I.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.
Margaret Atwood, from "Helen of Troy Does Counter Dancing," Morning in the Burned House

Hermione Jean Granger of Number 1, Morgenstern Court, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, was horribly unimpressed with the letter she received upon the morning of August 1st.

"If this is some kind of joke, I'm impressed, " She told her parents over breakfast, "it's much too complex for any of the boys at school to come up with. I wonder who it could be."

Of course, young Miss Granger would soon find out it wasn't a joke, and she would find out much more with the arrival of a certain Scottish witch in emerald green robes.

Their conversation was utterly fascinating to say the least, and as she listened to her guest speak of a school called Hogwarts and a place called Diagon Alley, of magic and potions and things that ought to only belong in a storybook, she began to think, to plan.

Here she had a world where she belonged. A true home. Where she wouldn't be teased for being weird and odd and for all the strange things that happened to her ("Accidental magic," McGonagall says, "happens to every young witch or wizard.") She had a whole world at her fingertips, one that had been hidden to her, until now.

Hermione Jean Granger had a small thing about power. She was one of those more studious children, and was of the opinion that knowledge was power. Her best friend, Harry James Potter would turn to her, soft smile and hard eyes, saying that power was power no matter where it came from, and to be honest, Hermione was inclined to agree.

Power was power, and now she had it. Real power, well, powers: magic. She could do magic. (Her brain paused, thinking, if she had magic and was going off to Hogwarts in the fall, what would become of Harry while she was gone? Hermione brushed the thought off instantly. It wouldn't matter what would become of him if he stayed, simply because he wasn't staying. If Hermione Granger was magic, then she'd eat every last one of her books if Harry Potter wasn't.)

Harry Potter of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England was indeed a wizard, and Hermione Granger attempted to refrain from shooting up from her chair and doing a victory dance around the table upon reading the hastily scribbled letter delivered by a snowy owl the morning of August the 3rd (it was wholly unsuccessful, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger watched in mild fascination).

Hermione didn't see Harry again until the morning of September the first, when she barged into his compartment, threw down her trunk and grinned at him, all sharp teeth and wild hair.

"We've got magic, Harry." She'd said, eyes alight with never ending ideas.

"I know." He'd said, teeth equally as sharp and hair equally as wild.

"No more Harry Hunting. No more running from Dudley and his gang because we've got magic. What do they have?"

"Nothing." Harry had said, and so it began once more, just her and Harry against the world. She had been lied to, had been kept from her rightful place in this world and she wasn't angry persay, but certainly peeved her enough to want at least a little bit of revenge.

And so she settled herself across from Harry, brought her favorite books out of her bag, and set to it.

The Wizards had no right keeping her from the truth, and since it wasn't exactly smart for her to become Prime Minister because that was part of the "Muggle government" and therefore irrelevant to people like her, Hermione would need to find some other way to get what she wanted.

Having your best friend be the supposed "Boy Who Lived" and "Savior of the Wizarding World" didn't exactly hurt her changes when climbing the political ladder, either.

Hermione open her mouth to talk to Harry about that, but the compartment door was thrown open and a messy red haired boy stood in the doorway.

"I heard Harry Potter is on board!" He said loudly, spittle flying with every word. "I've checked every compartment, but he's not here!"

Hermione side-eyed her friend, and looked back at the redhead. "Sorry, he's not here. I think I saw him move towards the front though, a little while ago."

The redhead looked delighted. "Really? Thanks!" He sped off.

Hermione sniffed in disdain the moment he left, turning to Harry. "I do appreciate you telling me of your fame. It could come in handy later."

"Later?"

"Of course, Harry. No power without politics, and your spot as a 'savior'-" here, she made air quotes with her fingers, leaning forward on the seat across from her best friend, "-will help."

"We won't be separated, not if I can help it." she continues, "Whatever does the 'Sorting' for our houses will just have to put us together."

"I quite like the sound of Gryffindor. Bravery, chivalry." Harry said, thinking on what he'd read of the Hogwarts Houses. No one ever said he wasn't studious; you had to be, to keep up with Hermione Granger.

It wasn't hard to come up with something that would convince Harry to stay far away from the so-called noble house. "Sounds like something Dudley would like."

Harry made a face, instantly put off. Hogwarts was safe, away from Dudley and Uncle Vernon and crazy Aunt Petunia. He wanted nothing to do with them at Hogwarts.

"So then where? Hufflepuff?"

Hermione laughed, "We're not exactly kind, are we?"

Harry thinks of every instance in which Hermione reduced a girl to tears with her words, every time Harry had led Dudley into a carefully constructed trap.

"Ravenclaw is an option, but it's not likely you'll end up there. Wisdom and all." Hermione points out, sounding somewhat rehearsed, as though she'd gone over all of this in her head before getting on the train.

Hermione might be eons ahead of him in terms of intelligence, but he's known her long enough to be fully aware that she'd been craftily steering his opinions in the direction she felt was best. "So, Slytherin? Isn't that supposed to be a 'dark' house?"

"Ambition, Harry. Determination. Cleverness. Their values are everything we are, Harry. It's the best fit."

Harry looks at her, mulling this over in his mind. It's not like he's ever known Hermione to be wrong about anything.

Perhaps sensing his hesitation, she continues. "We could have power here, Harry. No more bowing down to the whims of Dudley, no more hiding in the library. We're already better than the Dursley's because of our magic, but we could bet better than the other wizards in Slytherin."

"I'm in. Slytherin it is." Harry grins, and nobody passing gives the little first years with wild hair and wild eyes a second glance.