Chapter Text
Hermione Granger stood eagerly at the platform with her parents. Even at eleven years old, the witty and strong willed child assessed the scene before her with shrewd eyes. Chaos reigned supreme, yet even in the state of flux, patterns emerged. Students milled and twisted through the crowd, with or without their school trunks, while the parents remained still. Almost like a pinball machine, she mused. Her mother gave her a tearful farewell hug while her father ruffled her already frizzy curls.
A final, reassuring goodbye and she finally wriggled her way out of her parent’s uncomfortable embrace and towards her future. Hermione skipped towards the train, avoiding tall teens and swerving around weeping parents. This year will be different, she decided, I will get the best marks and make tons of friends. A small, excited squeal escaped her as the small brunette boarded the train.
“Watch it!” and “Get out, firstie” echoed through the halls and compartments as she made her way through the scarlet train. Somewhere along the middle car, she found a single boy about her age, sitting alone. Come on, Hermione, you can do this, you can make friends, she thought, bolstering her courage.
“Hello, my name is Hermione Granger, may I sit here?” she asked with a wide, warm smile.
“O-oh! Of course, I’m Neville Longbottom, by the way,” the boy answered. Hermione took stock of his watery eyes, chubby appearance, and stuttering voice. Each detail catalogued for future use, she bounded into the compartment, jugging her trunk on top. “Do you have a pet? A familiar? I have my toad, Trevor.”
“Ah, no,” Hermione answered. “My parents said they would get me a pet after I can prove I can handle the responsibility of going to school on my own.” She fought the point tooth and nail, enumerating the advantages of having a familiar. However, they stood firm, forcing Hermione to submit to their will, with a shake of her head, she remembered where she sat. “Anyways, that doesn’t mean I won’t have one in the future.”
“Well, would you like to meet Trevor?” Neville asked moments later. Hermione nodded, curious as to what a wizard’s familiar would be like. I mean, if it’s a familiar it must be different, magical even, she reasoned. “He’s right… No… Not there either… H-Have you seen him?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. While she fancied herself reasonably observant, she told the boy across from her that no, in fact, she hadn’t noticed a toad in the compartment. Or beyond, to be honest. Neville’s eyes widened in horror, barely able to articulate his worry. She internally sighed, wondering why the fates always sent her to these types. Not that she would deny him, she worried for the poor creature’s life.
Thus, an hour later, Hermione found herself scouring every corridor, compartment, and loo. With no sign of a pesky toad in sight, she sighed. The next compartment door stood ajar as she walked towards it. Two young tenors reached her ears, boys, she surmised, of her own age.
“But you’re Harry Potter! I mean, you should be able to, you know,” the first boy said.
“I-I guess. I just don’t know much about the wizarding world,” the second boy, Harry Potter, replied.
Hermione’s mind buzzed to life. She remembered bits and pieces of her history of magic book. The Boy Who Lived did just that, survived the Avada Kedavra curse, the killing curse. It had never been done or heard of until that faithful Halloween ten years ago. She practically squealed, excited to meet someone famous enough to make the history books.
“Hello, have either of you seen a toad?” she asked, refusing to let her excitement leak through.
A black mop of hair and piercing eyes stared at her from one side while a blue eyed ginger gaped openly. Boys, she thought with a mental roll of her eyes. They never know when to be subtle. They stared at her for a moment.
“Uh, no, I haven’t, sorry,” the boy with black hair said with a shake of his head.
“That’s a shame,” she sighed. “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way.”
“Ron Weasely,” the red head shook her hand, bits of chocolate flying from his mouth. Hermione merely nodded, noting to herself to wash off next chance she got.
“Harry,” the other boy said. “Harry Potter.”
She assessed the boy in front of her, apparent glee and excitement finally leaking through her indifferent mask. The tell tale lightning bolt upon his head confirmed her thoughts. She smiled and asked a couple of questions, asking if he knew how to use magic or if he had practiced, which house he wanted to get into.
“I mean, I practiced all summer. Don’t want to be behind, you know?” she commented, gripping her wand.
“I can do magic, too,” the red head, Ron was it, said.
“Oh really? Do a spell then,” she retorted, sticking her nose a little higher into the air.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid, fat rat yellow,” he recited, pointing at the large rat upon his lap.
Unsurprisingly, nothing happened to the large, ugly thing. Hermione sniffed in disgust, wondering how Ron could be so daft as to believe that was a spell. He appeared baffled and upset, blaming his two brothers for his failure. They apparently knew about his gullibility, and Hermione secretly approved of their actions.
“Well, that’s not a spell, now is it?” she pointed out.
“If you’re so good at magic, why don’t you do some?” Ron huffed.
“Of course,” she replied, confident and haughty. She turned towards Harry Potter, noticing his glasses taped together. “Occulus reparo!”
White tape flew and disappeared, leaving a fully repaired set of glasses sitting upon Harry’s nose. She smirked at her job well done, and turned to face the red head across the compartment. The self congratulations on her face infuriated the other boy, his face turning red from suppressed rage. My, so easy to rile up, Hermione mused, adding to Ron Weasely’s ever growing mental file. And no ability to hide what he is thinking or feeling.
“Now then, boys, if I may,” Hermione stood up, “I have a toad to find. If you see one, do tell Neville or myself.”
As she walked out of the compartment, their voices once more filtered down the corridor. Unaware that the door stood perfectly open for anyone to hear, the boy Ron began to rant about her. A stuck-up know-it-all, he raved. She felt her heart fall into her stomach. There she went, again, losing all ‘tact’ as her mother put it. She recalled her mother’s words of wisdom, how people did not like to feel threatened, be it by intelligence or physical means.
With a sigh, she continued her way through the train. One or twice, she stumbled upon older students in compromising positions, logging what they looked like and where they were in her mental files. It wasn’t until she neared the front of the train that she ran into any more trouble. A group of three boys sauntered down the corridor, all of them, she noticed, in the blank robes of first years. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione began to go around them, all the compartments around her occupied.
A glint of mischief in the eyes of the ring leader told her they would not simply let her by. Hermione knew enough about bullies to recognize that look. She abhorred that hateful twinkle of malicious light, and groaned inside her head as the boys neared her. Experience taught her to take the initiative against trouble, and so she did.
“Hello,” she asked in a perky voice, hopefully annoying them. “Have you seen a toad anywhere?”
“Why? Lose one?” the blonde in the middle sniggered.
“No, I am helping a boy named Neville Longbottom,” she replied with a smile.
“Ah, Longbottom? That blood traitor?” he snorted. “I’m not surprised. My dad tells me that they are nothing but useless, squibs almost.” Tweedy dee and Tweedly dumb chuckled at this, as if the boy in the middle made the funniest joke.
“You don’t say,” she responded. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.”
As she hurried away, someone caught hold of her arm. A swift turn found her facing the ring leader. His grey eyes peered at her, critical and analytical. Despite the churning of her stomach, Hermione returned the stare. She would not allow this boy to get the best of her, stuffing the rage and embarrassment of being held by a boy into the depths of her mind. Her honey eyes regarded the boy with studied indifference, taking in the posh robes, gelled hair, and manicured fingers. He practically yelled rich, spoilt brat.
“Let me go,” she hissed.
His eyes widened, finally noticing that it was him gripping her arm. With a forceful squeeze, he let go and stepped back in a single, graceful motion. Hermione began to go around his goons, hoping that the blonde boy would finally be done with her.
“I’m Draco,” he called, turning to face the retreating girl. “Draco Malfoy. This is Crabbe and Goyle.”
Hermione stopped, a couple meters not nearly enough space between her and the boys at her back. Her mother’s lessons echoed in her mind, and, against her better judgement, the brunette turned to face the boys. Instead of the ‘bully’ look, the boy, Draco, looked at her with masked interest. She supposed that others had to learn how to mask their emotions, unlike the red head from before.
“Hermione Granger,” she answered.
“I haven’t seen you around before, so you’re not one of us,” he tilted his head to the side. “Are you a half-blood?”
“No,” she replied slowly. If her history book was anything to go by, blood prejudice still ran rampant through certain circles in the wizarding world. While it was no longer popular to voice these beliefs, she mentally knew that it was going to be one of her challenges. “My parents are both muggles.”
She knew, in that moment, she had lost yet another person on her list of potential friends. His face transformed from curious to disgusted, sneer in place. He regarded her like rubbish, nose scrunched as if smelling something particularly foul. The reality of prejudice sent a pang of pain through Hermione. However, pride prevented her from showing any of it. Instead, she watched him with detached interest.
“You’re no better than Longbottom,” Draco Malfoy sneered. “Go back to where you belong, mudblood. Your kind is not welcomed here.”
“Not welcomed,” she scoffed in return. If Hermione Granger knew one thing, it was how to defend herself. “I highly doubt that. In fact, I would wager that I knew more about magic than you do.”
“Impossible. Your kind doesn’t know up from down in the wizarding world,” he smirked, a malicious glint returning to his eyes. “I doubt you’ll ever amount to half of one of us, let alone be better. Go back to where you belong.”
“If you haven’t noticed,” she said, “The train is almost at school. Last I checked, I can’t go back, and I won’t.”
“Heh, well, it’s not like you’ll do much. I bet they’ll send you home by tomorrow, crying to mum and dad because you just didn’t belong here,” he sneered. “I bet you’ll even end up in some stupid house, like Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Everyone knows that only the most powerful and smartest end up in Slytherin.”
“You know what,” she snapped, finally reaching her breaking point. “I know I belong here. If it’s the last thing I do before I die, I will prove it to every last one of you,” she hissed and began stepping forward. Draco’s eyes narrowed at her until she stood right in front of him, prodding him with her finger. “I will be the best witch your precious, wizarding world has ever seen, and I’ll make every pureblooded know and respect my name.”
She turned on her heel and began walking away, head held high. The boys stood in stunned silence behind her as she continued to make her way down the corridor. Shocked silence enveloped them, and Hermione couldn’t be happier. She resolved to act as dignified and refined as she could, not letting everyone else see her emotions, especially bullies like Draco Malfoy.
Once she found an empty compartment, Hermione closed the door and locked it. Her back fell along the wall onto a cushioned seat, her mind preoccupied. Hot, angry tears leaked from the edge of her vision. Hermione had hoped beyond hope that she had finally escaped them, the bullies, the ones who thought nothing of her. How wrong she had been! Even now, her parent’s voice rung in her ears: don’t give up, and don’t let them see you. Their words strengthened her, tears stopping at last.
Mustering herself once more, her sorrow and pain morphed into rage. Not the burning inferno, but a cold, sizzling feeling, encasing her. She knew now what she wanted to do at this school. Not just learn, no. It was more that that. Hermione resolved she would make a statement, so loud and impossible that no one will forget her.
She will become the best Slytherin to grace the halls of Hogwarts, even if it killed her.
Leaving the compartment a few moments later, she meandered until she found Neville back, toad in hand. She made small talk and smiled at the boy until the train began to slow. With new found resolution, Hermione donned her Hogwarts robes and uniform. The thunder of footsteps outside cued her and Neville to leave. She watched older students mill about with their ties and scarves, robes emblazoned with crests. As a particularly proud pair of teens passed her, she caught sight of their green and silver ties, green inner trimming of their cloak, and the snake upon their chest.
That will be mine, she thought as she left the train and stepped into her new world.