Inaugurations I

Hermione was pretty annoyed. That had been the case for quite some time now, and she couldn't help but feel that maybe she should take a more proactive approach towards her problems; they just seemed to pile up one after another. Absent-mindedly chewing on her quill, she thought back on her first two months of school.

First, there'd been the fallout with Harry, who had so far refused to even look her in the eye. This weighed heavily on her mind, as she not only considered Harry her first friend at Hogwarts, but–though she was determined to keep this from the others–her first true friend at all. It had only lasted a single day, so she was reluctant to act, but somehow she felt that there was a good connection between them. Had not Greengrass even mentioned how she'd been 'in his good standing'?

Speaking of the blonde, she had initially assessed the rather well-endowed witch to be a simple fan of Harry's or that he was little more to her than her favourite toy. That had been a most grave misunderstanding, and her foolishness had resulted in the scariest ten minutes of her life. She still sometimes woke at night, remembering the mad expression of fury on the other girl's face. The young Muggle-born witch had shilly-shallied over the matter, but eventually decided she wouldn't tell Madame Pomfrey or Professor Snape what had happened. It would have been difficult to prove anything, and the consequences of her failure would probably have ruined her standing in the house for good...

Not that it was much better now, of course. Harry was still thoroughly treating her as foul smelling air at best, while Daphne seemed to carefully avoid her as well, probably in an attempt to keep herself from beating Hermione to death. Draco had his own little gang, but even still, he'd become really quiet lately. He hadn't been very friendly with her anyway, yet he had at least refrained from telling her to bugger off, probably out of respect for Harry.

There seemed to be some strange connection between Harry and many of the Slytherins, especially Draco and Daphne. It was obvious that Greengrass and Malfoy had known Harry for quite some time, Tracey, too. But their relationship seemed a bit too deep to be mere friendship from an early age, not to mention that Harry seemed to have the upper hand in all his dealings if he decided to press the issue. She really wanted to know more, but asking was quite out of the question, and that grated on her nerves. The complex social structures of her house were completely incomprehensible to her, yet there was no choice but to wait until somebody filled her in. She had scoured through the library on the topic of pure-blood culture, hierarchy and family relations for days but found nothing at all. Unable to suppress a shiver, she clearly remembered Greengrass' warning: Asking questions about magic, family or the past is not always appreciated.

The other thing she immediately realised was that every other Slytherin regarded her with either the same contempt they held for the Squib caretaker Mr Filch or treated her as some kind of running gag, that 'Mudblood-Snake-Wannabee'. The insults didn't really get to her; she had suffered much worse in the Muggle-world. But there was no denying that practically nobody was willing to associate with her. The term 'friends' was another matter entirely.

Tracey had helped her a bit, thankfully, presumably out of pity or sympathy. She was only a half-blood herself and, on the second night, had told her a few things that would at least help her avoid any more hostility–for a while. The lessons were simple but had been so very alien to her; socialising in the wizarding world was like an odd game of sorts, with baffling rules and death traps in droves. Tracey told her to keep away from certain crowds, especially if they seemed inviting. She advised her to look for a few people she could be friendly with and pointed out some likely candidates, but reminded her to approach no more than three in total. When she'd asked about the number, Tracey had said that if other Slytherins felt threatened by her making too many 'alliances', they would take drastic measure to remind her of her place. She also did say to never, under any circumstances, befriend anyone from Gryffindor or Hufflepuff if she wanted to spend nights in the dormitory instead of the infirmary. Hermione had at first thought this a joke, but the reproving glare of Tracey's at her laughter had quickly crushed that notion.

She had been rather oafish in her beliefs and naivety, there was no denying, as that very next morning the news had slowly been broken over the school that Harry had...killed a first year during the night. Hermione hadn't really believed it, but the thought that something like this could happen at a school had shocked her to the core. The magicals approached violence so much more casually than what she was used to. Arguments were rarely solved by words and feuds even less often so, which might stem-she mused-from the accelerated healing that magic allowed, but it just seemed so very cruel to her. That a student of Hogwarts had actually found his death by means of another, possibly her friend, had scared her so badly that she had hardly slept for weeks.

Shuddering, Hermione remembered how Harry hadn't seemed especially bothered by the cold hatred most of the school had poured over him. She was still amazed at how calm and dignified he'd been, especially that next morning. That had also been the first time she could have believed him to come from a noble house of sorts–had she not seen his incredible wardrobe or that ridiculous quill of his. She had been appalled when the shopkeeper in Diagon Alley had written back and told her that Phoenix feathers were so rare that they were hardly ever used for mundane works of craftsmanship and more often gifted for wands. The quality and size of the feather had to be right as well, among other things. The proprietor had told her in no uncertain terms that he would be very willing to pay several hundred Galleons for such a fine piece of art and delightful find.

But back to more important matters. To her astonishment, Harry hadn't wavered at all, even when a giant flock of angry owls had madly stormed towards him. He had only carefully inspected the envelopes before incinerating the lot of them, except for one formal looking one and two others. Having pocketed those, he had simply gotten on with his breakfast. Harry had looked peaky and somewhat stiff, especially the second day after the incident, but that was only to be expected, wasn't it?

That day had been bad, not only for him. While Harry soon had to fight off attackers every other day and spend as much time in the infirmary as in the common room, she herself had been set upon for the first time that night. It could have been much worse, a pacifying Tracey had told her. The half-blood had insisted on her not going to Pomfrey and–under no circumstances–was she to tell any member of staff about this. As long as it was an isolated thing, they had likely only wanted to observe her reaction, or so the tiny girl had said. Her back had hurt like crazy for a few days, but eventually the pain had vanished, and–so far–she had indeed not been ambushed again.

The Daily Prophet reporters had jumped at the story of Nott's demise like famished vultures, of course. The headlines had been so very nasty; Hermione still shuddered at the cold determination, devoid of any additional emotions, in Harry's eyes as he'd read them.

Last scion of the Blacks involved in murder on first day of school.

The author had been surprisingly open about his demand that chucking the Blacks out of society and into prison, whether they were actually guilty or not, would probably solve some problems down the road. The articles by that Skeeter woman had been even worse. Much worse.

Harry, however, had only read them with pronounced polite indifference and didn't even raise an eyebrow as the Gryffindors had loudly shouted to their Head of House that they would refuse to share lessons with him in the future. This had launched a fierce debate between the Headmaster, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall.

Professor Snape had furiously screamed that he wouldn't abide by any political ploys the Headmaster forced onto him. The potions master could be very scary, but at that moment, Hermione started feeling a grudging respect rise for her own Head of House, who held his ground against the angry pair made up of headmaster and deputy.

In the end, it seemed that it was impractical to rearrange the whole timetable because of one student.

School had settled down into an uneasy routine after that. Part of that sadly included Harry visiting the infirmary at least three times a week. He gave it as good as he got, but he was often lured into someone's trap or else fighting against impossible odds. Often with third years of even older students, that is. She had never heard him complain, though, and Madame Pomfrey seemed to have taken a liking towards the lonely boy, who had so frighteningly casually sent a second year Hufflepuff to St. Mungo's permanent spell-damage ward two weeks ago. She couldn't help but wonder why some specific students from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were so very determined in making Harry's life as miserable as possible. She had picked up on the whole Darkers stuff, but none of the others were treated nearly as badly.

~BLHD~

Time had gone by, and at least her own situation had improved over the weeks. She had exchanged tentative greetings and signs of good-will with that female fifth year prefect, Fawley, who was a pure-blood from a very old family (as far as she could tell). She had also found a good friend in a Ravenclaw first year, Jermaine. He was the serious sort, but she rather enjoyed their discussions, and was grateful that he never brought the matter of her house up for talk. They had spent so much time in the library that some really irksome rumours had started floating around, but Jermaine had simply waved it off. The only other person she knew who spent more time in the library was Harry, of course. For him, the library was a safe-haven, as no student dared provoke the fierce temper of Madam Pince, and so he could be seen darting up and down the bookcases practically every free second of the day. Strangely, he also seemed to be able to get into the restricted section, however that was possible. Hermione had tried to get a pass on her first morning at school, but Professor Snape had only sneered and asked her if she needed a cure for sudden fits of insanity.

Classes had finally become really interesting, and she enjoyed them all very much, well except for the flying lesson. Harry and three Hufflepuffs had gotten into a heated fight, which had only ended when Madam Hooch had given them all detention and barred them from further flying for the whole year. The flying itself hadn't really agreed with her either, and she'd been determinedly glad when the instructor told the class that they would not have to attend further lessons once they had grasped the principles.

The other classes were simply amazing. She wholeheartedly loved Astronomy, and Transfiguration quickly became her best subject. It was, to her great annoyance, also the only subject in which she continuously outshone her fellow pupils. She wasn't used to so much competition and could not keep some rather unkind remarks from her lips, as she saw Tracey, Draco and a few others quickly catching up to her at first. She had been forced to put very much work into it, but eventually, even Tracey seemed to struggle to keep up with her, for which she was very grateful. Harry's constant stellar performances in Charms had left her quite irritated. Professor Flitwick seemed ready to adopt Harry any day; he could practically get away with anything during their lessons, as long as he was somewhat quiet and demonstrated his mastery of the course work at the end of each class. She also had the suspicion that the tiny professor had invited Harry into his office more often than once already for a private chat on matters of Charms.

Hermione had initially thought Harry's performance on his first day a fluke, or an exception at least, but it had become rather clear in a matter of weeks that Harry was vastly ahead of the curriculum in Charms. At least a few years, by her estimation, as ridiculous as it sounded. She had carefully asked about that, and Jermaine had told her that most pure-blood families offered their offspring some sort of early education, and a few of them, like the Blacks, were notorious for overdoing it.

Potions, in contrast, was a thrilling nightmare. Professor Snape was very knowledgeable in his subject, there could be no doubt, yet he could also become equally personal if one aroused his anger. It didn't take longer than a week for him to dismiss half the class as 'useless idiots blessed with enviable ignorance', and he seemed to hate Tracey and Seamus with a passion. Hermione had tried her very best, of course, to prove herself to him, but–most irritatingly–no matter how much effort she put into the subject (even cutting the hours of her sleep) Greengrass trumped her every move. She hadn't initially given Hermione a studious impression, but after a few lessons, it was all too clear how obsessed the blond was becoming with the subject. Hermione wouldn't have believed it at first, but potions was a bit more than learning recipes; you could only ever achieve results of superlative quality if you had a good intuition for these things. Even Professor Snape had been forced to compliment Greengrass–somewhat. The only thing easing her nerves during potions were the ongoing devastatingly poor attempts Tracey made.

History of Magic had–for some reason and to the incredulity of many older students–quickly become a favourite subject for most of the student body. Professor Prewett was certainly competent and could be very favourable towards certain crowds. Ronald Weasley was easily his preferred pupil, and he went to great lengths to explain questions asked by him, not that Weasley was especially daft or anything. What jangled her nerves a touch was that Professor Prewett seemed oddly fixated on continuously presenting the Ministry of Magic in a good light. The first few lessons had more or less been free questions, and had featured him delightedly explaining how more recent measures had filled Azkaban to the brim and reduced the social strife to a historic minimum. His lengthy stories about his adventurous days as an Auror and Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement were quite interesting, naturally. Harry and Greengrass had so far been absent from every single lesson, but even though Professor Snape had given them each a dozen detentions, they simply did not reconsider their approach. Professor Prewett didn't seem to mind very much either.

Lastly, there was Defence against the Dark Arts. She'd felt quite prepared for that class, and was more than motivated to learn as much as she could in an effort to better protect herself. But the lessons were...incomprehensibly unorthodox. Professor Rose casually threw the whole curriculum out of the window, but no one seemed to mind very much. The boys, Hermione thought, full of contempt, were having a hard time resisting the urge to gape shamelessly, and Tracey was always trying to sabotage the lesson in some way. Professor Rose, on the other hand, seemed to take it all in good spirits, always making a show of vindictively embarrassing the witch like a baby girl in return. Hermione couldn't refute that they were making quick progress, however. She'd been most doubtful at first, but–to her astonishment–they had completed the defensive aspect of their first year curriculum in a matter of weeks. Professor Rose was also always bent on making the lesson as practical as possible, and set them to read ahead as homework. Many students started openly worshipping her as she, after being egged on by Tracey, had accepted to battle the whole class (minus Harry, who had been absent since the first). What had followed could only be described as a massacre: in less than three seconds, she had stunned half the class with silent stunners. The more careful students had taken cover behind desks, but with a wave of her wand, she had transfigured all the desks into very angry wolfhounds that had quickly cornered the rest of them.

She had, however, set their minds at ease after that brutal display of difference in strength.

'You will be happy to hear that I am probably one of the better duellists at Hogwarts. But you have to understand: magical confrontations are nothing like muggle fights. If the disparity in strength is too great, your odds of success depend solely on the mistakes of your enemy or may even cease to exist altogether. I could, for example, have created a barrier around myself, sealed off the room and you would have had the unedifying experience of dying by suffocation in a matter of perhaps a day or two. None of you here have the strength or knowledge to break through a barrier like the one I cast during our first lesson. You would have been completely helpless–and I repeat–you could have done nothing at all to escape your death. Therefore, you should always be most careful with whom you pick fights. The only thing that may give you any small chance at victory against perceivably stronger opponents would be the element of surprise, or a carefully laid and advantageous setup. The latter is, obviously, more often than not a bad choice, as you may not be able to overcome your own weakness no matter the advantage you hold, like you experienced for yourself just now. By catching someone who is unaware, however, you increase the odds exponentially. Only particularly powerful or rare individuals are able to grasp the magic around them clearly enough so that they might react in time to a stunner shot from behind.'

Hermione hadn't been very sure if it was a good idea to instruct the students to be as sneaky and underhanded as possible, but the professor had had even more to say on the matter.

'On the other hand, you lack any technique to accurately gauge the strength of an enemy at this point of time. Strength in duelling comes in many forms: It could be lightning fast reflexes; it could be an innate talent you have never heard of; it could simply be power; it could be knowledge of spells you couldn't dream about; it could be the strength of character to keep a level head; it most certainly could be experience.

'These things are obscure, and many witches and wizards more able than you fail to understand this point, but let me tell you a story to illustrate. The previous instructor of this subject seems to have instilled the belief in the heads of many a Hogwarts student and graduate that your performance in other subjects directly correlates to success in duelling. That is a faulty conclusion.

'In a time long gone, there once lived a wizard known as Emeric. He was the pride and joy of his father, the first-born of a powerful and old family. Gleefully, his father set himself to the task of teaching his offspring the ways of the wizards, proud of producing a magical heir. Yet the results remained unsatisfactory. Neither disciplinary actions nor the best motivation nor even foreign or famous teachers could help little Emeric, and both father and son became increasingly devastated and regretful. In five years, Emeric never got beyond what you may consider first year Charms, and–in all his lifetime–never transfigured so much as a splinter of wood. For all intents and purposes, all of you presently in this room surpass him a thousand-fold already with your grasp of magic. As family in those days was as much about politics as it was about community, his father soon disinherited his firstborn in an attempt to spare the family more embarrassment, for he thought his offspring a Squib. Son and parents parted with heavy hearts, as the father would not grant him shelter, even though the child pleaded for days, as the outside world was dangerous to those brought up with magic at the time and doubly so for those who could not defend themselves. After having been chased from home with hexes flying after him, the fourteen-year-old boy fled and vanished for good, swearing vengeance with tears still in his eyes.

'Two decades later, a hitherto unknown Dark Lord emerged, casually slaughtering his opponents like flies by using magics not thought combat-relevant at the time. That Dark Lord bested many of the most prominent figures of his age, the descendants of Hogwarts' founders for instance, and brought down Emeric's family in a storm of blood, picking and winning a fight against more than twenty members of the household, and double that number of servants and guards. He himself met his end, eventually, as we all do, but when he was finished, it came to light that the fearsome Dark Lord who had amassed scores of followers and held the country in his grip for years, had been our very own Emeric.'

She had paused for a while and contently drew out the awed silence. Then she had shot a swift look towards the Slytherins and gave a small smirk.

'Before you waste your time in the library, I should add that you will find no remark about what technique Emeric utilised in the collection of Hogwarts'.'

The story about the maniacal wizard spreading destruction where he trod still made Hermione feel very vulnerable. It was one of her great beliefs that knowledge was not infinite, and while it was maybe impossible to ever know all there was to learn, you should at least be able to slowly near the point of perfection over time. Thus, unknowable magics and their wielders made her feel determinedly uneasy. She could slowly feel one more paradigm she had held for ages shifting...

~BLHD~

Hermione gazed into the fire.

It had been the same in matters of defence. At first, Hermione had been terrified to cast a mere Jelly-Legs, even on people attacking her. She had had to throw this hesitation overboard relatively quickly though, and now she didn't have any more reservations in the matter of her own defence. She would still, of course, try to avoid injuries, but if someone attacked her, that person could hardly complain if she managed to best him, right?

Hermione had come to like the half-deserted common room quite a bit. Initially, it had creeped her out that this room was so obviously intended for at least triple the number of students than there currently were Slytherins. Now, she felt an odd sense of comfort. Even if she disagreed with many matters concerning her own house, the idea of being one of the last holding out turned the lonesome nights by the fire into some kind of honourable vigil.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around in time to see Greengrass dashing towards the dormitories. Tracey, wearing a look somewhere between amusement and despair, hesitated for a while. In the end, the petite witch with the warm eyes made her way towards the hearth and took a seat not too far from her.

Hermione returned her gaze to the dancing flames. She had always been so engrossed in knowledge, and only after having Harry point it out had she come to realise that she had indeed been compensating, though she would definitely never ever tell him. Something else she really liked about her house was the atmosphere of mystique that shrouded practically every aspect of House Slytherin. There was always more going on than people freely admitted, and nothing ever was as it first appeared. There were opportunities to be had here and mysteries to be unravelled...

But she was also still Hermione.

'Uh, Tracey? I've tried really hard not to ask certain questions, you know. But do you think you could explain some personal matters to me?'

The other witch seemed more resigned than angry and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

'Do you really think this a good idea, Hermione? You remember what happened last time, don't you?'

Hermione shuddered. Tracey was as nice a girl as you could find. She was the kind of girl to pick up a stray and beg her parents to be allowed to care for it. But she definitely was a Slytherin.

'Y-Yes, I do. It's not about that. But it is still personal, I think.'

'Well, have a go then. In the end, I may not answer you anyway, of course.'

'That seems fair. Uh...Tracey, why are some Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs so bent on causing Harry problems in particular? I know about that Darker bit, but that's not all, is it? At least half of Slytherin house has some connection to the families sharing that stigma, but while they suffer some animosity, Harry seems to have it especially bad, doesn't he? I don't believe it's all because of–you know–that incident either...'

Hermione had been looking into the fire again, but as she turned towards Tracey, she realised she had her complete attention now. The girl seemed to be weighing her options.

'And why would you want to know that?' asked Tracey carefully.

Hermione opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. If she blurted out 'because I was curious', she would probably wake up in the infirmary tomorrow. Fishing for a better reason, she tried to go with something rather embarrassing. It was better than being injured by a witch one-and-a-half head shorter than her, at least.

'You know, I, er, was not very popular at my Muggle school. Harry was kind of the first friend I ever made, and I couldn't help but notice how bad he has had it, these last few weeks...'

'He hasn't spoken a word to you all this time though, has he?' Tracey looked challenging.

'No–not since, uh, that time. You know.'

'So what business is it to you then?' Tracey hadn't blinked for at least two minutes.

Hermione gaped and tried to gesticulate vaguely. In the end, she gave up and bit her bottom lip. 'I'm worried.'

Tracey let out all the tension in her whole body at once and visibly sagged down into the depths of her armchair. 'This is so ridiculous. I honestly can't say which one of you is being the most stupid here...'

Hermione didn't react to that, as it seemed like Tracey had spoken more to herself anyway.

'Look, Honey, I'll only tell you this because it is not exactly a secret story. Merlin–Daphne will be angry with me, but if you knew where to look, you could easily find out yourself.'

With comedic effort, she slowly turned her seat to face Hermione.

'Do you know about the Pillars?'

'Eh–no?' Hermione thought she might have heard the term once, but that was probably during a time where she had been terrified to appear too inquisitive for her own good.

'Ask Prewett about it. In short, they are a select few pure-blood families that have always supported the current political agenda of the Ministry. As a reward, they have been dubbed 'pillars of social justice' or some crap like that. I didn't even bother to remember. Everybody calls them Pillars. Those families have humongous influence with the Ministry at the moment, which is really strange, given that they officially promote equal rights for half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Follow so far?'

'So, I assume some of those that continuously antagonise Harry have connections with those families?' Hermione thought this was very straight-forward so far.

'Yes, but it's more complicated than that. First, have a guess at a few family names,' prodded Tracey.

'Oh! Uh, Prewett, I guess? Weasley? Abbott, maybe?' Hermione guessed.

'Not bad. The Prewetts and Abbotts are very good buddies with the Ministry at the moment, and yes, they're part of that illustrious circle I mentioned. The mother of the Weasleys that are currently at school is a born Prewett, so you weren't far off there. Got it?'

'Of course.' Hermione nodded affirmatively. 'But this still does not explain why they specifically target Harry, does it?'

'Hold your Thestrals! There are other old family names of note that escaped the stigma of being Darkers, but you get the drift anyway, right? These families do not only hold personal influence in the Ministry, but more or less divide a whole department between them. Ever heard of the Last Department?'

Hermione shook her head.

'Good. Don't get involved with them, don't ask questions about them, and don't mention them. On the other side of the political landscape, there have always been several families that proposed strong conservative beliefs. Some rather nastily, others more innocently. Have another guess at a few names.'

'Black, I presume?' Hermione guessed. 'Malfoy seems right up that alley, too. I've heard the Selwyns have been pretty important as well in the past.' You could learn a lot if you shut up and listened at meals.

'Good enough. The last piece of your puzzle is the most personal. As I said, it's not really a secret, but I know for a fact that Daphy and Harry consider this very private. Do you get my meaning?' Tracey's normally warm eyes shone with a clear warning.

'I'll keep it to myself, I promise,' said Hermione, making a conscious effort to placate her informant.

'You better do that. You haven't yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the really nasty part of Harry's family. I'm completely serious with you here, Hermione. If those guys think you babbled about Harry's past, they may not show the restraint Daphy has.'

Hermione blanched. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to get involved with Harry's family, anyway. But the way Tracey has worded it, it seems like I've already met someone related to Harry, doesn't it? She refrained from asking, however, and nodded meekly.

'Harry was, in fact, not born a Black. Now make the connection yourself.'

Hermione looked at her completely nonplussed. 'Do you–do you mean to say he was once part of one of those Pillar families?'

'Not only that. He consciously and with full awareness of his actions forsook his other family, and a mountain of gold to boot, by the way, condemning an ancient house with the full support of the Ministry to die. He willingly took on the stigma of being a Darker, even though he could easily have escaped it. And he didn't join just any family; no, he joined the Blacks. The Blacks are widely regarded as the most hateful of Darkers for different reasons. Some of those reasons are barmy, others not so much.'

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

Oh, my god! It's like he declared open war on the ruling class after switching sides!

'I'll tell you this in good faith, Hermione. The other Slytherins tolerate Harry for two reasons: First, he chose to be one of them when he could easily have made other arrangements and been heralded a hero, the establishment's favourite pet.'

Tracey stood up and gave her one last admonitory look that seemed so misplaced on that child-like face.

'And the second reason?' Hermione's voice quivered slightly.

'The Blacks have a nasty past, Hermione. If there ever was a family deserving the stigma placed upon them, it would be that one. They still have power and they still have some rather scary things going on. Better be careful, Honey...'