A row had broken out in the Gryffindor Boys Tower top dorm. That was to say it had re-erupted, having kicked off the night before, continued on into breakfast and showed no signs of a ceasefire anytime soon. Hermione sagely advised Harry to follow the roving battleground and try to play peacemaker, and Harry thought he ought to go along with her suggestion, for - as she rightly pointed out - his Aunt Minerva would be quite displeased if there was a death in the first-year dormitory and Harry hadn't at least tried to prevent it.
For Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley had been at each others throats since they first tried to claim one of the four-poster beds in the circular tower dorm. Ron was still being grouchy with Harry for the rebuke in refusing to shake hands, and Neville was still very cross with Ron for terrorising him with the threat about troll wrestling. So Ron didn't want a bunk near Harry, and Neville didn't want a bunk near Ron, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted a bunk near either of them, for his own conflicted opinions about both.
In the end, though, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan - the other first-year boys - got so thoroughly annoyed with the squabbling that they took the two central bunks and confined Ron to one end of the dorm and Harry and Neville to the other. Suitably chastised, all of them accepted and went to bed.
But Neville was still angry the next morning. He was dreadfully homesick already, having been shunted from one set of fears about the troll to another, when Professor Snape sneered at him during the Feast. Neville seemed to take this as the Potions Master deliberately picking on him already, and he was now terribly nervous about their first Potions class.
Hermione had tried her best to pacify him over breakfast, and even pompous Percy Weasley chimed in that Snape looked like that at every student from time to time, so Neville shouldn't take it personally. Then Ron muttered something incoherent under his breath, which Neville took as a dig at him, and the row from the previous night started all over again.
Harry took over Hermione's role as Keeper of the Peace when they parted in the Common Room, to get ready for their first class of the day. Ron and Neville continued their spat all the way up the stairs and into the dorm, and eventually Harry decided he had to step in before things got ugly.
"Look, Ron, why cant you just admit you were wrong, say sorry, then all this can be forgotten?" Harry implored. It was strange for a moment that he'd chosen to side with Neville, but he thought that's what Hermione would probably prefer him to do, which had ultimately made up his mind.
"Me! Say sorry!" Ron cried, rounding on Harry now. "Why should I?"
"What ... apart from it being the right thing to do?" Harry shot back incredulously. "Do you need another reason?"
Ron's cheeks were tinted pink a moment, but he was far from done. "Just because you've got a girlfriend in that know-it-all Granger girl, doesn't make you right, either."
Harry choked back a surge of something, though whether it was anger or weird embarrassment he wasn't sure. But he was stirred by Ron's attack on Hermione nonetheless.
"Firstly, she's not my girlfriend, just a friend," Harry began acridly. "Second, this has got nothing to do with her, or being a know-it-all, it just happens to be right for the sake of being right. And third, if you carry on insulting Hermione you and I are going to have a serious falling out, and that might involve you falling out of a very high window or down the longest staircase of the castle! Do you get that?"
"Harry, he's not worth it," Neville tried to pacify, switching roles with Harry and becoming peacemaker.
"Oh, ganging up on me now, are we?" Ron spat. "Great. Really nice, that."
"Sweet Merlin you have one hell of a chip on your shoulder, don't you?" Harry observed casually, which caused Ron to falter in his ire. "You're in the wrong, you cant even admit it, now you're blaming other people for calling you out about it. You wont make many friends if you keep that attitude up. Just saying."
"Yeah ... well don't," Ron replied grumpily, but Harry's speech seemed to have taken some of the fight out of him. "I'll make plenty of friends without your help. Not everyone needs Harry stinking Potter in their lives, you know."
"Good luck with that," Harry volleyed back. "But somehow I don't think that me and Hermione will be among them."
"No, nor me," Neville added bitterly. "Good-day, Ron. Come on, Harry, we don't want to be late for our first class."
And just like that Harry and Neville became friends. There was an old saying about the enemy of one's enemy being your friend, and while Harry agreed that Ron probably wasn't worthy enough to be called an enemy, Neville quickly proved that he could be a sure and true friend. He was the sort of friend to laugh with when getting lost when the staircases moved, and to indulge in wild speculation about what might be hiding down the massive hole on the Third Floor.
And, of course, Hermione was just delighted that Harry and Neville had made friends. Harry quickly decided that making Hermione happy was pretty much the most powerful form of motivation he'd ever discovered, or that anyone had ever discovered, actually. He wondered that no-one had told him about this before, or if he should tell anyone else about it. He decided not to, growing quickly covetous of this secret, and very weird, form of inducement he'd found completely by accident.
The first week passed in something of a confused haze. Harry, usually with either Hermione or Neville for company, spent most of it taking the wrong staircases to classes, or learning which doors needed to be tickled rather than knocked to open, or making little notes on his map of where suits of armour and portraits were so he could find his way around next time.
This usually led to Harry getting even more cross, as he realised that everything liked to move about, meaning his little symbols and annotations were largely useless. This led to Hermione being quite peeved with Harry on Wednesday night, when he took a wrong turn and ended up near the music rooms on the Fourth Floor when he should have been at the astronomy tower.
This meant Professor Sinistra had paired Hermione with Ron. It was unclear who was more unhappy about this, but Hermione soon settled the matter, inadvertently breaking her new telescope when she tried to hit Ron with her hat, for making continuous jokes about seeing Uranus ...
Three times a week they had Herbology lessons in the greenhouses, which soon became Neville's favourite class. Hermione was torn between preferring Charms - where she and Harry could continue their wild speculations about inter-species breeding practices, in relation to tiny Professor Flitwick - or Transfiguration.
Harry teased her that this was just because she was becoming Professor McGonagall's Teacher's Pet, after she was the only one who made any impression on the matchstick they were supposed to be turning into a needle during their first lesson. It had turned all shiny and pointy, and Professor McGonagall had used Hermione's effort as an example to the class, which turned Hermione all shiny, as her cheeks flushed with shy embarrassment.
Defence Against The Dark Arts was a joke of a lesson. Harry couldn't concentrate when looking at Professor Quirrell's turban, and remembering how Sirius had donned a similarly ridiculous disguise during the early days of Harry knowing him. Hermione was distracted, too. Her unusual cat had run away from Quirrell during a break between classes, and ever since Hermione had been wary of the Defence Professor, though she was unusually coy when Harry pressed her for more details about why.
Then there was Potions, which Harry had been quite looking forward to, but swiftly realised would be a Seven-year irritant. For Professor Snape was just a malicious cretin of a man. He didn't seem to pay Harry much attention, and Harry thought perhaps he reminded the sallow-faced brewer too much of his mother, which either pained him or made him uneasy and sorrowful. Harry was cheerily content with either explanation, but he was less pleased with Snape's attitude to others.
In particular, he took aim at Neville - who was an easy target on account of his nerves - and Hermione, just because her intelligence meant he couldn't humiliate her. Well, not in the way he intended, at least. But he did, just the same, mocking her for being a know-it-all when she tried to answer every one of the first seven questions Snape posed to the class.
Hermione stayed very quiet after that, fighting tears that were welling in her eyes. Harry glowered at Snape for the rest of the lesson, and even flicked a glare at Ron, who looked oddly meek, as though suddenly understanding that he was acting the same as the vicious Potions Master, who had already chastised the youngest Weasley boy in a loud voice when he melted his cauldron, after getting his brewing technique wrong.
Harry was so incensed at the end of the lesson that he packed Hermione's things away for her, then placed a hand on her back and guided her all the way to Professor McGonagall's office, which is where Hermione's tears finally came out.
"What in the world is wrong!" Minerva cried in distress, hurrying to Harry and Hermione as soon as the door closed. She tried to prize Hermione's head away from Harry's shoulder, where it had been nestled to collect her tears.
"That ... that ... man!" Harry hissed angrily. "That cruel, horrible ... Snivelly little dickhead!"
Harry was beyond rage, so Minerva didn't even try and reprimand him. She just let him vent.
"Sirius was right!" Harry fumed on. "He's a foul, worthless little cockroach! A slimeball! A rat! A flea on a rat ... an amoeba on a flea on a rat! Next time I'm going to do what Sirius told me to - and throw a Stinging Pimple solution right in his greasy, stupid face!"
Harry finally drew breath. He felt Hermione snake an arm around his waist and hug him shyly, as if by way of thanks for defending her. But Minerva was still sternly waiting for an explanation. She looked at Harry, between him and Hermione, wondered what was happening there and what could have gone on to stir Harry's passions so much.
Though it didn't take a genius to work the real reason for that out.
"Miss Granger, calm down and take a seat," Minerva began, gently. "Harry doesn't have the capacity for rational thought just now. So I'm hoping you might bring a bit of sensibility to this situation!"
Harry huffed at his guardian and tried not to be too irritated by her little smirk. But Hermione gave a weak sort of giggle and Harry was rendered temporarily inert by the sound. So he let her go when she gently disengaged herself from him and sat down. Minerva offered her a tissue she conjured from mid-air and Hermione dried her eyes.
"It was Professor Snape," Hermione sniffed quietly. "We just had Potions and ... he was quite unkind to me."
"Quite unkind?!" Harry cried incredulously. "He was downright nasty, Aunt Min! He humiliated her just for trying to answer his questions! What kind of a teacher does that?! It shouldn't be allowed. I have half a mind to write to Sirius and ask him to take it up with Dumbledore ... or duel Snape and kill him!"
"Harry - calm yourself before you have an aneurysm," Minerva returned evenly. "Severus Snape has a certain - ah, shall we say - shortness when it comes to his students. But he is an excellent Potion Maker and what he lacks in temperance towards his students he makes up for in knowledge."
"So that's it?" Harry raged. "We just have to put up with it?"
"I'm afraid so," Minerva replied blankly. "You wont always come across people you get on with in life. See this as another lesson, to learn to deal with those who antagonise you."
"Oh, I'll deal with him alright," Harry promised darkly. "I'm going to find a way to turn him into a tin of Pedigree Chum and feed him to that giant dog of Hagrid's if he carries on! What's the spell for that?"
Minerva chuckled lowly. "Harry, seriously now, take a breath and calm down. I cant have you threatening to murder members of the Faculty just because they weren't very nice to some of your new friends. I hope you know what you're getting into, Miss Granger. My ward is a feisty one, in case you haven't noticed!"
Hermione smiled shyly at Harry, still pulsating in his anger. "I've noticed. I think it's one of my favourite things about him, actually."
Harry was oddly churned by that. The idea that Hermione had favourite things - plural - about him was a cheering one. It made Harry forget about his anger in a second, as if it had never been there in the first place.
"Very well," Minerva announced standing up. "If you've quite calmed down now - both of you - why don't you run along and enjoy the afternoon sun? We wont get many more days of it, you know."
"Will you at least speak to Professor Snape?" Harry insisted. "Just to tell him to ignore us, or something."
"I cannot tell another Professor how to run their classes," Minerva replied firmly. "You will just have to learn to acclimatise to his unique style."
"Fine," Harry huffed. "But I'm still writing to Sirius. I know he'll be on my side."
"My side is not in question, Harry," Minerva reminded him. "But it's sticks and stones. If you want to get back at Professor Snape, don't allow him to get to you. Beat his expectations, don't give him a reason to get a rise out of you. He'll hate that, if he has to give you top marks."
"Then that's what we'll get," Hermione stated decisively. "Come on, Harry. Take me to meet Hagrid. I want to see this giant dog you mentioned."
"A fine idea, Miss Granger," Minerva nodded approvingly. "Oh, and Harry ... Quidditch try-outs are next week. I've bent the rules to allow first-years to participate for my House only. I intend for you to make the team and help to steamroller Slytherin ... that will really wipe the smirk off Professor Snape's chops!"
As it turned out, Hermione was quite disappointed with Hagrid's 'big dog'. Harry had promised her that it was a monstrous thing with three-heads, but all they found at Hagrid's hut was a rather large boarhound that slobbered all over them. Despite Harry's insistence that this was a different dog, Hermione was half-convinced that Harry had just gotten carried away and imagined the whole thing, an idea further enhanced by Hagrid shooting down any of Harry's entreaties to him to back him up.
After a fortnight into their time at Hogwarts, Hermione asked if she could borrow Hedwig to send a letter to Lyra and Mal, who were simply referred to as 'her parents'. Harry reminded her, again, that she didn't have to ask, and could use his owl whenever she liked. Hedwig backed up this situation almost every morning. For when she flew in with the other post owls, she would more often than not perch on Hermione's shoulder instead of Harry's. He didn't mind this in the slightest, as Hedwig tended to steal Hermione's toast instead of his, brought her the presents of dead mice and other small rodents, and Harry was spared the daily scratches of Hedwig's sharp claws where they dug into his clavicle.
But the odd looks some of the older students gave to these displays were something that Harry couldn't figure out at all.
However, when Harry asked what Hermione was writing home about, the answer he received made him feel terribly guilty.
"Oh, well, it's my birthday next week," Hermione informed him breezily. "I don't want my Mum to forget just because I'm not at home now."
Harry froze. "Y-your birthday?"
"Yes," Hermione replied. "Why do you look so shocked? We all have them, you know."
"Oh, yeah, I know," Harry returned quickly. "I just didn't know, that's all. I feel bad now."
"Why?"
"Because you didn't say ... and I haven't gotten you anything," Harry moaned. "I would have, if I'd known."
"You don't have to do that," Hermione replied, blushing shyly.
"I know I don't have to," Harry explained. "But I want to. I feel awful now."
"Dont, please," Hermione soothed. "Just being friends is present enough. And it's a gift that will keep on giving, think of it like that!"
"That's a cop-out," Harry grumbled. He felt thoroughly miserable with himself. "We are definitely going to have a little party, though. Just me and you. I'll get my Godfather to send me a ton of sweets, and we'll get some pumpkin pie, and some strawberry juice, and all the cake we can steal from the kitchens, then have a midnight feast on your birthday."
"That sounds lovely," Hermione beamed.
So they did. Hedwig was sequestered to fly back and forth to Hogsmeade and carry all the sweets Sirius had ordered to be delivered to Harry, while Neville helped with the cake-stealing escapades and provided cover when Harry and Hermione slipped out just before curfew and made their way to the shores of the Great lake, where Harry had set up a little picnic for them.
It was likely to leave them both in a diabetic coma, but it was Hermione's twelfth birthday and there were worse ways to go, in Harry's estimation.
Harry had one of the best nights ever. It felt a little delinquent to be out so late, but they could still see the lights of the castle so they didn't feel they were being too rebellious. It was more like camping in the back garden than running off to some illicit scheme. They talked about their birthday memories, ate more sweets than was advisable, and ended up feeding half the pumpkin pie to Hermione's cat, who had joined them as a sort of chaperone.
It was when the moon started scudding across the cloudy sky that Hermione decided they'd pushed their luck long enough and should return to the castle. But she was anxious about the prospect, not wanting to get caught out of bed and lose the house points she'd won that day for knowing about Switching Spells in Transfiguration.
But Harry was ready for her. He grinned as he presented his solution.
"Now, I know I've been a sorry excuse for a friend for not getting you something for your birthday," he began, silencing Hermione's raft of complaints with a single wave of his hand. "I should have got you a proper gift, but I'll make up for that at Christmas. I may not have been able to get you anything, but I can share something with you."
"Really? And what might that be?"
"It's a secret."
Hermione frowned. "Why tease me with something like that only to not tell me, as it's a secret?"
"No, what I meant is that the thing I'm going to share is a secret," Harry clarified. "You cant tell anyone about it."
"Oh, okay," Hermione replied, a mix of dubious and curious. "What is it?"
"This."
Harry reached into his robes and took out the silvery, watery fabric of his father's special cloak. Hermione looked at it in deep fascination.
"What is that?" she whispered. "I've never seen material like that before."
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," Harry grinned. "It belonged to my father. Now we can use it to get back to the castle without anyone seeing us!"
"Wow! Is it really!" Hermione hushed excitedly. "Can I try it on?"
"Of course!" Harry beamed, offering it to her. "I thought, you know, maybe you could use it to get to some of those books in the Restricted Section of the library. I saw you looking at them the other day."
"Oh, I couldn't," Hermione whispered, before daringly changing her mind. "Or could I? It would be so naughty of me, wouldn't it?"
It would, Harry agreed, but Hermione didn't seem to mind that, so neither did he. Crookshanks meowed lowly from his position on the picnic mat though, as if admonishing Hermione for her devious scheme.
"Oh Pap, stop fussing!" Hermione blurted without thinking. Then she turned to Harry, who was looking very confused. "How does this work? Do I just put it on like a normal cloak?"
"Yeah, just throw it over your head," Harry explained, still eyeing the ginger cat warily, wondering why he was staring back so pointedly.
So Hermione followed the instruction, leaving the hood off just so she could see her vanished self.
"Oh my, this is amazing!" Hermione purred. "Look! My entire body has disappeared!"
"Yeah, it's great for instant weight loss!" Harry quirked.
"Are you trying to say I'm fat?" Hermione teased, cocking a faux-cross smirk onto her lips, which Harry was bizarrely drawn to.
"What? Oh, no, not at all," Harry blustered. "You aren't fat at all. I think I might be, though, after all those sweets and cake. I think I'll throw the rest to the Giant Squid."
So he did, then set to packing away the picnic mat into the hamper, as Hermione simply twirled around and admired her bodyless form. Then Harry turned to her with a little shudder.
"I ... er ... I'll have to come under there now," Harry muttered, suddenly nervous.
"Yeah, come on in, there's plenty of room," Hermione replied brightly. Then she threw the Cloak over Harry's shoulders, too, and watched as his torso vanished from view. "This is so weird!"
Harry couldn't agree more, but as he tucked close to begin the jittery walk back to the castle with Hermione, he had a feeling they might not have been talking about the same thing.
