When Harry finally released Hermione, they were both almost gasping for air.
"Fucking hell Pot," Hermione heavily breathed. "Give a witch a warning next time."
"Alright—Hermione?" Harry asked breathily.
"Yes?"
"I'm going to fucking do it again." Was the warning he deigned to extend before his lips found hers anew.
"Wait, Har—"
At the touch of his lips once more, Hermione surrendered. There was no point in fighting it—not when she had spent the entire summer secretly wishing for this. His lips were soft yet insistent, hungry, desperate. Wanting. A laugh bubbled up in her chest, but he swallowed it, banishing it with his tongue. And just like that, a soft moan escaped her throat, and she matched his hunger with her own.
She relished the heat of his skin against hers, the warmth he radiated—a kind of intimacy she had never known, despite the years they had spent side by side. Before she realised it, she was straddling his lap, his fingers tangled in her curls. But just as her hand lifted toward the first button of his school shirt, a flicker of awareness cut through the haze. Hermione stilled, then broke away. Their heavy breaths mingled, foreheads resting together. Eyes fluttering shut, she savoured the moment as if it might slip through her fingers, never to return.
"Have I ever told you," Harry murmured.
Hermione pulled back, drawn into the green depths of his fantastical eyes.
"Hm?" She lowly hummed.
"You smell like butterscotch and cinnamon." He said softly.
Hermione frowned and smiled at him all at once, a quiet contradiction. Her gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes before a low chuckle slipped from her lips.
"No, not that I can recall," she murmured.
A pause settled between them before Hermione spoke again.
"Have I ever told you…" she began, then hesitated.
"Hm?" He hummed, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.
She paused once more.
That your eyes are the last thing I see every night before I fall asleep.
She allowed the sentence to dance in the field of her mind as if frolicking amongst the wildest of flowers, as if it were an unchained dream with all the freedom in the world. Then, softly, she laughed.
"That Hoggy Warty Hogwarts is the thing I look most forward to each year?" She said climbing off his lap.
Something flickered in his eyes and Hermione pretended not to notice.
Harry chuckled lightly and replied, "Really? Well this year I'm most looking forward to seeing Lavender again." He laughed some more. "In the same room as Ron."
Lavender.
Ron.
Maddy.
"Oh—fuck. Maddy—the Sorting Hat—fuck, we have to go—come on!" Hermione said urgently, grabbing her trunk.
As soon as Harry had his in hand, she seized his free hand, and in a flash, they apparated.
Crack.
Crack.
"Fuck, Hermy—give a wizard some warning next time," he muttered, mildly whiplashed, struggling to find his footing.
Hermione laughed, then pulled him toward her by the hand, making him stumble.
She leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek before whispering, "Never."
Letting go of his hand, she jogged away, leaving him dazed by one of the towering pine trees near Hogwarts' main entrance. She blended effortlessly into the crowd of students, smiling to herself. It was not long before Harry found her again, announcing his presence with a gentle nudge. They turned to each other, both smiling with eyes full of mischief and light.
"Hey!" Called out Ron from behind them. "How in Merlin's most bloody, baggy Y-fronts did the two of you beat the thestrals here?"
Hermione quickly snapped her head to Harry and whispered, "Not a fucking word to Weasel about what Prince and Pug did to me."
Harry gave her a look—a serious expression that silently said never-without-your-permission. Hermione gave a sharp, brief nod, then turned to smile at her arriving sister, who had Ron's arm slung around her shoulders and Cokelat cradled in her arms.
"It's something magical called apparition—as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Weasel, I'm surprised you don't know of it. That said, you're not exactly the quickest broom in the shed." She remarked with a smirk.
Ron grinned at her. "Good to know Herpes's back and green as ever."
"Is everything ok?" Maddy asked taking a step toward her sister, making Ron's arm slip from her shoulders.
Hermione smiled wider. "Of course—now come on, the very dead Professor Binns eagerly awaits your arrival." She said draping her own arm around her sister's shoulder.
Harry stayed by Hermione's side as they made their way toward the school entrance, leaving Ron to struggle behind with the rest of his things.
"I'll just keep carrying Hedwig and Lux then?" Ron called out from far behind.
As if echoing Ron's frustration with the current transportation arrangements, Hedwig let out a low, disgruntled hoot, struggling to stay upright in her crooked cage. Ron, balancing Pig's cage in one hand, carried hers at an awkward angle.
Harry glanced back at his best friend, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, just long enough to call out, "I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Red."
Not too far off, Ginny and Dean, hand in hand and surrounded by their gang, exchanged amused glances and shared a quiet snicker. Colin took a shot of a displeased Ron with his Argus ZO-6 camera.
"Yeah—yeah, laugh all you want Deanie—but bet, next time I catch you snogging the face off my sister I'm going to—"
Ron's sister cut him off as she yelled over to him, "Oh, shut up, Ron, before I get the very eloquent Miss Brown to come and sort you out."
Ronald Weasley turned beetroot red, whipping his head around in alarm as their laughter echoed. Luna, however, broke away from the group and swayed toward him, her hip-length hair trailing behind like a golden shadow. She extended a hand toward him. Ron eyed it warily, with a mix of caution, suspicion, and hesitation crossing his face.
"Hi, Loo-una." Ron said—quickly correcting himself.
"Let me help you, Ron." She said with a soft smile.
Ron let out a sigh of relief, having expected something entirely different to leave her lips. He extended Hedwig's cage toward her, and she took it from him. Hedwig fluttered her majestic wings in her cage, grateful to finally see the world from an upright position again.
"Cheers," he said.
"Oh, what's that?" Luna asked gently, glancing at the bulge in Ron's cloak pocket.
"Oh—this? It's Harry's new pet fish—Lux." Ron said, reaching into his pocket and passing the silver-topped jar to Luna.
Luna's big blue eyes admired the luminous white fish inside.
Her voice was soft with wonder as she said, "Oh, I know of a Lux."
"You do?" Ron asked, distractedly eyeing the students walking past them, half-paying attention to his sister's best friend.
"Mhm." Luna nodded, then frowned. "Oh, no."
She looked up to the Highland night sky, as if reading the constellations like words.
"Oh. I will know of a Lux," she corrected.
"That's nice," Ron said, gesturing toward the school gates. "Should we—?"
Luna smiled and nodded, but after only a few steps, she softly gasped again.
"Oh, no," she murmured, frowning as the cool breeze brushed past them, playing with the tips of her long hair and making her shiver. "I was wrong."
"That's not nice," Ron remarked, still keeping a sharp eye out for Lavender.
"I used to will have known of a Lux, but now I no longer will. That's sad," she sighed.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, not nice at all. But hey, at least you have that—Lux to know or not know, maybe know, who knows. You know?" He continued, only half-engaged in the conversation—which Hermione would have argued was a dangerous thing.
Luna smiled again, looking over at Ron. Ron turned around scanning the crowds until his eyes fell on her smile, pausing, blinking, like a deer caught in Muggle car headlights.
"Thank you, Ron. That makes me feel much better," she said softly, her words full of warmth. "You're a good friend."
Ron nodded slowly and swallowed before saying, "That's…nice."
Hermione sat in her usual spot in the Great Hall, tucked at the top of the Slytherin table, as close to the professors as possible. It was a strategic choice she had made in first year, after realising that Zabini's and Parkinson's taunts were not a form of Slytherin hazing. By sitting near the staff, no Slytherin dared approach her during mealtimes, and she could enjoy something she would have emptied her Gringotts vault for—peace. Exactly three hours of it, every day.
Hermione watched as Professor McGonagall, with her stern face and tightly pulled-back black bun, ushered the first years—Maddy included—toward the famous stool and Sorting Hat. Maddy turned, scanning the sea of Hogwarts students. The moment her dark eyes locked onto Hermione's, they shared a brief, silent exchange of encouraging smiles and reassured nods. When the entire hall fell into the usual, first-evening-of-the-school-year eager silence, the ancient Sorting Hat began its familiar song.
"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep yourbowlersblack,
Yourtop hatssleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong inGryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong inHufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise oldRavenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps inSlytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folks use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
A round of applause rippled through the room, and unsmiling, Professor McGonagall began the sorting. Behind her back Maddy's hand tightened into a fist, while Hermione's fingers crossed discreetly in her lap. It was a childish gesture, but Hermione had always secretly longed for a sibling—someone close to share the Slytherin experience with. This was not a moment she had consciously awaited, yet it was one she had secretly hoped for all along. And so, crossed fingers would have to suffice.
"When I call yer name, you will come forth. I shall place the Sorting Hat on your head and you will be sorted into yer house." Announced Professor McGonagall as she unrolled a long piece of parchment in her hands.
As always, the first years exchanged nervous glances, their wide eyes filled with uncertainty. A few stole furtive glances at Maddy, whispering among themselves. And each time they did, Maddy would turn toward them with a warm smile, which would make them hesitate for a moment before smiling back. Then they would quickly look away, their cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Andrews, Nelson?" Professor McGonagall began.
A weedy boy with a messy mop of brunette hair hesitated before stepping up to the stool. The room fell silent as the Sorting Hat was placed atop his head, instantly flattening his hair and obscuring his eyes. There was a brief pause.
"Ravenclaw!" Bellowed the Sorting Hat.
An eruption of claps rang out from the Ravenclaw table as they welcomed their new housemate. Andrews quickly found a seat, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.
"Aveda, Arya?" Professor McGonagall continued, peering severely over her square spectacles down at the new first years.
The roll call continued steadily, with no major delays or long pauses where the Sorting Hat had to deliberate with the student. Then, at last, it was Maddy's turn. Hermione held her breath, watching as her sister made her way to the stool. All eyes followed her as the Deputy Headmistress began to place the Sorting Hat at upon Maddy's head. For Hermione, time seemed to both slow and speed up with each passing second. When the Sorting Hat was settled upon Maddy's head, it fit perfectly, not like the others where it covered their eyes or mussed their hair. Maddy's pretty face remained clear, framed by the hat as if it was meant to be there. Then, the wait began. A long wait.
The hall was still and tense, every eye fixed on Maddy. After a minute passed, whispers began to ripple through the room, anxious murmurs rising in volume. It had been years since a Sorting had taken this long—since Harry. Hermione scanned the hall, and when her eyes met Ron's and Harry's, the three of them shared soft frowns and helpless shrugs, their heads shaking with unspoken concern.
On her own table someone muttered, "What's fucking taking so long—she's clearly a Hufflepuff."
"Nah, definitely a Gryffindor." Said someone else.
"Pff, no Gore's right." Agreed another with the former student. "Only a Hufflepuff would smile as much as that girl is—they all smile like they've been puffing on wompsnap root all day."
Hermione's fingers were now curled and clenching in her lap with a thin sheen of sweat.
…clearly a Hufflepuff.
…definitely a Gryffindor.
Her anxious frown formed into one of great uncertainty.
A Gryffindor? Maddy? She's not—she can't be. No.
Why not? She's nothing like you.
But a Hufflepuff? That's ridiculous. Hufflepuffs are ridiculous. Maddy's nothing like—
Hermione's frown deepened with concern. Then before she could so much as try to convince herself that Maddy belonged nowhere else but with her in Slytherin she was rudely interrupted by a booming voice which finally broke through the tense hall filled with gossiping mutterings.
"Hufflepuff!" Bellowed the Sorting Hat.
Hermione's heart sank. Her mouth fell slightly open in shock as she watched Maddy hop off the stool and make her way to the Hufflepuff table. Some students stood, applauding, while others approached her to offer congratulations and warm welcomes. Then, Maddy's gaze shifted toward Hermione. Quickly, Hermione composed herself, forcing a smile—though it was tight—and gave a quick wave, punctuated by a thumbs-up.
"You know the Hufflepuff?" Asked the boy sitting closest to her.
The lanky, scarecrow-like lad appeared to be in his third year.
"What's it to you?" Hermione replied flatly.
"Just seems a bit weird, that's all," he said, uninvited. "They couldn't be more different than us."
Hermione forced herself not to react. Then, one of the boy's friends yanked on his arm, urging him to lean in.
"She's the Mudblood," she whispered harshly.
"Oh, fuck." The boy's eyes snapped back to Hermione.
Hermione met his gaze without flinching—no twitch of a brow, not even a blink. The two quickly turned away, along with the others who had been watching, their eyes now avoiding her.
When dinner appeared Hermione raised from her seat. Hunger had up and left her with no desire for food. She barely made it half way down the table when a low, nasal voice stopped her.
"Miss Granger," it said.
She froze. A shiver ran down her spine.
"Yes, sir?" She asked turning around to meet her Head of House, Professor Snape.
"Get back to your seat." He punctuated slowly.
Hermione avoided his gaze as in her mind all she could see was a certain long purple cloak and a brutal flash of green.
"But I'm not hungry," muttered Hermione. "Sir."
"And I do not care." He stated without an ounce of care. "Back to your seat, Granger. You are only allowed to leave once the Headmaster has made his start of term speech."
This time Hermione's gaze met Professor Snape's. They stared at each other.
"Very well, sir." Hermione mumbled.
She walked around Professor Snape, who continued to eye her, and made her way back to her seat—painfully aware of the attention she had just drawn from her peers. A snicker rang out, and as Hermione focused on the empty seat at the top of the table, she failed to notice someone had deliberately placed a foot in her path. She stumbled, and before she could regain her balance, Professor Snape's hand shot out, catching her arm with the firm, unyielding grip of a Devil's Snare.
"One point from Slytherin," said Professor Snape. "Next time, Miss Parkinson, let me not catch your shenanigans and I won't have to deduct points whatsoever."
Hermione could hear the smile in her voice as Parkinson said, "Yes, of course, sir."
Hermione could feel the heat rise in her face. Suddenly angry at the world, she found the nerve to jerk her arm free from Professor Snape's grip and hurried back to her seat. She ignored the stares of her peers.
Once her head of house returned to his own seat, she turned her attention away from the piles of roast chicken drumsticks, buttery steamed broad beans, and mashed potatoes, instead reaching for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. The ugly brass pig-shaped spout poured the sweet, orange liquid into her goblet. She lifted the cup to her lips, thinking of a very specific spell—one that Finnigan had failed to cast correctly more times than she could count. She need not watch the transfiguration happen in her goblet; the smell was enough. With a swiftness that rivalled the beat of a Golden Snitch's wings, the sticky, sweet aroma of pumpkin juice transformed into something pungent and dark, tinged with spices. Hermione left her plate untouched for the rest of the meal, staring blankly at nothing as she sipped from her goblet, now full of rum.
By the time dinner ended, her head felt numb and tingly, like a daft pixie-troll. With a graceful wave of his hand, Professor Dumbledore made the dirty cutlery, plates, and bowls of leftover food vanish, sending them to the kitchens below. The thought of the kitchens reminded Hermione to make a mental note to visit Winky and Dobby at some point later. Everyone shuffled around, turning toward their headmaster, and Hermione did the same, careful not to draw more attention to herself or make it obvious that she was mildly—and delightfully—inebriated.
"I have quite a few start of term notices this year," Professor Dumbledore gently croaked. "A few of which I am sure many of you are already in know of."
"Let me begin with the Forbidden Forest, which, as our new first years should know, is forbidden for a very good reason. Please, do not attempt to seek your missing socks among the thorns and brambles of its forest floor. Trolls, I assure you, have no appetite for socks—believe me, I know.
Sixth years, as you know, the opportunity to spend the year abroad at the marvellous Beauxbatons Academy of Magic has been extended to you. In the spirit of fostering international magical cooperation—which we hope this exchange will exemplify—may I remind you that only a select few will have the privilege of studying abroad. So, hear me now: pay attention in class. On October 1st, the top ten O-grade students will be randomly selected by our very own Sorting Hat.
And now, to our seventh years… Well, what a past six years it has been. You are now all young adults, ready to step into the working wizarding world. Why, it was only a couple of years ago that I had the very same pleasure of such an experience…"
Laughter erupted throughout the hall. The loudest, of course, came from Hagrid—deep and bellowing from the professor's table, most likely the result of too much wine. Professor McGonagall shot him a severe glance over the top of her spectacles. Hagrid flushed a rosy pink and hiccupped before clearing his throat, letting out a sound that was eerily reminiscent of a chainsaw. Hermione could not help but giggle.
"All this to say," Professor Dumbledore called out, his voice cutting through the chuckles.
The Great Hall obediently fell quiet once more.
"That I urge you all to seize the opportunities that await you this year. For it is not every day that one is presented with the chance to enter the Triwizard Tournament or the Potions Championship. But remember, choose wisely. The Triwizard Tournament is not for the faint-hearted, and the Championship is surely meant for the brightest among you. Professor McGonagall would like me to remind you that you have until October 1st to confirm your entry for either competition. And from the Ministry of Magic itself, I must stress that these events are magically binding—these are not mere games. They are trials for the fearless, for once you are selected, there is no turning back." Professor Dumbledore's voice grew grave, as if to say, enter-at-your-own-risk.
"Now," he continued with a merry clap of his hands, "I think it's time for our anthem. What do you say?"
Everyone rose to sing Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Foggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees…"
As Hermione read the gold-ribboned words floating above the headmaster's head, all she could do was smile. A smile that held not an ounce of genuine pleasure, not a hint of happiness. Her eyes scanned the sea of students and found Maddy, who was already looking at her, smiling back.
Great. Hermione thought, as she waved back with a strained grin. Another year at Hogwarts.