Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.
Revised, split up into chapters, and reposted on 2-3-10
The Dool Tree
Chapter 5
"Good evening, girls," greeted Professor McGonagall, standing primly before the fifth-year Gryffindor females. Hermione fidgeted as her new room-mates eyed her closely. While none of them appeared downright hostile during McGonagall's explanation of the situation, Hermione still felt alienated from them because of their investigative stance: they looked at her like a specimen to study, not a potential colleague.
"Please do understand that Miss Granger is a foreigner, so please, do not hesitate to educate her if she behaves a trifle unusually," concluded the professor gently.
I suppose that's my safety in case I do or say something that I couldn't do or say in the 1970s, Hermione acknowledged, feeling a bit put-out that McGonagall didn't trust her to blend in with the other students.
"And do, as I said before, make an effort to make her feel welcome. It's very scary coming to a new place to experience a new way of life."
Thus McGonagall finished her lecture, cajoled the girls into giving their names, bid adieu, and left the fresh carrion to the circling vultures.
"Is it true that Aussies never shave their legs?" demanded Jenny Hazard as soon as the door closed. "Because me brother said that, and he 'ad a friend who went there. Once."
"Isn't that the brother of yours who kept company with that bunch of beatniks?" scorned Mary, admonishing Jenny. "Then it's no wonder, 'cause I doubt 'im and 'is chums ever shave."
"Ladies! Let's not be rude to our new guest," reminded Deborah Smith, though Hermione caught a distinct note of disdain in the words new guest. "Tell us all about yourself, my dear. We're all ears." Her treacle voice made Hermione wary, and she immediately labeled the speaker as a pompous wanna-be Slytherin.
"Well," Hermione said slowly, sitting down on the new bed that McGonagall had obtained for her, "I'm really not much. My parents are English, they're dentists who moved down south to start a new practice. But...well..." She paused, wondering how much to divulge to her audience, which was far from rapt.
Deborah Smith's expression reminded Hermione of Percy Weasley at his most prattish, smarmy and oozing in fake charms that made her stomach queasy. Smith had her hair done in a trendy style, just a smidgen less wild than Farrah Fawcett's waves, and she sported an enormous smile, exposing a very nice and white set of teeth. She was the only one who gave Hermione her full attention.
The curious whims of light blonde Jenny Hazard seemed fickle, for no longer was she interested in whether Aussies shaved their legs or not. Instead, her tanned fingers were wrapping and unwrapping the remains of a roll of brightly-colored string, and she seemed slothful and indifferent. So slothful, in fact, that Hermione was unsurprised when she caught a whiff of a sweet, smoky scent when the girl moved.
Dorcas Meadowes was the most awkward of the lot, with stringy brown hair and a significant belly. She wasn't interested in Hermione except marginally, gnawing on her nails as if she'd left dinner early. Hermione also noticed that she had a book folded up in her pocket—Dr. Hegel's Guide to Self-Improvement—and she deduced that the girl was a Muggle-born, or at least a half-blood.
The red-haired Lily Evans looked like she'd seen better days, and the condition of her eyelids competed in color with her hair. She seemed very distracted, her eyes looking out the window and her fingers rubbing a small heart-shaped charm on a chain around her neck. Whereas the other girls seemed individualistic, she seemed inclined otherwise, and she and Mary appeared to be close friends.
Mary—girl of a harsh Manchester accent and a stern expression—gently massaged Lily's shoulder and brushed the knots in her friend's hair, her posture maternal but fiercely protective. Her clothes were the shabbiest of the bevy, and her hair was cut in a sad shaggy bob, but it obviously was not of major concern to her.
Of the company, Hermione decided she might like the latter two best; they exuded confidence and intelligence incomparable to the others, as well as a tight companionship that was like Harry and Ron's. Of course, Hermione remembered that Lily would eventually become Harry's mum--even if she had not recognized the name, the other girl's eyes were a blatant reminder.
Needless to say, it was a fairly creepy experience for the poor young time-traveling girl to realize that she was going to be sharing a room with her best friend's mum--before said mum ever got married!
"Well, Hermione," Deborah decided after the new student had given a few perfunctory details about her life and heritage, "I think you'll manage to fit in quite nicely. It may be very different for you, of course, but even though you are a Muggle-born, and an Australian, you'll be all right at Hogwarts, I daresay."
Prejudiced as well, Hermione judged, and nodded with fake amicability.
"Oi, you girls!" came a female voice from outside, "I've got something for Lily! Is she in there?"
"Yes," replied Mary before Lily's struggling lips could reply, "what is it?"
The door opened, and a third-year with glasses looked inside. "It's a note! From a boy!"
"What boy?" asked Deborah, her voice just a tad uncivil. "Not Potter?"
"No, not Potter," replied the young lady primly. "It's from that boy she hangs around all the time, that Snivellus character."
All eyes turned to Lily, and Hermione was shocked not only at the news but also at the diversity of the expressions.
Wait, Professor Snape was friends with Harry's mum?
She was dreadfully surprised, but she still couldn't miss the derision in the eyes of Deborah Smith, the pity in the eyes of Dorcas Meadowes, the amusement in the eyes of Jenny Hazard, and the exasperation in the eyes of Mary McDonald.
And the terror that came from Lily Evans as they all stared at her.
"But I thought you'd given up being chums with that nasty boy," Jenny blabbed impulsively.
"That's what you told all of us," Deborah agreed, distaste in her tone.
"She did," Mary said, defensive.
"So what's the letter say?" asked Dorcas, though she didn't really seem to care.
Lily was quiet. "I'll take it," she said, "though I can't say I will reply."
"You oughtn't read it," insisted Mary, a frown on her face as the third-year passed the letter on to the proper recipient and left. "It'll only make it harder to make a clean break of it, Lily."
"I know," she said softly, opening the letter, "but I can't let him just...oh my God."
Her eyes began to fill with tears as she looked at the page. "It's...oh my God, look at it!"
"It's got wet spots on it," observed Mary, her voice dry.
"Tears!" exclaimed Lily with a sob, and she fell into Mary's embrace. "Read it, Mary, you read it. I can't."
"I won't. It's yours, Lily." But her eyes were nonetheless running along the words, and her eyes were widening with interest.
Hermione was intrigued. What does this all mean?
However, the secret was not to be imparted to the ladies at large, because Mary rose and heaved Lily up from the floor. "Buck up, captain," she said, sounding a little scared, "we'll talk this out together, all right? Get up on the bed, that's a good lass."
She climbed onto the bed next to Lily, drawing the curtains of the four-poster closed, and soon Hermione couldn't hear their voices because of a faint buzzing in her ears.
"Sounds like a good idea, I think I'll turn in too," said Jenny, yawning comfortably and hopping onto her own bed.
Dorcas followed suit, though Deborah said she would lay awake to read a while. Hermione herself decided on bed, and soon she was enveloped in the warmth of the familiar Gryffindor bedding.
Settling into her new Hogwarts life was in theory quite easy, but Hermione realized that it would be hard to assimilate.
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