Toil and Trouble Chapter 8 : The Journey and the Sorting - Part 1 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)

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(Due to the length of this chapter, it has been divided into two parts. Here's Part One.)

September 1, 1993. Grimauld Place

"Do you promise to stun me if I start crying?", asked Sirius as he lay on Remus's chest, lazily tracing patterns on his pale skin.

Remus shifted languidly, his body exquisitely sore after the intensity of their passion the night before. They'd been desperate, ravenous in a way that lovers get when anticipating distance from each other. They couldn't get close enough, couldn't have each other deep enough. As if their bodies were trying to create enough heat to sustain them till the time Remus would come home to visit.

"You won't start crying", said Remus with a laugh as he ran his fingers through Sirius’s hair.

"You sure about that?" Sirius asked, placing kisses along his love's jawline, "both of you are leaving on the same day."

"And we'll be back to see you in about a week and a half. Both Harry and I will. I think you'll be fine."

Sirius propped himself up on his elbows, boxing Remus in. "Doesn't mean I won't miss you like mad."

He leaned down and they kissed passionately.

"These last four years.... we've hardly spent a night apart. And Harry. He's leaving just as he was getting good at his little quips and retorts."

Remus laughed and kissed him again.

"You'll be able to pass on your gift of the gab to him when he's home on weekends." He said, before asking "what time is it?"

Before Remus could turn to look at the clock, Sirius pinned him down.

"Enough time for one more, Moony", he said, his voice low, as Padfoot slid into Moony one last time before the day began.

The old house was alive with activity. Drawers creaking open, a kettle whistling in the kitchen, the faint scuffle of a house-elf’s feet on stone. Upstairs, Harry was kneeling by his open trunk, folding the last of his clothes under Kreacher’s watchful, wrinkled gaze.

Kreacher muttered as he worked, but his gnarled hands were gentle, carefully tucking boxes of biscuits beside Harry’s neatly folded robes. “Master Harry must not go hungry at that dreadful school,” he croaked, stuffing in another box filled with more homemade sweets. “Kreacher makes them fresh. Not like some filthy shop rubbish."

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Kreacher. I’ll share them with my friends.”

The elf looked half-offended, half-pleased. “Master Harry may share if he must,” he sniffed, and vanished with a loud crack before Harry could reply.

From the doorway, Sirius leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a small smile on his lips.

“It's always beaten me how you managed to soften that little monster, Little Prongs."

Harry laughed. “Maybe he just needs someone to be kind to him." He added more seriously, "So promise you'll be nice to him, Sirius."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll be nice to the little beast."

He then strode over to Harry and cupped the boy's face in his hands. His smile held the deepest affection and years of buried agony, as he took in the face of James’s son. Though he was a mirror image of his father, Harry had his mother's eyes. Sirius saw both of his friends smiling back at him.

"Have fun at school, yeah?" He said softly.

Harry nodded.

"Run wild, raise hell. Be absolutely pain the the rear end for all those teachers."

Someone cleared his throat.

They both turned. Remus stood in the doorway, one eyebrow quirked.

Sirius jerked a thumb at him. “Well… all teachers except that one.”

Harry laughed, and Remus shook his head in mock disapproval, but his eyes were warm. “Lily would hex your mouth shut if she heard your advice to Harry, Padfoot."

"Might I remind you, Lily was an accomplished prankster in her own right." He then turned to Harry and said, "I've told you about that time she turned your dad’s shoes to jelly, haven't I?"

"Yeah..." Harry laughed.

"Harry, remember that your mother was also a top student. Top of our year" Remus told him, smiling.

Sirius clapped Harry on the back. “Proud of you, kid. Go show them what you’re made of.”

Remus joined in, his arm looping around them both. For a moment, the house seemed to soften. No shadows, no portraits muttering, only the quiet heartbeat of family found.

The three of them were almost ready to leave when Remus, who had been quietly checking the corners of the drawing room for any stray belongings, suddenly paused.

“Wait,” he said. “There’s one thing we forgot.”

Harry looked up, frowning slightly. “Forgot?”

Remus smiled that small, patient smile Harry had come to love. “An owl.”

Harry’s heart sank. “Oh... it completely slipped out of my mind", he murmured, disappointment flickering across his face. He’d tried not to think about it, telling himself it wasn't a big deal and that he could borrow school owls for a while. But the thought of not having his own personal owl to communicate with Sirius made him uneasy.

But then Remus turned around, and in his hands was a brass cage. Inside, perched gracefully on a wooden bar, was a snowy white owl with eyes like polished amber.

Harry froze, speechless. The owl tilted her head, regarding him with intelligent calm, and gave a soft, dignified hoot.

“She’s yours", Remus said, "Sirius and I picked her up last week. We wanted it to be a surprise.”

Sirius grinned. “Sweet little thing she is. You’ll get along great.”

Harry bent to look closer at her. “She’s beautiful,” he said softly. “I… I don’t even know what to name her.”

“No rush,” Remus said gently, setting the cage down beside the trunk. “She’s already registered at Hogwarts and the Ministry. You can take your time.”

The owl blinked slowly, as if approving.

Then Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder. “All right, enough of that mushy stuff. Let’s get going now."

Harry chuckled, as he grasped the handle of the cage in one hand, his trunk handle in the other.

Holding hands, the three of them apparated sidealong right into the bustle of Platform 9&3/4.

---

September 1, 1993. The Burrow

Chaos had never sounded quite so loud as it did in the Burrow that morning. Molly Weasley’s voice carried from room to room, rising above the thud of trunks and the clatter of dishes.

“Fred! George! Have you packed your robes properly this time?”

“We have, Mum!” came two identical shouts from upstairs, followed immediately by a loud bang.

“What was that?!”

“Nothing, Mum!” they chorused.

Molly groaned, muttering something about blasted fireworks as she wrestled Ron’s trunk shut. “Ronald, where’s your wand?”

“Er....here!” Ron said, digging it out from under his bed. “I found it!”

“Good. Packed all your books, have you?"

Ron nodded.

"Now come on", Molly said as she magically levitated the trunks, "all of you downstairs!”

Fred and George bounded down the stairs, each grinning, their excitement at going back was evident. Molly crossed her arms and glared at them. “You two will watch over your brother, is that clear? No pranks, no disappearing acts, and for heaven’s sake, no turning his things into spiders again!”

“Mum,” Fred said solemnly, “we’d never....”

“....do that on the first day,” George finished.

“Fred! George!” Molly barked, very close to losing her patience.

Ron stood by his trunk, holding the family’s shared owl cage. Inside, the old brown owl, Errol, gave a weary hoot, feathers sticking out in every direction.

His wand had once been Charlie’s. Ash, with a unicorn hair core. His robes were Percy’s, a bit too long in the sleeves. His books, their corners frayed, still bore Bill’s name inside the covers. He wasn’t even getting his own owl.

For a fleeting second, he wondered what Harry’s morning was like. Harry probably had his own owl. A proper one, expensive, sleek and strong, with shining feathers. All of Harry's things, books, clothes were probably brand new.

The thought pinched at him. But only for a moment before he remembered, that he was going to Hogwarts. With Harry. His best mate.

He hoped they'd both be sorted into Gryffindor. They’d share a dorm, explore the castle together, play Quidditch. Maybe even sneak out after hours. It was going to be brilliant.

A grin spread across his face.

Ginny came downstairs carrying Molly’s coat.

"Here Mum!", the girl said cheerfully.

"Oh thank you dear!" Molly smiled, before resuming her brisk demeanour.

“Right,” she said, snapping her wand to levitate the last of the luggage. “Trunks ready? Good. Everyone take my arms.”

Fred and George exchanged a conspiratorial glance. “Hold tight, Ronniekins,” Fred chortled.

“Enough chatter!” Molly commanded, gathering them close.

With a sharp crack, the Burrow vanished from sight, and the Weasleys landed amid the rush and laughter of Platform 9&3/4.

---

September 1, 1993. Hadley Wood

The drive was quiet. The Grangers’ midnight blue BMW hummed along the narrow country road leading into Hadley Wood, sunlight flickering through the trees the lined the roadside. Hermione sat in the back seat, her new Hogwarts robes, her uniforms, casual clothes, her wand, telescope, and all her books were all neatly packed into the trunk provided by the Ministry of Magic. It was charmed. It's dimensions much larger on the inside than it looked from the outside. It was also lighter than it should have been, having been packed with all the items Hermione had placed in it.

Hermione had spent hours examining it when it arrived. She could dip her entire arm into it, though its depth could not have been more than two feet. Her arm didn't even look distorted when she'd reached in. It was a most fascinating form of magic, and Hermione just knew she was going to read all about it in the famed Hogwarts library.

The trunk was also engraved with the Hogwarts Sigil, along with the words "First Year". Indicating that they'd have to acquire one every year.

From the passenger seat, Rose Granger glanced over her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” she said gently, “are you absolutely sure you haven’t packed too many books?”

Hermione looked up from the Second Year Potions Making textbook and replied, “I’ve already read all the first year ones, Mum,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So I thought I’d start the second-year texts too. I’ll read them in my free time.”

Hugo chuckled, eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he steered the car on the practically vacant street. “At this rate, you’ll be the most powerful sorceress in Britain before you’re sixteen,” he said proudly.

Hermione smiled, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I just don’t want to be unprepared.”

The BMW rolled to a stop in front of that same stately house they'd been brought to by Professor McGonagall and Auror Campbell. And that was when they saw it.

A second car stood a short distance away, sleek and black, gleaming even in the dappled light. A Rolls-Royce Phantom, by the look of it, with a stylized FF replacing the usual Spirit of Ecstasy on its hood.

Those was unexpected. Surely the Ministry wouldn't allow the Dimensional Fold to be revealed with other Muggles around. So why was that other car there?

The Grangers exchanged glaces, but stayed in the car, watching curiously. Moments later, faint shimmer rippled in the air ahead, there was a distortion, before the young woman appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

Andrea Bones, First Secretary of the Department of Protection of Muggle-Borns wore her elegantly tailored robes, her hair pinned neatly at her nape. Her Ministry badge glinting in the sunlight.

She approached the Rolls-Royce first. Its rear door opened smoothly, and a dark-haired boy about Hermione’s age stepped out. He was followed by his parents. The family was well-dressed, and unmistakably upper-class. The Grangers watched as polite greetings were exchanged between the family and Miss Bones.

“That must be another student,” Rose murmured.

Hermione pressed her face closer to the window. “He’s about my age,” she whispered, curiosity lighting her eyes, "so probably a first year."

After a few moments, Andrea Bones turned and made her way toward the BMW. Hugo stepped out first, extending a hand, and Rose followed, smiling warmly.

“Doctors Hugo and Rose Granger,” Andrea said pleasantly. “It’s lovely to see you both again. I trust the summer has been uneventful?”

“As uneventful as one can hope,” Hugo replied.

“Good.” She gestured toward the other family. “May I introduce you to the Finch-Fletchleys. Mr. and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley, and their son, Justin, who will also be starting at Hogwarts this year.”

The Finch-Fletchleys inclined their heads. Perfectly polite, perfectly distant. They had that composed air of old money, people accustomed to polished greetings and unspoken hierarchies.

Rose mirrored their courtesy with equal restraint. “A pleasure,” she said, smiling in a way that was friendly but firm. Hugo nodded politely beside her.

Justin offered Hermione a quick, practiced smile. “Hello,” he said airily, shaking her hand with just enough pressure to be civil, before glancing back at his parents.

“Hello,” Hermione replied, unsure whether she should be as distant as her parents, or crack a smile.

When Bones announced that it was time to go, the two sets of parents exchanged the usual parting words, each in their own way.

“Do write to us the moment you arrive at the castle,” Rose said, her tone gentle but expectant. “And remember, Hermione - diligence, composure, and focus. For you, excellence is a habit, not a goal.”

Hermione nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. “I will, Mum. I promise.”

Rose gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. Hugo put his arms around his daughter, before giving her a firm handshake. Just as he always did when she'd reached a new milestone. Hermione remembered the pride on his face when he shook her hand the day she'd graduated from Cambridge.

From a few feet away, Mr. Finch-Fletchley adjusted his cufflinks and said to his son, “Remember Justin, be mindful of who you spend your time with. First impressions matter.”

“Yes, Father,” Justin murmured automatically.

The goodbyes were quick, efficient, a bit formal. A handshake here, a hug there.

Then Andrea Bones checked her watch and said briskly, “All right you two, come hold my hand." The two teenagers did as she said and walked with her towards the shimmer in the air.

The Fold rippled open. An oval window of light hovering just above the grass. Together, the witch and the Hogwarts students stepped into it.

Both the Grangers and the Finch-Fletchleys watched as their children vanished from sight, having gone to a place where they could not follow.

As they stepped into Diagon Alley, the first thing Hermione noticed were the teenage witches and wizards in school uniforms and robes. A majority of them were of Hogwarts, but every now and then, she'd see a student clad in the robes of one of the lesser known magical schools of Wizarding Britain.

"Come now, hold on tight", said Andrea Bones, "I'm about to apparate you to the Platform. Ready?"

Both Hermione and Justin nodded.

Andrea held their hands and turned on her heel.

As she gained her bearing after the disorientation caused by apparation, Hermione could hear Arthur Weasley's voice coming from a distance. He was here.

Miss Bones brushed off her sleeve and straightened her cloak. “Right, both of you,” she said briskly, “stay close. We’re early, but Mr. Weasley likes to give a short briefing to all Muggle-born arrivals before boarding.”

Hermione exchanged a curious glance with Justin, who shrugged as they followed her through the bustle.

A short distance away stood a cluster of about two thirty students gathered in a semicircle before a tall, red haired man in well-worn robes. Arthur Weasley, his kind face open and expression patient, was addressing them with the air of someone who’d given this talk many times before.

Hermione felt the warmth of his gaze. Not judging, just kind and reassuring. She and Justin joined the group, blending into the crowd of nervous faces.

Arthur’s voice carried over the noise of the station, calm and steady. “Good morning, everyone. I know for many of you, this is your first step into our world, and that can feel a bit overwhelming. But you’ve nothing to fear.”

A few younger students shifted uneasily, clutching their trunks tighter.

He smiled. “You’ve all been chosen to attend the finest school of magic in Britain. Possibly in all of Europe. Hogwarts will be your home for the next seven years, and a safe one. If you ever feel uncertain or confused, please don’t hesitate to speak to your professors. They are there to help you.”

Hermione listened intently. Around her, she could see other Muggle-born children. Some wide-eyed and listening intently, some whispering to one another, others standing quietly with the air of older students who already knew their way around.

Arthur went on, his tone gentle but firm. “The Ministry takes your safety very seriously. My own department, the Department of Protection of Muggle-borns works closely with Hogwarts to make sure every one of you is supported and protected adequately. You’re part of our world now, and we are proud to have you. Never ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

That brought a few smiles from the four other first years in their group, and a few cautious nods from some of the older Muggle-borns.

Arthur glanced down the line of faces as if trying to commit each one to memory.

“Now then", he said, "the train will be arriving shortly. Please stay near the group, and first years, do not wander off. There will be plenty of time for exploration the next time you take this journey."

A faint rumble echoed in the distance. Hermione realized it was the approaching thrum of wheels over iron rails. Steam thickened along the platform’s edge.

Arthur clapped his hands once. “Right then everyone, trunks ready. Let’s make this a good year, shall we?”

Hermione glanced toward the track just as the scarlet engine emerged from the tunnel, its whistle slicing through the morning air. Her heart leapt. This was it.

As they were ushered into the compartments, her mind went back to the conversation she'd had with her patents the night before.

It had been late, the study bathed in soft glow of a lamp. Her trunk was already packed, she'd checked and double checked all her belongings. Rose sat opposite Hermione at the desk, right next to her husband.

“Hermione,” she began gently, "I have to be honest with you, your father and I still don't cherish the idea of sending into a different dimension so you can learn magic."

Hermione swallowed. This was a fact of which she was well aware.

She knew that her parents weren't disappointed per se. In fact, they had been nothing but encouraging and supportive of her magical education. But she also knew that they'd rather she stay with them in their world and earn her Master’s degree.

Rose continued.

"But we also understand that we mustn't prevent you from exercising your extraordinary abilities. If we did, we'd be impending your growth."

She looked at her husband and gave him a sad smile, which he returned in kind.

"I remember the sparkle in your eyes as you shopped for books in that shop in Diagon Alley. I can say without a shred of doubt, that I have never seen you so happy. You looked as though.... as though you were finally home. As though you'd found something you'd been looking for for years."

Hermione's lips twitched and she gave a nod of agreement.

"And sweetheart, we don't want to keep you from something that makes you feel whole. However, there’s something we need to talk about before you go.”

Hermione asked, “What is it, Mum?”

Rose hesitated, exchanging yet another glance with Hugo, who closed the evening paper and folded his hands on the table.

“Sweetheart,” Rose said softly, “I want you to remember that not everyone you meet at that school will be… kind.”

Hermione frowned. “Because I’m Muggle-born?" She’d read about it, of course. The history of magic textbook didn't go into any explicit details but left one with no doubts as to why a wizarding war was faught. A war that nearly tore Wizarding Britain apart because a certain "Dark Wizard" believed that magic casters like Hermione were unworthy of their magic. That their mere presence was a affront to their world.

Hermione harboured no illusions about what this revealed of the magical world. But hearing it from her mother’s mouth gave it a sharper edge.

"I've deduced that those who are from non magical families face some prejudice." She said, looking at her parents' faces, grave and uncertain.

“We spoke with Arthur Weasley,” Hugo said quietly. “He told us the school is safe, and that the Ministry keeps a close eye on things. But still, Hermione.… people can be cruel. Especially when they’re afraid or ignorant.”

Rose reached out and took her daughter’s hand. “Just be careful who you trust. Not everyone who smiles at you will mean it. Not everyone who offers help may have your best intentions at heart."

Hermione hesitated, thinking of the portraits in Hogwarts: A History, and the grandeur of the castle she’d soon call home. “I understand,” she said finally. “But I’ll be fine, Mum, Dad. I promise. I’ll focus on my studies. I’ll be extra careful."

"About you studies Hermione", said Hugo, "remember that excellence is your armour. If anyone ever doubts your worth, your work must be exceptional enough to prove them wrong. Rather than getting into any petty squabbles with small minded people, you must let your performance do the talking."

Hermione nodded, her resolve firming. “I'll remember, Dad."

Rose squeezed her hand. “Darling, we know you've dealt with bullies before. But there's a difference between fighting back against neighbourhood kids, and dealing with the children raised in bigotry. You'd have to look over your shoulders often."

"I know." Hermione said quietly.

The three of them had sat in silence for a while after that, the clock ticking softly in the background, the weight of the moment settling like dust. It had felt, in a strange way, like the end of something. And the beginning of something greater.

Now, standing before the open carriage door, Hermione blinked back to the present.

Her mother’s words echoed faintly. Be careful who you trust.

Her father’s followed. Excellence is your armour.

She glanced around at the other Muggle-borns, in a sea of Hogwarts students and their parents, boarding the train that would take them to the magical kingdom.

As she looked for an empty compartment, Hermione decided now would be a good time to try one of the spells whose wand movement she'd been practicing with a pen.

She took out her wand. She swished and flicked as she spoke the incantation "Wingardium Leviosa". Feeling magic course through her, she watched with a satisfied smile as her trunk levitated off the floor.

Harry, Ron, Fred and George had their final rounds of goodbye hugs just before they boarded the train.

"You'd better write to me every week.", Ginny said to Harry in a tone that made it clear that she meant business.

"Of course Gin.", Harry told her, "I'll write and tell you everything that happens."

Percy was already straightening his Prefect’s badge for what must have been the tenth time, the polished red ‘P’ gleaming against his chest. “Well,” he said loftily, glancing around as if giving a press statement, “I’ll be in one of the Prefects’ compartments, of course. Responsibilities to attend to.”

“Of course you will,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“Wouldn’t want the train to function without your guidance, Perce,” George added, deadpan.

Remus smiled faintly. “Good man, Percy,” he said sincerely. “Prefect duties are important. I’m sure you perform yours splendidly.”

Percy puffed up a little at that, nodded to Remus in thanks, and strode off through the steam, his chest square, already projecting the air of a junior statesman.

“Prefect duties,” Fred mimicked, snorting. “Bet he’ll spend half the trip lecturing some poor first year about the correct way to polish a badge.”

George grinned. “Or confiscating our toffees. Tragic, really.”

After placing their trunks in the compartment, the twins were off to, in their words, "spread some good cheer".

Harry, seated next to the window, glanced at the platform. He could still see parents waving, owls flapping above the crowd, the sound of luggage clattering against the rails. “D’you think that Hermione girl made it?” he asked, scanning the throng for a familiar mane of unruly curls.

Ron, taking the seat opposite him, shrugged. “She’s Muggle-born. So she'd probably arrived with a Ministry person.” he said before adding, "I just hope she doesn't find us. So annoying she was!"

Harry laughed. “She wasn’t so bad, really. Bit intense, but I thought she was really clever.”

Ron groaned dramatically. “Yeah, know-it-alls always are. Just look at Percy!”

Harry chuckled, reluctantly agreeing, “You might be right about that.”

Draco Malfoy stepped onto the train, his polished black shoes clicking softly against the floorboards. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered behind him, moving with a brutish clumsiness that made Draco inwardly wince.

He ignored the chaos, eyes scanning sharply for an empty compartment. Most were already occupied by laughing older students or chattering first years. He didn’t want noise. He wanted quiet.

And that's when Draco saw her.

A girl standing a few compartments down. Her hair was a wild tumble of chocolate curls that refused to obey any sense of order, and when the light hit her just right, he caught the flecks of amber in her eyes. He watched as she took out her wand, and to his shock, cast a levitation spell. With a clear and confident voice, she spoke the incantation, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

The trunk smoothly floated in the air.

Draco couldn't believe it. The girl's trunk clearly indicated that she was a first year. This meant, she'd learnt levitation before school even began.

Beside him, Goyle grinned stupidly.
“Who’s that girl?”

Draco turned to him sharply, eyes flashing. A look that made it clear that he'd seen her first. Goyle wipped the grin off his face immediately.

Straightening his collar, Draco drew himself up, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from his sleeve. He composed his face into his most polished expression, one that mimicked his father’s blend of charm and superiority, and strode forward.

The girl was about to enter an empty compartment, when he stopped at her door.

“Excuse me,” he said, his tone a smooth mixture of courtesy and calculation. “You seem to have managed that spell rather well. Not many first years could’ve done it right.”

She looked up at him, blinking in surprise. “Oh! Thank you,” she said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I practiced it over the summer.”

“Practiced?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Yes", Hermione replied, "I practiced the wand strokes without actually using my wand. I've already read the first year spell book and have memorized all the spells. So, I suppose it was easy for me."

Draco blinked.

"You read the entire spellbook?", he asked incredulous, "Before term even begins?"

"Yes", the girl replied in a superior tone, "why wouldn't I?"

Draco huffed an amused laugh. This girl was somthing else.

He extended his hand.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Oh! I'm Hermione Granger.", she replied.

Granger. Draco immediately thought of the famed family of potioneers. Not bad.

"Charmed"

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, enjoying the faint blush that formed on the girl's cheeks.

"Mind if we join you?", Draco asked, gesturing at the empty compartment.

"Not at all", Hermione said with a smile.

As the four of them say down, Draco making sure to take the seat directly across from Hermione, he gestured towards the two other boys, "This is Vincent Crabbe and that's Gregory Goyle".

The two boy gave Hermione toothy grins that made her a bit uneasy. But she greeted them politely.

As the train began to chug forward, Draco and Hermione fell into an easy conversation about potions and magical theory.

"So you've already read the second year text book, have you?" Draco asked, trying to keep from giving away how impressed he was.

"Yes", Hermione said primly, "it differs from the first year one quite a bit. In that it goes into greater detail about the importance intent in spell casting. Quite interesting, really."

"My mother's told me a bit about it", Draco said, lifting his chin, "most people our age don't even know what intently really means."

For the next fifteen minutes, the only voices heard in the compartment were those of Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, as they talked about potions and the intricacies of brewing. Hermione spoke quickly, animated and full of ideas. Draco listened, while also countering her points with his own.

Crabbe and Goyle just frowned, most of what was being said going over their heads.

Goyle finally broke and uttered something about being bored.

Hermione stopped mid-sentence, clearly annoyed, while Draco shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t interrupt when you don’t understand.”

Draco then turned back to her, “Ignore him. Go on then.... you were saying about potion ingredients reacting differently when stirred counterclockwise?”

“Yes!” Hermione said eagerly, “It’s not just about technique. Professor Severus Snape writes...."

Draco blinked “You’ve read Snape?”

"Yes, I picked up one of his books at Flourish and Blotts. He's rather brilliant."

"I know him", Draco said airily, "A friend of my father's, you see. And I suppose your parents must have taught you about potions as well."

Hermione gave a gentle laugh and shook her head.

"Oh my parents are potioneers. They're dentists."

Draco frowned, "what's that?"

"Non-magical healers. For ailments of the teeth and gums."

Draco’s facial expression slowly began turning into one of disgust. Crabbe and Goyle too began looking at Hermione strangely.

"Non-mag.... you're saying they're Muggles?"

Hermione noticed the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Suddenly, her parents' words and everything she'd learned of Wizarding society began coming back to her.

But surely, her blood status wouldn't be a problem. They'd just been chatting so amicably.

"Well, yes", she said cautiously, "I'm what they call a Muggle-born."

Draco looked down at his own hand, the one that had held hers.

"How dare you touch me, you filthy little Mudblood!", he hissed. His voice held more hatred, more revulsion than Hermione thought was possible for anyone to muster.

"Draco...." Hermione began, her voice trembling.

"Get out!" , Malfoy shouted, getting to his feet, "and don't you dare come near me again, Mudblood. You don't deserve to breathe the same air as me."

Before Hermione could say another word, a strong hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked her painfully out of her seat. It was Crabbe. He was hauling her towards the compartment door.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, but Crabbe shoved her, and she stumbled into the corridor, falling hard to her knees. Her trunk thudded beside her.

For a moment, she just sat there stunned, her arm aching where it had been gripped so hard. The door slammed shut.