Hermione Granger and the Displaced Sorting
Harry Potter Fanfiction
Chapter 7
A/N: This is going to be a running author's note, but if you read on and enjoy this story, make sure to have my username saved in case my account is deleted. I post on AO3 and Wattpad as well under the same name.
We've got our official sorting now. Congrats to those of you that guessed where she would be going based on the title "Displaced Sorting."
Also, I did make a decision to change the look of one of the characters from the films—a ghost. This ghost was depicted as wearing a powdered wig which cursory research said didn't really become a thing until about 6-7 centuries after his passing. I know why the movie makers made the decision they did, but I'm going to stick with canon as it revolves around a years' long plot point.
September 1st, 1992
"SLYTHERIN!"
Was it her imagination or was she not the only one that gasped at the pronouncement? The hat lifted, and she caught sight of a pinched expression on McGonagall's face.
Was she as pale as McGonagall? Probably.
Ignis, sensing her distress, pressed himself into the base of her skull as she stood, but there was nothing he could do to help her. No one could.
Hermione moved on autopilot, unseeing as she walked in a daze, over to the far table, amid the deafening silence. None of the cheers or the boos that'd accompanied the Slytherin sortings sounded, and her footsteps seemed to reverberate up her spine and into the tall, charmed ceiling of the spacious hall.
She sat at the far end of the bench near the first years, unhearing of the speech Dumbledore gave before he clapped his hands and students began to tuck in to the food before them.
Those closest to her, sporting the same green and silver tie and trimmings as she now did, whispered among themselves, but none of them addressed her directly, and eventually, they too began to pile their plates with food.
Hermione woodenly scooped food from the dishes onto her plate without truly paying attention, which was probably how she ended up with two entrees and three vegetables. It was no matter. With the lead weight in her stomach, she wouldn't be able to eat.
At the end of the meal, no one had spoken a word to her, and she pulled from her stupor enough to glance up at the staff tables to see both Flitwick and McGonagall watching her, though Flitwick was doing a much better job of appearing unaffected while McGonagall looked at her with a mixture of pity and fear.
As students began to exit en masse, a handful of older students from each table stood and called for the first-year students.
Hermione bit her lip in indecision, but her thought process got tossed out the window when her neck prickled with unease.
She turned, jolting as she spotted the tall, vampiric potions professor. "Professor Snape!"
His brow rose, but no other expression crossed his features. That was okay. He made up for the lack of facial emotions by imbuing enough sarcasm into his words that they all but dripped with it. "Miss Granger. Despite passing your tests, you are still a first-time student at Hogwarts, and it's been brought to my attention that, as the Head of Slytherin, I should escort you to the dungeons."
After an initial fright over the word "dungeons" before recalling from Hogwarts: A History that the Slytherin common rooms were located there, Hermione's shoulders sagged as a huge weight lifted off her.
"How-ever," he continued in that slow, melodic drawl, eyeing her. "As the Head of Slytherin, I am also aware that if you are so incompetent as to be unable to use that head of yours to figure out what to do on your own, then you will never survive the first week as a Muggle-born in the snake pit."
Her hope of her assumptions being unfounded crashed and burned. In fact, they went nuclear with the atomic blast of a hydrogen bomb. The prejudices weren't just unfounded, they were so bad that a faculty member even felt secure enough to mention the hatred of Muggle-borns.
Professor Snape left no room for her to gather her thoughts before he swept away, his cloak billowing behind him.
Mind scrambling, she caught sight of the group of Slytherins leaving with the older prefects and raced after them.
Both the boy and girl eyed her, but they didn't call her out or kick her to the curb. Instead, they ignored her and continued directing their group down the moving stairs of what could only be the Grand Staircase. They wound and wound down, reaching the bottom, passing through a large set of doors, and entering another staircase that led them to the dungeons as they arrived at a seemingly blank stretch of wall between two wall sconces.
Inlaid designs of long snakes and scales decorated the ground, so she knew they were in the right area.
The boy spoke, "Pure-blood."
Dread punched her through the chest as the previously two-dimensional snake design on the floor curved up from the ground in a writhing, very much three-dimensional archway that revealed the hidden door where there'd only been stone wall.
The girl turned on the group, seeming to direct her statement at Hermione like a weapon. "That's the password for this year. Don't forget it, or you'll be sleeping outside."
The group filed in, spilling into the round anteroom until Hermione was practically shoved up against the two mermaid statues twisted gracefully around each other. They weren't there for long as the prefects led them down yet another winding, albeit much narrower staircase. In the middle of the four-story staircase was a waterfall, the sound of which echoed up from below.
Awful caricatures of exaggerated and simplified reptiles with demonic features was the recurring theme for the décor, along with the deep shadows, green lighting, and unpleasant, permanent chill in the air. A shallow lily pond basin swallowed the waterfall up with little splashing, an impressive feat of magic considering the staggering thirty metre height of that waterfall. Next to that stood a bulletin message board with some rules listed, and not much else, considering it was the day before school officially started.
Beyond that gloomy, eerie entrance, the space opened up into a spacious double-sided room with a fireplace dead ahead. The leather couches and plush armchairs were already filled with upper-level students reconnecting after the summer holidays. A few steps in further, considering she was still short enough to need to stand on tippy toe while mixed in with the first years, she got an unhindered view of the space as they turned right. More stairs, of course, led down into further sitting areas, divided by artifacts and creatures preserved in viewing cases, lots of seating, and the most breathtaking of all, the enormous diamond paned windows that viewed straight into the murky depths of the Black Lake.
"This is the main common area for study as opposed to the entry sitting areas. If you'll follow us back up the stairs, we'll show you to the dorms," the female prefect added.
Hermione really wished she'd caught their names.
"Now," the boy called after they'd passed the fireplace once more. "To the right are the witches' dorms. The left houses us wizards, so we'll part ways from here."
Nerves stole over her, causing Ignis to press a warm hand against the nape of her neck. For some reason, his fire never hurt her, and she knew if she looked, his sucker-toed front foot would be dancing with purple-blue flames, the exact shade of her own bluebell flames. Since no shouts of alarm rose, she assumed her hair hid the balls of soothing energy he was releasing.
A metal grating walkway over water—like medieval moats—slithered down the middle of the tunnels, while overhead, stained glass designs allowed for more natural lighting to filter in. The walkway branched off into octagonal pods every so often with the Year on a sign outside the door. It was almost like walking up to the exterior front face of an apartment, and it blew her mind to know all of this was housed within the vastness of Hogwarts.
The prefect stopped them in front of the one that read, "Year 1."
"This is your stop. Breakfast starts at 6:30, and classes are at nine. You'll get your timetables in the morning at breakfast, and that'll have the rest of the mealtime and curfew hours on there. Each dorm has a bathroom you'll share. Any questions?"
Hermione itched to raise her hand, but Snape's words and actions from before kept her quiet. He'd implied it would be better if she figured out things for herself, and until she could read the situation better herself, that was exactly what she'd be doing.
She followed the girls inside the dorm, quickly tallied up the beds to students, and then just as quietly, slipped back out.
Luckily, the prefect had already carried on far enough that no one caught her. Her eyes drifted further along the walkway to where she presumed the 2nd year dorms resided.
The common rooms had been so packed that it would probably be her best bet to slip inside while they were out socializing.
She bit her lip before squaring her shoulders with a mini hair toss that didn't do a thing to control her wild hair. "You faced a nundu. This is cake."
With a swift twist, she threw the door open and strolled in, acting as if she owned the place. Her feigned confidence was all for naught since the room was empty. Sure enough, unlike the first-year dorm, this room had a spare bed without a trunk.
Not wanting any confrontations, she rushed to resize her trunk, went to the bathroom, and retired early to avoid an interrogation.
"In the morning," she promised to Ignis as she fished him from his nest in her hair. "I'll face the music in the morning."
Thinking things through, she peeked back out, shrank her trunk back down, and placed it in the pocket of her pajamas. Now they wouldn't tamper with her belongings, and with any luck, they would assume there was an extra bed leftover from the previous second year students or something along those lines.
As it was, she envisioned the exact shade of sapphire blue, knowing this instinctively by feel now and not needing her metavision. Once she'd gathered enough of the energy, she formed an invisible barrier just on the other side of the canopy. Now, they wouldn't be able to get in as long as she held that up.
"A temporary answer," Hermione sighed to herself, knowing she'd need to write a letter to her parents, but too exhausted to do so, despite the late hour. "Guess I'm turning in early on all accounts, Ignis." She used her pinky nail to scratch under his chin. Glancing from the shield to her, she decided to thread another link and attached this one to Ignis.
Ignis curled and hissed and protested at first, but the amphibian eventually calmed down.
"Oh, easy. I didn't realize it would affect you like that. I'm sorry. I just wanted to try something to see if I would be safe, even if I fall asleep," Hermione explained.
Ignis stopped blowing angry plumes of smoke to voice his displeasure. He stared, for a long time—long enough to make this whole situation uncomfortable.
"What? Do you think I'm wrong? Do you think I'll be able to keep it powered, even in my sleep?"
Ignis wrinkled his nose, turned his back on Hermione, and bark-chirped angrily. Which meant she was right, but he didn't want to admit it.
"Thanks, Ignis," she replied, vowing to write her parents tomorrow after classes wrapped up, no matter how tired she was.
September 2nd, 1992
Hermione jerked, glancing up to see the blindingly bright form of a ghost hovering above her. Only years of practice prevented her from screaming out loud.
"Go away," she groaned, scrubbing at her eyes while trying to calm her nerves.
The distinct small size of Ignis blazed brightly in her metavision, and she blinked to return to her normal vision. Oddly enough, instead of the ghost disappearing, he became clearer.
She jolted upright, startling the deceased man maybe as much as he disturbed her. The spectral floated for a moment, an odd monochrome version of himself where the color of blood stained his clothes silver. He had a long, jutting beard and fancy ruffled collar. She'd never seen a ghost so old before, his clothing distinctly dating him from Medieval times.
Her exhaustion shoved off to make room for her compassion, feeling sorry for the soul who'd been clearly tormented for so long, what with the chains keeping him hostage.
"Sorry," she apologized quickly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you or be so grouchy. I just started a new school, and everything is a bit overwhelming right now, and—"
"Yes, Hogwarts can be intimidating," the man grated out, his voice hoarse and dusty from disuse.
She froze in shock, unsure how to respond for a moment until she remembered the Muggle repelling wards that surrounded the school. Her dad had believed he'd left the kettle on the stove. Would Muggle ghosts even be able to reach her here?
"You're a wizard, then," she decided, arranging her blanket around her as the ghost eased away, half of his form disappearing into the bed.
"Of course, but what I'm attempting to deduce is why I feel so… drawn to you, child."
Hermione shrugged her shoulder. "That's actually nothing new. Even in the Muggle world, waking up to a deceased person hovering over me wasn't unusual."
The apparition titled his head. He wore a plumed hat that resembled a cross between a beret and something a pirate might favor. "You are from the Muggle world?"
Some of her compassion and goodwill dried up, withering in equal measures with the stern look crossing her features. "Is that a problem?"
The man shook his head. "Well, you're a witch, aren't you? Or has that changed about Hogwarts as well?"
Her jaw remained tense for a long few seconds before she conceded, "I'm a witch."
"Then there are no problems here. Apart from how unusual it is that you have been sorted into Slytherin house. As the ghost of Slytherin, I know that many of their viewpoints haven't changed in centuries."
Ghost of Slytherin? Like an official mascot? Were ghosts that common in the Wizarding World? She hadn't run across any before, and if they were around at the feast, she'd been too out of it to note. Still, Hermione liked that he'd phrased it like that—their viewpoints, not his own. "Were you a Slytherin, yourself?"
"Indeed, I was. My name is Jean Bernard." He pronounced his name with a French accent. "Though many refer to me as the Bloody Baron."
Her eyes drifted down his clothes once more. "I can see why."
"Hmm." His eyes scanned her face before he backed even further away. "Our conversation draws your dormmates from their slumber. I will go, but if you need anything…" he paused, his eyes rounding as if his own words had left him shocked. "If you need anything, let me know."
With that parting advice, he drifted through the curtains of her canopy, out of sight.
Hermione sighed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering if this would be a nightly thing. Although, at least it might only be magical ghosts that could reach her now.
She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her watch, squinting at the time.
It was five in the morning. Breakfast would start in an hour and a half. She wouldn't need half that time getting ready, but she chickened out, deciding to get up anyway to avoid confrontation with the others yet again.
Maybe she could make it through Hogwarts without ever speaking to them at all.
She gathered her stuff and snuck into the bathrooms, staring at her bedraggled reflection in the mirror.
She snorted. "Some supposed Gryffindor, you barmy hat."
After preparing for the day, she slipped into a darkened corner of the common room and waited until six o'clock and curfew to stop before heading for breakfast. Since the first class didn't start until nine, she hoped to eat and get out before anyone from Slytherin arrived.
"Gryffindor, indeed," she snorted one more time.