HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, SCOTLAND; 19th SEPTEMBER 1977
Life at Hogwarts was familiar. The routine was waking up every morning and going to all her classes, eating her meals in the great hall, and even the cozy study room where she would set up shop with her homework and scour the library for any needed reference materials.
Her classes were challenging but not impossible; however, she felt that some information and theories presented were not always complete. In an attempt not to draw attention to herself, Hermione kept a notebook, refusing to write in the texts, with other bits and pieces that she could recall and knew to be fact but hadn't been proven yet.
There were potions that Hermione knew existed. Such as wolfsbane potion. She knew the ingredients but couldn't remember the precise instructions. However, when she'd asked Professor Slughorn about it, the man seemed perplexed, as if she were making the entire thing up. Another time, when she had corrected Professor Flitwick on a Charm's theory, she'd shrank into her seat, mumbling that her eccentric aunt had educated her and challenged her to think outside the realm of current knowledge and the possibilities beyond. After that, Hermione didn't speak up in class.
Hermione stretched her arms over her head, and her nose scrunched at the intense green glow coming in through the wide window in her room that looked out into Black Lake. She was slowly becoming accustomed to the sight, but it was still unnerving to know that the only thing standing between her and death was an enchanted piece of glass.
Pushing her blankets to the foot of her bed, Hermione glanced around the bare dorm room, sighing as she pulled herself out of her four-poster bed and walked to the en suite she got to herself.
Helen had been right about the value of a witch's education in pureblood society. The only pureblood witches still attending Hogwarts in her year were a few in Ravenclaw (including Pandora Malfoy), and then most of the ones sorted into Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. In Slytherin house, however? None of the witches had returned after completing their OWLs, all getting married, leaving Hermione utterly isolated.
There was, however, one seventh-year witch in Slytherin, but Hermione had made it her mission to avoid Alecto Carrow as if her life depended on it. At least Regulus Black's obsessive behavior was beneficial in some way, keeping the deranged girl at bay out of fear of upsetting the Black Heir.
Washing her face, Hermione examined herself in the mirror as she used the products Helen had sent in a care package for Hermione within her first week of school.
She unscrewed the lid of a glass jar filled with a thick, pearlescent cream and began smoothing it onto her face. Helen's note had insisted it was 'perfect for under the lake's light—don't let the merfolk catch you looking dull.' Rereading the note, Hermione wasn't entirely sure if it had been a joke.
The luxurious items were something that Hermione was still becoming accustomed to, despite spending the majority of her summer living at the Greengrass estate.
She dabbed the last cream beneath her eyes, then leaned closer to the mirror, studying her reflection. The girl staring back looked the same, more or less—bushy curls tamed into a long plait, clear skin thanks to Helen's constant owl-post of tonics and tinctures, but her eyes looked older, more guarded.
Hermione sighed and wiped her hands on a towel. She could pretend she belonged, but not when she didn't even know her history or where she'd come from.
Hermione's thoughts drifted back to Regulus Black and his strangely attentive behavior, and how it had impacted the way the other students watched her, with suspicion and awe, as if she were something to be jealous of for having gained Regulus' attention, when, truth be told, the opposite was true.
She would give anything to continue to fly under the radar and finish her last two years of schooling while she tried desperately to piece back together the life she had lost in her accident. She was desperate for answers, but as she threw back her morning pain and let out a hiss as the bitter liquid went down her throat, the burning in her chest began to ease as it took effect.
Hermione yawned, her need for coffee growing, as she turned to her wardrobe to dress for breakfast.
Pulling off her dressing gown, her gaze dropped to the ugly scar that slashed across the left side of her abdomen, thick and dark purple with jagged edges. It was a constant reminder of everything she had lost, and to make matters worse, even if someone were to see it, she wouldn't have any explanation for it.
Throwing her uniform on, Hermione was ready to get the day over without any incident.
Fat lot of luck that would take…
She quickly headed into the Great Hall, where the other students were halfway through breakfast. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the cloudy skies outside, and clusters of owls dipped and soared above their heads, dropping parcels and letters with practiced precision.
Looking around the space, Hermione froze, staring into the sea of students happily chattering.
Instinct told her that she needed to head to the far right of the room, which was curiously on the opposite side of the Slytherin table, to where the Gryffindors sat. She could spot Sirius in the crowd as he stood on the table, knocking his friend's drinks over the copies of the newspapers spread out and letters students had received from home.
A pretty girl with golden blonde curls stood up and shouted at him, her wand pointed at him, causing him to jump into the air as a hex hit him.
When he nearly fell from the table, Hermione turned her away from the ruckus, not wanting to risk him catching sight of her and pulling her into whatever stupidity he was involved in. He was childish, and frankly, Hermione had no use for someone who acted like such an arse.
Walking toward the left side of the Great Hall, Hermione paused when she spotted Regulus, his pale grey eyes glued to her and tracking her every movement. His wavy black hair fell into his face, making him look mysterious and dangerous, which, truthfully, he was. The plate of food in front of him was untouched, and as he lifted the steaming cup of tea to his mouth, Hermione could feel a shiver running through her body.
"Nope," she whispered, breaking eye contact as she continued toward her destination.
Sitting down, Hermione kept her gaze lowered as she grabbed a plate and a piece of toast and poured herself a cup of coffee. She must ensure she is well caffeinated to survive the full day of classes.
"It's a beautiful day," a dreamy voice said, pulling Hermione's attention away from the toast to which she was applying a generous amount of jam.
"It's about to rain," Hermione stated, gesturing toward the ceiling where the candles flickered.
"It doesn't make it any less beautiful," Pandora Malfoy said, tilting her head as she studied Hermione. Her pale blue eyes were piercing, and Hermione felt like the other witch was peering into her soul with her gaze. As she began to fidget in her seat, Hermione wondered if she mightn't have taken her chances sitting at the Slytherin table rather than with the Ravenclaws.
"I think you're about to get a package," Pandora stated, returning her attention to her plate as she carefully sliced a piece of melon. "However, I'm not sure how useful it will be."
Hermione had no idea what the other witch was talking about, but it quickly became clear that Pandora lived in her world, and no one else was invited to explore it, not that Hermione wanted to. Her mind was scrambled enough without wanting to poke around in a more bewildering place.
However, maybe the witch wasn't as much of a nutter as everyone thought, because not even five minutes later, after she'd already received her morning post, a familiar owl approached her, with a wrapped gift box handing from it's talons.
"Oh no…" Hermione trailed off, her eyes widening as she looked down at the Muggle newspaper she'd begun having delivered along with her Daily Prophet subscription. "Oh no, no, no," she muttered as her eyes locked in on the date at the top of the paper.
With all the craziness of the start of term, the strict potions regime she was on, and the obsessive behavior of Regulus Black.
Today was her seventeenth birthday, and she was legally an adult in the wizarding world.
A sharp squawk cut through the din of the Great Hall, followed by a heavy flutter of wings. Hermione looked up just in time to see a familiar, sleek grey owl descending toward her, an elaborate green ribbon trailing from a large box secured to its leg.
"Fuck," Hermione murmured, looking around to see if anyone was watching the display, but of course, it seemed everyone was. Across the hall, Sirius was straining his neck to see what was happening, and a tingle at the back of her neck indicated she needed to know that she'd also continued to hold Regulus' attention.
Conversation quieted around her as several Ravenclaws pulled themselves out of their academic debates long enough to look at her in interest as the bird landed in front of her, holding his head with pride at his impressive delivery.
"Thank you, Jove," Hermione said, unable to help herself but to scratch the top of the bird's head, trying desperately to ignore the whispers around her.
"Regulus is laser-focused on you," Pandora commented, sipping her tea. Her eyes closed as she let out a sigh. It's cold and possessive. I'd be careful with what you read at the breakfast table."
Hermione looked away from the box, and Jove, now happily nibbling on a slice of bacon, fixed her gaze on Pandora. The girl still outwardly appeared obvious to the world around her. "What…are you talking about?"
"Your Muggle newspaper," Pandora said, pushing away from the table. "All I'm saying is just be careful. Happy birthday, Hermione."
Hermione watched with awe as her friend walked from the Great Hall, Jove nipping at Hermione's fingers affectionately before he took flight, leaving the package behind.
Helen wrote the note attached to the package, and her elegant, slanted script made Hermione's heart warm at the sight of the love her adoptive mother had for her.
Happy Birthday, my darling girl. I know it's archaic, but it'll prove helpful. I added a few other things that you would enjoy. I hope your school year is off to a fantastic start.
Hugs and kisses,
Mum
Hermione's brows furrowed at the message. She did not understand what she was talking about, but it only intrigued her more.
On top of the box was a copy of A Lady's Grace: A Guide to Social Decorum for the Modern Witch. Hermione looked at the book, racking her mind to recall if she'd ever heard of it, but came up short.
Its enchanted cover flickered between rose gold and a pale emerald depending on the angle at which the reader was holding the book. Setting the book to the side, Hermione's eyes widened at the forest-green leather-bound planner. When she opened the planner, she was pleased to find the pages seemed to be already filling in, as if it were enchanted with her class schedule and all of her assignments. Not just that, but also there were reminders about her upcoming potion doses and a meeting with Professor Slughorn to discuss career options.
Hermione could feel the tears in her eyes filling as she recognized the handwriting as Helen's, with little notes of encouragement coming in the edges from Hector, and even a few quips from Hyperion on the days there were Quidditch matches.
"You guys…" Hermione said, her heart filling with gratitude for her family.
Hermione couldn't resist her laugh when she noticed the healing kit. Another month's potions, but also a vast array of healing slaves, burn cream, a fresh bottle of Skele-Gro, anti-scarring potions, and a new set of self-applying bandages. The discreet labels were clever enough that any nosy passersby would overlook them.
Finally, Hermione smiled at the other touches she'd been given: crescent moon-shaped earrings and a new Slytherin scarf that was more elegant than the standard-issued one that Hogwarts provided.
She felt warm and overwhelmed all at once. The box's contents lay in front of her, taking up much more room than she should have been at a table that wasn't even in her house.
"It's quite a gift," a gravelly voice said behind her, forcing Hermione to turn her gaze behind her, her eyes widening at Regulus Black hovering over her. "I suppose being a Greengrass has its perks."
Hermione could feel her body trembling under his gaze as he stood over her, causing her to tremble as she watched his eyes narrow. Following his line of sight, Hermione swallowed as she looked to where her copy of The Guardian was propped up against the juice pitcher. The contrast between the glittering box of magical treasures and the black-and-white print of the Muggle world was stark.
"I, uh…" she trailed off when her attention was again pulled in another direction.
Her Headmaster's pale blue eyes were locked on her. His head tilted slightly, his lips pursed in thoughtful silence as he watched her. Swallowing hard, Hermione felt a chill creeping up her spine as she watched the man. He wasn't smiling; instead, he looked intrigued and calculating.
She resisted the urge to shrink under his gaze, letting a mask of cool indifference fall into place.
Her fingers clenched around her coffee mug, but she refused to look away.
A rustling behind her finally ended the staring match, and she was looking up at Regulus again. Breathing out through her nostrils, Hermione returned to her newspaper, pretending to read an article about strikes in London and what the Prime Minister was doing to compromise with the workers.
With her gaze locked on the newspaper, Hermione still felt the weight of the room pressing in.
So much for flying under the radar.