Hermione -Year 1 & Year 7 (offsite)- "The Making of the Brightest Witch of Her Age"

[Herminia]

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I’m not convinced this is ready for “prime-time,” so to speak, but I wanted to get it out here before the sixth book came out, just in case Hermione’s past is fully explained there. I thought of the idea several weeks ago, but only wrote this up this morning. I’ve really never read fan fiction, so I’m not sure how high the standards are! /COLOR]

The Making of the Brightest Witch of Her Age

Once, when she was still a very small girl, Hermione Jane Granger donned a black bedsheet and placed a pointed cone-of-a-hat on her unruly brown hair. She skipped around the house and prodded a stick at a family houseplant. “Mommy! Mommy!” the little girl shrieked with delight as the African violet swelled ominously, “Mommy, I can do magic!” Mrs. Granger smiled indulgently and patted her precocious five-year-old on the head. So imaginative, she thought, chortling to herself…

* * * * *

Six years later…
On a sultry summer day, a small, bushy-haired eleven-year-old girl perched comfortably on the broad branch of an ancient oak tree. She didn’t look at all like her parents, sitting together at a table by the picture room window. Mr. Granger was tall and long-limbed with thinning gray hair, whilst Mrs. Granger was short and matronly with doleful gray eyes. Hermione, on the other hand, was small and nimble, with thick brown curls and large amber eyes. She felt estranged from them in every possible way. In fact, the only person Hermione had ever found solace with was an elderly neighbor, a wizened old man with a crown of woolly white hair.

“We’re more alike than you know, Hermione,” he would always sigh, “…someday…”

“Someday what? Someday what?” Hermione would beg, but he would just shake his head and slip her a caramel nougat that promptly cemented her teeth together.

Hermione’s parents looked down on the old man with the knobbly knees and the round green eyes, and did everything in their power to discourage Hermione from going to see him. He died shortly after Hermione’s eighth birthday, and, although the mortician swore up and down that no one had come to claim the man’s body, it had vanished before he could inter it in the ground.

Over the next several years, Hermione’s restless mind often came to dwell on the old man’s wistful last words. Someday…what?

She wasn’t thinking about some long-lost secret that summer day though. She was focused on much more practical matters, namely avoiding the loatheable neighbor lady who liked to drop by and take Hermione’s abnormalities to task. Taking refuge in the branches of her favorite oak tree, Hermione had wiled away the day reading. Now, facing the prospect of yet another long evening with the neighbors, Hermione slowly eased herself out of the tree. Just as the tips of her toes brushed the grass, she spied an owl perched on her bedroom windowsill. It looked like the owl was clutching an envelope in his beak…but it couldn’t be. . A more gullible child might have trusted their own two eyes, but Hermione was much too logical for that sort of thing.

Curious nonetheless, Hermione snuck around the back of the house (past the window where her mother and Mrs. Orner sat) and scampered up the trellis into her parents’ miniscule bathroom. She hurried to her bedroom and gently coaxed the owl over and eased the letter - she hadn’t been imagining it after all! - out of his beak. Hermione traced the seal with her finger. The letter came from a place Hermione had never heard of, which was unusual for a girl who spent hours pouring over atlases and globes.

Hermione opened the letter cautiously, half-hoping for a miracle – anything to make the evening with Mrs. Orner more bearable. She squinted her brown eyes shut and slit open the envelope. The letter fell softly into her waiting hand. With bated breath, she unfolded it and read;

[FONT=Georgia]HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. On the afternoon of August 15, a representative from the school will arrive to escourt you to Diagon Alley and will explain the terms of your admittance.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress[/font]

Hermione swallowed hard; witchcraft and wizardry? But it was all beginning to make sense…she felt as though her elderly neighbor had whispered in her ear - “Someday, Hermione.”

She chanced a glance at the owl perched regally on her bedside table, carefully preening his feathers. For the owl, at least, this day was not at all out of the ordinary. Quite suddenly, he fluttered down to the bed beside her and began nipping gently at her knuckles. We await your owl no later than July 31. Uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Hermione simply penned the word “Yes.” The owl snatched the piece of parchment out of her hands and swept away through the open window.

* * * * *

Hermione was quieter than usual the next week. She lay on her bed, folding and unfolding the letter, wondering desperately how she could break the news to her parents. Every day, the fifteenth of August loomed nearer.

Swiftly, the day was upon them. Hermione sat at the top of the staircase, waiting. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, and her father sat in his favorite wing-backed chair in the parlor, reading the London Times. The rain droned on outside, pattering comfortingly on the rooftop one moment and hurling up against the windows the next. Hermione gnawed her fingernails down to the quick. Questions of who would come and how morphed into doubts…would anyone come? She had willed herself to believe the letter was true, but what if it was all a lie? Hermione didn’t think she could bear it if this mysterious Hogwarts didn’t exist.

Finally, at half past three in the afternoon, just when Mrs. Granger had called for tea, there came a loud crack. At first, Hermione mistook it for a crash of thunder, but moments later, there came an insistent rapping at the door. Hermione froze on the top step.

Mr. Granger trumped over to the door and opened it. Hermione peered down the stairs for a glimpse of the visitor - a tall, severe-looking woman. Despite the incessant rain, the woman was perfectly dry. She was unlike anyone Hermione had ever seen. She wore tartan robes and a pointed black hat with a shock of feathers around the brim. “Good afternoon,” she said in a crisp voice. “Mr. Granger, I presume?” She held out her hand and Mr. Granger shook it slowly, giving the woman a sweeping glance.

“Minerva McGonagall,” the woman said sharply. “Of course, you must know who I am.”

Mr. Granger looked entirely befuddled. Mrs. Granger chose that moment to give another call for tea.

Minerva McGonagall’s thin eyebrows arched. “Minerva McGonagall,” she repeated, “—Deputy Headmistress from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

No sign of dawning comprehension.

“Oh, dear,” McGonagall said fretfully. “Perhaps we’d better sit down.”

“Yes, yes. Tea?” he asked blankly, leading McGonagall out of sight.

Hermione paused for a moment, then scurried down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“There you are, my dear. It’s about time!” Mrs. Granger said. “We have a guest, you know!”

McGonagall stared pointedly at Hermione. “Ah, Miss Granger,” she reached out and shook Hermione’s hand. “How nice to meet you at last.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s eyes darted between McGonagall and Hermione.

McGonagall looked very awkwardly at the pair of them, “Of course, you must have known when you adopted Hermione…the letter…from Dumbledore…” her voice trailed off at their blank faces. Hermione felt as though a blindly light had switched on inside her head. The room swam before her eyes – adopted?

“Letter?” Mrs. Granger asked airily, jumping suddenly to her feet. She carefully avoided Hermione’s eyes as she came back to the table and began pouring tea. She missed Mr. Granger’s cup and a rich brown stain spread across the tablecloth. Without thinking, McGonagall whipped out her wand and waved it at the spilt tea, it vanished without a trace. Seemingly unaware of the Grangers’ stunned faces, she helped herself to another lemon biscuit.

“Excuse me, but what is this funny business?!” Mr. Granger demanded, sliding his chair away from the table and moving to shield his wife and daughter.

McGonagall looked up.

“Mr. Granger, as it seems that we have failed you – there is no other way to say this – your daughter is a witch.”

Silence.

“Our Hermione? Never.” Mrs. Granger said dismissively. Mr. Granger just gaped at McGonagall.

“I assure you she is. She may not have any magical powers when it comes to communicating with her parents about certain correspondence she may have received,” McGonagall’s eyes flashed in Hermione’s direction, “but she most certainly is a witch.”

“Hermione! Surely you haven’t received anything, er, unusual! What is this woman talking about?!”

Wordlessly, Hermione slipped the Hogwarts letter out of her pocket and laid it open-faced on the table.

“Very good,” McGonagall said shortly. “As you can clearly see, today is August 15, and, as stated in the letter, I am here to escort Miss Granger to Diagon Alley.” McGonagall stood up and pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders. “Miss Granger, we must be leaving soon. It is getting late.”

* * * * *

Here's the link to the Feedback for this story. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

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[Herminia]

Chapter Two
McGonagall led Hermione outside, leaving the stunned Grangers sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into their cups of tea.

“I’m not sure how to tell you this, Miss Granger…Albus swore he’d explained it all…but never you mind…” McGonagall looked distracted. When she spoke again, her voice was notably softer than before. “There is no easy way to tell you this…your parents were wizards, Hermione. They were among the best wizards of their day, but they are no more.”

“No more?” Hermione echoed weakly.

McGonagall shook her head. “Your parents were killed by Lord Voldemort ten years ago – but, of course, you wouldn’t know about him.” She massaged her temples, then said slowly, “There’s one more thing you must know – you have a younger brother. The whole wizarding world knows him as the boy who lived, but he does not yet know this himself. This is where you come in, Hermione. You need to be there for him – be his confidant, his closest friend…but he mustn’t know.”

“Mustn’t know what?” Hermione’s head was swimming.

“Mustn’t know that you’re his sister, or else you will be in grave danger. It is all very complicated. All you must know is that you are his protection, Hermione. No one knows who you are, or who your parents are. It must stay that way, no matter what happens.”

Months ago, Hermione would have given anything for a brother or sister. Now she had one, but he could never know she was his sister. She longed to draw more information from McGonagall, but McGonagall was now steering Hermione forcefully away from the Grangers’ quiet country home and the quiet life Hermione had known heretofore.

* * * * *

When they reached the end of the lane, McGonagall groped around in her pocket, and pulled out a small cigar box. She instructed Hermione to touch the cigar box as well. As soon as Hermione’s fingers grasped ahold, she felt an almighty lurch. She and McGonagall were spiraling through a blur of color, wind whipping at their faces. Within moments, they came to a halt on a gleaming London street. Hermione let go of the box and staggered a few feet to the left.

McGonagall, looking supremely unaffected by their whirlwind journey, stuck out a hand to steady Hermione. “Here we are – the Leaky Cauldron,” she said and strode inside; Hermione trailed close behind her, gaping at the dingy little pub. She saw sere old men winding long silver beards around their fingers as they played Chess and stout matronly witches gossiping over tea and mulled mead.

“Ah, Profesh’r McGonagall!” a toothless old man hobbled towards them from behind the bar. “How may I be of shervice?” He stooped into an unmistakable bow.

“Just showing a new student around, Tom,” McGonagall said coolly. Tom seemed wholly uninterested by the prospect of new students and shuffled over to an ancient door at the back of the pub. “Right thish way, m’lady.” He bowed again as McGonagall and Hermione stepped out into the narrow alley.

“That’s Tom for you,” McGonagall said, casting a small smile in Hermione’s direction. Hermione was relieved to see McGonagall do anything as kind as smile; so far, her moods had only vacillated between lofty indifference and well-guarded concern.

“Now watch closely,” she said, and tapped a sequence of bricks on the alley wall. Hermione watched in awe as the bricks scrambled sideways to form a gallant archway.

McGonagall smiled more widely this time. “Welcome to Diagon Alley, Miss Granger.”

* * * * *

Diagon Alley was positively crawling with life. Hermione walked forward in a daze, trying to take everything in. Bats swooped overhead and wizards pushed past jabbering in foreign tongues. The shops were just as interesting as the wizard browsing them – Hermione spotted stores selling broomsticks, feather quills, dancing rats, and she even spied an aged witch pawning frog eggs to passers-by.

McGonagall carried herself regally, pausing occasionally to greet other witches and wizards. She introduced Hermione to a short wizard with a high voice (“Professor Filius Flitwick,” he squeaked) and to a plump, frizzy-haired witch named Pomona Sprout.

“Ollivander’s first,” McGonagall said tartly, guiding Hermione into a dark, shabby little shop. There was no sign of a shopkeeper nor any of the usual comforts of the stores Hermione was used to. Not one to waste time waiting around, McGonagall rapped her knuckles on the front desk, and, instantaneously, it seemed, an ancient-looking wizard appeared. His gray eyes bored into Hermione, and she instinctively shrank back behind McGonagall.

“Nonsense, little girl. Come forward,” he said, and seized Hermione’s hand. He pulled her over to a spindly chair. “Buying your first wand, then?” he asked, but before Hermione could respond, he had already presented her with a long thin box.

Gingerly, Hermione lifted the lid and pulled out a long wand. She felt rather stupid, sitting there holding the wand while Mr. Ollivander and Professor McGonagall stood watching her keenly.

“Come on, wave it around,” Mr. Ollivander said impatiently. “We haven’t got all day.”

Feeling very foolish, Hermione waggled the wand back and forth, but nothing happened. If she had expected fireworks, she was sadly mistaken.

“No, no, no,” Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand out of her hand and crammed it back into its box. “Try this one.”

This time, Hermione tested a shorter, thicker wand – again, nothing.

At this point, McGonagall whispered something in Mr. Ollivander’s ear. Hermione caught only snippets of what they were saying.

“You still have –”

“Why, yes – yes, of course –”

“You don’t think, maybe –”

“– worth a try, I’d say –”

Mr. Ollivander scurried off to the back of the store and returned carrying a long, thin wand on a dusty velvet pillow. Both adults watched with anticipation as Hermione carefully picked up the wand.

“Just give it a go, nice and easy,” Mr. Ollivander breathed.

Hermione swished the wand through the air, and – to her great amazement – a trail of a gold and silver sparks danced through the air.

“Beautiful.” McGonagall whispered, momentarily overtaken with emotion.

Mr. Ollivander fingered the wand, examining it from end to end. “Still in marvelous condition, I’d say.”

* * * * *

Four hours later, heavy-laden with books, robes, ink, and quills, McGonagall and Hermione stumbled out of Diagon Alley and back into the surging crowds of downtown London. Hermione’s mind reeled with questions, but the sounds of the city drowned out any possible conversation.

“This way, Hermione,” McGonagall said, leading Hermione down a side street to a gleaming restaurant. “Yes,” she mumbled, looking the restaurant up and down, “it will be better this way, we won’t be overheard.”

McGonagall took off her pointed hat, and, with a flick of her wand, transformed her long tartan robes into a smart business suit. With another jab of the wand, Hermione’s school things disguised themselves in bulging Harrod’s bags. McGonagall picked up two of the bags, strolled into the restaurant, and requested a table “near the back.”

Once they had placed their orders (steak tartar for McGonagall and cream of mushroom soup for Hermione), McGonagall turned again to Hermione.

“There is more,” she said heavily, indicating that Hermione should slide her chair closer. Hermione eyebrows cricked upwards in concern.

For the next half-an-hour, McGonagall told Hermione all about the rise and fall of Lord Voldemort, and the death of her parents.

“Your brother, Harry, has also been living with a Muggle family all these years. He will not remember you – nor you him. You were sent to live with Mr. and Mrs. Granger shortly after Harry was born. It was safer that way. We already knew what was coming –” McGonagall stopped abruptly. Hermione stared down at her untouched bowl of soup. She had been living a lie. Her parents, her brother, her magical abilities – everything had been hidden from her.

McGonagall regained her resolve. “His mother, your mother, died to protect him, for only he can defeat Lord Voldemort. You’re a part of his protection as well. You’re probably wondering just what went on in Ollivander’s, and you have a right to know. Your wand…it belonged to your mother once. It was her second wand – it was found after her death. Dumbledore requested that Mr. Ollivander keep for you.” McGonagall’s voice changed suddenly, “We must be getting you home.” She stood up.

“You must, you must, promise me that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.” McGonagall said finally. Hermione nodded, her heart sinking.

* * * * *

Standing on the Granger’s doorstep, McGonagall gave Hermione a few last words of advice, “The train leaves on September first. When you arrive, no matter what, the Hat will sort you into Gryffindor – for that is where Harry, your brother, is destined to be. Here is your ticket.” With that, McGonagall turned on her heel, tipped her hat to Hermione, and vanished into thin air.

Her mind felt numbed. What “Hat?”

[Herminia]

Again, here's the link to the feedback forums. http://www.cosforums.com/showthread....80#post2593480
I'd really like to hear what everyone thinks - good or bad.

I'm not going to take the story all the way through their first year at Hogwarts, obviously that would be a bit repetitive. I'll probably just take it up until Hermione befriends Harry and Ron.

[Herminia]

Hermione spent the next two weeks wising herself up about the Wizarding World. The knowledge that her past had been denied her all these years spurred her to read book after book about the Magical World. She read Miranda Goshawk’s Standard Book of Spells (Grade One) cover-to-cover, and thoroughly enjoyed flipping through Hogwarts, a History.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger largely left Hermione to herself, only peeking in on her occasionally. They didn’t have any of the answers Hermione so desperately sought, and so she turned once again to books to find out more about the Dark period that had claimed her parents and wrenched her from her family. She found Harry’s name in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Modern Magical History. Both books detailed the attack in graphic detail, but no one could explain how Harry had survived. There was no mention of her, Harry’s twin sister. As far as the Wizarding World was concerned, she did not exist. This might have made other children jealous, but strangely, it served only to steel Hermione’s resolve to protect Harry. The only thought that pained her was that Harry didn’t even know about her. To him, she would be just another first year student.

* * * * *

On September first, Mr. and Mrs. Granger solemnly took Hermione to King’s Cross. She hugged them good-bye at Platform Nine and told them she would miss them terribly, realizing as she said it that it was a bald-faced lie. She leaned casually against the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, and, just as Hogwarts, A History promised, slid effortlessly through the brick wall.

CHAPTER THREE - ONBOARD THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS

As the first student on the train, Hermione had her choice of seats. She walked up and down the length of the train, dragging her trunk behind her, before finally settling on a compartment in the middle. This way, no matter where Harry sat, she wouldn’t be too far away. As eleven o’ clock neared, students began milling around on the Platform outside; Hermione watched them closely, looking for Harry. She wasn’t exactly sure who she was looking for – someone with a scar. Did he have brown hair like hers? Was he short or tall?

As the train filled, a few scared-looking first years sat down around. One, a round-faced boy who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, kept opening and closing his trunk, in search of his pet toad. Identical twin sisters, Padma and Parvati Patil, joined Neville and Hermione at three minutes to eleven. They conversed easily with each other, blocking out the others in the compartment. Hermione felt a jolt of longing – if only she was sitting here with Harry as brother and sister.

At precisely eleven o’ clock, the train whistle sounded and the train lurched forward. Neville, nearly nauseous with fear and motion sickness, put his head between his knees. Hermione watched out the window as the train gathered speed. Soon, the Hogwarts Express left London behind. It plowed across moors and through the highlands, moving supernaturally fast. Just like magic, Hermione thought with a smile.

After a half-an-hour, Neville regained his senses and announced that he was going to search for his toad. Hermione fidgeted around, wishing she had an excuse to search the train for Harry.

Moments later, Neville returned looking shell-shocked. He mouthed the words “Harry Potter” to no one in particular before collapsing into his seat.

“Harry Potter?” Hermione asked keenly, her heart pounding in her ears.

“Harry Potter…in the next compartment down…” Neville whispered.

“Are you quite certain?” asked one of the Patil twins, her dark eyebrows arched in disbelief.

Neville nodded, looking completely winded.

Hermione leapt to her feet and made for the passageway. Her mind raced blindly for something to say, but when she reached the compartment door, the only thing she could think of was:

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.”

There was no mistaking him; the slim black-haired boy seated by the window looked up at her curiously. She could almost make out the lightning bolt scar under his thick bangs.

“We’ve already told him we haven’t seen it,” said the other boy, looking annoyed. Hermione hadn’t noticed him before – he had vibrantly red hair and was pointing a battered wand at an equally worn-out rat.

Eager for an excuse to stay, Hermione’s mind seized upon the boy’s wand. “Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it then!” She sat down quickly, without being asked.

“Er – all right…Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow; turn this stupid fat rat yellow!” The boy jabbed his wand rather awkwardly at the rat which didn’t even look up.

“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” Instantly, Hermione hated herself for saying it, but it was too late to take her words back, or, indeed, to stop herself from barreling on, “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me.” She paused, not daring to take in the stunned looks on the boys’ faces. “I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

“I’m Ron Weasley,” muttered the redhead, looking quite bemused.

“Harry Potter.”

“Are you really?” Hermione asked unnecessarily. “I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”

“Am I?” Harry’s brow furrowed.

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,” she said. “Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad…Anyway, I’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.” Hermione said this all very fast and fled back into the passageway, where she flopped against the wall, breathing very hard. She’d come off as a fool, and, worse still, she knew it.

* * * * *

Hermione may have read Hogwarts, a History back to front, but nothing could have prepared her for the castle itself, looming above with its myriad towers spiraling into the night sky and its hundreds of windows mirrored on the choppy surface of The Lake. The little string of boats lurched and bobbed their way across the waters, and Hermione could have sworn she’d seen a ten-foot tentacle graze the side of the boat. Hermione and Neville tumbled out of the boat and tramped up the stairs well behind the other first years.

A humungous man with grizzled black hair banged on the door, which swung open at once. There stood Professor McGonagall, her dark hair swept back in a tight bun. She gave Hermione a quick nod of recognition before instructing the other first years to follow her up the broad staircase. She turned to face them, her eyes sweeping over their sweaty, anxious faces. Finally, her mouth twitched into a smile; “Welcome to Hogwarts. 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…” Hermione felt an electric jolt go down her spine. Paralyzed by fear, she couldn’t seem to make out the rest of McGonagall’s speech.

“What did she say?” she hissed at Neville as McGonagall swept out of the room.

Neville, looking nearly as terrified as Hermione felt, murmured something about smartening themselves up, but his voice trailed off as McGonagall returned, looking impassive.

“Move along now,” she said. “Form a line, and a follow me.”

Hermione half-walked, half-staggered after the pale blond boy in front of her. Seconds later, the straggling line of first years entered the Great Hall. Momentarily forgetting her fear, Hermione cast her eyes up to the vaulted ceiling – tonight velvety black with bands of stars. “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History,” she whispered to the back of the blond boy’s head.

McGonagall lined the first years up before the Head Table. Hermione found herself staring at a tattered old hat – undoubtedly the hat McGonagall had mentioned. Hermione eyed the hat curiously, wondering how it could possibly know what House someone ought to be in. The hat’s wide brim opened and it began to sing rather raucously. Hermione’s racing brain drowned out the Sorting Hat’s song, and before she knew it, McGonagall had stepped forward, a long scroll trailing behind her. “When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah!”

Hermione watched closely as the Hat was placed atop Hannah’s blonde pigtails. “HUFFLEPUFF!” the hat cried.

“Bones, Susan!”

“Boot, Terry!”

And, all too soon, McGonagall had reached “Granger, Hermione!”
Hermione stumbled out of the ranks of first years and perched on the edge of the stool.

A little voice sounded in her ear, and she looked wildly around the dark, musty inside of the hat. “Ah…yes…a brilliant mind, a loyal spirit, an ambitious will, and a brave heart…but where to put you?”

This was no time for hesitation. Gryffindor, Gryffindor, she though desperately, remembering McGonagall’s words.

“Gryffindor?” the Hat asked, “With a mind like yours, you might be better off in Ravenclaw…but, yes, I remember the special circumstances…GRYFFINDOR!” Hermione heard the Hat shout the last word to the entire hall.

Trembling with gratefulness, Hermione practically launched herself into an empty seat at the Gryffindor Table. It was a few moments before she steadied herself enough to turn her mind back to the Sorting. She watched the blond boy (“Malfoy, Draco!”) be Sorted into Slytherin. When “Potter, Harry!” was called, she sat on the edge of her seat and waited with bated breath. The Hat puzzled over Harry for what felt like an eternity, before declaring him a Gryffindor. Hermione glanced up at the front table and saw Dumbledore applauding. She budged over to make room for Harry to sit down, but he chose a seat on the other side of the table. Heart swelling with disappointment, Hermione tried to listen as he began talking to sandy-haired boy named Seamus Finnigan. Hermione tried to catch his eye, but moments later, the grouchy red-haired boy from the train became a Gryffindor as well. Hermione watched in despair as he took a seat on the other side of Harry and the two began talking animatedly.

[Herminia]

I'll be posting another section later today.

Feedback -
http://www.cosforums.com/showthread...480#post2593480

[Herminia]

After the Feast, yet another red-haired boy, who could only be Ron Weasley’s brother, led the Gryffindors through the Castle to Gryffindor Tower. Along the way, the first years waited for one rotating staircase, hopped two trick stairs, walked through three tapestries, and finally found themselves standing in front of a portrait of a very fat woman in a frilly pink dress. “Password?” she asked, resting one bejeweled hand on her bulging stomach.

“Caput Draconis,” said the Prefect. The Fat Lady swung forward and the Gryffindors scrambled eagerly into the Common Room. Hermione’s eyes darted from the merrily crackling fire to the dozens of red squashy armchairs.
“Boys in the left tower, girls in the right. You’ll find that your things have already been brought up.” The Prefect paused, watching the first years file towards their respective staircases. “Lights out in ten minutes!”

Hermione traipsed up the stairs, her heart feeling very light. She’d never been any good at making friends in primary school, but Hogwarts was different – finally, she would be surrounded by children like her. She located her trunk at the foot of a four-poster bed draped in red linens. Hermione sighed happily, and sank down onto the mattress. One month ago, she’d been just another Muggle child, living in any ordinary house, with ordinary parents. Now the possibilities seemed endless –

“Oh, it’s you,” Parvati said rather coldly, stalking into the dormitory with another girl close behind her. Parvati gave Hermione a simpering smile before turning on her heel and claiming the best bed in the room. “Over here, Lavender,” Parvati called over her shoulder. She didn’t bother to introduce Hermione.

Lavender looked Hermione up and down, then passed by without saying a word.

Parvati and Lavender changed into their nightgowns, whispering back and forth in voices too low for Hermione to hear. Heartbroken, Hermione didn’t even bother changing out of her school robes; she merely climbed into bed and sadly drew the drapes shut around her.

* * * * *

The next morning, it took Hermione a few moments to remember where she was, and a few more to break free from the tangled curtains of her four-poster bed. Parvati and Lavender were still fast asleep, Lavender with a handful of blankets clamped under her arm, and Parvati with her sleek black hair fanned out across her pillow. Remembering Parvati’s cold remarks all too well, Hermione tiptoed over to her trunk and took out The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One). She had to make her knowledge, and thereby herself, indispensable - then Harry (and Lavender and Parvati) would be sure to like her.

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Percy the Prefect bustled around passing out schedules. Hermione didn’t feel inclined to eat very much. She propped Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them up against a bottle of pumpkin juice and began to read. If she kept herself occupied, she wouldn’t look like such a loner. Parvati and Lavender, however, were determined to make Hermione’s life at Hogwarts as unbearable as possible.

“Missing Mumsy and Daddy?” Lavender asked, sitting down across the table and helping herself to a plateful of kippers.

The Kappa feeds on human blood but may be persuaded not to harm a person if it is thrown a cucumber with that person’s name carved into it -

“Hermy-own – that’s how you say it, right?” Parvati sneered, “Sheesh, what a god-awful name for a child. Whatever were your parents thinking?!”

The Kneazle has an uncanny ability to detect unsavory or suspicious characters and can be relied upon to -

“Poor you, Seamus,” Lavender crooned sympathetically, “ – having to sit by Hermione and all.”

Hermione ignored her, staring very hard at page 24 of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, but Kappas and Kneazles weren’t enough to drown out Parvati’s next taunt.

“If only you had a brother or sister, Hermione – then someone would have to talk to you!” shrieked Parvati, while Lavender collapsed in a fit of laughter. Hermione glanced desperately at Harry – who was deep in conversation with Ron - and then dashed away to the library.

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Parvati said nonchalantly, “I honestly don’t know what’s gotten into that girl.”

[Herminia]

As much as she would have liked to wile away the rest of the morning in the library, Hermione didn’t dare miss her first day of classes, and so, with books, quills and scrolls crammed into her schoolbag, she set off for Transfiguration alone. When Hermione arrived, McGonagall was the only one in the classroom. Hermione took a seat in front, and had started lining up her textbooks on the desk in front of her when McGonagall beckoned her over.

Instead of inquiring about Hermione’s first day, McGonagall simply stated, “Flying lessons start soon, Miss Granger.”

Hermione looked up quizzically. She hadn’t expected this.

McGonagall smiled fondly at Hermione. “Your father was an excellent Quidditch player - the best Chaser Gryffindor ever had. I still remember…” She stared off into space for a moment before coming back to herself. “Not a bad sport, Quidditch - not like those sports Muggles play. It’s worth reading up on.” She passed Hermione a book entitled Quidditch Through the Ages. “It will be a good talking point with Harry,” she added meaningfully.

* * * * *

Quidditch Through the Ages proved to be an interesting read, but it certainly didn’t make Hermione feel any more enthusiastic about the first years’ upcoming flying lesson. On the morning of the lesson, Hermione sat at Gryffindor table, frantically paging through the dog-eared book.

“It says here that you shouldn’t lean too far to one side or another or you’ll put the broom into a slow sloth roll.”

After a week of taunts from Lavender and Parvati and loathing glances from her classmates, Hermione was finally drawing welcome attention. Neville, already looking pale and motion-sick, clung to her every word, his Remembrall glowing red in his clenched hands. Even Harry - Hermione gulped - was listening in as she rambled on about broomstick grips and Porskoff Ploys.

By three-thirty in the afternoon, Hermione had scared herself silly reading about Quidditch accidents that resulted in players vanishing for months. It’s not Quidditch, she reminded herself, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand. It’s just flying, just flying. The Gryffindors marched across the grounds, some looking excited, others nauseous. Hermione fell into step with a solemn-looking Dean Thomas, who swore up and down that he preferred Muggle soccer to any sport played on a broom.

At long last, they reached the plinth where spiky-haired Madam Hooch stood, already ringed by the Slytherin first years. Draco Malfoy, the blond boy from the Sorting ceremony, stood smugly, leering at the Gryffindors as they passed.

”Well, what are you all waiting for?!” Madam Hooch demanded. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

The boys all dove for the best-looking broomsticks. Hermione found herself stuck with a battered Tinderblast 980; half the twigs in the tail were missing, a fact that made Hermione even more jittery at the prospect of flight.

“Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ‘UP!’”

“UP!” Everyone shouted, some louder and more confidently than others. Next to her, Harry’s broom jumped into his outstretched hand. Hermione’s broom rolled over, but stayed defiantly close to the ground. “Up?” Hermione repeated, it was more of a question than an order. “Up? Up?” The broom rolled over a few more times before finally soaring into her hand.

Madam Hooch patrolled the lines of first years, correcting people’s grips and showing them how to properly mount their brooms. “Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –“

Neville shoved off the ground with a lurch and rocketed straight in to the air. Hermione gasped and didn’t even notice as her broomstick dropped to the ground between her feet.

“Come back down, boy! Lean forward, Longbottom!”

But nothing Madam Hooch said could keep Neville from rising higher and higher.

“Lean forward!”

Neville leaned forward too far, and - as suddenly as he had lifted off - plummeted to the ground. His arm broke with a sickening crunch and he let out a howl of pain.

Madam Hooch bustled over to Neville’s side, pulling Neville to his feet. Hermione rushed forward to steady him, but Madam Hooch shooed her away and turned sharply to face the rest of the class. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch.’ Come on, then, dear.” She dragged Neville up the castle steps.

“Care about Longbottom, do you, Hermione?” Lavender asked, not bothering to suppress a giggle.

Hermione turned her back on the pair of them and found herself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

“Did you see his face, the great lump?” Draco sneered. A pug-faced Slytherin girl laughed shrilly.

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Hermione snapped. Malfoy arched his eyebrows menacingly.

“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” the Slytherin girl cackled. “Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies!”

Lavender bent over double in silent laughter, but Parvati jabbed her hard in the ribs.

“Look!” Malfoy snatched Neville’s Remembrall out of the long grass. “It’s that stupid think Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

To Hermione’s great surprise, Harry stepped forward. “Give that here, Malfoy,” said Harry quietly. A hush fell over the assembled first years, even Lavender fell silent.

Malfoy reached for his broomstick. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?”

“Give it here!” Harry said, much more forcefully, but Malfoy had already taken flight. He soared up to the ancient oak tree and swayed back and forth.

“Come and get it, Potter!” he spat, juggling the Remembrall carelessly.

“No!” Hermione darted forward and seized the handle of Harry’s broomstick, Madam Hooch’s warning echoing in her brain. “She told us not to move – you’ll get us all in trouble.”

Harry wrenched the broomstick free and kicked off, and Hermione cried out in surprise as he sailed easily over to the tree where Malfoy was hovering. “Give it here – or I’ll knock you off that broom!”

“Yeah?” Malfoy no longer looked as confident. “Catch it if you can, then!” He tossed the Remembrall upwards and sped back to the ground. Hermione watched in horror as Harry streaked after the Remembrall. He tumbled to the ground unhurt and leapt to his feet, the Remembrall clasped in his hand.

“HARRY POTTER!”

Hermione wheeled around to see McGonagall stomping across the grounds. Hermione tried desperately to catch her eye – they couldn’t throw Harry out…not yet… “It wasn’t his fault, Professor –“ Hermione tried to intercede.

“Be quiet, Miss Granger. Potter, come with me.”

Hermione stood rooted to the spot. She’d just had a brother for four days, and now, he’d gone and done something stupid. She felt a spasm of terror – she would never see him again - not if he was expelled. Her fellow Gryffindors looked frozen, the Slytherins looked smug. Draco Malfoy opened his mouth to make a snide remark, but Hermione raced off towards the castle before he could say a word.

She had no idea where she might find McGonagall and Harry, but even as sprinted down the Charms corridor, she was already formulating a plan. Desperate, half-formed thoughts raced around her head - Please, Professor McGonagall…please don’t expel Harry. Expel me! Please not Harry.

Hermione heard saw McGonagall leading Harry and a husky boy into an empty classroom, and glided to halt. Slipping unseen behind a statue of Bodrod the Brave, Hermione listened carefully.

“- I’ve found you a Seeker,” McGonagall said. For some reason, she didn’t sound remotely angry now…she sounded almost triumphant.

“Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely. The boy’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it –“

Hermione sank down to the floor, weak with relief. It didn’t look like Harry was going to be kicked out after all.

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[Herminia]

Almost done with the troll scene, but I'll need to go back and do the Trophy Room-Three Headed Dog part before I can post either.

Feedback for this story is located here. Thanks to everyone's who has read this far and taken time to post some comments!
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[Herminia]

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* * * * *

At dinnertime, the entire Gryffindor table was abuzz about Harry’s miraculous feat.

“Seeker! Imagine if it’d been me who stopped Malfoy on my broom!” Seamus Finnigan exclaimed, running his fingers through his sandy hair.

Further down the table, Fred Weasley regaled Lavender and Parvati with tales of Gryffindor’s past Quidditch glories, while Neville sat gaping at Harry. From time to time, he would murmur, “Youngest house player in a century!” before falling silent again. Hermione hoped half-heartedly that Harry might ask to borrow Quidditch Through the Ages, but with awestruck Gryffindors swapping bits of Quidditch lore right and left, Hermione had a sinking feeling that Harry might not need the book at all.

Just as the furor over Harry was beginning to die down, Malfoy sauntered over, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione craned her neck to listen in on their conversation.

“-I’d take you on anytime on my own,” Malfoy said acidly. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only – no contact.” He paused to take in the effect this had on Harry. “What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel before?”

“’Course he has,” Ron jumped to his feet. “I’m his second, who’s yours?”

Malfoy studied Ron with distaste. “Crabbe. Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.” With that, Malfoy turned on his heel and marched out of the Great Hall , Crabbe and Goyle lumbering dumbly behind him. Moments later, Ron and Harry set off after them.

Harry wouldn’t dare, Hermione thought, angry at Ron for agreeing to the duel. Biting her lip, Hermione hurried to intercept them in the Entrance Hall.

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying –“

“Bet you could.”

Hermione surveyed Ron’s surly face with great dislike.

“You musn’t go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be! It’s really very selfish of you.”

”And it’s really none of your business.” Ron hooked his arm through Harry’s and pulled him away from Hermione.

“You’ve almost been expelled once today,” Hermione interjected, jogging to keep up with them.

“Look, Hermione, he’s going to be the youngest Seeker in a century. They’re not going to kick him out after that!” Ron said, as if that settled the matter.

Scowling at Ron, Hermione stalked away wordlessly. If she could just catch Harry alone she was certain she could talk some sense into him.

* * * * *

“Got a date with Longbottom, Hermy-own?” Parvati snorted into her pillow.

“Ha ha,” Hermione replied dryly, tightening the cord around her fuzzy pink bathrobe. She sidestepped Lavender and hurried down to the Common Room to head off Harry and Ron on their way to the duel with Malfoy and Crabbe. She gazed at the clock on the mantle. Quarter to twelve. Hermione sank into an armchair and waited.

Five minutes later, Harry and Ron tiptoed into the room, wands at the ready. Hermione sprang up from the chair and into their path.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Harry,” she said, somewhat recklessly.

“You!” Ron gave her a furious look. “Go back to bed!”

“I almost told your brother,” Hermione said warningly. “Percy – he’s a prefect, he’d put a stop to this!”

“Come on,” Harry beckoned to Ron, backing through the portrait hole.

Glowering, Hermione chased after them. She had to make Harry see reason – two brushes with the school rules in one day would be pushing it too far – even if he was the famous Harry Potter. She appealed to the House pride she’d heard so much about over dinnertime, “Don’t you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves, I don’t want Slytherin to win the House cup!”

“Go away,” Ron said peevishly.

“All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you’re on the train home tomorrow, you’re so –” Hermione stopped suddenly, for she had turned back to face the Fat Lady, only to discover that the portrait was empty. “Now what am I going to do?!”

“That’s your problem. We’ve got to go, we’re going to be late,” Ron and Harry set off down the corridor, but Hermione was not about to be left behind.

“I’m coming with you!”

“You are NOT.”

“D’you really think I’m going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all three of us, I’ll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up.” The idea even sounded outrageous inside Hermione’s head, but it was too late to recant her words.

“You’ve got some nerve –” Ron began callously, but Harry cut them both off.

“Shut up, both of you! I heard something.”

Hermione’s heart froze. It had to be Filch, and if it wasn’t Filch, it was Mrs. Norris. Either way, all three of them were doomed. “Lumos,” Hermione whispered, lighting the tip of her wand. A beam of light fell upon Neville, lying curled up on the floor.

“Thank goodness you’ve found me! I’ve been out here for hours, I couldn’t remember the new password to get in to bed.”

“Keep your voice down, Neville. The password’s Pig Snout, but it won’t help you now. The Fat Lady’s gone off somewhere.”

“Look, Neville, we’ve got to be somewhere,” Harry said hurriedly, “we’ll see you later.”

“Don’t leave me! The Bloody Baron’s been past twice already.”

Hermione shuddered, the Bloody Baron was no laughing matter – the gaunt Slytherin ghost had a habit of drifting around the castle, eerily silent, his robes stained with silver blood.

Ron glared at Neville and Hermione. “If either of you get us caught, I’ll never rest until I’ve learned the Curse of the Bogies Quirrell told us about, and used it on you.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. She was on the verge of telling Ron exactly how to perform the Curse of the Bogies, but quickly thought better of it. Slowly, the foursome processed down the hallway towards the trophy room. With every step, Hermione felt a sense of foreboding. What if they were walking unwittingly into a trap? She wouldn’t put it beyond Malfoy to alert Filch of their whereabouts. When she tried to express this to Ron and Harry, however, they simply shrugged her off.

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[Herminia]

Continuing on with the mini-series, then...and please, if you're reading this, take a moment to post feedback. This is my first foray into Fan Fiction and I'd like to know your thoughts

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, the foursome reached the Trophy room. Momentarily, Hermione forgot her fear. There was no sign of Malfoy (or Filch, for that matter). The dozens of gleaming trophies dazzled her eyes, but she was searching for one in particular.

“Look, Harry,” she whispered, spying a Quidditch Cup trophy with the name James Potter was emblazoned on the base. Before Harry could make his way over, however, they heard a sound that made their blood run cold.

“Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.” Filch and – Hermione heard a soft meow – Mrs. Norris.

“Hurry!” Harry hissed, and the four scurried out the door.

“They’re in here somewhere,” Filch’s voice broke delightedly.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione streaked down the corridor. Harry took a sharp left turn, but Neville - unable to slow down in time – crashed headlong into a suit of armor.

“RUN!”

They sprinted down one hallway and up another. They ducked under a tapestry, tripped up a set of stairs, and finally careened to a halt in the Charms corridor.

“I think we’ve lost him.”

“I – told – you -!” Hermione panted, trying hard to catch her breath. “Malfoy tricked you! You realize that, don’t you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy, and you know why –”

Ron clamped a hand over Hermione’s mouth. “Someone’s coming!”

Peeves floated merrily down the corridor towards them. “Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you’ll get caughty.”

“Not if you don’t give us away, Peeves, please!” Hermione pleaded.

“Should tell Filch, I should. It’s for your own good, you know.”

“Get out of the way!”

Peeves chortled wickedly, then, drawing himself up regally, he hollered – “Students out of bed! Students out of bed down the Charms corridor!”

The four pelted down the Charms corridor, which ended in a single locked door.

“We’re done for!” Ron moaned, tugging helplessly at the doorknob.

“Oh, move over!” Hermione shoved Ron out of the way. “Alohomora!” The door sprang open and they tripped over one another in their haste to get inside.

Filch pounded down the corridor, his ragged breathing growing louder and louder on the other side of the door. “Which way did they go, Peeves?” he demanded. “Quick, tell me!”

Peeves muttered something inaudibly, and Filch cursed angrily. Hermione heard Peeves zoom away, cackling madly.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione let out a collective sigh of relief, but Neville let ou t a panicked whimper. Hermione reasoned they must be in the third floor corridor, and it suddenly became painfully clear just why the corridor was off-limits. A dog – or were there three dogs? – towered over them, drooling and sniffing wildly.

Harry acted first – throwing open the door and yelling for the others to follow him. They sprinted down the Charms corridor, not caring if Filch saw or heard them. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had mercifully returned from her midnight wanderings, their clothes were slick with sweat.

“Pig snout! Pig snout!”

She observed them with mild interest. “Where on earth have you been?” she asked as her portrait swung forward to admit them.

Hermione collapsed into an armchair, clutching her ribs. Ron and Harry did likewise. Neville merely stood by the portrait hole, a traumatized look on his face. Finally, when Hermione had regained her breath, she got up and started towards the girls’ dormitories.

She paused on the bottom step. “You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you? Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

Ron and Harry looked blankly at her. “The floor? I wasn’t looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads.”

“No, not the floor,” Hermione said in exasperation, “It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.” Then, her tone changing, she snapped, “I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed – or worse – expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.” She stomped upstairs, hoping she was being noisy enough to wake Parvati and Lavender, but when she reached her dormitory, they were still soundly asleep. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and rocked herself back and forth gently. It had been as much her fault as Harry’s or Ron’s – she knew that. She only wished they had listened to her.

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[Herminia]

This is the final installment - I think! It would sort of overdo it if I continued through the entire Sorcerer's Stone. Hermione's perspective would undoubtedly be interesting, but we all know what happens!

Despite the festive decorations and aroma of freshly-baked pumpkin pies, something was weighing heavily on Hermione’s heart on Halloween morning. She’d never liked Halloween – and had never known why that was so.

In fact, it wasn’t until midmorning break that she understood why. She was sitting in the courtyard alone, as usual, perusing The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, when realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. October 31, 1981 – the day of Voldemort’s downfall, and a day of painful significance for the Potter clan.

From what Hermione had pieced together from her talk with McGonagall, she hadn’t been anywhere near Godric’s Hollow on that fateful night. James and Lily, fearing for their children’s lives, had placed Hermione in a Muggle orphanage almost a year beforehand, where she’d been adopted by the childless Grangers. Knowing what they knew about Harry’s future, it was too risky to pawn Harry off on another family, Magic or Muggle. In early October, they had performed the Fidelius Charm, with a man named Sirius Black serving as their Secret Keeper. On the morning of Halloween, Black professed his allegiance to Lord Voldemort by revealing the Potters’ whereabouts. Less than twelve hours later, James and Lily were dead and the course of Harry’s young life had been changed forever.

* * * * *

On the fifteenth of August, sitting with McGonagall in a bustling Muggle restaurant, Hermione thought that befriending her brother would come easily. Now, two-and-a-half months later, it seemed unlikely that she’d ever talk to Harry again. Indeed, after the run-in with the three-headed dog, she’d even stopped trying to attract his attention anymore.


* * * * *

With thoughts of the family she might have had bearing heavily upon her mind, she went off to Charms, where Flitwick paired them up to practice Wingardium Leviosa, the Levitation Charm. For a fleeting moment, Hermione thought Flitwick might pair her with Harry, but her hopes were dashed when he sent Ron in her direction. Ron ignored her as he got out his Charms book and unsheathed his beaten-up wand. Hermione gnawed the inside of her lip, hating Ron. As far as she could tell, Ron was the barrier keeping her an arm’s length away from her brother.

Flitwick, swaying precariously atop his pile of books, waved his wand about enthusiastically. “Swish and flick! Remember – swish and flick! And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and found himself on the floor with a water buffalo on his chest.” Flitwick seemed to find this anecdote particularly funny, for he toppled off his stack of books.

Ron, determined not to look at Hermione, began waving his arms in wide circles.

”Stop, stop, stop!” Hermione cried, catching hold of his arms mid-cycle. “You’re not trying to levitate!”

Ron groaned and looked at the ceiling.

“You’re saying it wrong,” Hermione snapped impatiently. “It’s Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the ‘gar’ nice and long.”

“You do it, then, if you’re so clever,” Ron snarled.

Hermione rolled up her sleeves and flicked the tip of her wand rather melodramatically. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The feather rose steadily off the desk until it was floating some four feet above their heads.

“Bravo! Bravo!” Flitwick applauded, “Miss Granger’s done it!”

Hermione tried not to look too pleased with herself. Ron slammed his book shut and sat down with his back to her. When the class ended, he rushed out to join Harry at the door. “It’s no wonder no one can stand her,” he said loudly, for the entire class to hear, “she’s a nightmare, honestly!”

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione brushed past Harry as she ran to the girls’ bathroom.

* * * * *

Myrtle floated around, looking giddy – as she always did when someone else was feeling distraught.

“Oooh,” she crooned, “what’s happened? I hope it’s dreadful.” When Hermione didn’t answer, Myrtle began singing tunelessly to herself, plucking at a translucent pimple on her chin.

Hours later, Lavender and Parvati wandered into the bathroom. “Hermione?” she called, for once taking care to pronounce Hermione’s name right. “Hermione, is that you?”

“You’ve missed Potions, you know,” Lavender said sourly.

Parvati shushed Lavender, and Hermione felt a wave of gratitude towards her. “Are you all right, Hermione?”

Hermione sniffled, Parvati and Lavender took that as a sign to leave her alone.

“We’re going to the Halloween feast,” Lavender drawled, and the two walked out, shutting the door behind them.

Myrtle reappeared. “They don’t seem to like you very much, do they?” She bobbed in the air, feasting off Hermione’s misery. “I remember Olive Hornby – just like that short girl. Always coming in and making my life a living hell. Why, she came into the bathroom the night I died, don’t you know!”

Hermione let out a fresh sob.

Myrtle straightened up suddenly. “Listen!” Hundreds of footsteps were pounding up and down the corridor above them. As the sounds upstairs died away, Hermione became aware of something – something huge by the sound of it - thudding down the hallway.

“Myrtle,” she hissed, “what is that?”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Myrtle hesitated momentarily, then dived into one of the toilets with a splash. Hermione’s heart filled with dread as the heavy footfalls drew nearer. Suddenly, the bathroom door was wrenched open and a terrible stench permeated the air.

Hermione peered out from under the stall door and let out a squeal of terror. A gigantic mountain troll, with feet the size of hubcaps, was standing in the middle of the bathroom, turning slowly on the spot. His club trailed behind him, bumping across the tiles.

The troll sniffed the air, it was too much to hope that he would go looking for other prey. Then, with remarkable speed for something so large and cumbersome, the troll lifted his club and plowed it through three bathroom stalls. Hermione screamed and dropped down to the linoleum floor, covering her head with her hands. The troll edged forward, jabbing Hermione hard in the ribs with his club. Cornered, Hermione stood paralyzed with fear. Her mind raced blindly…Myrtle talking about Olive Hornby…she was going to die in a bathroom…who would find her…Harry…Harry!

“Hermione – move!” It was Harry, standing in the doorway brandishing his wand at the troll. Hermione scrambled underneath one of the sinks; the troll swung madly at her and missed.

“Confuse it!” Harry cried. It took Hermione a moment to realize that he was talking to Ron, for Hermione herself was in no position to help.

“Oy, pea-brain!” Ron flung a broken pipe at the troll, but it didn’t seem to notice. The pipe bounced off the troll’s stooped back and clattered to the floor. Harry skidded to a halt beside Hermione and started to pull her towards the door.

“Come on, run, run!” Ron yelled.

The troll turned around dumbly and plodded towards Ron. In an instant, Harry had released Hermione and jumped onto the troll. Hermione watched in horror as Harry latched himself around the troll’s massive neck. The troll let out a roar of pain and wheeled around, bobbing and swaying – Harry’s wand had gone up its left nostril. The troll slung Harry off his back and dangled him upside down.

“Do something!” Harry yelped.

Hermione grappled for her wand, but Ron was faster. “Wingardium Levi-o-sa!”

Everything was happening in slow motion. Harry was twisting and writhing in the troll’s ironfisted hold, the troll was howling madly, Ron and Hermione were watching with bated breath. Then, as though someone had turned up the tempo, the troll’s club rocketed upwards. It hung ominously above the troll’s head, then fell heavily, pegging the troll on the head.

The troll tossed Harry aside like a sack of flour and collapsed with a deafening crash. It was several moments before any of them moved, Hermione scarcely breathed, eyes flicking from the troll to Harry and back.

“Is it – dead?”

Harry got unsteadily to his feet, “I don’t think so. I think it’s just knocked out.” He pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose. “Urgh – troll boogies.”

Ron stood rooted to the spot, staring at the troll. He was plainly still amazed by his perfectly-executed levitation charm.

Hermione walked dazedly towards Harry and Ron. “Thanks–” she began, extending a scratched and bruised hand to them.

A cacophony of yells and footsteps interrupted them; McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape burst in, wands out. Quirrell slumped weakly against the wall, clutching a stitch in his chest. Snape strode over to the troll and nudged it with his foot. It snored. McGonagall was livid; her face was terribly white and she was shaking in anger. For several moments, no one said anything at all, then –

“What on earth were you thinking?” McGonagall’s dark eyes swept over the three of them taking in Hermione’s scratched face, Harry’s torn sweater, and Ron’s bemused expression. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me.” Hermione cast her eyes up in desperation, McGonagall had never looked so tall and imposing before. “I-I went looking for the troll,” Hermione tore her eyes away from McGonagall’s furious glare. “—be-because I-I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know – because I’ve read all about them.” She stopped and looked around hopelessly. Ron gaped at her, wand limp in his hand, but Harry watched her steadily. Hermione took a deep breath and barreled on, “If Harry and Ron hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now. H-Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with his own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.”

McGonagall’s stare bored into Hermione. Hermione had let her down. She’d failed to befriend Harry, and now, as far as McGonagall knew, she’d nearly gotten herself, Ron Weasley, and her brother killed.

“Well – in that case…Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you even think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

Hermione bowed her head sadly.

“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I’m very disappointed in you. If you’re not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses.”

Hermione padded silently back to the Common Room, her heart racing. Trying to think logically, she knew that one of two things would happen when she met Ron and Harry again…

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, the portrait hole opened again to admit Harry and Ron - both looking tired but exhilarated. Harry made his way towards Hermione, Ron tagging along behind. “Thanks,” they all said at once, not daring to meet each other’s eyes.

Ron broke the awkward silence. “I’m starved. I could eat a troll,” and the three hastened to pile their plates with Cockroach Clusters and Pumpkin Pasties from the stack of sweets in front of the fireplace. Hermione sat smiling quietly to herself while Ron and Harry regaled the other first years with the tale of the troll’s defeat.

Perhaps McGonagall needn’t have been so disappointed after all, for finally, ten years to the day their parents had died, Harry and Hermione (and a redhead named Ron) became the best of friends.

* * * * *

Ah, if only I was better at wrapping things up at the end of a story. Once again, comments are appreciated. I'm wondering if I would have a readership if I decided to write Book Seven Fan Fiction (also from Hermione's point of view, using the Sibling Theory) - anyway, comments are appreciated.

To leave feedback, a link would help, eh?
Here you are:
http://www.cosforums.com/showthread....97#post2618497

[Herminia]

Feedback is still appreciated. Does anyone think I should continue with the Sibling Theory (from Hermione's point of view) for a Book Seven Fan fic? I'm considering it! Writing is free entertainment for someone on the verge of becoming a poor college student!

[Herminia]

Just realized that I forgot to stick a disclaimer with this -
All the aforementioned characters were the brainchildren of the brilliant JK Rowling, and though I would love the opportunity to adopt them as my own, I have to give her all the credit.

[Herminia]

I've finished the first few chapters of my Year Seven fan fiction. Since there's a moratorium on new, post-HBP release in place here, I'll probably post it on my own webspace and put a link up here.

[Herminia]

Here's the link to my Year Seven Harry/Hermione/Sibling Theory (whatever you want to call it!) fan fiction. The first three chapters are done, and the first two have been posted and are up for review.
http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...en%20Index.htm

You can post comments in my guestbook (linked to from my Fan Fiction pages) or on the feedback page for my Year One fan fiction.

[Herminia]

Added two more parts to my Year Seven fan fiction

Chapter Two, Part Two - Godric's Hollow
http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...20Part%202.htm

Chapter Three, Part One - For Better and For Worse
http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...Part%20One.htm

My Year Seven Fan Fiction Index, with links to all the chapters, is here
http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...en%20Index.htm

Comments can go here -
http://www.cosforums.com/showthread....post2593480And please please do leave comments so I know whether I should bother continuing with my Year Seven stuff or not. Thanks

[Herminia]

I've FINALLY gotten past my writer's block about Fleur and Bill's wedding. Initially, I was going to make Harry zone-out completely so I didn't have to write anything about the wedding (bit hung-up on what to do with the ceremony itself), but I found a slightly better way More posts up tomorrow, I hope!

[Herminia]

Yes! Chachachas around the room. I finally had a free hour-and-a-half this morning, which I spent assembling this website. It has links to my Year One and Year Seven fan fiction, my signatures, and some links. Please take a look.
http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/mitt124/HPHome.htm

Thanks to Pyrodogg for helping me sort out my guestbook link problem

[Herminia]

http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...en%20Index.htm

Hey, who's tired? LOL. I've added two new chapters (under three sections), and wrote all of this between 11 at night and 2 in the morning. I haven't had a chance to read through them! But I never read my stuff, so I guess that's nothing new...
Read if you will, and leave comments if you do

[Herminia]

Two more chapters added today -
The Hogwarts Headmistress
and In Search of RAB

And again, here's the link to the index for my Year Seven fan fiction. http://my.execpc.com/12/E2/mitt124/m...en%20Index.htm

Please, I'm begging you - leave comments. I need to know whether I should continue with this or not. I love writing it, but if no one's biting...
Feedback can be left in my guestbook, or here - http://www.cosforums.com/showthread....post2593480And