermione didn't know why her eyes had drawn to him the instant she had entered the dungeon and not pulled away. Perhaps it was that last memory of him standing in the Headmaster's office before she entered the hole, eyes fierce and undeniably passionate, so hot in a face so coldly serene. And today it had been easy to see how he would gain his Mastery…his gift with Potions far surpassed impressive and he adopted an almost ethereal grace when working with them. For the first time, Hermione realized that Snape might actually enjoy his job if it weren't for the students.
"James, I doubt she'll be helping you during exams," Remus was saying sharply. "You should really learn how on your own."
James waved away this piece of advice with one hand. "Potions isn't really my subject. Definitely Transfiguration."
"I'm sure Slughorn will be impressed when you tell him that. 'Potter, I can't imagine why a bright boy like you can't put together a simple sleeping draught.' 'Well Professor,'" Remus' voice slid slightly higher to be James, "'Potions isn't really my subject.' He'll be flattered, I'm sure."
"Can I have help next time too?" Peter asked, almost tripping over himself in his rush to talk to Hermione.
Hermione pursed her lips. It was impossible to like the boy- he looked too much like the man she had faced in the Shrieking Shack that night three years ago, before Voldemort's second rise, before Sirius' death, before…everything. The night that had marked the beginning of the end of her childhood.
"If I don't run the risk of getting caught," she promised quietly, and hurriedly turned her head, pretending to listen to James and Sirius argue to avoid being drawn into conversation.
"Why don't you like Peter?" Sirius asked her quietly, catching her arm and holding her back as James, Peter and Remus hurried on to dinner, now discussing the coming Quidditch tryouts.
"What makes you think I don't?"
Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Because your jaw tenses every single time you look at him, and there's something else in your eyes- you detest him. I'd almost say you despise him, but why?"
Hermione looked at the stone floor. "It's a long story, and one I'm not inclined to tell. But please believe that I have a good reason, and that my opinion is not going to change."
"That seems a little closed-minded," Sirius defended his friend. Hermione tried to stifle the urge to laugh. The first time she had seen the two in a room together, Sirius was ready and pleased to kill Pettigrew. And he will be again, she thought dismally. "I admit that he's off-putting when you first meet him, but you get used to it, and he can be a lot of fun. If you don't like Peter just because he's not talented like you are-"
"That has nothing to do with it." Her quashed laugh evaporated and the coldness in her voice told Sirius that he had hit on something that ran far deeper than he had given her credit for. "If I disliked those less intelligent and talented than I, I would have very few friends." Sirius conceded this with a low laugh. "It has nothing to do with his ability- or lack thereof- regarding magic."
"Sure," Sirius replied quickly, "I'm sorry- I didn't realize, I thought you might-"
"I am not so shallow as all that, Sirius Black," she said, and though the words were in earnest, her voice was light and forgiving and Sirius wisely dropped it.
They entered the Great Hall, and Hermione spotted Lily Evans, seated alone and absorbed in a book. "Look," she told Sirius, "I'll catch you later. I want to talk to Lily."
"All right," Sirius agreed affably, then muttered, "Why?" under his breath as he slumped next to James.
"Hey," Lily greeted her, closing the book slightly.
"Hi," Hermione started, a little uncomfortable. "Am I interrupting? If you're studying-"
"No it's fine, I'm not all that busy." Lily cocked her head curiously. "Why?"
"I really- this is going to sound strange, but- I wanted to ask you about James."
"Yeah?" She looked surprised, then shrugged. "I certainly don't know much, and definitely don't care to."
Hermione took a deep breath and decided to jump right in. "James and Snape-"
"Those two!" Lily interrupted with a snort. "Prancing about like they alone uphold a thousand years of honored house-rivalry. They met in Diagon Alley right before their first year and it was hate at first sight. And they're both extremely smart and, unfortunately, very powerful. For children," she amended.
"But…James is just so mean to him…"
"What do you expect? That the Slytherins always start it?"
Malfoy always does, Hermione thought, and promptly shelved that answer. "I guess- I've heard a little of their reputation."
"Being a Gryffindor hardly means being a saint, especially if you're a 'Marauder'- do you know that's what they call themselves? James almost always provokes Snape, and often gets away with it. Though sometimes there are some nasty hexes involved."
"Why won't James just leave him alone?" As Harry would do.
Lily snorted with laughter, nearly dropping her forkful of mashed potatoes. "Are you kidding? Waste an alone, outcast, perfect target? That's not Potter's style."
Hermione frowned. Lily's bitterness towards James was unexpected, and disturbing. Almost as distressing as the latter's evident willingness to torture Snape at whim. She had always pictured a happy couple together…rather like, well, her and Ron, she supposed, now that he was done with this ridiculous Lavender business. Fights occasionally, perhaps, but not this. Lily's violent dislike was not what she expected, and probably something that Harry would find… disquieting at the very least.
But there were some things about James that weren't admirable at all in and of themselves. His father's spitting image Harry might be physically, but their personalities seemed completely opposite. She could not imagine Harry so deliberately taunting Malfoy. And speaking of which-
"You're going to come watch me try out for Quidditch, right Hermione?" James slung one leg over the bench and sat down facing her. Hostility radiated from Lily in waves, and James seemed awkward as he added:
"You're welcome too, Evans."
"I wouldn't watch you play if you were trying out for the Canons," she sniffed, opening her book again. James blushed a little and mumbled something about talking to Sirius before getting up and moving off. Another bout of homesickness lanced through her abdomen. It had only been that year that she had watched Ron try out for Harry again.
"You okay?" Lily asked, frowning at her. Hermione pulled a smile from muscle memory and replied:
"Of course. Just a little, you know, missing people."
"Sure. You're going to go?" Lily asked.
"To Quidditch? Yes. They're my friends. The first ones I made here. And I should. And it will be fun." She was looking for the fastest way not to explain herself, so she pointed at the book in Lily's lap and asked, "What are you reading?"
"Something on Arithmancy, written by Professor Derivitiv, the teacher here before Vector." Hermione scooted closer to read over her shoulder. Lily shook her head, but it was in amusement, not annoyance, and there was an approving smile on her face.
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"You knew it was in the bag," Sirius accused James, punching his shoulder once more as they walked from the Quidditch pitch. Ludo had grudgingly admitted that while James was hardly female, he had been much better than any of the other thirty-three contestants for the position on the house team. Everyone had turned out to watch- or to try. It seemed that everyone who had ever touched a broomstick wanted to play. Hermione was willing to wager that even she could have topped one or two of the hopeful first years.
"Yeah, but this way I got to prove it in front of everyone," James said, grinning. "Now watch someone cry favoritism. I was clearly the king there, right?"
"Right mate. Nothing to worry about, just like I promised you."
"Cakes in the common room?" Remus interrupted hopefully.
"Last one there's a rotten egg!" James roared and started towards the castle at a sprint, neck-in-neck with Sirius, his broomstick slung over his shoulder. Remus and Peter were in swift pursuit and Hermione shook her head. She was, without a doubt, the pokiest rotten egg they had ever had.
She stopped halfway across the grounds to look at the Whomping Willow in the dying sunlight. The Forbidden Forest was its usual mass of evergreen- with brilliant patches of red and gold springing into the autumn air around the edges where the darker trees made way for their younger cousins and the lawn met the underbrush.
The tide of loneliness in her swelled with the sound of the lake lapping over already rounded stones, and…she stopped still, ears listening.
For faintly, stringing across the wind in irregular intervals, came the clear, winding sound of a clarinet.
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Hermione hurtled over the undergrowth, thrusting branches aside as she pushed through briars and scratched her arms on bracken. She halted, panting in the middle of a tiny wedge-shaped clearing, listening.
There. She swung her head slowly. It was growing louder. Just a little, and slightly more consistent in its sound… The sound was pure and light, and seemed almost virtuosic in quality…
She started towards it again, eagerly shoving obstacles out of her way, it was getting louder-
-until very suddenly, it stopped. In the silence, she heard the branch under her landing foot snap and she cursed herself roundly. Crashing through trees like a terrified child running from a bogeyman- had she expected the musician not to hear her? Or run? It was clearly not a condoned activity if they were out here during the evening to practice.
She waited, barely breathing. Perhaps, if she was lucky, they would start again. If she waited long enough…
But the sound did not resume, and as the minutes slid from one to five to fifteen, she sighed, resigned to having lost what she had been looking for.
She glanced at where the dying sunlight was still penetrating the trees and groaned softly as she tramped towards it. She was no more than fifty feet from the edge of the forest. She could have run in the safety and relative quiet of the lawn to her target, instead of alerting everything in the forest to her presence, and driving away the object of her search.
When she reached the lawn, she waited again for someone else to emerge from the dark trees. But once again the seconds slipped by and no one else appeared.
Disgusted with her lack of sense in her detective work, Hermione started back to the castle. So, the clarinet and its player were here, she was surprised at the relief that settled over her. Her mission was indeed to take place at Hogwarts. Now the only problem remained as to who it might be.
Professor Slughorn had clearly indicated this morning how pleased he was with her highly advanced abilities in Potions. Lily had said that Snape was one of his favorites because of his abilities, and she already knew Slughorn was susceptible to flattery. Perhaps the professor would help her.
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Snape slipped into his room, leaning back against the door as he closed it, adrenaline slowing its furious pump into his blood as he let out a long breath. That had been entirely too close. Too many wizards and witches passionately disliked and feared music, the Ministry's strictures the harsh measures of a frightened populace. Whoever had been out there tonight had clearly been seeking him. He was lucky that they were so clumsy.
His relief was short-lived. As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into two identical dark gazes, belonging to his twin cousins, sitting on his bed, grim sets to their mouths.
"You almost got caught, didn't you?" one asked. Severus drew another breath for a heavy sigh, caught the arched eyebrow of his other cousin, and let it out softly.
"It wasn't that close."
"That explains why you came tearing through the Common Room like a bat out of hell, doesn't it? You almost got caught."
"There was someone out in the Forbidden Forest," he scowled at them. "That's all. And they were so loud, it didn't matter anyway. I heard them coming a mile off."
"Cuz…" He stiffened. He had always hated the pet appellation, emphasizing his younger age. His older cousin sighed. He was so delicate, a balance of pride and calloused carelessness, his father's fist aging him well in advance of his years.
"Severus," the girl changed tacks, "you've got to be more careful than that. Forget the authorities. If Mum finds out-"
"Yours or mine?" he snorted.
"Either," she pressed firmly. "Aunt Eileen'll go spare on us if she finds out you're playing."
"Kass, she won't," he replied, running a velvet cloth through his bell, cleaning it.
"She will if you're reported!" Kassandra snapped, black eyes flashing. Her twin signaled her for silence, and leaned towards their young cousin.
"Severus, just remember to be careful." His scornful glance darted her way and she pursed her lips. "You have obviously not been as cautious as you should. And you don't have to practice everyday. Take a break. Practice every other day instead."
Severus merely glowered at her. "I like playing daily." He brightened as he fished the marble he had been given by Professor McGonagall for extra Transfiguration homework out of his pocket. "And today I figured out how to transform this into a bowl."
Kassandra opened her mouth to object, but her sister once more fluttered her fingers to still her and nodded to Severus, encouraging him. He received little enough attention for his accomplishments- his father furious at his magical ability, his mother critical of his consistently poor marks in Flitwick's and McGonagall's classes. Severus reattached bell and mouthpiece to the body of the clarinet, absently waved his wand to lock the door, cast a Silencing Charm in the next breath and lifted the instrument to his thin lips.
Both twins glanced at the door and the fireplace nervously, but Severus' eyes had focused on a single point, the shiny black button resting on his dull ebony duvet, and he began to play.
A short, low monotone string of notes flattened the button further, widening it into a bottom, followed by a slow scale upwards, molding the button into higher and thinner sides as he played, fingers touching each key in succession. As the last note petered out, the bowl assumed its final shape, and he blinked, tore his eyes from his accomplishment and looked at his cousins proudly. They gave him smiles, then glanced meaningfully at each other.
"If I could play in McGonagall's class, she couldn't give me extra homework," he said, mouth twisting with displeasure as he gazed at the perfectly transfigured bowl. Kassandra waved her wand, her "Finite Incantantum!" releasing his hurried wards as he took apart his instrument and stored it under his bed.
"Severus, watch yourself, all right?" His cousin touched his shoulder, her smile slight and gentle.
"Yes, Kly," he replied dutifully. His mother had ordered him to mind them in his first year, and the order still stood. They were two years his senior with standing of their own in Slytherin's mangled, shifting hierarchy.
He reflected with some bitterness as they left that even the Zabini twins, daughters of one of Britain's most influential wizards and powerful businessmen, could not protect their awkward, intelligent, withdrawn cousin. Their allies kept an aloof eye on him, and had saved him from more brutal scrapes, but a Slytherin who could not hold his own was an impossible weakness, and so Severus had learned to forge his own path, with benefactors, but no friends, his cold countenance and formidable spate of knowledge his surest protection against anything worse than a few taunts.
Except from Black and Potter. But at least Slytherin House stood at his back against the arrogant Gryffindors, all of them ready to assist in beating the boys. His rivalry with them had perversely raised his own house standing, especially his pitched battles with the blood traitor Black, who had been long expected to join the ranks of his forebears in Slytherin's den.
He turned to glower at his transfigured bowl. He would be able to present it to McGonagall tomorrow, but unable to duplicate the spell she had taught them, he could only expect more disappointed head-shaking from the stern Deputy Headmistress and superior smirks from Slytherin and Gryffidnor classmates alike.