Chapter 4: Childhood IVNotes:normally I'd be updating Strings today but this week was a week and I got very little writing done, so here's another chapter of this instead
Chapter TextI'm off like a shot for the front door the moment the wards inform me that one Minerva McGonagall is on her way to deliver me my Hogwarts letter, Eden (now a healthy six feet long and still growing) draped across my shoulders and swaying with excitement. I let her get off a single knock, then I open the door wearing my best innocent smile.
"Hello there Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Minerva gives me a look that I'm sure must be very piercing, if I gave a shit. "And how did you know that, young lady?"
"Identification ward on the property. If Death Eaters ever show up to burn my house down, I want to know who was involved." So that I can hunt them down and kill them, of course.
The transfiguration teacher doesn't seem to know how to respond to that for a moment, before rallying.
"I thought this was a muggleborn household."
"It is. Wixen just aren't nearly as subtle as they think they are. I've been shopping in Diagon Alley for years. So long as you're cute and you act like you belong you'd be surprised at the kind of things you can get away with." That applies to most places, really, but I haven't seen a need to get around all that much.
"I see." She clearly doesn't. "So I take it you won't need my help to do your school shopping, Miss Granger-Potter?"
"No, we're good there-" My train of thought crashes as what she called me registers. "...What did you call me?"
"Miss Granger-Potter?" The transfiguration teacher repeats, and yes, that's what I thought she said.
"That's not my name." I say weakly. Oh god, is this one of those fanfiction universes with the magical marriage bond bullshit? Did I somehow inadvertently complete a marriage ceremony of the Ancient Celts? Has to be the chokers, it can't be anything else.
"What is your name, young lady?" McGonagall asks, now looking concerned.
"Hermione Granger." I reply, on autopilot, still trying to process what an absolute clusterfuck this is. I knew I wasn't in the canon universe given the Girl-who-lived, but I never anticipated that I would be in a fanfiction universe. Especially not one like this, as the marriage-bond fics tend to universally be the 'independent' Harry type fics in which he has to face off against the manipulations of an evil Dumbledore. I never gave serious considerations to Dumbledore as an actual threat. I am entirely unprepared to spend the next seven years of my life living under the thumb of a machiavellian mastermind.
"The Book of Admissions seems to disagree." The deputy headmistress states as she hands me an envelope, where 'Hermione Granger-Potter' is written in damning green ink. I honestly don't remember the walk to the kitchen table, but at some point the discussion was clearly moved inside as my parents are attempting to interrogate McGonagall about my name change. A loud crack announces Holly having apparated straight to my side, apparently detecting my distress, which startles McGonagall and makes her look almost as stunned as I do as she realizes who she is.
Son of bitch, I was supposed to be the one breaking her brain. Not the other way around.
"Right, introductions. Professor McGonagall, this is my best friend, Holly Potter… although it might be Holly Granger-Potter now, who knows. Holly, this is Professor McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the Head of Gryffindor House and the school's transfiguration teacher." I say, trying to ground myself with formalities.
Holly gives McGonagall a gimlet stare. "What did you do to Hermione?"
I simply hand her the letter off the kitchen table and let her read who it's addressed to. She puts the rest together on her own.
"How did this happen?" Holly asks the pertinent question of the day.
"I'm not sure. I think it would be best to call in an expert." The cat animagus replies.
"You're going to call the Headmaster, aren't you?" I ask her. She nods. "I'm going to grab something from upstairs while you do." Because like hell I'm dealing with Dumbledore without at least my knives on me. I doubt they'll do much, but history has a number of examples of skilled people dying at the hands of amateurs due to a combination of luck and underestimation. I head upstairs to grab my expanded bag while the professor sends off a Patronus message.
Another pop goes off as I'm taking my seat back, adding exactly one wizened old asshole to the crowd in my parent's already crowded kitchen. He makes a great show of ponderously shuffling his robes as he looks around the room, then picks me out. "I've heard the issue of confusion. If you would allow me to cast a few detection spells to find what might be happening?"
"By all means." I graciously give him permission.
Holly shrugs. "Yeah."
He raises his wand and fires off a series of charms too quickly for me to follow, then does the same to Holly, his expression growing more severe with each one. "It appears that I cannot distinguish where each of you begins or ends, magically speaking. Do you have any idea why that might be?"
That...doesn't sound like a marriage bond. Thank god, that means I'm probably not in an Evil Dumbledore universe.
I don't shy away from his clear effort at making eye contact, and the moment I feel him start to dig around I snatch a teacup off the table with my magic and toss its contents in his face. "Stay out of my head without invitation, Headmaster."
Dumbledore flinches back, a pained look on his face as he makes the tea vanish from him with a quick, wordless charm. "Was that wandless magic?"
An idea pops into my head. An awful, terrible, no-good idea that I probably shouldn't do. But it'll absolutely fuck with Dumbledore, so who cares?
I smile my best creepy little girl smile. "I can make lots of things move without touching them. I can make people do what I want without telling them. I can tell what they're thinking, and if they're lying to me."
Holly, brilliant girl that she is, catches on immediately and mirrors my expression as she glares up at Dumbledore. "I can move long distances in an instant, and bad things tend to happen to those who are mean to me. I can speak to snakes, too."
Naked horror lingers for a moment on Dumbledore's face before he gathers himself together and gives me a hard, suspicious look. "What did you do?"
I huff at him. "There, was that really so hard? Anyway, fine, I may have created a slight empathic link between us using these chokers and a bit of questionably legal magic to help support Holly, what with all of the abuse."
Dumbledore takes a step forward, casting a few spells on the choker as he peers at it, then comes to a conclusion. "You need to take those off."
Holly and I share short, unamused looks, then turn to him and speak at the same time.
"Over my dead body."
He glares harder, and I just glare back. "I must insist that-"
I cut him off before he can say something else stupid. "As the Headmaster of Hogwarts, are there any issues with this that prevent us from attending?"
Albus looks like he's sucking on a lemon before he responds. "No."
"And while you could easily report us because this kind of magic is technically illegal, doing so would end with me revealing why I felt it was necessary. None of us want to see the Dursleys' abuse in the papers, especially given your hand in her placement, Headmaster. Abuse that I can easily make the argument that you're aware of and condoning considering that Arabella Figg reports to you. Dropping a line to Rita Skeeter would be easy."
"Are you blackmailing me?"
"No, you're a public official. That makes it extortion."
Both my parents are facepalming at this point. Dad mouths something to Mom which might be 'your daughter'. McGonagall looks furious, Holly is just pleased I'm standing up for her, and Albus doesn't look like he knows what to think.
"Look, just leave it alone. Considering the timing of my birthday I imagine I'll be attending Hogwarts next year as opposed to this one, yes?"
Albus gives me a stiff nod. "So I'll be in her year, and we're pretty much guaranteed to both be in Slytherin House."
McGonagall interjects at that. "But the Potters were Gryffindors!"
I look at her like she's particularly stupid when I reply "And they're also both dead. Should Holly hop into their graves, too? Children don't always turn out like their parents, especially not their absentparents."
The Headmaster seems to have recovered and slipped his genial grandfather mask back on, possibly because he just remembered that he has an audience. "Quite right, my girl. People can always surprise you, no matter their origins." Was that a dig at me imitating his first meeting with Tom? "Far from me to stand in the way of such a strong bond of friendship, especially when it encourages such courage in its participants, to stand up to authority like this." Wow, that was actually impressive. He simultaneously painted my extortion threat as childish rebellion, thus downgrading its severity, while also placating McGonagall by reigniting her hope that we might be in Gryffindor. I don't bother to keep the impressed look off my face, and he tilts his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Now why can't he be that competent when dealing with Death Eaters?
"Now that the mistaken identity issue has been cleared up, Headmaster, I did have a few questions I was hoping you'd answer for me?" I ask, clearly and deliberately relaxing, something that both the Headmaster and Holly notice, following suit.
"Of course, my girl." I try to keep my distaste for his grandfather persona off my face, but I'm not quite sure I succeed given I see his eyes tighten a few degrees.
"Holly and I have been engaged in an independent runes and arithmancy study for a while, and I've been studying potions independently for even longer. Would it be possible to get some advanced placement in those courses, more suitable to our levels of knowledge?"
The Headmaster strokes his beard for a moment while he considers. "I can ask Professors Vector, Babbling, and Snape if they'd be willing to offer placement exams at the start of the school year. It would be up to them, and if they decline you'll have to follow the normal curriculum."
"That's fair enough. If that happens we're likely to keep up our independent study program at Hogwarts. I suppose then if we got far enough ahead we could take our OWL's independently with the WEA?"
The Headmaster nods. "That option is typically taken by Wixen who are homeschooled but it is technically open to all magicals under the age of 17. Having an OWL in a given subject automatically qualifies you to take the NEWT level classes regardless of your age, as well."
"My second question then, what are the legal requirements to break the Trace?" Like hell am I going to wait until my 7th year to take the fight to the Death Eaters.
The Headmaster gives me a stern look which I promptly ignore. "It only breaks when you turn 17 years of age."
"17 years of age chronologically, or according to date of birth?" I follow up, immediately.
"It's the former, I believe. I must urge you not to play with time magic, however."
I wave the Headmaster off. "I have no intentions of using anything on that front that hasn't been invented by another and thoroughly investigated." Although if my suspicions about the Room of Requirement pan out, then I may become fully grown in a rather suspiciously short amount of time. Well, time as seen by other people, at least. "Well, that's all the questions I had. Since Holly had to apparate right out of the cupboard the Dursley's have assigned her as a bedroom to get here, she's probably been discovered missing by now. Would you mind taking her home, Headmaster, and soothing over any tempers? I would prefer not to have to send her home with Bruise Salve again."
The old man and McGonagall look extremely pained at my words, which I tried to deliver in as innocent a tone of voice as I could muster, so I'll score one for the better looking (and younger) generation.
"Of course. If you'll just take my arm Holly, my girl." Holly looks to me and I give her a nod. She takes his arm and both Professors disappear in a crack. Hopefully this will inspire the Dursley's to move her to Dudley's second bedroom earlier than canon. I grab the letter off the table and open it, glancing at the list of supplies. I already have…all of this, actually, except the wand and the uniform, the former of which I can now finally legally purchase. After a decade of being stuck with practically nothing but telekinesis, I can finally expand my spell repertoire again, and if I'm going to be a muggleborn in Slytherin there's a handful of spells I'm going to need to know to survive. The uniform can wait until the start of term, given how kids grow like a weed at my age.
Needless to say, I rally my parents to take me to Diagon to go buy my wand right away. I can celebrate my birthday later, for now I want to celebrate magic! We all pile in the car and head for Charing Cross.
"Was extorting your Headmaster a wise move, Hermione? It seems…less than optimally sane." My mother asks.
"Well, I didn't have the best track record for sanity in my last life and I'm sure as hell not going to start now."
Neither of my parents seem to know what to say to that, and the rest of the trip passes in silence. I dart into the Leaky Cauldron after my parents park. They still can't see the building, unfortunately, and our 'muggleborn orientation' went so sideways the Professors forgot to do whatever it is that let's them enter the alley. No matter.
"Hi, Tom!" I greet the barman.
"Hullo, Hermione. The Alley again?" Tom worked out that I was both Muggleborn and aware of magic way before I should have been. Apparently he finds it funny, always nice to have a willing accomplice.
"Yes. My Hogwarts letter came which means I can finally buy a wand!"
"Congratulations dear. I'll open the Alley right up for you." I smile winningly at him as he opens the passageway to the vaudeville freak show that is Diagon Alley, and dart to a short, shabby building that labeled itself 'Ollivanders, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C' in peeling, gold print.
I step into the dirty-looking establishment, the building feeling like a kaleidoscope to my magical senses, which was almost enough to make me miss the magical presence on my left as I entered. I turned to the pale, silver-eyed man who was being both incredibly silent and rather observant.
"Hello. Mr. Ollivander, I presume?" I greet the honestly creepy old man as politely as I can.
"Yes, I am. And you are, Miss?" he said, in a soft voice.
"Hermione Granger-Potter, Mr. Ollivander." I reply, a bit awkwardly. I'm still not used to the new name.
"Any relation to Holly Potter?"
"According to the Headmaster, magic can't tell where she ends and I begin." I reply, honestly.
"How unusual. How did that come about?" The old man still hasn't blinked and it's getting rather creepy.
"I'd rather not say." Better change the subject quickly. "Your shop is very interesting, but the constant swirl of the magic in it is making me a bit dizzy."
"You can see the magic?" Ollivander asks, intrigued.
"More sense it, really. It's not exactly sight, nor is it exactly feeling."
"A natural sensor. I haven't had one in my shop in a while. If that's the case, your visit may very well be quick. Why don't you try to sense out your match?"
I'll gladly take a chance to be out of this shop sooner, as Ollivander still hasn't blinked and I'm seriously wondering what kind of eldritch being he is. Words on the page did not do him justice, he's much more unsettling in person. I close my eyes and reach out with my magic, trying to feel out the wands around me. There are thousands of them, and rather than try to listen to each one I just let my magic go and see if any jumps out at me. My magic seems to click with one wand in particular, and I hold up a hand and grab its box with my magic, carrying it to me, before opening my eyes.
"Wonderful, simply wonderful. Well, go on then, give it a wave!"
I open the box revealing a rather short wand, beautifully carved, made out of a dark wood I can't immediately identify. I pick it up and give it a wave, feeding my magic through it, creating blue and purple sparks in the air, while a warmth spreads through my entire body from my fingertips all the way to the tips of my toes.
"An excellent match. Walnut and Phoenix Feather, 7 inches, swishy. A wand well suited for one with a ravenous intellect and indomitable will." Well, that's definitely not Hermione's canon wand, but I'm definitely not canon Hermione. I have a feeling destiny will ensure Holly still gets the same wand, however. If she doesn't I'm going to have to revise my plans for 4th year.
"Do you sell wand holsters and maintenance kits, Mr. Ollivander?" I ask, because I might as well pick up the needed accessories now.
"I do, young lady, I do." He replies, a little more closed off now. Isn't Walnut supposed to be good for Dark Wizards or something? I never was much of a Potterhead, ironically. Ah well.
"I'll take one of each. And the wand, of course."
Mr Ollivander fetches what I asked for and stacks them up at the counter. "That'll be 14 galleons."
I pay the man and turn to leave, before stopping at the door. "Oh, Mr. Ollivander? When Holly Granger-Potter comes in next year, there's this particular wand I sensed…Holly and Phoenix Feather, eleven inches…I think you should offer it to her first. It'll probably save the both of you a lot of time."
I leave without giving him a chance to reply. For all I know Holly's 'destined' wand has a different wood in this universe and I just made an ass of myself. No thank you.
For now, it's time to go home and cherry pick some damn useful spells out of the seven year curriculum. It should give me an edge in the house of the bigots. After all, I remember Canon Hermione mentioning that she practiced some spells at home without any underage magic warnings, so the Trace is obviously applied when the school year starts.
It turns out that cherry picking spells out of the curriculum is hard. There's a method to Hogwart's madness in teaching so many seemingly useless spells (seriously, who is ever going to want to turn a mouse into a snuff box?) and it has absolutely nothing to do with magical power, as far as I can tell. Instead it seems to do with the shape and form of the magic. First Year spells require effectively zero adjustment. You say the words and make the wand movement and push an appropriate amount of magic into the wand and you get the spell, every time. I can produce bluebell flames for days, now. Spells from higher years seem to require you to feel your way through the spell and adjust it more than what the wand movement is capable of, with the wand movements of NEWT level spells providing a very rough shape. Each of those useless spells thus teaches you to recognize and feel out common adjustments required for various kinds of spells, as I've noticed that spells that share wand movements and have approximately the same complexity have identical arithmantic functions in the more advanced books I have access to.
In other words, by learning spells in the order prescribed in the curriculum you would automatically train yourself to adjust your magic to suit a spells requirements. Further refinements of the technique is how non-verbal and point casting likely work, with wandless magic almost definitely following. Unfortunately, I don't have the time for that, which leaves me with just trial and error.
So much error.
Fortunately, I haven't had any magical accidents that haven't been easily covered up. Unfortunately, I also didn't have very much success. At least not at first, but I'm quite frankly too stubborn to quit, and have an entire year to practice. The only thing that breaks up my near constant spell practice is Holly getting her own Hogwart's letter, which is just as much of a clusterfuck here as it was in canon. I make sure to be in the Alley when Hagrid and Holly finally arrive, and tag along on their little shopping trip. I may bully Hagrid into handing over Holly's key, on the grounds that she and I share a last name and I have parents that can actually be trusted to look after it. I also bully the man into staying in the Leaky Cauldron for a bit so I can purchase Holly an entire new wardrobe, wizarding using her money and muggle using mine (well, former drug dealers, but fuck them). So Holly is no longer in terrible hand-me-downs, and much happier for it. She also isn't the scrawny little thing Harry was in canon, thanks to my tender loving care. Score one for Hermione.
Another score is my eventual success at my given task. I frankly don't have enough time to teach the spells to Holly after I've learned them, but I manage to learn a number of spells that should hopefully prevent us from getting our ears hexed off at Hogwarts, given that we're extremely likely to be sorted into enemy territory. The hardest spell on my list was undoubtedly the Disillusionment Charm, which I learned simply because I didn't trust that Dumbledore would give the cloak back if Holly was sorted into the House of the Snakes. Truth be told I didn't want to have to wait for Christmas to sneak up to the Room, either. Paired with the Disillusionment Charm is the Human Presence Revealing Charm, which is very useful when I pair it with a blood magic technique that allows me to make certain spells continuous by linking it to my core directly. I couldn't afford to keep that up all the time, but in the halls between classes you bet your ass I'm going to keep it up. I even make another visit to Borgins and Burkes and buy this cute little ring that has a built in ability to siphon blood on demand and feed it to my spells, which should help keep my usage of illegal casting techniques a bit more lowkey.
Outside of those spells, I also learned the OWL level Silencing Charm, which I feel is entirely underrated. Getting this off against anyone who isn't a NEWT level student is effectively an instant win, especially since I can use the same blood casting method to make THIS one reapply itself after it's dispelled so long as I kept feeding it magic. Following that spell is a few other dueling essentials, such as the Shield Charm, and the Stunning Charm. Stupefy might be a bit cliche, but cliches work.
Following that is the Sticking Charm, with the thought that I could just use my telekinesis to pull people off their feet and stick them to the ground. Or pull their wand out of their hands and stick it to the ceiling. Finally, I learn a variety of detection charms for checking food and drink for potions and poisons. Holly and I are probably going to gain a reputation like Moody's, but I honestly didn't care. I'm going to be sharing a dinner table with people who will not hesitate to kill me when they get older for seven years. The ferret is a coward, but others are NOT. I'm going to keep a damn bezoar in my mokeskin at all times, too, just in case. And maybe some antidotes for the more common poisons that a bezoar doesn't help. Okay, maybe I'm a little paranoid, but it's not paranoia when they're out to get you.
Outside of those nine spells I don't have time to learn anything else, like, for example, the entire first year curriculum, and truth be told I still don't see the point. The spells I did learn were cherry picked to ensure my survival. Spending time learning the useless spells taught in first year would only advance my grades, which would not be any good to me if I was dead or crippled in an 'unfortunate accident'. I am not safe in a society that is so utterly indifferent to me due to blood status. I had some protection due to how close I am to Holly, but in other circumstances the best I could hope for would be a distant, 'oh how sad', over my mudblood corpse, if that.
So it is with a combination of excitement and dread that Holly and I enter the Hogwarts Express, on September 1st, 1991.
Chapter 5: First Year IChapter TextTruth be told, one of our biggest concerns about the train ride is avoiding the Worst Weasley. Ron is a tool, an opinion Holly came to share after she browsed the section of my memories labeled 'Weasley Tantrum Greatest Hits'. We avoid the entire Weasley Brood by the simple method of being on time: Holly simply apparates to my house and my parents drive the two of us to King's Cross. Neither of us have trunks, preferring the flexibility of the (expensive) Bottomless Bags that Diagon sells, so we simply walk through the pillar that marks the entrance to Platform 9 And 3 Quarters and find ourselves an empty compartment. My wand makes it a lot easier to drop a Notice-Me-Not over a larger area, so once I throw one over the entire compartment we're golden, unlikely to be bothered by idiot Weasleys or bigoted ferrets. Once we're sorted into Slytherin the former is unlikely to ever be a problem again.
Holly wastes no time in curling into my side, snuggling herself under my arm in search of contact. "So... Quirrel isn't really going to be a problem, right?"
"He won't be. Risk of him getting what he's here for is an easy fix, and you can kill him just by putting him in a headlock." I reassure her, absently stroking her hair. We're not going to need to separate any more now, and just the thought is honestly a huge relief. I don't like being away from her.
That's probably a bad thing, but whatever. It's not like I have a history of being emotionally well-adjusted.
"What is he after, anyway?"
I push on my occlumency a little more, just to be safe. "This is one of those weird moments where I actually need you to not know what it is for us to be able to easily retrieve it. Intent-based magical protections and all."
"Oh." Holly shrugs, accepting that answer with ease. "And... people?"
"Making it clear that I'm happy to escalate to violence at the slightest provocation should be more than enough to keep any unwelcome individuals away." I shrug. No one is allowed to fuck with what's mine Holly. They'll learn fast enough.
Holly shoots me a satisfied smile, a sliver of cold amusement and a touch of reassurance leaking through our bond.
I spend the rest of the ride gently stroking through her red hair, letting her draw strength from me while I let the presence of what's mine Holly lull me into a simple tranquility. Life is going to get a lot more complicated shortly, but we both feel that so long as we have the other we'll be alright.
A voice echoes through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." I kiss the crown of Holly's head before we both get up and change into our uniforms, as the train slows down and finally stops. Exiting into the crowded corridors, I shiver from the cold as we make our way onto the dark platform.
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" I hear Hagrid shout, the man towering over the crowds and making him easy to identify. I grab Holly's hand and tug her in the half-giant's direction, following him down a steep narrow path that leads down to the lake.
Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows glittering off the lake like stars in the sky, is Hogwarts, a bizarrely arranged castle of many turrets and towers.
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, the half giant gesturing in the direction of a fleet of small boats. I climb into one alongside Holly, only to be joined by another redheaded girl and a blond with pigtails. Quite possibly Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, if my memory of things is right. I give them my 'making friends' smile, and Susan can't seem to decide if she wants to stare at Holly's scar, our chokers, or our joined hands more. Nonetheless, she doesn't gain the courage to ask before the boats arrive at the underground harbor, and Holly and I climb out while Hagrid is reacquainting Neville with his toad. How exactly it got here when the boy lost it on the train will simply remain an unsolved mystery for the ages.
A short climb up a damp flight of stairs sees us positioned at the castle's front door, and Hagrid bangs on it with a meaty fist, which sees the Deputy Headmistress answering it right away.
"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.
"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."
The Entrance Hall is just as large and grand as you would expect from a literal magic castle. Everything is lit up with torchlight, the ceiling is too far away to spot, and the floor is made out of flagstones. Our group follows the transfiguration professor like lost little ducklings, as she leads us to an antechamber just to the side of the Great Hall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."
"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."
I raise my hand. "Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes, Miss Granger-Potter?" A quiet muttering from the other students in our group breaks out at my last name.
"Are there any rewards for gaining points for houses or individuals other than the House Cup?" Holly asks, a smug grin on her face.
"There are not." The stern witch replies, mildly miffed at being answered by someone she technically was addressing.
"And is there a public record of point rewards and detractions?" I follow up, grinning just as smugly.
Her negative reply is significantly more hesitant. I hide my smirk while I go in for the kill.
"And have you ever seen anyone put their contribution to the House Cup on their résumé or similar?" Holly takes her turn, her eyes wide and faux innocent.
"I have not." The witch finally admits, after a long pause and a long-suffering look.
"I see, thank you." I twist my face into my best unimpressed mask, which is helped by me being legitimately unimpressed, and shoot who I believe is Malfoy a quick 'can you believe this shit?' look. With any luck the more intelligent of my year mates will realize what I've been driving at without me having to draw them a map, and won't give a shit about this bullshit peer pressure scheme.
I suspect that Holly and I are going to lose a lot of points. Or possibly gain a lot, hard to tell which way that coin will flip. Either way, our aversion to last second rescues means that we're unlikely to have the 'sudden end of term point allotments for heroism' (which I'm convinced are actually just the product of teachers with guilty consciences full of reckless child endangerment) that were oh so common in the books.
"Yes, well, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes. I shall return when we are ready for you." McGonagall says, before leaving the chamber. Unlike in canon, there are no discussions about the Sorting, presumably because my yearmates are working their way through the revelation that the House Point system is useless. There are however still a few screams as a large group of ghosts just floats through the walls, arguing amongst themselves and ignoring the first years. If memory serves they'll stop to talk to us once they notice us, so running an experiment on if mind altering spells worked on ghosts I drop a quick non-verbal Notice-Me-Not on my fellow freshmen, which gets me some askance looks from those around me. I ignore them, and noticeably the ghosts don't even notice us. Delightful. I tear it down when McGonagall re-enters the room.
"Now, form a line," The cat animagus tells us, "and follow me."
We walked through the double doors into the Great Hall, which is significantly more stunning in person than it was on the silver screen. The contrast of the floating candles and the night sky above is beautiful, and the magic in the air is incredibly thick without being smothering, and makes me feel like I could vibrate right out of my skin at times. The tables themselves look like something ripped right out of a Game of Thrones set, complete with cutlery that is definitely incorrect for the current era, a sign of the disconnect between the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds if there ever was one. Hundreds of faces stare at us, and Holly squeezes my hand a little tighter.
Professor McGonagall places a stool in front of the first-years with little fanfare, and a rather old and silly looking wizard's hat on top of it. Everyone stares at the Hat as it begins to sing, and I tune it out, having been exposed to far too many of its 'songs' in various works over the years before I ended up here. The hall bursting into applause is my signal to tune back in, and the Professor stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she says. "Abbott, Hannah!"
The blond from earlier whose identity I wasn't certain of stumbled up to the stool and sat. The Hat takes barely a moment before it shouts "HUFFLEPUFF!"
The table of the Badgers takes a moment to clap and applause before the next student is called.
"Bones, Susan!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Boot, Terry!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
On and on it goes, until.
"Granger-Potter, Hermione!"
I walk up to the stool while mutters break out again, this time on a larger scale.
"Did she say Potter?"
"Must be unrelated, there's no Potters left."
I don't get a chance to hear more before the Hat is unceremoniously dropped onto my head, perhaps with a little more force than is strictly necessary.
I immediately notice my memories being sorted through and have to bite back the instinct to defend myself with occlumency. The Sorting Hat is presumably a trustworthy confidant, or else nobles wouldn't trust their kids to it.
Still, it is amusing to wonder if snatching the Hat in order to protect my secrets could be considered to be theft or kidnapping.
My, you really are quite adamant about facing the coming dangers head-on for the good of others', aren't you?
Well, I guess that is true. I mean, of fucking course I care about peoples' right to live without oppression. That's why I hate Voldemort and magical society so much. But when you put it like that...
Rather Gryffindor of you, isn't it?
Oh hell no. Don't you try to pull a twist of logic like that. You can tell what I'm willing to do, can't you? You call that Gryffindor material?
House Gryffindor was founded by a warrior, and you must admit that there is some resemblance to be found in that comparison.
I scowl, then mentally shove some of my more questionable plans the way of the Hat, just to prove a point about how devious I'm prepared to be.
Well, I'd thought that I might give you the opportunity, considering your annoyance with the idea of being sorted into Slytherin, but if you insist...
"SLYTHERIN!"
I don't waste time in setting the bloody hat aside and making for the Slytherin table with a scowl on my face.
Stupid hat, how dare it try to call me some sort of hero or something. I'm in this for myself, because I can't stand seeing scum like Voldemort in positions of power. Because magic gives me a means and an opportunity to cut down people like him where I never had either before.
Because Holly is precious to me.
That's all. Nothing Gryffindor about it.
I get a series of displeased and scrupulous looks as I take my seat, but all that attention goes away the moment the next name is announced.
"Granger-Potter, Holly!"
The hubbub is massive as Holly makes for the Hat with all the confidence of someone who knows things their audience doesn't, though I can tell she's uncomfortable with all the attention through our bond. I send support as she takes a seat and a short conversation of her own ensues. The result is inevitable, of course.
"SLYTHERIN!"
The chaos gets even worse of course, and only intensifies further as Holly sits next to me and takes my hand again in search of support. I squeeze hers gently, doing my best to glare down anyone who seems to be making an attempt at social interaction with either of us. I don't think I've ever really understood how rough celebrities have it until now.
Finally, Snape shuts everyone up at once with a silencing charm that hits pretty much all of the students, though it still takes a few moments for everyone to realize what's going on and actually go back to paying attention to their professors. With a grateful nod from McGonagall, he dispels it and she goes back to reading off the next name before the situation has a chance to devolve again.
On and on the Sorting goes until "Zabini, Blaise!" is sorted into Slytherin, with the Headmaster climbing to his feet moments after. "Welcome!" he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
Good god, I'd forgotten about that. What does that man think this is, a 2000s era internet message board? That doesn't even make sense though, because the 2000s haven't even happened yet, so really that only makes it worse.
The old man sits back down, and the table is suddenly filled with food, a strange mix of traditional English fare with other items better fitting a proper medieval feast. I send Holly a mental poke to beware the pumpkin juice before I dig in. I'm not sure what wizard got the idea to juice a pumpkin of all things but they were a fucking lunatic.
The Bloody Baron is floating above the table beside Malfoy, which leaves the ferret none too pleased. I honestly wonder why the Baron is allowed in the castle, nevertheless is a house ghost. Didn't he kill Helena Ravenclaw? The Grey Lady? You'd think that kind of thing would get him exiled. Although that reminds me of the Diadem. I send Holly a mental reminder to send a note to Hagrid tomorrow, asking for a visit. We can borrow his roosters and go deal with the Basilisk before it becomes an issue, then use its venom to turn that horcrux into a lump of metal.
Holly happens to look up at the staff table at the same time that Quirrel has his head turned away from her and it sends a stab of pain through both our foreheads, which has me covering a non-existent scar. That… should not have happened. I sincerely doubt that my little choker somehow spread Voldemort's soul piece into both of us, especially since I'm not a parselmouth, but I never really considered that it might extend the link between Voldemort and Holly to me. I look up at the staff table. Snape is looking right at the both of us, and his expression is… complicated. I can't even begin to pick apart the emotions I see there, although I do think that loathing and guilt are two of them.
Hmm, I guess we'll just have to wait and see if he actually bothers to act on the latter, the cowardly little shit. I spare him a look of displeasure before I go back to eating, taking the opportunity to at least enjoy the genuinely delicious food.
I would kill for some decent fajitas, though. As an ex-Texan, they're not-so-surprisingly hard to find in Britain.
Good lord are members of Slytherin House dramatic. Bunch of drama club teenagers, I swear. The Prefects lead us to our common room in the dungeon before giving perhaps the single most dramatic telling of a list of rules I've ever encountered in my life. Put without the pomp and teenage angst, they are to quite simply keep Slytherin House business inside the common room while presenting a united front to the rest of the school, to never walk alone (on account of asshole Gryffindors) and to not get caught (on account of asshole Slytherins).
Afterwards we're dismissed to our dorms. Joining us in the first year girls dorms are Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis. I immediately claim the beds in the farthest corner for Holly and I, and am lifting the mattresses to inscribe the runes for some wards that will alert and wake us up in case of hostile intent on the frame while the gossip squad lead by Parkinson interrogates Holly about her name change.
"So if you're the Girl-Who-Lived, how come your last name was... like that." Parkinson demands, annoying me with the sheer entitlement of her inquiry.
Still, Holly is a big girl. She can take care of herself.
"Hermione and I met when we were younger and have since grown really close. These days, magic struggles to tell us apart. It knows that I'm Holly and she's Hermione but which of us is the Granger and which is the Potter, well, given the nature of our bond it can't really figure that out." Holly shrugs, doing a good job of hiding her resigned annoyance from the little pests. "But it's really none of your business."
Of course, instead of doing the reasonable thing and backing off like she's been told to, Parkinson chooses to double down, even as she turns her nose up at us. "I suppose it makes sense that someone like you would be indistinguishable from a mudb-"
"I see that we've reached the part of the initiation day where I explain how things are going to work around here." I interrupt, standing up and hiding away my handiwork as I take a closer look at the girls. All of them actually look a little bit confused by Parkinson's comment, so I suppose that I can put them in the 'probably not' column when it comes to the question of whether or not any given Slytherin has Death Eater parents, while Parkinson gets a solid 'probably.'
I telekinetically grab Parkinson by the clothes and flip her upside down, making a show of raising my hand to do so. Then I pin her against the wall and slowly stride up to her, making a show of looking down at her, disappointed.
"Now, Parkinson. You're supposed to be part of the nobility and it's clear you've missed a few lessons from the School of Hard Knocks as a result, so allow me to be your teacher. People can be broadly sorted into five broad types. There are the nice, also known as gullible idiots, who just want everyone to get along. You won't find any of them in Slytherin House. They almost always lose out in the end to the manipulative, which makes up the majority of this House. These are your liars, your schemers, your masterminds, as well as your two-bit frauds who happen to have a few spare brain cells to rub together." I heave out a sigh, annoyed just by thinking about people like that. Bluntness is so much easier to deal with, socially speaking.
"They advance through life by trampling the nice, right up until they try to step on the assertive, who promptly piss in their cornflakes, because they're not willing to put up with that shit. The assertive usually end up becoming the social leaders of the gullible idiots as a result, because they feel a genuine need to pay back their gratitude even when it's not expected of them. However, the headstrong nature of the assertive has a tendency to piss off the assaultive, those who are willing and ready to get violent if they have to. The legbreakers and warlords of the world have a tendency to either be supported by or to act in support of the manipulative, a defensive pact of schemers using strongmen and vice versa that has existed all the way right back to when the Philistines sent Goliath to do their dirty work."
I turn my head and peer at the other occupants of the room, who are currently staring wide eyed.
"Greengrass, Davis, Bulstrode... any guesses what the fifth and final personality type is?"
The tiny gaggle of prepubescents all shake their heads no, unwilling or unable to speak.
"The last group you need to worry about is the homicidal." I wrap my telekinesis spell around one of my knives in my bag and pull it out and across the room, stopping it directly in front of Parkinson's face, point first. "The kind of unhinged maniacs that when faced with a problem go directly to the heart of it and cut it out. These are the Bellatrix Lestrange, the Antonin Dolohovs, the Voldemorts of the world. They are the kings of the hierarchy...and also its outcasts. And they're the reason for one of the single most important lessons of the School of Hard Knocks...when you're amongst people you don't understand, keep a civil tongue in your head, or you may just lose it."
"Do you understand, or do I need to drive the lesson home?"
Parkinson nods, her entire face red and blotchy, from a combination of improper blood flow and crying. I can't detect any sign of occlumency at all so I drop a deep compulsion to remember this moment every time she feels like saying the 'Mudblood' word.
Then, I quickly send the knife back to my bag and brush off my hands, giving the room a bright, cheery smile. "Wonderful! So do keep the magical racism under check, lest you fuck around too hard and find out exactly which category I fit into. Oh, and Bulstrode, Greengrass, Davis. If anyone gives you any trouble, or if you need to hide any bodies, let me know and I can handle it. The only 'cost' for this is that when people ask you about Granger, you'll say 'Granger who? Oh, you mean Hermione and Holly? I don't really know anything about them, they keep to themselves.'"
For all that it seems to disturb them, the offer isgenuine, as well as being a subtle threat to stay quiet. After all, as long as they're reasonable enough people I'm pretty sure any bodies they happen to make will be perfectly justified.
I'm actually feeling rather cheery as I move on to unpacking some things. Who knew that threatening to kill a bitch could be so much fun? I mean, it's not like there's much chance that I'll actually kill her. She'd have to hurt Holly either pretty badly emotionally, or rather a bit physically before that comes onto the table. As is only reasonable.
Honestly, I don't even care if someone talks shit about me so much as I'm generally pissed off by nonsense magic racism as a matter of principle.
I guess I should try to avoid holding it against her for too long, though. She's just a child, after all, and still young enough that she's essentially just mimicking the beliefs of her parents without actually understanding what she's saying. If I cared enough to actually try to make friends other than Holly I could probably turn her, but I really don't.
None of the other girls try to bother me or Holly for the rest of the night, at least. It ends up being a rather relaxing evening, all things told. Holly and I will get to work soon enough, but the moments in between are worth savoring.
I even wake up in the middle of the night to find that Holly's snuck into my bed and is curled up into my side, looking adorably peaceful as she sleeps.
I sigh quietly to myself, then telekinetically lift her bed and drag it over, then wrap her blanket around both of us. If we're going to be sharing a bed it may as well be a double, after all.
Breakfast brings with it more annoyances, of course. Only the first year girls actually saw my little display, so Holly and I arrive at the Slytherin table to find any free space among the first years fully occupied by the feet of a few older students, who all sneer at us as we approach.
With a roll of my eyes, I hoist them all by their cloaks and send them sliding off the wooden benches of the table and into a pile at its edge, then hit that pile with a blood-fed silencing charm. What a bunch of dull schoolyard fools. The idiots point their wands at us and try to cast spells, but none of them are sufficiently skilled at non-verbal casting to do so. One of them gets off a non-verbal finishing charm, which did exactly jack and shit to my silencing charm given I'm still feeding it with my magic and probably will until breakfast is over.
Without so much as a glance in their direction, Holly and I take our luxuriously spacious seats and placidly begin to dig into the food the previous occupants were just about to eat. And it just so happens that Malfoy is sitting directly across from us, giving us a wary look. I give him a polite smile and offer my hand out to shake. "Hello, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Hermione Granger-Potter." Draco looks awfully conflicted about shaking the hand of a 'mudblood', but he did just see me wipe the floor with several older years. My smile turns more into a smirk.
"Apropos of nothing, it is generally better to shed political power for magical power. Irritating someone who's politically powerful can set you back. Pissing someone off who's magically powerful can just kill you."
He just gives me a weak smile and shakes my hand. "Well reasoned, Granger."
"Hermione, please. You seem a bit of a shoe-in for the social leader of this year."
"Me, not you?"
"Our ambitions lie in other directions." Holly pipes in.
I nod along to Holly's statement before adding to it, as Snape walks within hearing distance "You couldn't pay us to care about schoolyard politics and pranks. Our concerns lie outside Hogwarts. You're most likely liable to forget we're even here, until someone decides that messing with us is in good fun, at which point I suggest you just stand back and watch as they put their leg in the bear trap. Good morning, Professor."
"And what would these concerns be, Miss Granger?" Snape drawls, his gaze sweeping impassively over the scene before him.
"Well, Holly and I would both like to live past twenty one, for starters." I smile as I cheerfully drive that line of inquiry into the ground. Snape's guilty conscience makes him predictable, and true to form the reminder of Lily's death has him change topic as soon as possible. His eyes sweep impassively across the scene before he fixes his cold gaze on me. "I do believe it was suggested just yesterday that you keep this sort of business within the House."
I shrug. "At the risk of sounding my age, I didn't start it, and I'm not the kind of person who will apologize for finishing it."
Snape glares at me a moment longer, before looking at the pile of third and fourth years. "Do make sure they regain their voices before breakfast ends. And ten points from Slytherin for fighting."
I give Snape a genial smile. "Of course, Professor. Do you have our schedules for me?"
Snape hands me a pair of schedules and I skim mine while handing the other to Holly. I find myself disappointed, no wonder Wixen are such lazy shits, there's barely 20 hours of classes a week here. Ah well, at least it will give me plenty of time to abuse the castle's resources, like the Room of Requirement.
"Any word on the exams for the advanced placement in Runes, Arithmancy, and Potions, sir?" I ask.
Snape sneers at me. "There won't be any advanced placement in Potions as I don't believe that being a 'friend' of the Girl-Who-Lived is worth special treatment." I barely manage to avoid scoffing at that. Snape lives and breathes favoritism in this school. "Professors Vector and Babbling disagreed with me. You have a block of free time after dinner today and tomorrow, report to Professor Vector's office today and Babbling's tomorrow for your examination."
And with that Snape strides off, cloak billowing. I stuff the last of my food into my mouth and stand up, looking for a particular set of terror twins. Spotting them I grab Holly's hand and the two of us stride across the hall to a table full of hostile Gryffindors.
The twins seem to recognize we're coming for them and look at the two of us with bemused smirks.
"Hello, Gred, Forge. Might we have a moment of your time? Ideally privately?"
"Well that depends," "On what exactly some little snake firsties could want with us?" The twins start up their twinspeak schtick, and that's significantly more disorienting in real life. Note to self, practice it with Holly, it would be hilarious.
"I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." I reply, smiling at the two. The poorly hidden shock on their faces is quite funny.
The twin on the left collects themselves first, and takes one of my arms. "Well, you said privacy, yes?" The other twin mirrors him, grabbing Holly's arm. "Let's take this outside."
A few Gryffindors cheer when the twins frogmarch us out of the Great Hall. Honestly, boys.
The twins direct us to an empty classroom and then cast a locking charm at the door and make an attempt at looming. It's hilarious, really. "So?"
I smile up at them, completely unintimidated. "Your reaction earlier in the Hall proved that you have a family heirloom that belongs to Holly."
"And what Heirloom might that be?" "Icky snakey firstie?"
Holly pipes in. "A map of the castle my father made, along with three of his friends. The Marauder's Map."
The twins mentally confer for a moment. The one on the left speaks up first. "I'm not saying that we do have it, but if we did, what then?"
Holly continues. "I'd like it back, ideally. I don't have anything that belongs to my parents. Just a vault full of gold and other people's memories. That map is a piece of my past, even if it's only as the daughter of Prongs as opposed to something involving both my parents."
I'm a little bit surprised to realize that Holly really means what she's saying, though in retrospect I probably shouldn't be. I'm the one who's jaded on the subject of parents, after all, not her. She never even thought of the Dursley's as her parents, and they never claimed to be in the first place.
The twins finally grab a blank piece of parchment out of one of their bags and hand it to Holly. She puts her wand to it. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The Marauder's Map activates for her and the combination of sadness and joy I feel from our link is enough to briefly stun me. I hug her from behind, peering over her shoulder as I do, looking in the Gryffindor Dorms for a particular name…and promptly point out Peter Pettigrew's position on the map to Holly, who nods.
I then turn to the twins to grab some supporting evidence. "Would you two be willing to answer some questions of a bizarre nature for me?"
The twin on the right (okay, fuck this, I'm just going to peer in his mind real quick and…it's George) peers suspiciously at me for a moment, before agreeing.
"Thank you. Your youngest brother's rat…how long has it been in the family?"
Both of them look confused as to why I'm asking, but Fred doesn't hesitate to answer. "Well, it was Prefect Percy's rat first, so about ten years, why?"
I dodge the question by asking one of my own. "Has it always been missing a toe?"
George nods. "Yes, Percy found it that way. Seriously, what's this about?"
I grimace. "Hopefully nothing, but it's something I have to bring up to the teachers regardless. I think your rat might be an animagus."
Both twins turn pale. "Oh Merlin, I hope you're wrong."
I shrug. "It shows up on the map as a dead man who is famously missing a finger." Just then the bell rings. "Alright, we have transfiguration with McGonagall today. I'll bring it up to her."
Holly taps the map and says 'Mischief Managed' before stuffing it into her Mokeskin, and the four of us head off to our first day of classes, thoughts heavy with conspiracy.
Chapter 6: Abandonment NoticeChapter by vcordieSummary:This work is now abandoned.
Chapter TextMy apologies, but our muse for this fic has fucked right off to Saturn and thus we've decided to abandon this fic.