Hermione Granger and the Displaced Sorting

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 10

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 on . I post on AO3 and Wattpad as well under the same name.

New A/N: Another chapter done! If I'd been following my original outline, this would mark the 1/3 done point of this year, but I've been enjoying fleshing out the story and slowing down the narrative now that Hermione's at Hogwarts. I hope that's not a disturbing change from the way the first story skipped and hopped months at a time. I kept the pace up fast on that one in my eagerness to get where we are now, at Hogwarts with everyone. My apologies if you continued here, hoping for that same style of writing!

September 2nd, 1992

On her way back from the greenhouse, she recognized Central Hall and the sun depiction over the library doors. Praising her good fortune, she rushed into the welcomed sanctuary, glad not to hear any footsteps trailing her.

The librarian was in this time, sitting at the large desk with a pointed, beaklike expression on her face.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione approached. "Hello, my name's Hermione Granger."

"Madam Pince," the lady replied.

"Nice to meet you. I was wondering if you had any maps of Hogwarts. It's quite a large castle, and I find myself getting lost rather easily."

"Oh, my dear, that's what the prefects are for. If you get lost, find one of them, and they'll guide you on your way."

"Right," Hermione nodded, wondering if they were tasked with waiting outside the first-year classrooms for the first week of school or so because she hadn't really noticed any of the badges since they led them to the dormitories last night. "Well, in case there aren't any around, do you have something like that?"

Madam Pince tilted her head. "I'm afraid not. Hogwarts is a magical, almost sentient building and is constantly changing. I'm afraid any maps we have would be outdated horribly and lead you astray."

"Oh," Hermione nodded. "Uh, well, can you explain how the library is sorted? Is it by subject and then author?"

"Sorted?" Madam Pince repeated.

Hermione's heart dropped. "It's not sorted?"

"Well, in a way, I suppose. You'll find the first year—no wait—" She squinted at Hermione once more. "Granger, you said? You'll find the second-year books that way."

"And what if I want to research something not taught in the curriculum?"

"I'm afraid the only system we have is by curriculum as our students find it the most helpful and learning things beyond one's ability can become dangerous, fast. It's safer and more streamlined for the library to be this way, and I'm sure you'll grow used to it in no time."

Hermione's smile strained as she nodded and left, finding herself exploring since she'd only sat in the middle and appreciated the architecture and design.

She found some tables up the spiral staircases on the second floor that were out of the way and set up shop there, quickly finishing her letter to her parents as well as the assignments for the first day of class.

A quick glance at her wristwatch showed that nearly two hours had passed, and she was really hoping that she'd be able to track down Flitwick now. Hopefully the upper year classes had ended by this point.

She hadn't had time to study the mystery behind the horseless carriages, nor look into any Morgana Le Fay and Merlin history to explain that triptych window outside the DADA classroom, but it was only the first day of classes. She'd have time, especially with the weekend approaching.

She had to ask Madam Pince for directions to the charms classroom on her way out. Apparently, it wasn't too far from DADA, and as she moved out into Central Hall, she mentally mapped the directions she'd taken to get to the day's classes to help cement those locations to memory.

She arrived upstairs in what she assumed was the right place since Hogwarts apparently didn't believe in placards and name plates outside all the doors, and her timing saw tall upper years streaming out of the classroom before her. It was a good sign when there wasn't a group of other students waiting in the hall to enter, either, so if this was the right place, she'd hopefully pop in and at least set a time and location to meet later before a potential following class began.

"And don't forget that I'll need a scroll no less than eighteen inches submitted by our next class on Friday for what you plan to work on for your thesis this semester!" a familiar, squeaky voice called out over the exiting students.

She noted that, unlike the second-year classes, this class contained students from all four houses. Perhaps instead of two sections, the students still interested in a subject by their upper years were placed together in one class. That would certainly help account for the fact that they only seemed to have one teacher per subject.

A couple curious glances trailed in her direction, but they seemed much more concerned with dinner after finishing their first day of school. In no time at all, she was entering the room with a knock on the open door. "Professor?"

Flitwick glanced up from the stack of thick tomes he stood atop of to reach his podium. "Miss Granger?"

She smiled, feeling a rush of warmth and then sadness sweep through her. "Professor," she cried, her voice breaking as she rushed inside. She hadn't realized how much she'd been struggling with the rapid changes until his familiar, reassuring presence washed over her in that simple concerned query.

His eyes widened before he flicked his wand, shutting the door behind her. She paid it little heed as she rushed through the parted desks, stopping short of throwing herself into his arms like she used to do with her parents.

He's your professor, for God's sake, Hermione. Not your fun-loving uncle!

Not that she'd ever had a fun-loving uncle, being born from two single-child families.

Flitwick looked even more concerned as he took her in. "Hermione," he said, dropping the formality. "Come, let's go up to my office."

He led her up a curved staircase at the back of the classroom that she hadn't even noticed though she'd walked right by it. Upstairs, his office was a brightly lit room, complete with a desk, sitting area, fireplace, and modest library.

"Here, take a seat. I'll get some tea."

Hermione was reminded so starkly of the first time they'd met that she relaxed immediately, finding exactly what she'd needed to reassure her after a tough first day.

Her life had been so different then to before—and though she missed some of the people and classes at MI5, her life had improved greatly when Flitwick had erased her metaphorical footprint there.

And this new three-sixty turn her life had taken between one day and the next, was no less of a change from first being introduced to Flitwick.

That knowledge reassured her that things would get better, and it allowed her the fortitude to compose herself by the time he returned from magicking the tea to the right temperature.

"Now, Hermione, tell me what's wrong."

She sipped the tea he handed her, one sugar and a splash of milk. Perfection. "Just first day jitters, I'm afraid."

He placed his own tea down. "Now, that's hard to believe. Have you forgotten that I was there when you faced down that nundu? I know what your 'jitters' face looks like and nearly bursting into tears certainly wasn't it."

Hermione bit her lip, wondering why she thought she'd be able to lie to him of all people. Trial by nearly literal fire had broken any barriers between them, and he'd become such a staple in her household that he'd become fast friends with her parents. "I just… I never once thought I'd be sorted into Slytherin."

That single sentence seemed to sum up the majority of her problems, and she didn't feel the need to add more since it was humiliating enough to tell a grown adult her problems.

Apparently, Flitwick agreed with not needing more information because his expression cleared. "Ah. Miss—Hermione, let me say that first, no matter what house you're in, that won't change how much I enjoy being your mentor and goblin representative. I realize in hindsight, how much pressure I might've inadvertently placed on you with my adamance that you would be a Ravenclaw by house in addition to lineage, and I just want to say that being sorted into Slytherin doesn't change my opinion about you one iota."

Hermione's eyes watered as her shoulders sagged. "Thank you, pr—Flitwick. That means a lot. You've no idea how worried I was that you'd be angry."

He reached over and patted her knee. "Never, Miss Granger. I understand the prejudice of popular opinion for those in Slytherin, but I would never believe that about you. You already proved your true character to me when you chose to face the Goblin Trials to prevent my facing Horde Retribution for a mistake I committed. In fact, knowing you've been sorted into that house might make a lot of people open their eyes to the fact that perhaps negative views on them have just as much responsibility as turning witches and wizards to the dark side as their own nature."

Hermione nodded, glad she'd traveled up here to visit him.

"Now that that's settled, would you like to talk about which students specifically have been bothering you?"

Hermione froze in her half slump of relief.

Flitwick waved off her fears though. "Never mind, it's obvious you're not ready for that yet. Just know that it's not healthy to keep things bottled up, so if you don't at least write to your parents and vent, know that my door is always open. My last classes end at five everyday, technically, but I have my seventh years on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at four, and those are a free period of sorts where the students engage in self-led studies."

Hermione nodded. "I heard some of what you were telling them on their way out."

Flitwick tilted his head. "You're welcome to come in during that time if you're interested. I think that after a few weeks of class, you might grow bored with the pace of most of your classes."

Hermione offered a small smile. "I'll think about it, but there's so much on my plate, and I'd hate to do anything that makes me stand out more than I already do…"

He raised his hand. "Say no more. Again, the offer is open-ended. Now, something that I would like to upkeep is tossing out my continued mentorship, not just in spirit or when you need me, but on a regular basis after my contracted classes end. Would you be interested in something like that?"

"Yes!" Hermione rushed to say before stilling herself. "I mean, I never would've passed my exams if it hadn't been for your tutelage this summer. There's a lot to be said for reading the material, but with magic, application is just as important."

Flitwick's grin broadened. "Say no more. Since you're here now, I assume you're free at this time. So, we'll meet at five. Dinner runs until half eight every day, so you'll still have time for studies and dinner as well before curfew at nine. How many days are you interested in…"

"All of them," she breathed before clearing her throat as she realized he would have other teacher's duties. "I mean, if you're free?"

He laughed. "Of course, Miss Granger. How could I refuse Wand-Waver the Willful? How about Monday through Friday, for an hour after my last class wraps up?" She was a little disappointed he had nothing scheduled for the weekend, and he must've read that in her expression. "No, no. This isn't MI5 where we'll work you to the bone. You need to keep in mind that a big part of this is finding connections—tethers to prevent you from losing yourself to the darkness, remember? I won't mentor you at all if I see you're burying yourself in your studies and not make an effort to making friends."

She recalled his words of warning all too well. "Deal."

He nodded. "Good. Now, tell me all about your first day."

Hermione talked for a good thirty minutes straight, even the tea had grown tepid.

As she wound down, she gave him a sheepish look that he laughed at. "Don't apologize, Hermione. It seems that despite the problems with the Slytherin students, you are excited about your classes and the curriculum. That's a good thing."

She nodded, her cheeks burning still despite his reassurances. He probably had much he wanted to do after a long first day himself, and she'd talked his ear off. "Now, I admit I'd hoped that you'd agree to continued one on one time, and I took some steps to prepare. I hope you don't mind," he checked, glancing back at her as she followed him to a small, rather plain door nestled between two bookcases.

"No, of course not, professor."

"Please, in private, I'd prefer you to call me Flitwick, if you're still okay with me calling you Hermione?"

She nodded, her brows furrowing at the door. Needing to stretch her limbs metaphysically, she switched over to her metavision, seeing why the door had pinged her senses. It was a magical door, swirling with intricate, purposeful patterns of forest green. And in her metavision, she expected to see a weird x-ray vision of the room of anything with magic or a trace of energy or life force, but when she peered beyond the lacework of the door, it was as if a void of nothingness existed.

"This used to be a small cupboard, but I used a series of extension charms on it to create a larger room. They're based on the extension charms that Newt Scamander himself put on his infamous suitcase—a traveling bestiary of varied environs for his creatures. It's not nearly as sophisticated as the work Scamander performed, but this space will do for our purpose, I think," Flitwick explained as he pushed open the door.

The room was rather plain, made of simple stone and no windows, but it was large enough to continue training together. They'd even be able to perform more duels, and perhaps with time, she wouldn't embarrass herself in a fight with the sharp World Champion. "It's per—" She cut off, catching sight of a familiar figure in the corner. "Erl?"

The short, somewhat crunched features of the erkling bonded to her against his will, flashed his sharp teeth. If she hadn't seen such a terrifying smile from the goblins when she'd visited the horde, she might've been scared. As it was, she was more practiced at reading the creature's micro expressions, and what she saw was relief.

"Mistress," Erl replied.

She blinked into her metavision, seeing the azalea-colored cord that connected them, frayed but self-mending with their proximity. A look of bliss coated Erl's pointed features.

"Surprise," Flitwick called as he stepped in behind her and shut the door. "Your parents noticed that he was getting worse without your presence. They owled me last night, and I popped over to collect him and bring him here."

Guilt ate at her. "Oh, Erl."

She stepped closer, not touching him, but her frustration at not knowing how to fix what'd happened forced her to help him when she could, and it seemed distance wasn't something that would work for them.

Erl relaxed even further, the pinched expression leaving him more vulnerable than she'd ever seen the proud creature, and she vowed to put her concerns with her lineage and history aside for the time being and focus on the present.

And she would. Ignis chose that moment to crawl from her hair, scamper down her arm, and chatter at Erl excitedly. In her metavision, she faced the stark differences between the two creatures' bonds with her, one healthy and two-way, and the other more of a cage.

One beings' enslavement took precedence over researching her family tree. Not being under the influence of MI5 anymore, meant that she could break the bond. For Erl and the nundu, whose ironstone tether she could still make out if she squinted, trailing into the distance.