Chapter X: Lions Amongst Sheep

Harry nearly left his present on the sofa, having become engrossed in a discussion of magical theory (though lecture might be a more apt description) with Hermione, which led into an impromptu lesson on the levitation charm. The trick, according to someone who had cast it successfully first try, was in the pronunciation: 'It's leviohsa, not leviosaah.' He personally found that imagining the quill they were practising on as a broomstick was effective. Hermione had scoffed, not at his method which clearly worked and was therefore quite alright in her book, but at the 'typical boy behaviour' of bringing quidditch into everything.

He didn't remember the package until it was time to put it away safely so they could go to dinner. He rushed up to his dorm to stash it in his trunk, burying it right to the bottom - it wasn't that he distrusted his dormmates, but he didn't trust them - and bounded eagerly back down the stairs two at a time. He wasn't eager to face the student body, or even to get back to his new friend; he was hungry.

"Come on, we'll be late," he urged Hermione on seeing that she hadn't moved from the couch, nor even packed away all her things.

"I'm not going," she replied, looking - no, turning her head - to the floor.

"Aren't you hungry?" he asked. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd lost her appetite with everything that was going on.

"Starving, to be honest. I skipped lunch in the library."

"So…" he motioned to the door, then scolded himself again. This is going to take some getting used to. "Food?" he added.

"You go on, Harry. I'll be alright."

"Got a secret stash somewhere in here?" Harry quipped, thinking that sort of preparedness would be exactly like her, from what he knew of her. He'd smuggled a few things into his cupboard over the years, trusting Dudley's voracious appetite for snacks to make their absence go unnoticed; if he could come up with the idea out of necessity, Hermione had likely perfected it 'just in case'.

"No, I'll just have a big breakfast," she replied flippantly.

Harry considered how offhandedly she had said that, and two possibilities came to mind. The first was that she, like he, was used to going to bed hungry. The other was much more likely.

"Have you ever gone to bed hungry before?" he ventured, certain she didn't understand what she was signing up for.

"No," she said, then after a thoughtful pause asked, "have you?"

"Yeah." He saw no reason to expound on that, nor wished to.

"Is it bad?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"It sucks. Extra bad if you missed lunch too."

"Is it as bad as facing a whole school that thinks you attacked a cat, killed something for its blood and threatened the lot of them?" Hermione blabbed, spelling her fear out rather explicitly. Harry had to take a second to weigh that one up.

"No… But it's not going to get you out of that. It'll just mean you're hungrier when it happens."

If there were two thing Harry knew well, they were hunger and unfair persecution. They tended to come together, so if you could face one without the other that was almost a win in itself. He sat on the sofa next to her, closer than they had been earlier, and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. He thought she might shirk from the contact, as he was fighting the urge to himself, but she leaned into it slightly. Like she was drawing comfort from it. Like a normal person, he reminded himself.

"Come on, Hermione. I'll be right there with you." - He hoped that sounded encouraging. - "We can even go sit with Luna at the 'Claws' table, so you've got a friend on either side."

"My own Crabbe and Goyle," Hermione quipped to herself, not that Harry knew what she meant. "But won't sitting with the Ravenclaws attract attention?"

That question let Harry know just how troubled she was; she should have been able to answer it herself. Maybe she just wants to hear it from someone else.

"I think every eye in the hall is gonna be on us anyway." - Hermione shuddered under his hand - "At least the Claws ignore people they don't like," he said, remembering their treatment of Luna which was still ongoing to a degree. What a funny world it was, that the behaviour towards one friend against which he'd rankled so ferociously would be a blessing for another.

Hermione sat silent for a time. Harry let his hand fall away from her shoulder, but she caught it in her own against her upper arm, and held it there tightly.

"You know what, Harry, I believe you're right. Help me pack up and we'll go."

"Yeah?" Harry beamed. His spirits soared, though be it from seeing his friend's new resolve or simply his stomach rejoicing he wasn't quite sure.

"Yes. Excuse my language, but bugger the lot of them." There was a steel to her voice like he had never heard as she then quoted: "It is better to live a day as a lion, than a hundred years a sheep."

Harry liked that. It spoke to something deep inside him, igniting the inner flame that roared to life as it had at the sorting. His own trepidation was drowned out by the rush.

"Come on then, Hermione," he said fervently, rushing to fill her bag with her many, many papers. "Let us be lions."

It was easy to be lions in the safety of the den. Hovering just outside the side entrance to the great hall, hearing the tumultuous din of the gathered masses, the courage ebbed. Hermione knew that for all she was picturing them as sheep, her peers would not be scared of her. Which was stupid.

They thought her a monster. They thought she had made threats, in blood no less, and yet they would torment her. They would accuse her of being a dangerous criminal, and in the same breath ensure that if she were, they would be top of her hitlist. In persecuting her they would only be egging her on to visit harm upon them.

She could do it, too. She knew of plenty of spells that shouldn't be hard to learn, and could come up with countless uses for the 'harmless' spells she already knew. She could outsmart any of them, manoeuvre them until they were alone, in a dark corridor or classroom, and show them why the last person you wanted to meet in the dark was someone who didn't need the light to- Stop it!

She pushed the invasive thought from her mind, repulsed that it had been there at all. She was no more inclined to follow the urging than she was to jump off a bridge and count how long it took to fall, or stick her hand in a fire to find out how much it hurt. Any murderous inclinations could go live in the same part of her brain those thoughts occupied, and it could stay there.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"No," she scoffed, reaching out to hook her arm around his. He stiffened, and she felt bad about causing such a reaction (and a little selfishly upset too), but she could apologise later. Right now she needed him, much as it pained her to admit. "Lead on."

"To the 'Claws?"

"To Luna. If there's space."

"Oh," Harry tensed further and darkly remarked, "there's always space around Luna."

Hermione got the impression it wasn't her own violent imagination she needed to watch out, and was glad Harry was on her side. For all that he was a quiet, unassuming boy when she spoke with him in the common room, he harboured a protective streak wide as the Severn and so deep the bottom was black. She lamented that he hadn't been around the year before, then reasoned that if he had he would possibly have gotten himself killed, or worse.

Harry started forward, walking slowly - probably to make sure Hermione could keep up, which was a nice thought if totally misguided. And a little patronising, actually; she'd have to have a quiet word later. Assuming they got out of this in one piece.

The din of the hall rose sharply before petering out into an unwelcoming susurrus. They were a little late, so the hall would be full - by which she meant half empty, as it was much too big for the student population - and the feast was underway. The rich aroma clashed with the butterflies in her stomach, and she was vindicated in her decision not to run a supersensory charm; she may have puked if she had.

"Hey look!" And older, unfamiliar voice shouted from across the hall, "it's the little killer!"

"Ten- no, twenty points from Slytherin!" McGonagall all but screamed, barely maintaining her famed composure. "And weekly detentions with Mr Filch until the Yule break!"

The professor's fury cowed the hall, excepting Mr Filch's gleeful cackle, long enough for Harry to guide Hermione to the Ravenclaw table and many to return to the clinking and full-mouthed muttering of dinner. Luna had just greeted them when the headmaster's powerful voice boomed from the head table.

"Attention. Your attention, if you will." He waited for silence, which took mere seconds, before continuing. "I am sure many of you have heard many things recently, about certain happenings within the castle. In the face of such events, it is only natural to be concerned, and in turn to look for someone to shoulder the blame." His voice had been kindly up to that point, but as he went on it hardened into a lecture that brooked no discussion. "It is of the utmost importance that only those who are guilty face persecution. The innocent should, and shall, be treated as such. I have personally questioned the student whom many suspect in this matter, along with several witnesses, and have concluded that there is no actionable evidence, nor plausible motive, for their involvement beyond having the misfortune of being the first to discover the scene. Rest assured that the matter is being investigated most diligently, and the true culprit will be found in good time. Now," he said, brightening in an instant, "I believe we were all enjoying the meal. Do carry on."

Hermione was unimpressed by the announcement. She'd felt that he wasn't sharing everything when they met in his office, as McGonagall had proven soon after, but it was nothing compared to how little he'd revealed in that speech. It was as if he was relying on the rumour mill to spread key information, which she knew from personal experience was a terrible way to get an accurate story. What really frustrated her was that he had never said she was innocent. Sure, he'd implied it heavily, and likely the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs would take that at face value, but the Claws and snakes would know how to read between the lines. She was aware he had done it to cover his own arse - on the miniscule chance that she was in fact responsible he could truthfully claim never to have vouched for her innocence - but those who already saw her as guilty would see a very different story. It was, after all, a rare breed of person who saw more than what they wanted to see.

"There you go. Dumbledore's sorted it like promised," Harry asserted, instantly living up to her Gryffindor expectations, and incidentally reminding her of herself this time last year - young and naïve, with a respect for authority so strong her peers thought it unshakeable. It had taken less than two months to have that worldview shattered, and she decided in that moment she would do the same for Harry. She would open his eyes gently, though, before Wizarding Britain did it to him the hard way.

"Hardly," she scoffed, "he did the bare minimum to help. Useless really. If anyone decides to leave me be, that'll be professor McGonagall's doing."

"Don't worry, Hermione," Luna said, "you've got friends to look out for you now. We'll keep you safe, won't we Harry?"

"You bet," he affirmed.

"Oh, that reminds me, you'll be needing this," Luna asserted, placing something on the back of Hermione's hand. She took it and explored it by touch: It was a string loop about two feet long, with eleven cylindrical lumps threaded onto it. The lumps were the consistency and texture of corkboard, and about the size of a small cork. They were corks. "I haven't finished your one yet, not enough corks you see, so you'll have to borrow mine for now. It'll keep those nasty nargles at bay."

Hermione was taken aback at the girl's generosity. "Thank you Luna, but don't you need this yourself?"

"I expect I can manage without for a few days. I can generally avoid them if I'm careful."

Hermione lifted the necklace over her head - it was too rudimentary to have a clasp - and settled it around her neck, after a short fight with her hair which somehow tied itself in knots around the foreign object like it was devil's snare. She briefly contemplated how silly it must look before reminding herself that 'looks' were no longer a concern of hers.

"Say, what is a-oof!" Hermione flinched at a sharp jab in her ribs from Harry's side.

"Don't ask," he whispered in her ear. "Just don't."

She wanted to ask. She hated not knowing something, but the ache in her side cautioned against it. No matter: She could look nargles up in the library later. They sounded like a creature of some kind, so fantastic beasts would be a good place to start. For the time being, she had bigger things on her mind. The Ravenclaws had, as predicted, steadfastly ignored their presence.

More problematic were the Slytherins, who had just arrived.

"Alright, Granger?" Malfoy sneered, earning chuckles from Crabbe and Goyle, who obviously had learned it was easier to laugh along with everything their master said than to stress their brains trying to understand his 'wit'.

"Get lost Draco," she snapped, "we don't need you putting us off our food."

"Oh, such viciousness... and to think, I only came here to offer my condolences to your friends."

"Your condolences for what?" she asked, wary of his false sincerity. Her hand shifted to her wand.

"For your untimely death, of course. What did you think 'enemies of the heir, beware' meant?"

"You don't think I'm the heir then?" She let her momentary glee a little too far off the leash one had to use when talking to Malfoy and, predictably, he attacked the perceived show of weakness.

"Ha!" He barked. "You, the heir? Don't make me laugh, Granger. How could a pathetic cripple like you be the heir?" - her fingers wrapped around her wand, which thrummed with anticipation - "The heir is here to cleanse this place of filth like you."

"Why don't you say what you mean, Malfoy?" she goaded, hoping to push him into using words he'd regret. For all his bragging about his own intellect, he was as bad a blabbermouth as Ron, or Lavender.

"What I mean is the heir is going to kill all you dirty mudbloods and then we-"

"-DEPULSO!" screamed one of the Ravenclaws - a fourth year muggleborn Hermione had heard sitting nearby - and there was a resounding crash as Malfoy was thrown into the Hufflepuff table, much to the surprise of the Puffs sitting there.

"Put your wands away this instant!" Flitwick squeaked from the head table. "This instant! Deplorable behaviour, utterly deplorable!" His voice was closing as quickly as the half-goblin's little legs could carry him. "Who is responsible for this?"

"I am, sir," Patricia Stimpson, the fast-on-the-draw Ravenclaw, confessed. She didn't sound at all contrite for what she'd done to the currently groaning Slytherin.

"Ms Stimpson, what possible reason do you have for cursing a fellow student? A second year, no less!"

"He was ranting about killing mudbloods sir."

"We do not use that word!" Flitwick commanded, though he was less forceful than one might expect; Hermione had no doubt he'd remembered the heritage of the student he was speaking to.

"He did." Patricia replied simply. "His exact words were 'cleanse this place of filth like you', and 'kill all you dirty mudbloods'. Sir."

Hermione wanted to jump up and kiss the girl; first she'd blasted Malfoy, ostensibly in her defence, and now she was giving a masterclass in selective quoting to get the prat in as much trouble as possible. Hero worship was not a notion Hermione ascribed to any more, but she had definitely just found herself a new role model for dealing with gits. The week of daily detentions Flitwick assigned Ms Stimpson did not deter Hermione in the slightest.

"I want her arrested!" Malfoy spluttered. "She attacked me!"

"Let us not be too hasty, Mr Malfoy," Flitwick chided, showing no real concern for the recently depulso'd student. "Now, can anyone corroborate Ms Stimpson's version of events?"

A chorus of 'yes' arose from the nearby Ravenclaws, Harry, and several of the Hufflepuffs behind. Malfoy did not have many - any - friends outside of Slytherin, and it was showing.

"Mr Malfoy, there are things we do not say to other people. Perhaps ten points from Slytherin will help you to learn that lesson?" Flitwick hummed.

"You- You! My father will hear about this!"

Hermione heard, and was amazed not to feel, Malfoy stomp away, ranting to his thugs as he went. And good riddance!

"There will be no more excitement, hmm?" Flitwick asked in a way that made it unmistakeably not a question. The mumbled chorus of assent - which Hermione did not care to join - drew a satisfied hum from the professor before he left them to eat.

Speaking of eating… Hermione's plate was still empty as her stomach. She took her earbuds out, but hesitated to put them in. If she did, she would be caught unaware by any further trouble directed her way, and there were students more aggressive in their opinions and methods than Malfoy. If she didn't use the buds, she would be assaulted by the sound of over three hundred students, many of them no doubt talking about her. In or out, she felt damned either way.

If only there were a friend nearby who might help.

"Harry," she ventured, returning the buds to her pocket, "would it be awfully troublesome if I asked you to fill my plate? Only my usual method is sub-optimal right now."

"Oh, sure thing. What do you want?"

He didn't even pause before answering. No time to consider if he wanted to help her, no time to decide what he might want in return; he just jumped to her aid. Hermione was far more taken aback by that than she would have expected. Having friends, she decided, wasn't simply convenient, or comforting. Having friends was brilliant.

"What is there?" she inquired, keeping a lid on her delight.

"Umm… It'd be easier to list what there isn't. They've really gone all out today," Harry said with more than a little awe in his voice.

"Well then… I'll have… Something with lamb? Dauphinoise potatoes if they have them? Actually, just anything that looks French is a good bet."

One of the best things about frequent family vacations to France was the food. Hogwarts fare tended towards traditional British foods, but there was always something continental to be found if you tried.

"Right, let's see…" Harry started mumbling names of dishes, or at least what he guessed they were called, and ladling serving after serving onto her plate.

"Don't take too much, Harry. This is the Ravenclaws' food; we shouldn't be greedy guests."

"Oh, don't worry about us Hermione," Luna chipped in, "there's plenty to go around. It's only a problem if you take too much pudding."

Hermione was beginning to find that it was hard to sensibly respond to anything Luna said. Even when she was making perfect sense her words carried a note of finality to them - she was so self-assured that there was nothing to add, and questions felt disrespectful. That was why Hermione found herself not asking how much constituted too much, and rather started on the pile of food before her.

Mountain of food, she corrected as she felt it out with her fork. How much does Harry think I eat? Is he implying I'm fat, or saying I need to eat more? Do I ask?

"Did I give you too much?" Harry asked, catching on to her consternation.

"Just a little, Harry, yes. I highly doubt anyone could eat this much food." Not even Ron, she added silently.

"Sorry, I'm still used to Dudley portions."

"Dudley?"

"My cousin. He'd eat all that for lunch then go looking for dessert."

"Merlin, how big is he?" The exclamation was out of her mouth before she realised she had no idea whether Harry liked the cousin she'd just insulted or not. She was, therefore, extremely grateful to hear him start to chuckle.

"He's huge. When he comes down the stairs it's like an earthquake in the cu-kitchen."

Something about that line stifled Harry's laughter, though Hermione couldn't see why. Having nearly put her foot in it once already, she didn't pursue the matter. Instead she regaled Harry with the story her father had told her of a man so large he broke the dentistry chair, in between mouthfuls. It wasn't a long story, but the excellent food was demanding her attention so much that she had only just concluded when the familiar popping started, signalling the coming of dessert.

Hermione placed her cutlery together and pushed her still heavily laden plate away from her, actions which had it popping away a few seconds later. She was sorry to see so much good food go, but determined to have room to sample the puddings. The kitchens had pulled out more stops than at the sorting feast; she concluded they were trying to calm the student body through bloated fatigue, and by the low noise level in the hall it was working. Dessert promised be something special.

One wave of palpable magic later, and dessert was served. A moment later Harry broke down laughing. It was a rich, deep laughter, the kind that warms the soul, but it only left Hermione confused - where was the joke?

"Harry, what is it?" she asked.

His reply was more laughter.

"Oh, are we laughing now?" Luna said. "I'm afraid I don't understand why, but never mind."

Luna forced herself into a disconcerting facsimile of Harry's laughter.

"Seriously Harry, what's going on?" Hermione pleaded, thoroughly not enjoying being in the dark.

"Hold on," he gasped , "hold on. I'll show you."

There followed a lot of clinking of porcelain as Harry dished something out in front of her. He placed a piece of cutlery - a spoon, she discovered with her other hand - into her grip.

"Careful," he warned her, "it's a bit hot."

Tentatively - how many desserts are hot? - she put the spoon to the dish. It met very little resistance, but came up heavy so she knew she'd got something. She sniffed at it - the warmth was evident, but her nose was too full from the main course to be of any help. She blew gently, twice, and went for it. And then there were two Gryffindors laughing at the Ravenclaw table.

"It's," Harry struggled to say, "it's the… only thing… in reach!"

That made it even funnier. It didn't matter that it wasn't her favourite, it didn't matter that there wasn't any other choice; in that moment she wouldn't have wanted anything else. It was, for many reasons, the most delicious cake she'd ever tasted.

The custard was pretty good too.

A/N

The house elves of Hogwarts are all-knowing, and have a sense of humour. Or is it just coincidence? Does anyone know, and does anyone care? I certainly don't.
Speaking of house elves, you may have noticed there's no dobby interference, nor will there be. It never made all that much sense to me and with Draco not having it out for Potter from the previous year our favourite floppy eared friend has overhead many fewer threatening conversations.