The Marauders hadn't forgotten about the prank they had wanted to involve Hermione in the day before. Once again, she found herself huddled in a corner of the common room with them, a Muffliato charm buzzing around them to prevent eavesdropping. She made a mental note to learn the charm as soon as possible—it was far too useful not to.

The Marauders were in the middle of outlining their plan, their faces lit up with excitement, when Sirius leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Alright, here's the idea," he began. "We enchant the Slytherins' bags so that when they open them, they hear soft, creepy whispers calling their names. Imagine it—every time they go to grab a book, they'll think someone's watching them."

James laughed, clearly delighted by the suggestion. "They'll be so paranoid! It'll freak them out in no time."

Peter nodded enthusiastically, adding, "And we could make the whispers grow louder the longer they keep the bags open. Make them think something's inside, waiting to get them."

Remus looked thoughtful but didn't object, clearly considering the logistics of such a charm. But Hermione felt a pang of discomfort at the thought. It was funny on the surface, but the idea of making people feel watched and unsettled didn't sit right with her.

"Hang on," Hermione said, raising a hand. The boys all turned to look at her, surprise flickering across their faces. "Don't you think that's a bit... much? I mean, you're essentially playing on their paranoia. It's more cruel than funny."

Sirius's grin faltered a little. "Oh, come on, Prewett. It's not like it'll hurt them."

"No, but it'll make them feel a whole lot more than just uneasy, like they're being stalked or something," she countered, folding her arms. "And that's not funny—it's just mean."

James's brow furrowed, and he exchanged a look with Remus. "So, what's your suggestion, then?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Hermione thought for a moment, then a smile spread across her face as an idea hit her. "What if, instead of creepy whispers, the contents of their bags started singing something ridiculous? Like 'The Hokey Pokey.'"

Sirius blinked, clearly trying to wrap his head around the idea. "The what now?"

"It's a Muggle children's song," Hermione explained, laughing at their confused expressions. "Really catchy and silly. Imagine them opening their bags and suddenly all their textbooks and quills burst into a participation dance song. It'd be loud and embarrassing, and they'd have no way to stop it."

Remus's face lit up, clearly appreciating the twist. "That's brilliant," he said with a grin. "It's harmless, and they'll be scrambling to shut their bags as fast as possible."

James chuckled, his eyes glinting with approval. "I like it. It's loud, annoying, and public. Much better than the creepy whisper thing."

Sirius pretended to pout, but even he was starting to smile. "Fine, fine. We'll go with your version, Prewett. 'The Muggle Hokey Pokey' it is."

"Great," Hermione said, satisfied. "At least this way, it's funny for everyone, not just us."

It was funny for Hermione—right up until the moment she was asked to demonstrate what the song was so the Marauders knew what they were supposed to feed into the charm.

"Alright, Hermione," James said, grinning wickedly. "Show us this 'Hokey Pokey' thing."

Hermione hesitated, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope!" Sirius said, his grin widening. "How else are we supposed to get it right?"

Resigned, Hermione sighed and stood up. She performed the song with as much dignity as she could muster, moving through the silly actions as she sang while the Marauders watched, barely able to contain their laughter. James was practically in tears, clutching his stomach as she wiggled and spun around with an exaggerated flourish at the end.

"Obviously, the Slytherins won't know the song," Hermione said dryly, catching her breath. "I think the Muggleborns will get the most laugh out of this."

"Wait," Sirius said, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "How do you know this song, anyway? I thought you were... you know... pureblood."

Hermione froze, her heart skipping a beat, but she quickly forced a calm, innocent expression. "Oh, we lived near a Muggle village when I was younger," she said, trying to sound casual. "Daddy didn't really mind me playing with the Muggle kids in the area before I started doing accidental magic." She deliberately let her voice falter and looked down at her shoes, pretending to be upset at the mention of her "father," who, according to her cover story, had passed away just a couple of months ago. She hoped the boys would take the hint and not push further.

The effect was immediate. Remus's expression softened with sympathy, and he gave her a reassuring nod, clearly sensing her discomfort. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "You don't have to explain anything more."

James's playful demeanour faded, and his face fell with a mixture of regret and awkwardness. "Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't mean to pry."

Sirius, too, looked momentarily uncomfortable, his teasing smile disappearing. "Right, yeah. Didn't mean to bring up anything... y'know, sensitive."

Peter, who had remained quiet throughout the whole exchange, gave a quick, nervous nod of agreement. "Yeah, sorry, Hermione."

Hermione managed a small, sad smile, feeling both relief and a twinge of guilt at how easily they had accepted her explanation. "It's okay," she said softly. "I don't mind talking about it... sometimes. But let's just focus on the prank, alright?"

The boys nodded, eager to move on. They had the song sorted, and with Remus's help they knew the charm they'd need to perform. Now came the tricky part—the logistics of enchanting as many Slytherin bags as possible without getting caught.

James leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. "We need a strategy," he said, tapping his fingers against the table. "We can't just barge into the Slytherin common room and start casting spells."

"No, but we don't have to," Sirius said, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. "We just need access to their bags while they're not looking."

"Breakfast," Remus suggested. "Most of them bring their bags to the Great Hall before classes. If we time it right, we could cast the charms while they're distracted with food."

"That could work," Hermione said slowly, considering the plan. "But we'd need to be quick. And we'd need a distraction to keep them from noticing."

"Leave that to me," James said with a grin, his eyes flashing with excitement. "I'll make a scene—something loud and flashy. Sirius, you'll cast the spells on the bags closest to the entrance. Remus, you take the ones starting from the head table. I'll cover for you."

"What about me?" Peter asked, sounding eager to be involved.

"You can help me with the distraction," James said. "The more chaos, the better. We need to keep as many eyes off the bags as possible."

Hermione nodded, feeling the familiar thrill of a plan coming together. "I'll get the middle and keep a lookout, the faster we finish the better."

"Sounds like a plan," Sirius said, rubbing his hands together. "This is going to be brilliant."

They spent the next half hour refining the details, making sure everyone knew their roles and had backup spells in case something went wrong. By the end of it, they were all grinning with anticipation, the excitement buzzing between them.

"Tomorrow morning," James said, raising an imaginary glass in a mock toast. "To the best prank of the year."

"You know the best part?" Sirius added, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "No one will suspect us. None of us are Muggleborns."

Hermione's smile faltered, and a sudden wave of doubt washed over her. If they pulled this off, everyone would assume it had been orchestrated by a Muggleborn—a convenient scapegoat for a prank involving a famous Muggle song. Her stomach twisted at the thought. It was a funny prank, but it felt wrong to potentially shift the blame onto an innocent group of students.

"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile as her mind raced. "No one will see it coming."

But inside, her enthusiasm had dimmed. She didn't want to back out now—not when they'd all trusted her input and accepted her into their circle—but she couldn't shake the feeling that this prank might have unintended consequences.

The prank went off exactly as planned.

The first Slytherin opened their bag at the breakfast table, and a loud, cheerful chorus of "You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out..." echoed through the Great Hall. Within seconds, other bags joined in, filling the hall with the ridiculous, off-key melody of "The Muggle Hokey Pokey." Laughter erupted around the hall, and even some of the professors couldn't hide their grins.

Hermione watched with a forced smile, her stomach in knots. She could tell it was funny—the confused faces of the Slytherins, their frantic attempts to slam their bags shut while the song continued to play louder and louder. But underneath her laughter, she felt a growing sense of anxiety. What if someone got the wrong idea? What if Muggleborns took the blame? Blood prejudice wasn't new; even without Voldemort's full influence, it was a dangerous undercurrent in the wizarding world already.

Suddenly, a loud snort pulled her from her thoughts. Lily, sitting just a few seats away, had nearly choked on her pumpkin juice, trying to suppress her laughter as the entire Slytherin table went into chaos. One particularly outraged Slytherin was waving his bag like it was possessed, the song only getting louder.

"Did you see their faces?" Lily gasped between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye. "This is brilliant. Do you know who did it?"

Hermione hesitated, feeling the weight of the secret pressing down on her. "Um... no, not really," she said, trying to sound casual. "I just heard it's some kind of enchanted Muggle song."

"Honestly, it's probably one of the Muggleborns," Lily said, grinning mischievously. "I don't think a pureblood would come up with something this clever."

Hermione's stomach churned, and she forced a weak laugh. "Yeah, maybe," she said, her voice faltering. She hated lying, especially to Lily, but she couldn't betray the Marauders—not after everything. She couldn't help but wonder, though, if they had made a terrible mistake.

Lily, noticing her less-than-enthusiastic response, raised an eyebrow. "You alright, Hermione? You look a bit off."

"I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, trying to mask her unease. "Just... tired, I suppose. It's been a long week."

Lily's expression softened, her smile turning more sympathetic. "Yeah, I get it. It's a lot, starting at Hogwarts halfway through your schooling. If you ever need to talk, you know I'm here, right?"

"Thanks, Lily," Hermione said, giving her a grateful smile. "I really appreciate that."

"Anytime," Lily said, giving her a gentle pat on the arm before turning back to watch the chaos unfolding at the Slytherin table with an amused grin.

As they headed towards class, the boys caught up with them. James looked like he was about to say something to Hermione, but then, predictably, his attention swung to Lily. "Hey, Evans!" he called out, a familiar grin spreading across his face. "The offer to go to Hogsmeade together still stands."

Lily rolled her eyes and clearly tried to take a page out of Hermione's book, walking on without a word and ignoring him completely. James, however, was undeterred. He chased after her, relentless as ever, throwing out charming quips and pleas. Hermione watched with a resigned sigh, knowing what was coming. Just as Lily's patience snapped, she spun around, her wand flicking out so fast James didn't have time to react.

The overpowered Stinging Hex hit James squarely on the arm, and he yelped, clutching at the spot as if he'd been burned.

"Seriously," Hermione muttered, shaking her head as she watched the scene unfold from a few paces back, standing beside the other Marauders.

"I'm Sirius," Sirius said with a wide grin, clearly enjoying himself.

Hermione shot him an unimpressed look. "Why does James think that pulling pigtails will get him the girl? We're not in kindergarten anymore."

Sirius blinked, looking genuinely confused. "Why would any children be kept in a garden?"

"Never mind," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She wasn't surprised that the word hadn't translated to the wizarding world, but she was still exasperated by James's persistence. "My point is—does he really think that teasing and badgering Lily is going to win her over?"

Remus chuckled, shrugging. "James doesn't really do subtlety. He thinks if he's persistent enough, she'll eventually realise how 'charming' he is."

"Yeah, he's been like this since first year," Peter added, grinning sheepishly. "Thinks he can just wear her down."

Hermione let out a groan. "It's not endearing. It's just... irritating. If anything, it's pushing her further away."

Sirius gave a nonchalant shrug, watching as James, now rubbing his arm and pouting dramatically, trailed after Lily with wounded pride. "He'll figure it out. Eventually. Maybe."

"Hopefully before he gets hit with something worse than a Stinging Hex," Remus said, shaking his head in amusement.

Hermione sighed again, feeling a mix of fondness and exasperation. "Come here, you prat, let me heal that," she said, gesturing for James to hold out his arm. He looked genuinely taken aback by her unexpected kindness, but he stepped closer, holding out his arm with a sheepish smile.

"How do you know a spell for this?" Remus asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Hermione shrugged, concentrating on the stinging hex mark as she murmured the Tumentia Sanatio incantation. "I read a lot."

"Why not just let Jamesie suffer for it?" Sirius joked, grinning. "He'll never learn otherwise."

Hermione paused, giving Sirius a cool look. "Hmm, I guess I should start hexing you two then, whenever I hear you call Snape Snivellus. Will that make you learn not to do it?"

Sirius and James both burst out laughing, clearly amused by the suggestion. "Oh, come on, Prewett," Sirius said between chuckles. "Lighten up a bit!"

Hermione just rolled her eyes, realising they weren't taking her seriously. Instead of arguing, she handed James his arm back, spun on her heel, and walked away without another word. Her silence seemed to hit harder than any lecture she could have given, and for a moment, the boys were left standing there, looking stunned.

"Hey! Hermione, wait!" James called, jogging after her with Sirius, Peter and Remus following close behind.

Hermione kept her pace steady, her eyes fixed straight ahead as they caught up to her. She ignored their attempts to draw her back into the conversation, not even sparing them a glance.

"Oh, come on, Prewett," Sirius said, trying to catch her eye. "We were just having a bit of fun."

She didn't respond, her expression remaining impassive as she continued down the corridor. She wasn't really angry, but she wanted to make a point—words weren't going to change their behaviour, and a bit of quiet disapproval might make them think twice next time.

"Alright, alright," James said, stepping in front of her to block her path, his tone more sincere. "We get it. We'll lay off, alright?"

Hermione paused, finally meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "You promise?"

James hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. We'll... ease up a bit."

"Fine," Hermione said, her tone firm but not unkind. "Just think about the kind of people you want to be. If you're really the great Gryffindors you think you are, then act like it."

Remus looked thoughtful, but Sirius just grinned, unfazed. "You know, you're kind of scary when you get all righteous like that."

"Well, someone has to keep you boys in line," Hermione replied, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

James gave her a mock salute, the usual mischief returning to his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Message received."

What she had feared had come to pass by that evening. As Hermione made her way to the dungeons after dinner to meet with Snape for her Potions assessment, she stumbled upon a tense scene in a shadowy corner. Two older Slytherins had cornered three small Hufflepuff first-years, their faces pale with fear.

"Do you think this is funny?" one of the older boys sneered, opening his book bag to reveal the enchanted song still echoing faintly, while the other held his wand threateningly toward the first-years. "Your silly little dance?"

Hermione's heart sank. They'd obviously caught the younger students doing the dance—whether mockingly or just for nostalgic fun didn't matter to the older Slytherins. They must be Muggleborns to know the dance. Without hesitation, she stepped forward and drew her wand. "I'd step away if I were you," she said, her voice cold and commanding.

Before the Slytherins could react, she cast two quick Expelliarmus spells, sending their wands flying into her hands. She caught them deftly, her eyes flashing with determination. "Go!" she urged the first-years. They didn't need to be told twice and bolted down the corridor.

Hermione didn't flinch, her grip on the confiscated wands steady. "Maybe you should pick on someone your own size," she said, her tone even.

The older Slytherins sneered, their eyes narrowing as they began taunting her. "Blood traitor," one of them spat with contempt. Hermione felt a flicker of annoyance but brushed it off. Being called a Mudblood had been worse, she reflected. At least this showed that being pureblood didn't shield you from being bullied if you stood up for the wrong people.

"I see Potter and Black have already rubbed off on you," a cold voice interrupted from behind. Hermione turned to see Snape, his dark eyes fixed on her.

"Standing up to bullies, you mean?" she shot back. "Then sure."

Snape's expression twisted into a sneer. "Doesn't quite look like it, does it? You're the one holding their wands."

"Hm, yes," Hermione said dryly, "because the fact that ten seconds ago they had three first-years cornered—when they're clearly at least in third or fourth year—doesn't matter. Got it. If my tie is red and theirs is green, then I'm automatically the bully."

Without waiting for a response, she threw the wands back to the older Slytherins, who caught them with furious expressions. Turning sharply, she strode down the corridor towards the classroom where she was supposed to meet Snape, her heart pounding. She knew they'd keep taunting her, but she didn't care.

"There, satisfied?" she said icily.

Snape didn't reply, but his eyes flickered with something unreadable as Hermione brushed past him. She didn't look back, but she heard his footsteps close behind, shadowing her down the corridor.

"Still think I'm the bully?" she asked without turning around.

"I think you're just as reckless as they are," Snape said coolly. "And that you don't understand how dangerous it is to provoke people you barely know."

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze with defiance. "I think I know exactly what I'm doing," she said. "I don't let people like them get away with intimidating those who can't defend themselves."

Snape's footsteps quickened, closing the gap between them. "You Gryffindors think you're so righteous," he muttered under his breath, frustration lacing his words.

Hermione didn't even turn around. "And you Slytherins think you're so clever," she shot back. "But I don't see you standing up for anyone—only tearing others down."

"That's because I don't have the luxury of your naïveté," Snape snapped, his tone colder than ever.

"Maybe it's not naïveté," Hermione replied, her voice firm and unyielding. She stopped, turning to face him with a determined expression. "Maybe it's just that I still believe people deserve better, even if that makes me a target."

Snape's expression was unreadable, a mask of cool indifference hiding whatever he truly felt. He didn't respond, and they continued the rest of the way in silence, tension hanging heavy between them. Hermione couldn't tell if she had made a dent in his attitude or simply widened the rift, but she stood by her actions. If nothing else, she'd shown that she wasn't afraid to stand her ground.

Once they reached the Potions classroom, Snape wasted no time diving into the assessment. He began to quiz her relentlessly, his tone sharp and demanding as he tested her knowledge on ingredients, their preparation techniques, and the uses of obscure herbs. Hermione answered each question without hesitation, keeping her tone steady and confident.

Finally, after what felt like an interrogation, Snape moved to the practical. "Brew the Draught of Peace," he instructed, his voice devoid of any warmth. "It's the most advanced potion from third year, and I expect you to do it correctly."

Hermione nodded and set to work, carefully measuring and mixing the ingredients. She took her time, making sure each step was precise, even as Snape loomed over her shoulder, his dark eyes watching her every move. When the potion was finished, she stirred it one last time and took a step back. It was nearly perfect—the only flaw was that the colour was a shade too dark, barely noticeable unless one knew exactly what to look for.

Snape examined the potion with a critical eye, his face impassive. "Passable," he said finally, his tone clipped and dismissive.

Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him as he disappeared into the corridor.

Hermione let out a slow breath, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. "Some things never change," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes at his dramatic exit. But as she cleaned up the potion station, she couldn't help feeling a small surge of pride.

Passable from Snape was practically a compliment—and in her book, it was as good as a win.

With a final glance at the now-empty doorway, Hermione packed up her things and headed back to the common room. It had been a long day, but she knew she had done the right thing, even if Snape would never acknowledge it.

As Hermione entered the common room, she was still a bit rattled from the encounter in the dungeons. She hadn't expected to defend herself from older Slytherins so soon, and the confrontation with Snape had only added to the tension. But as she crossed the threshold, she was greeted by Sirius's unmistakable voice.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, leaning casually against the back of an armchair with a teasing grin. "Kitten has claws after all."

Hermione blinked, taken aback. "What did you just call me?"

"Kitten," Sirius repeated, his grin widening. "You're full of surprises, Prewett. You handled those Slytherins like a pro. I didn't think you had it in you."

James was beside him, looking equally amused, and Hermione suddenly realised that they must have witnessed the whole scene in the dungeons. That blasted Cloak. She narrowed her eyes. "Were you two spying on me?"

"More like observing," James said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And you were impressive, Hermione. Even Snape couldn't ruffle you."

"Kitten suits you," Sirius added, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. "Small, unassuming, but you've got a bit of a bite when you need to."

Hermione crossed her arms, a mix of annoyance and amusement fighting for dominance. "Kitten, huh? I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Oh, definitely flattered," Sirius said with a wink. "It's a term of endearment, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Endearment coming from you, Black? Definitely offended now."

James burst out laughing, clapping Sirius on the back. "She's got you there, mate."

Sirius placed a dramatic hand over his heart, pretending to look wounded. "Harsh, Kitten. Very harsh. But I suppose I deserve it."

"You certainly do," Hermione said with a smirk. "And I haven't agreed to the nickname."

James laughed again, clearly enjoying the banter. "Oh, but it's too late now, Kitten," he teased, leaning back with a broad grin. "It's already stuck."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that," she said, crossing her arms. "I might just come up with something equally embarrassing for you, Potter."

"Bring it on," James challenged, still grinning. "But I'm warning you—I'm unshakable."

"We'll see," Hermione said lightly, feeling more at ease than she had in days.

Sirius leaned forward, his grin widening. "Oh, I like this. I think the Marauders just met their match."

"Don't count your dragons before they hatch," Hermione shot back with a playful glare. "I'm not giving in that easily."

"Keep fighting it if you want," Sirius said with a wink. "But I have a feeling 'Kitten' is here to stay."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile that had crept onto her face. "Fine, call me whatever you like—for now. Just don't expect me to start purring."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Sirius said, laughing.

"It's much better than some of the other ideas we had," James added with a chuckle. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto the couch beside him. Hermione let out a surprised yelp as she tumbled into the seat.

"Hey!" she protested, swatting at his arm, but James just grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

"Oh, come on, Kitten," he teased, his tone light. "Don't act like you weren't going to join us anyway."

"Maybe," Hermione said, giving him a mock glare as she settled back, but her smile betrayed her. "But you could at least pretend to have some manners."

"Manners are overrated," Sirius said, flopping down on her other side with a wide grin. "Besides, you're one of us now. No point in pretending otherwise."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "One of you, huh? I should probably start running for the hills before you truly corrupt me."

James chuckled, giving her a friendly nudge with his shoulder. "Too late for that, Kitten. You're already halfway down the path of corruption, and there's no turning back now."

"Oh, is that so?" Hermione shot back, crossing her arms. "And what exactly does this corruption entail?"

"Oh, you know," Sirius said with a lazy grin. "A healthy disregard for rules, a penchant for pranks, and a habit of getting into trouble just for the fun of it."

"And lots of late-night adventures," James added, his eyes glinting mischievously. "It's practically a requirement if you want to be a proper Marauder."

Hermione snorted, shaking her head. "I think I'll pass on the troublemaking, thanks. Some of us actually want to graduate without being permanently banned from Hogwarts."

"Graduation is overrated too," Sirius said breezily, waving a dismissive hand. "What's the point if you don't have any good stories to tell?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione replied, a teasing glint in her eye. "Maybe not getting expelled is a decent goal?"

James laughed, clearly enjoying her banter. "We haven't been expelled yet, have we?"

"Yet," Hermione emphasised, giving him a knowing look. "The way you two carry on, it's only a matter of time."

Sirius smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. "Oh, we've got nine lives, Kitten. We'll be just fine."

"Well, I'm not planning on testing that theory," Hermione said with a chuckle. "So if you don't mind, I'll keep my trouble to a minimum."

"Good luck with that," James said, grinning from ear to ear. "Once you're a Marauder, trouble has a way of finding you, whether you like it or not."

"Any upside to this arrangement, or is it just a heap of trouble?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

James flashed a playful smile. "You've officially earned your spot on the couch, and that's no small feat."

Remus snorted from his chair across the room, not even bothering to look up from his book. "Yes, because the couch is obviously the highest honour one can receive as a Marauder," he said dryly.

"Hey!" Sirius protested, patting the worn cushions beside him. "This couch is a sacred space. Only the truly worthy get to sit here."

Peter nodded eagerly from the floor, where he was busy digging through his bag. "Oh, definitely. It's the ultimate Marauder privilege."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, feeling a warmth settle in her chest. For all their teasing and antics, there was something undeniably comforting about being accepted into their circle. Even if it meant dealing with silly nicknames and occasional pranks, she realised that she was starting to enjoy it.

"Alright, alright," she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I'll take the couch honour—but only if you agree to stop using me as a prop."

"No promises," James said with a cheeky grin, but he nudged her playfully with his shoulder.