Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I also do not agree with the author's transphobic views.
Chapter 7
She tries to follow Professor Snape's advice and be less of an "insufferable know-it-all." She still raises her hand every time a teacher asked a question, and she still enjoys being the first to perform new bits of magic, but she tries to be less intense about it, less show-offy. It isn't easy. The professor had been right; she wants to prove herself. His words hadn't changed that. And she doesn't know how other than to be top of the class, to make people notice her. Still, she tries to be more "subtle" about it.
Things go smoothly enough until they have their first flying lesson. First of all, she discovers she despises flying. It's uncomfortable and scary and turns her hair into even more of a tangled mess than usual, and she doesn't trust the broomstick to keep her in one piece. Second of all, it gives Draco Malfoy the chance to be an arse, not that he needs any special opportunities for that. She wonders if Professor Snape had a talk with him about subtlety. He needs it.
The class watches as poor Neville Longbottom is thrown off his broom, which disappears into the horizon. There is a sickening crunch as he lands, and his face turns an interesting shade of green before paling to something almost as white as the ghosts.
Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, reaches Neville first. "Broken wrist," she mutters, inspecting the boy. "Come on, it's all right, up you get."
She turns to the rest of the class.
"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."
She leads the shaking Neville away, and as soon as out of earshot, Malfoy bursts out laughing.
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
The other Slytherins join in, and Hermione can't help angrily snapping, "Shut up, Malfoy."
"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" says Pansy Parkinson. "The mudblood and the fat little cry baby. How adorable."
"Look!" says Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."
In his hands is a glittering orb. A Rembrall. She saw them in a shop in Diagon Alley.
"Give that here," she says, putting on her best professor imitation, holding out a hand.
''I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect. How about up a tree?" Malfoy says nastily.
"She said give it here!" To her surprise, Harry comes to stand beside her. A hush suddenly falls as everyone turns to watch the Gryffindor and Slytherin in a united cause.
Malfoy responds by hopping on his broom and flying up to an old oak tree. Unlike the rest of them, he's obviously been on a broom before. "Come and get it, Potter!"
Harry grabs his broom.
"No!" Hermione shouts. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us all into trouble."
She isn't afraid of breaking the rules, but she's not stupid enough to test them within the first week. Especially not when the chances of not getting away with it are good.
But Harry ignores her. She watches as the boys chased each other. Then, Malfoy throws the Rembrall, and Harry dives for it. She feels her breath catch, certain she's about to watch the Boy Who Lived die.
Instead, Harry catches the orb just before it hits the ground and lands safely. She lets out a relieved sigh.
"HARRY POTTER!"
An enraged Professor McGonagall strides towards them
"Never in all my time at Hogwarts… how dare you! You might have broken your neck!"
Although it had been stupid, Hermione reasons that he had been trying to help Neville and had been goaded into his stupidity by Malfoy, and she tries to interject: "It wasn't entirely his fault Professor."
"Be quiet, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall says. "Class dismissed. Mister Potter, with me."
She's slightly heartened when Harry glances back at her and mouths, "Thanks for trying." She gives him a small smile, and then leaves to check on Neville in the hospital wing.
Unfortunately, Neville has already been dismissed by the time she arrives. Magic can fix injuries very quickly, it turned out, and the matron discharged the boy with instructions to simply go easy on the wrist for the next day or two. She doesn't see Neville until they all congregate in the Great Hall for dinner.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" she says, catching him as he makes to leave his table.
Neville looks surprised at her question, and then sheepish. "Good as new almost," he says. "Just a bit sore. A little itchy, too."
"That's good."
There's an awkward pause.
"Harry said you stood up for me against Malfoy," says Neville hesitantly, "so thanks for that. I know it must be hard to go against your own House."
Hermione scoffs. "Not when it's Malfoy. The little berk."
Neville smiles slightly. "You said it, not me," he says in a teasing manner, and she smiles back.
Another awkward pause.
"Well," she says finally, "I'm going to go to the library. I'll see you around."
"Yeah, see you."
She's just passing the last of the Gryffindor tables when she notices Malfoy in heated discussion with Harry and Ronald Weasley.
"…Wizard's duel…" she hears Malfoy say. She creeps up to the sidelines, but none of the see to notice her.
"What's the matter?" Malfoy sneers. "Never heard of a Wizard's duel before, I suppose?"
Oh, they are going to be in so much trouble.
She waits patiently for Malfoy to leave, then addresses Harry.
"Excuse me."
"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" Ron grumbles, but she ignores him.
"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying, and you musn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the trouble you'll be in. You're bound to be caught. And anyway, it's Malfoy."
"What does that mean?" Harry asks, frowning.
"He isn't worth it. He's-"
"It's really none of your business," Ron interrupts. "Good bye, Slytherin." He elongates the S: ssslytyherin. Disdain colours his tone.
She looks to Harry, but he avoids her eyes. She barely knows him, but she feels a bit of a sting at the rejection. With a huff, she turns on her heel and walks away.
The next day, she scans the Gryffindor table for the boys. When she spots them, looking tired and disheveled, she can't stop herself from going up to them.
"So you didn't lose your heads last night," she says.
Ron glares at her. "Come to gloat?"
"You really went?" she counters. "Malfoy set you up, you know."
"We know that. How do you know?" he asks hostilely.
"Heard him bragging about it in the common room," she responds primly. "I told you, he's not worth it."
Now Harry glares. He's about to say something when Ron butts in, "At least we aren't too cowardly to take a challenge."
"If you think being smart is cowardly, I guess you'll lose your head soon enough," she snaps back. "Be careful, you're not a Cerberus, you don't have three of them."
Both boys freeze.
"Do you know about that?" Harry asks tentatively.
That gives her a pause. She isn't sure what they think she knows, but now she wants to find out. "Of course," she says haughtily, hoping they won't call her bluff. "How do you know about it?"
"We were running from Filch and ended up on the third floor," Harry says.
"Bloody thing tried to take a bite out of us. Three heads means three sets of teeth," Ron adds with a touch of consternation.
She can feel the pieces falling into place. It's ridiculous, but all she can do is conclude that there is a Cerberus on the third floor. She files that away for later. She can't help but wonder why it's there, and the temptation to find out is strong. Plus, her natural curiosity means she just wants to see a three-headed dog in person, for the novelty. She knows that curiosity killed the cat, but luckily for her, she's more of, well, a snake.
"That's what you get for poking your nose where it doesn't belong," she says, aware that she'll be the pot calling the kettle black if she investigates the mystery.
She turns to go, but Ron says suspiciously, "Oy! How did you know about it too?"
She merely gives him a smug look. "Well we all have our secrets, don't we?" she says, and she walks away.
She's in the library later when she spots Neville enter. She waves him over.
"Hi Hermione," he says, standing awkwardly in front of her.
"Hey, Neville. You want to sit?" She pushes her books aside to make room for him. "How are you finding classes?"
He takes a seat across from her and shrugs. "They're fine, I guess."
"That doesn't sound very convincing," she says.
"I'm just bad at everything, that's all," he responds miserably. "I knew I'd be bad at everything before coming here, but I didn't think I'd be this bad. The only class I'm any use in is Herbology."
"I'm sure you just need practice. Everyone does."
"No, my magic is weak, you see. Even practice won't fix that."
"What makes you think your magic is weak?" she asks curiously.
"I didn't show any signs of magic for the longest time, not until my uncle dropped me out a window and I bounced when I hit the ground."
She pauses, frowning. "Your uncle dropped you out a window?" Even her parents hadn't done that.
Neville nods. "They thought I was a squib, you see," he says matter-of-factly, as though being dropped out a window by your family is a perfectly normal childhood experience. "I'm a Pureblood. It would have been shameful to have a squib born into the family line."
Her first impression of his grandmother had left a bad taste in her mouth, and that feeling comes back as she listens to Neville's explanation and sees how dejected he is, how accepting he is of his family's behaviour. She doesn't quite understand it. She's been raging inside since the moment she realized not all children's parents treated them the way hers did.
"That's not very fair to you," she says, "to put that pressure on you."
He shrugs again. "That's just the way it is."
She doesn't point out that lots of things are the way they are and that doesn't mean they should be that way. She suspects she won't convince Neville to feel the sort of righteous anger that she feels. Instead, she pivots and says, "I could help you study if you want."
"I don't want to waste your time," he says immediately.
"It's not a waste," she assures him. "It could even be fun."
He hesitates.
"Come on, what's the harm? Maybe I can help you." He still hesitates, so she adds, "I want to help you."
"Are you sure?" he asks.
"Course I'm sure."
"… All right, if you really want to," he says.
"I do." She smiles at him.
He gives her a small smile in return. "Then, thanks."
Her smile grows, and she thinks, Project Neville has officially begun.