"Hermione, he's just a dumb boy," I said from the other side of the stall, "and everyone knows the opinions of dumb boys don't mean anything."
"He wasn't lying, though! I don't have any friends! Nobody likes me!" She cried even harder.
I sighed inwardly. "That's not true, Hermione. I like you just as you are."
"You're lying!"
I kind of was, to be honest. Hermione was never really my favorite character and she was sorta of hard to love at times. But so were Ron and Harry, if I was to be completely frank. Even I wasn't exactly oozing charisma. It was just a part of being growing up. Being extremely unlikable.
"Hermione Jean Granger—"
"—How do you know my middle name?!"
"Don't interrupt. Anyway, Hermione Jean Granger, I have been standing here for, what, three hours? I am risking my reputation in Slytherin house to be here right now, comforting you, a muggleborn in Gryffindor. You know what? Yeah, a lot of people don't like you. But so what? Why should anyone else's opinion matter? You're the smartest person in our entire year. So don't listen to all the idiots, m'kay? Come out. Come to the feast with me. I'll sit next to you at the Gryffindor table. You can talk my ear off about whatever you want."
There was a pause.
"…Do… Do you really mean it, Aurelia?"
I nodded then blushed when I realized she could see it, "Yes. Politics be damned. I'm not sure I care be liked by a bunch of racists anyway."
Another pause.
"Well, technically they wouldn't be racist. They'd would be 'prejudiced,' as racism—"
"Hermione."
I did not have the patience to have the technicalities of racism versus prejudice explained to me when I knew I was about to get an ungodly amount of flack from my housemates for the next seven years.
"Oh, sorry. Yes, I… Let's go. We've already missed a good chunk of it."
Freakin' finally.
The stall door unlocked and a rather disheveled Hermione came out. Her face was pink and puffy and her damp, bushy brown locks clung to her cheek. She looked absolutely pathetic. I stretched my arms wide open.
"Come on. Bring it in."
Hermione hesitated for a moment before throwing herself in my arms. I gently swayed her a little bit and did my best to smooth out her hair. I hummed Cielito Lindo, as per tradition.
Gosh, what was it with me and comforting crying kids lately? I didn't know how much more I could do so. If Harry broke down next, I'm a little ashamed to say I'd probably make Ron handle it. I adored these guys, but I had a lot of things going on. It was very draining to go out of my way to manage their emotions for them.
Wait, I feel like I'm forgetting something important…
HOLY MOSES THE TROLL!
HOW IN THE NAME OF THE SWEET SON OF GUADALUPE DID I FORGET ABOUT THE GOD DAMN TROLL?!
"Hermione," I pulled away from her, "We've got to go. Now."
She tilted her head in a manner I would have found utterly adorable at literally any other time, "Why the urgen…cy…" Hermione's eyes widened as she looked behind me. She seemed to be frozen in fear.
I whipped around and three guesses as to what I saw.
"¡A la verga!" I exclaimed as the grey lump of a troll groaned loudly. I almost vomited at the sickening stench it carried. Old socks and unclean public restrooms indeed.
Without thinking, I whipped my wand out from the strap under my skirt and shouted "Diffindo!"
The troll groaned loudly in pain from the severing charm, but although it began to bleed it still kept on going.
"Diffindo!"
It was moving slower, but still nowhere near enough. The troll was angry now, dark sludge-like blood oozing down its neck.
"Hermione! Get help!" I distracted the troll with another severing charm and pushed her out of the way.
She looked at me in distress as I just barely dodged the trolls club.
"HERMIONE!"
She ran out of the bathroom, bumping in to the boys and using all her strength to drag them away as the troll swung its club again and decimated the stalls. I rubbed my eyes and coughed as dust and debris invaded the air. My clothes were filthy and already fraying.
"Sectumsempra!"
But nothing happened.
I was running out of stamina. But I kept trying. Four more Ever-Cuttings later it finally worked and the troll grabbed It's throat as more and more sludge was leaking than ever before. It was in pain and distracted.
"Bombarda Maxima!"
Sweat was pouring down my head and back and I threw every bit of energy and will in to the explosion charm, doing my best to aim for the neck. It wasn't as powerful as it should have been, but it did the trick. I did my best to cover my face with my arms as the troll exploded, sludge and grey meat now decorating the bathroom— and me.
I fell to the ground, panting. I hadn't been as prepared as I should have been. Had I not had the knowledge of spells from my previous life, I'd have died.
I was in a lot of pain, my legs and face bleeding and mingling with the troll's blood. I brought my knees to my chest and tried to steady my breathing and I heard others coming in. I looked up to see McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell standing in shock, jaws open at the sight.
"S…sup," I croaked out, my throat burning from all the dust and running.
McGonagall was the first to speak up, "Just what on Earth happened?! What are you doing here?! You could have died!"
I did not have the energy for this.
"Obviously, I was already here!" I yelled, voice cracking.
Luckily for me, she could see I was injured and in a state of great distress, so I didn't get in trouble for mouthing off. Snape had to pick me up and carry me to the hospital wing, much to both of our chagrin. Bastard didn't even look remotely concerned for my well-being.
While Madam Pomfrey made quick work of disinfecting and healing my injuries, Snape interrogated me on how the hell I managed to kill the troll. I explained the charms I had used, sans Sectumsempra. He stared at me and sighed before awarding Slytherin forty points for saving the school from the troll and the advanced spells I had used to do so, then left to make his report to Dumbledore.
If there was any previous desire to go through the obstacle course to get the stone before Voldemort, it was as dead as the troll.
A few weeks passed and things were going alright. I had celebrated the Day of the Dead by putting up my mom's photo on the stand next to my hospital bed and asked Pomfrey to transfigure my handkerchief in to a marigold and a hair clip in to a small daisy for me. I put the flowers beside the photo alongside a chocolate frog as my offering. I had been discharged on the third of November, not because of any sustained injury, but to make sure the troll blood that had gotten in to my cuts weren't having any effects.
Upon my release, I was dubbed "troll-slayer" by the Weasley twins. Ron promptly told them to fuck off on me behalf.
Speaking of Ron, as they didn't all fight the troll together the Golden Trio wasn't as close as they'd been at this point last time around, but they were slowly but surely becoming friends. Ron and I had taken to sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry and Hermione during supper. It wasn't technically against the rules and seeing as I had gotten them forty god damn house points in one night and single-handedly killed a troll, the other Slytherins turned a blind eye to this. Even Draco Malfoy left Ron alone without me having to say anything, although he was now making a somewhat obnoxious effort to be my friend. I was diplomatic to the best of my abilities, but still avoided him and the others trying to get on my good side as much as possible.
I couldn't help this nagging feeling deep in my heart and head that warned me that I had used up all my luck for the next few years; and if I had tried anything as reckless as that again I would certainly die.
It was the day before the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match, and the four of us were huddled together in the freezing courtyard. I had convinced Hermione to cast some heating charms in our cloaks instead of conjuring the blue flame in a jar, and as such none of us had guilty expressions and Snape ignored us when he limped on by instead of taking Harry's book out of sheer spite. Meaning Harry wouldn't go ask for it in the evening and hear Snape complaining about Fluffy and his three heads.
Harry looked up from Quidditch Through the Ages and his face took on a curious expression as he glanced at Ron and I, who were currently having a rock-paper-scissors tournament.
"At the game tomorrow, will you be cheering for Slytherin or for me?" He asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "Obviously they'll cheer for you with me in the Gryffindor stand, Harry. You're our friend."
I casually whistled and looked the other direction. Ron followed suit.
Harry and Hermione were appalled.
"Look," I explained, "Even with all the good will I've managed to build up, if Ron and I are seen cheering for Gryffindor of all houses when Slytherin is playing against them, we might actually get lynched or something. Marcus Flint in particular has been giving us threatening looks all week."
Ron nodded with a guilty expression, "Sorry, mate. We're rooting for you, we really are, but we can't show it today. You understand, right?"
Hermione huffed and called us both cowards. She wasn't entirely wrong, per se, but I didn't think she understood how little I was exaggerating. Slytherin was ruthless.
Harry looked sad but after being friends with Ron and I for a while he had a much better picture of how Slytherin worked than Hermione did. He merely sighed and nodded.
I gently rubbed Harry's back, "We might not be shouting it from the stands, but we really are hoping you'll win. Just this once, though. Next match, you're going down, son."
Harry laughed and soon we all joined in.
Yet I couldn't help the feeling that something was going to go very wrong soon.
Slytherin v. Gryffindor went as is had in the books. Gryffindor icon Lee Jordan made his hilarious comments, Quirrell jinxed Harry's broom, Hermione set Snape's robes on fire (the highlight of the match, if you ask me), Harry swallowed the Snitch, and Marcus Flint damn near had an aneurysm.
After the match while Slytherin sulked and Gryffindor partied like it was 1999, Hermione ran through the wave of students to pull Ron and I into an empty corridor.
"What's wrong, cuata?" I asked, knowing full well what was wrong."
"It was Professor Snape!" Said a frantic Hermione, "I saw him jinxing Harry's broom!"
Ron looked puzzled, "All we saw was Snape's robes catch— sweet Merlin, Hermione you didn't."
Our buck-toothed bookworm looked sheepish for a moment, "I had to distract him to save Harry! It worked, didn't it?"
I rubbed my temples as Ron stood there dumbfounded and, I could tell, a little impressed.
"Hermione, I am always an advocate for setting that deadbeat on fire—"
"—deadbeat?" She questioned.
Ron looked at me for approval before I shrugged. I had honestly forgotten Hermione didn't know.
"That bloody bat is Aurelia's father." It was always so cathartic to see how much Harry and Ron's disdain for Snape had rapidly increased after finding out he was technically my father.
Hermione blinked before it suddenly hit her.
"What?!"
I rolled my eyes, "Not the point of this conversation. Anyway, it wasn't Snape."
They both frowned at the certainty on my voice.
"Mate, I know he's sort of your father and all, but—"
"Shush!" I hissed. "You know damn well I would never defend him just because of that. I know who it was, and it wasn't him."
Hermione demanded that I tell them so they could go to McGonagall. I let out a guilty sigh and sent them a pleading look.
"I… I'm calling in the debt you owe me, Hermione."
Hermione sputtered in confusion.
Ron, however, immediately picked up on what was happening. "For saving you from the troll. She's plotting something," he turned to me, "You are, aren't you?"
The more time Ron spent in Slytherin, the better he seemed to be at understanding things.
"Yes. So can y'all just, like, trust me on this? If I need help, I'll ask for it, but it's really important that I do what I'm doing alone for now. Okay?"
Ron nodded reluctantly and Hermione looked downright offended.
"Aurelia, someone tried to kill Harry! We have to tell a professor!"
Before I could beg, Ron placed a hand on her shoulder, "She saved your life. You owe her this much."
Although she was still very clearly upset with me, Hermione relented.
"Fine. But if anything else happens I'm going straight to McGonagall. I shall see you both tomorrow." She huffed then walked off to Gryffindor tower to celebrate with her peers.
"Give Harry our love!" I yelled.
Had Hermione not been such a goody-two-shoes, I swear she would have flipped me off.
Ron's baby blue eyes met my beady black ones, "I don't know what you're plotting, but I'm not going to let you get hurt like last time. If Harry or Hermione or I sense you're in any danger, I'm going straight to Percy."
It was both endearing and painful to see that my friends cared so much about not only each other, but me as well. I nodded and Ron's face softened, "C'mon, let's go sulk with the others in the common room."
He threw an arm around me and playfully nuzzled his fist against my hair as we made our way to the dungeons.
I was rather glad to say that nothing else had happened during the rest of November and beginning of December. Without the gang trying to look into the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone, it was shaping up to be a pretty boring year.
Good.
I planned on making next year even more boring. No Chamber of Secrets or Tom Riddle nonsense. But I was getting ahead of myself.
Clawdius cutely stretched on my lap before making his way to nudge Percy Weasley's leg. The prefect smiled at my fuzzy baby and allowed him to hop on his lap. Percy scratched behind his large ears, and like that my son was puddy in his hands.
It was the first day of winter break, and McGonagall had given Ron and I permission to hang out in Gryffindor Tower during the holiday, provided someone from her house was with us at all times when we were there. She'd taken pity on us when she noticed that besides a seventh year who was getting a head start on studying for her N.E.W.T.s, Ron and I would be all alone in the dungeons. So naturally we were planning on spending all our time with Harry and the other Weasley boys. Hermione, like before, had gone home to spend Christmas with her parents.
Ron had begun teaching Harry the art of wizard chess, and I was having a chat with Percy and the twins, the latter of whom recently lost Gryffindor twenty points for bewitching snowballs to hit Quirrell's turban. One of these days I would have to tell them they had been repeatedly hitting Voldemort.
"—okay, but the Imperius curse is illegal, so do try to explain to me why amortentia and other love potions are perfectly acceptable enough that not only could I go to a shop and purchase some, but I could wait a few years and learn how to make it in class."
The twins frowned and Percy started to nod along with me.
"You know, Aurelia, you make rather fine points indeed."
"Thanks, Percy! See, this is why you're the hot Weasley brother."
Ron, Fred, and George all gagged and Percy began to thank me before he realized what I said and promptly blushed.
There was some weird feeling inside me that greatly empathized with Ron and the twin's reaction, but I could recall exactly why. Did I have siblings in my previous life? HadI ever experienced this scenario? I tried to ignore the aching, empty feeling in my chest that came every time I wondered about my old life.
Fred (or was this one George?) seemed particularly offended, "You, little serpent, have absolutely no taste. I mean, Forge and I are right here and you think Percy's the attractive brother? Do you need to borrow Harry's glasses?"
"My taste and sight are fine," I batted my eyelashes at Percy, who looked as though he wanted to throw himself off the tower.
This was getting too funny.
Ron, alongside Harry this time, gagged again, but strangely enough, neither George nor Fred did. Instead, they laughed. I think they caught on to the fact it was a joke. Although, I would be lying if I said Percy was ugly. He didn't look much like Chris Rankin, but there was something undeniably "Percy Weasley" about it. It was rather difficult to articulate.
Percy stuttered out something akin to, "I appreciate the compliment, but you're far too young for my taste."
Good sir, the one who is too young in this situation is you. Though… I did wonder if I actually counted as twenty-nine. I didn't feel mature enough to be, and my "twenties" were spent as a literal child. I mean, I died when I was eighteen. That was one of the few things I knew for sure. So do I add the years I've spent here to that, even if my maturity levels were nowhere near almost thirty? Was I permanently stunted at eighteen? Did I regress due to all those years as a small kid? I felt older than my peers, but I couldn't relate to anyone who was my "age." I'd always felt so much younger than Mom, for example. But I was a thousand times more mature than Snape, so who knows.
The boys were confused by my pensive expression. I snapped back to the present and smirked, "Relax, Mr. Prefect. I've no intention of stealing your virtue. Although, I hear you don't have much of that left what with all your meetings with one Miss Pe—"
Percy shrieked in surprise and leaned over to cover my mouth. Remarkably, Clawdius remained undisturbed.
Ron and Harry decided to leave the conversation and resume their wizard chess lesson. The twins, on the other hand, had a positively evil expression on their faces. Percy turned to me, looking both betrayed and terrified of what the twins would do with the information given to them. And possibly a little bit disturbed at what this "twelve-year-old" was implying.
I knew this would lead to something hilarious, though, so I didn't feel bad in the slightest. Sorry, Perce.