The train ride back to Hogwarts was both excruciating and exciting for Hermione. It was also one of the most peaceful moments she had had since Halloween. She was sure that Harry didn't do it on purpose, but he was a magnet for trouble.
She settled into her compartment, she had managed to snag one that was empty, and opened the book Viktor had given her for Christmas. It was about Beauxbatons, one of the schools she had heard about but not really studied.
It didn't hold as much interest for her as either Hogwarts or Durmstrang did. For fairly obvious reasons. Hogwarts was the school she was going to go to. And Durmstrang was where Viktor went. But Beauxbatons held no connection to her.
Until she started reading. It was so strange. She hadn't thought that France would be so advanced. But she supposed that was both the English and Greek background she had talking. Neither one was particularly fond of the arrogant way the French held themselves. Even if England and France weren't as different as they liked to think.
She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice time passing. It wasn't until she ran across a familiar name, Nicholas Flamel, that she looked up to find the sky darkening.
She packed the book into her trunk. They were nearing the castle anyways and she needed to think. Nicholas Flamel was much older than she had originally anticipated. She had so many questions. Part of her wanted to march right up to Dumbledore and demand that he give her answers.
The larger, more sensible, part of her argued that he wouldn't answer to a first year. The headmaster had so much more experience and knowledge than Hermione did. Mostly due to his age. There was little reason for him to explain himself to Hermione.
Even so, Hermione hoped that one day she could get Dumbledore to tell her stories about Flamel. The alchemist had been alive for over six hundred years. Ideally it would be him that Hermione could talk to. But she knew that she didn't live in a perfect world.
It was evident in all too many aspects. Harry had his parents killed. From what little Hermione had learned, she was fearful of what the future might hold. Everyone was optimistic, but ideologies were hard to change.
She walked up to the castle, bumping into Ron and Harry. They were on their way to the great hall as well.
"How was your Christmas?" she asked.
Hermione almost had to laugh at the way the boys flinched when they heard her voice. She had assumed that they would forget to look up Flamel. It was something she had been anticipating. And she hadn't even asked about that.
Still, she had to stifle a laugh. It was so absurd to her just how the sound of her voice could inspire fear. Maybe she might be able to get the boys to do their homework. She doubted it, but it was a nice thought.
"Hey Hermione," Harry said sheepishly. "We didn't see you there."
Hermione smiled. "I know. I was just on my way to the great hall. I'm famished."
"Same here," Ron said.
"You're always hungry," Harry said.
"I don't know why you aren't," Ron said. "You're far skinnier than anyone should be. And you should be growing."
Harry shrugged. "Guess with as much as Dudley eats I got used to small meals."
Hermione's heart broke. There was yet another sign that the world was imperfect. She didn't understand how Harry could be so mistreated by his own family. It was frustrating. But as a twelve-year-old, she couldn't do anything about it.
She frowned, thinking over a plan. Maybe there wasn't much that she could do. She didn't have the best connections. But she was sure she could find someone who did.
"Just so you know," Harry said, "I did try to look where you asked. But the book screamed at me."