Chapter 5: Slytherin
Chapter Text
King's Cross Station was a whirlwind of motion and sound as witches, wizards, and Muggles alike bustled about in their rush to board trains. The crisp, cool air buzzed with anticipation, and the towering red engine of the Hogwarts Express loomed in the background, billowing soft clouds of steam that curled up toward the high arches of the station. The platform was filled with young witches and wizards eager to embark on their first year at Hogwarts, dragging heavy trunks and chatting excitedly with friends and family.
Hermione Granger stood on the edge of the platform, practically buzzing with excitement. She had been waiting for this moment for what felt like her entire life. The mere sight of the Hogwarts Express sent a thrill through her, making her pulse quicken. She could barely contain the urge to run inside, sit down, and force the train to start moving. Her hands fidgeted as she glanced around, her bushy hair bouncing slightly with every eager movement.
Beside her, Harry Potter stood, looking the picture of calm, but Hermione could see the gleam of excitement in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to mask it. He was dressed smartly, his hair cut neatly for once—though still wild enough to give him that tousled, windswept look. Part of his hair had been swept back, revealing the famous lightning-bolt scar etched into his forehead, the one Hermione had heard so much about from her reading. But what surprised her was how much quieter he seemed now, standing amidst the crowd with Sirius Black, his godfather, talking with various wizards and witches who came over to greet him.
Harry had adopted a composed expression, giving polite nods and practiced smiles to anyone who approached. He radiated a sense of importance that made Hermione feel a little out of place standing beside him and Sirius, who naturally drew people's attention. They were like magnets, attracting the stares of both children and adults alike.
"Everyone's looking at us," Emma Granger whispered to Hermione, her tone hushed as though she didn't want to attract any more attention.
Hermione shifted awkwardly, glancing around at the curious onlookers. "I think they're just staring at Harry and Sirius, Mum," she whispered back, though she was acutely aware of the eyes on her too. It felt strange, being thrust into the middle of something she didn't fully understand. She was used to being on the sidelines, not the center of attention.
Hermione's eyes followed Harry as he continued to skillfully ignore the many people vying for his attention, his expression a careful mask of disinterest. It was something Hermione had come to recognize—he used it often when they were out in public, a way to shield himself from the intrusive questions and stares. It was the same mask she had seen Sirius wear, a silent command of respect that screamed, I know I'm important, but don't talk to me.
She let out a soft chuckle, a sense of pride welling up inside her. She was one of the few people who knew the real Harry, the boy who pouted when he lost at cards, who hummed under his breath while reading, and who hated eggplant but still ate it when she and Emma forced him to during meals. She was privy to the small details that others didn't see, and that made her feel special.
"What are you laughing at?" Harry's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she blinked, realizing he was now standing right in front of her, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Hermione smirked, trying to play it off. "Nothing," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.
Harry squinted at her, clearly unconvinced, but he let it slide. "I wonder where Ron and Draco are. They're late, and I want to get a head start on finding a compartment," he said, glancing around the bustling platform with a slight frown.
Hermione tilted her head curiously. "Why? There are plenty of compartments inside, I'm sure."
Harry shrugged, his frown deepening. "I don't want to share with anyone else. I'd rather not spend the entire trip answering questions about my scar." He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
Hermione smiled and reached up, gently brushing some of his unruly hair back over the scar. "Then maybe you should let your hair down and cover it up," she teased lightly.
Harry laughed, the sound warm and relaxed. "Nah, I'd rather show it off. It saves time. They see the scar, they know it's me, and then they can get on with asking other questions." He looked at her, his green eyes meeting hers with a wry smile. "I've had enough of hearing the same questions over and over—'Are you really Harry Potter? Is it true about your parents? What's it like being famous?' Honestly, it's exhausting."
Hermione rolled her eyes in sympathy. "That does sound exhausting."
Just then, a chorus of voices interrupted their conversation. "Harry!" a cluster of redheads called out, and Hermione turned to see Ron Weasley and his family approaching, along with Draco Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa. The group swarmed around Harry, engulfing him in a wave of greetings, laughter, and chatter.
Harry grinned, stepping forward to greet them. "Hey, everyone! I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger," he said, slipping an arm around Hermione's shoulders and pulling her closer. "She's my friend—make sure to take care of her."
Hermione blushed furiously at the introduction, a smile tugging at her lips despite her embarrassment. She waved awkwardly at the crowd of Weasleys and Malfoys, feeling all their eyes on her. It was a strange feeling, but not entirely unpleasant.
"That means no pranks, you two," Draco chimed in, smirking at the Weasley twins, who immediately put on mock expressions of shock, clutching their chests as though offended.
"We would never!" Fred exclaimed dramatically.
"Why, we're the picture of innocence!" George added, looking at Hermione with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, the playful atmosphere easing her nerves. She glanced over at her mother, who was now engaged in conversation with Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy. The three women stood together, exchanging polite smiles and pleasantries, though Hermione noticed the occasional glance they cast in her direction.
A strange feeling twisted in her stomach, and she frowned. She tugged on Harry's sleeve, leaning in to whisper, "I don't think their mothers like me."
Harry followed her gaze, and after a moment, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Don't worry," he whispered back, his breath warm against her ear. "Molly's just curious. That's Ron's mum, and she likes to know everything about everyone. As for Narcissa…" He paused, glancing at his Draco's mother. "She's probably sizing you up to see how she can dress you up later. She's always wanted a daughter and has a habit of playing dress-up with some of our girl friends. Cissy's Sirius's cousin, so she'll like you too."
Hermione huffed but let it go. Harry always seemed to have an answer for everything, and so far, he hadn't been wrong.
"Would you two stop flirting in front of us?" Draco's voice cut through the air, his tone teasing as he raised an eyebrow at the pair.
Hermione's cheeks burned, and she was about to retort when Harry, with a grin, threw an arm around her shoulders. "You're just jealous, Draco," Harry quipped in a mock-serious tone. "Go ahead and hug Ron. I'm sure he won't mind."
Draco scowled as Ron, with an exaggerated grin, spread his arms wide and lunged toward him. "Come here, mate!"
"Get off!" Draco cried, pushing Ron away as laughter erupted between the boys.
Hermione laughed along with them, though her heart was beating a little faster. She was all too aware of how close Harry was, his arm still draped casually around her shoulders, his touch warm and familiar. She glanced down at her feet, a shy smile tugging at her lips.
xxxxx
The rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express filled the compartment, the soft whirr of the train making the atmosphere cozy despite the excitement buzzing through the air. After some teary farewells at King's Cross, the train had finally pulled out of the station, leaving the platform and their parents behind. Harry had just finished stowing his and Hermione's trunks neatly in the overhead racks. The compartment felt like a little bubble of calm amidst the chaos outside, where the corridors were bustling with students eager for the year ahead.
Harry dropped down next to Hermione on the cushioned seat, the two sharing a comfortable silence. She was staring out the window, watching the countryside roll by in a blur of green and gold. There was something serene about the way her eyes followed the landscape, though her fingers absently twisted a strand of her hair. Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the sight, but he quickly masked it, glancing over at Ron and Draco across from them.
Ron was already deep in conversation with Draco, both boys passionately debating over their favorite Quidditch teams. Their animated gestures made Hermione glance over, amused, but she quickly returned her gaze to the window, clearly enjoying the view more than the argument.
Harry, feeling the lull of the train's gentle rocking, pulled out a book from his bag—The Secret of Chimneys, a Muggle novel from an author he'd been devouring for the past few weeks. He liked these moments, quiet and undisturbed, where he could immerse himself in a good story. The steady hum of the train, however, soon made it difficult to concentrate as the pages kept shaking with each bump in the track.
It was nearly an hour of peaceful silence before Harry sighed, closing his book and tossing it onto his lap. Hermione, sensing the shift, glanced over, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
"Why'd you stop reading?" she asked softly, tilting her head.
"This bloody train's shaking too much," Harry muttered, massaging his temples in frustration. "I'm losing track of the words."
Hermione chuckled softly, but before she could respond, Ron piped up, his excitement palpable as he rummaged through his bag.
"Let's play chess!" he suggested, already pulling out a worn Wizard's Chess set with a grin. "Loser buys from the Honeydukes Express later. What do you say?"
Harry and Draco snorted simultaneously, exchanging a knowing look.
"Are you sure about that, Ron?" Harry asked with a playful smirk, folding his arms across his chest.
Hermione's brows furrowed with interest. "Is he really that unbeatable?" she asked, glancing between Harry and Draco.
Draco shook his head with an exasperated smile. "Ron's never lost a game—not to us, anyway."
"Yet," Harry added, his voice teasing. He turned to Hermione, his expression more mischievous now. "You should give it a go, Hermione. You never know—you might be the one to break his winning streak. I'll even buy whatever treat you want if you beat him."
Ron scoffed, puffing out his chest proudly. "Yeah, come on, Hermione, give it a shot. It's not that different from Muggle chess—just... more exciting."
Draco, clearly eager to see Ron bested for once, grinned. "Oh, please beat him. We could use someone to knock him off his high horse."
Hermione, feeling both challenged and intrigued, squared her shoulders. "Alright, then. I know how to play chess, but... how different is Wizard's Chess from the Muggle version?" she asked, eyeing the set warily as Ron set it up on the table between them.
"You'll see," Harry said with a smirk, leaning back in his seat to watch the match unfold. He found himself watching her more than the game, his gaze flicking to her every time she made a move.
The pieces, enchanted and eager for battle, shuffled to their places on the board. At first, Hermione played cautiously, moving her pieces with a delicate precision. But it wasn't long before the inevitable happened—one of Ron's knights swung its sword down with a clang, smashing one of her pawns into bits.
Hermione gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "That's... that's barbaric!" she exclaimed, her voice almost a squeak.
Ron grinned smugly, leaning back in his seat. "That's Wizard's Chess for you, Hermione."
For a while, it seemed like Hermione was at a loss. She moved her pieces cautiously, clearly hesitant to send any more of them to their doom. But then something clicked. Her expression changed, a glint of determination flashing in her eyes, and her moves became sharper, more calculated.
Harry leaned forward, his interest piqued. He could see it in the way Hermione's eyes darted across the board—she wasn't just playing to survive anymore. She was playing to win. Her strategy shifted from defense to offense, and slowly but surely, Ron's smug expression began to falter.
Draco watched the game with mounting excitement. "She's doing it," he whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief.
And then, after what felt like hours of intense back-and-forth, the final blow landed. Hermione's queen cornered Ron's king, and with a triumphant flourish, she whispered, "Checkmate."
For a moment, the compartment was silent.
"Bloody hell," Harry muttered under his breath, staring at the board in shock.
Draco blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. "She did it. She actually won."
Hermione looked around, her face flushed with both victory and disbelief. "I... I won, right?" she asked, her voice small.
Ron was slumped in his seat, his face buried in his hands. "I can't believe this!" he groaned, his voice muffled. "I demand a rematch!"
But the boys weren't having it. True to their word, Harry and Draco immediately started piling sweets from the Honeydukes trolley onto Hermione's lap, showering her with enough treats to last her the entire term.
"Well done, Hermione," Harry said, his voice warm with admiration. He leaned close, his shoulder brushing hers, and whispered, "I knew you'd surprise him."
Hermione's cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she quickly busied herself with arranging the mountain of treats in her lap, trying to hide her smile.
Ron, meanwhile, was sulking dramatically, munching on a Chocolate Frog as he stared moodily out the window. "This isn't over," he grumbled.
Harry chuckled, nudging Hermione playfully. "Guess I owe you whatever you want from Honeydukes now. Maybe I'll throw in a few more Chocolate Frogs for good measure."
Hermione grinned, her earlier nervousness fading away completely. "I'll take you up on that offer, Harry."
And for the rest of the journey, their compartment was filled with laughter, playful banter, and the lingering taste of victory—and sweets.
xxxxx
The steady hum of the Hogwarts Express was like a lullaby, gently swaying the compartment. The golden afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting soft shadows across the sleeping figures of Ron and Draco, who were slumped on their seats, completely worn out from a long day of chatter, games, and feasting.
Hermione sat with her back against the seat, one hand holding a book she had been trying to read for the past half-hour, though the words had long since lost meaning. She wasn't sure if she'd absorbed anything, her attention instead drawn to the soft rise and fall of Harry's chest as he slept, his head resting comfortably in her lap. She hadn't bothered to push him away, and now, with the rhythmic motion of the train and the warmth of his body against hers, she didn't really want to.
How casually he'd decided to rest his head on her lap surprised her. He hadn't asked, hadn't even said a word—just gently leaned over and drifted off, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. What surprised her more was how Ron and Draco had barely batted an eye. Did this kind of thing happen often with boys? Hermione had never been close enough to anyone to know.
She tried to focus on her book again, but her mind kept wandering back to Harry. His messy black hair fanned out on her lap, and she found herself absently playing with a stray lock. He looked so peaceful, his face relaxed and free of the tension she sometimes noticed in his green eyes. She wondered what he was dreaming about. Maybe about Hogwarts, maybe about magic... maybe something about her. She blushed at the thought and quickly dismissed it, returning her gaze to her book in an effort to regain some composure.
The compartment door slid open with a soft hiss, pulling Hermione out of her thoughts. Two prefects stood in the doorway, their crisp robes neatly pressed and their badges gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
"We're nearing Hogwarts," one of them announced, casting a glance around at the sleepy occupants.
At the mention of Hogwarts, Harry stirred, sitting up almost immediately. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, blinking as though he was trying to get his bearings. His head had been warm on her lap, and Hermione suddenly felt the absence of his weight, her legs tingling slightly from where he had been resting.
Harry caught her eye and smiled, his voice thick with sleep as he stretched. "We'll go outside while you change, Hermione," he said, giving her a quick nod before stepping out of the compartment with Ron and Draco, still yawning as they followed.
Hermione watched them leave, biting her lip to keep from smiling. She stood and quickly began to change into her Hogwarts robes, her heart thumping a little faster than usual. Harry had told her to tuck her wand in the holster he'd bought for her, one that fit snugly around her wand arm. "The safest way to carry it," he'd said, with a knowing smile. Apparently, it was how Aurors—or magical police, as he'd explained—carried theirs.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the window and couldn't help but twirl a little, her robes swishing around her legs as she did. She grinned, admiring how the robes fit perfectly. It felt so real now. She was really going to Hogwarts.
The door slid open, and Hermione quickly turned to let the boys back in. Harry was the first to step inside, and the moment his eyes landed on her, he gave her a quick, appraising look up and down before flashing her a grin that made her stomach do a little flip.
"You look great, Hermione," he said, his voice soft but genuine, his green eyes lingering on her a moment longer than usual.
"Thanks," she murmured, feeling a rush of warmth spread across her cheeks. She glanced away, hoping the flush wasn't too obvious.
Draco, ever the fashion expert, followed Harry's lead, taking in the sight of her robes. He let out a low whistle and smirked. "Acromantula silk, nice taste, Granger."
Hermione furrowed her brow, confused by the compliment. "Acromantula... silk?"
Harry chuckled softly, stepping beside her. "Don't worry about it."
Ron, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, rolled his eyes. "Show off," he muttered under his breath, only to receive a sharp elbow to the ribs from Harry.
"Ow!" Ron winced but quickly shut up, casting an apologetic glance at Hermione. "I mean, uh, yeah, you look fine."
Hermione laughed softly but felt a twinge of discomfort as she stepped out into the corridor to give the boys space to change. The moment she leaned against the wall, other students began trickling out of their compartments, all of them eager to change into their robes before they arrived at the castle.
Her attention was caught by a pretty blonde witch stepping out of the compartment across from her. The girl had no House colors on her robes, which meant she was likely a first-year too. The girl's pale blue eyes lingered on Hermione for a moment, taking her in from head to toe, before settling on her face—and then, more specifically, her teeth.
Hermione felt a flush of insecurity creep up her neck. She quickly averted her gaze, her heart sinking a little. She had always hated her teeth. They stuck out too much, and no matter how much her mother had tried to reassure her, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to hide them. It cost too much to get them fixed. Her mum always said she'd grow into them one day, that her face would catch up. But Hermione didn't want to wait. She wanted to fix them now.
She caught sight of herself in the reflection of the window, her lips pressed tightly together. Harry had probably noticed before—he noticed everything—but he'd never said a word about it. That, at least, made her feel a little better.
The door behind her opened, and she nearly dashed back inside. The boys had changed into their robes, and as she sat down, Hermione quickly realized what Draco had meant earlier.
Their robes were the same design, but the quality... Hermione could see it now. Her robes, and Harry's too, were made of a finer material, something smoother, almost shimmering in the soft light of the compartment. Draco's robes were nice as well, but not quite the same quality. And Ron's... well, his were perfectly fine but looked much more standard, like something you'd find in a Muggle store.
"Harry," Hermione said, frowning slightly. "Why are our robes different?"
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I ordered the best for us. You don't like them?"
Draco and Ron exchanged a look and smirked but didn't say anything, waiting to see how Hermione would respond.
"It's not that I don't like them," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "But isn't this... a little much?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, still completely relaxed. "Why not go all out? Besides, I hate feeling cold—or hot. These robes adjust to the weather, you know. And wouldn't it have been strange if we got different robes when we shopped together?"
Hermione sighed, feeling the beginnings of a lecture bubbling up inside her but stopping herself before it spilled out. She wanted to tell Harry that he shouldn't just throw money around like it meant nothing. But she knew better than to argue. Harry was Harry—he had money, far more than any other student at Hogwarts, and it was clear that spending a little extra was no big deal to him.
She shot him a small, exasperated smile. "Just... don't make a habit of spoiling me, okay?"
Harry grinned, leaning a little closer. "No promises."
Hermione shook her head, hiding the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Harry Potter was going to be impossible to deal with, and somehow, she didn't mind it one bit.
xxxxx
Hermione stood in awe, her breath catching in her throat as she followed the rest of the first-years into the magnificent castle. Hogwarts was even more spectacular than she had imagined—no, dreamed. The turrets and towers stood tall under the pale glow of the moon, and the warmth of the enchanted lanterns illuminating the stone pathways made everything feel surreal.
The trip across the lake had been magical enough, with the gentle ripple of water and the distant silhouette of the castle reflecting on its surface, but now, walking within the hallowed halls, Hermione could feel her heart race with anticipation. It was as if the very air was buzzing with the excitement of centuries of magic.
As Professor McGonagall began explaining how the Sorting would take place, Hermione's thoughts drifted, her eyes roaming over the intricate tapestries and high, vaulted ceilings. She was half-listening, half-lost in the grandeur of it all. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall drew her gaze upward, and she gasped softly, mesmerized by the illusion of the night sky twinkling above them, as though the ceiling had disappeared altogether.
But soon, her awe shifted into a knot of nervousness. The reality of the Sorting sank in, and her stomach twisted. What if the Sorting Hat didn't think she belonged anywhere? What if she was placed in Slytherin, away from everyone? Or worse, what if she was sorted into a house all by herself, with no familiar faces?
'I don't know anyone well enough yet...' Hermione thought, anxiety bubbling inside her. Draco would be in Slytherin—he had been almost annoyingly confident about that. Ron seemed certain of Gryffindor, even boasting about his family's long line of placements in that house. And Harry? Well, Harry had just shrugged when she'd asked him earlier. The uncertainty gnawed at her.
She bit her lower lip, her mind racing with what-ifs, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her.
"Stop biting your lip, Hermione," came Harry's voice in a soft whisper.
She startled slightly and stopped immediately, turning to him with wide eyes. "I can't help it," she whispered back, trying to mask the panic in her voice.
Harry, standing close beside her, gave her a small, crooked grin, his green eyes twinkling under the dim light. "What's wrong?" he asked softly, leaning in just a little.
Before Hermione could find the words, Ron interrupted with an amused glance. "Do you need to go to the bathroom or something?" he whispered, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
Hermione shot him a glare, her cheeks flushing. "No!" she hissed, then turned back to Harry, feeling her nerves spike again.
Harry leaned even closer, his breath warm against her ear as he spoke. "You're going to be fine," he whispered. "And if you want to be in Gryffindor, just tell the Hat. That's what I'm going to do."
Her eyes widened at that, and she stared at him as though he'd gone mad. "You can't tell the Sorting Hat what to do!" she whispered back furiously. "It sorts you based on where you belong!"
Harry only smirked, his hand brushing hers in a quick, comforting gesture. "Who says we can't help it decide?"
Before Hermione could argue further, her name was called. "Granger, Hermione," Professor McGonagall announced.
'Oh no. Oh no no no,' she thought, her heart racing as she felt Harry give her hand one last squeeze before letting go. She barely managed to keep her legs from shaking as she walked toward the stool, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
As soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, she flinched slightly, not expecting it to speak in her mind.
"Ah, yes," the Hat began, its voice warm and thoughtful. "A brilliant mind indeed, full of courage but also wit—"
"Gryffindor!" Hermione squeaked, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
The Hat paused, sounding almost taken aback. "Pardon? I was just saying—"
"Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor!" Hermione chanted under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't taking any chances. "Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor..."
The Hat let out a resigned sigh. "Well, if you insist..."
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat bellowed to the hall, and cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table.
Hermione blinked in disbelief, her heart soaring with relief.
'It worked? It actually worked!
She hopped off the stool, feeling much lighter than before, and made her way to the cheering table. As she passed by Harry, she caught his eye—he winked at her, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
"Welcome to Gryffindor, Hermione," said a tall boy with a prefect badge on his chest as he extended his hand to her. "I'm Percy Weasley. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks, Percy," Hermione said, shaking his hand with a bright smile. She quickly sat down and turned back to the Sorting, glancing up at the platform just as McGonagall called out the next name.
"Malfoy, Draco."
Draco strode confidently to the stool, smirking like he already knew his destiny. Sure enough, the Hat barely touched his platinum hair before shouting, "SLYTHERIN!"
Draco sauntered off toward the Slytherin table, his smug face making Hermione's fingers itch to hex him—not that she knew any good hexes yet. He was a good friend but there was just something about him that made her want to wipe that arrogant look off his face.
Finally, it was Harry's turn.
"Potter, Harry," McGonagall's voice rang out across the hall, clear and sharp, immediately silencing the buzzing chatter that had filled the room. Every student turned their heads to watch as Harry walked forward. Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, a mix of excitement and nervousness fluttering in her chest. Her eyes followed Harry, his unruly black hair sticking out in every direction, and she couldn't help but wonder what the Sorting Hat would do with him.
As Harry made his way to the front, the Great Hall seemed to hold its collective breath. The soft flicker of candlelight above them cast a warm glow over everything, and the enchanted ceiling mirrored the starry night sky outside, but Hermione barely noticed any of it. Her gaze was locked on Harry.
He sat down on the stool, and the old, battered Sorting Hat was placed over his head, nearly covering his eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Harry's face tightened, his expression one of concentration as though he were deep in conversation with the Hat.
Seconds ticked by. Hermione bit her lip, leaning forward in her seat, waiting for the Hat to call out Harry's House. But the longer it took, the more curious—and worried—she became. Whispers began to rise from the other students, heads turning and murmurs spreading through the hall.
"Why is it taking so long?" someone near her whispered.
"I bet he's going to Slytherin," someone else speculated.
Hermione's fingers tightened around the edge of the table as her heart raced. 'What if Harry did end up in Slytherin?' She couldn't imagine him over there, sitting with Draco and the others... 'No,' she thought firmly, 'Harry belongs with me in Gryffindor.' She just knew it.
After what felt like an eternity, a full five minutes passed. The hall was practically buzzing with anticipation now.
Finally, the Sorting Hat opened its mouth and bellowed: "GRYFFINDOR!"
The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, and Hermione's heart soared with relief. She clapped along with the others, a wide smile spreading across her face. Harry was in Gryffindor! They were in the same House! She couldn't help the little rush of excitement at the thought.
As Harry walked over, several students reached out to congratulate him. He thanked them with a grin, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as he sat down beside Hermione.
"I told you the Hat would listen," Harry said, laughing softly as he settled into his seat. "Although, to be honest, I didn't think it would actually work."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, half-amused, half-aghast. "Wait, you weren't sure it would work?"
Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. "Well, it's my first Sorting too, you know? No one really explained the rules."
Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. Trust Harry to just go with his gut. She had been so nervous, putting her faith in his words, and now she found out he was just guessing! Her annoyance was tinged with a hint of admiration though—how could he be so calm in the face of something so important?
"I can't believe I listened to you," she muttered, shaking her head. "That was a very Slytherin move, Harry."
Harry grinned, a wicked little spark dancing in his eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I've got a bit of Slytherin in me."
Hermione stared at him, half-wondering if he was serious.
"What took you so long up there, anyway?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "It looked like you were having a full-on debate with the Hat."
Harry smirked, leaning in closer as if sharing a secret. "I was. The Hat couldn't decide. I was sort of arguing about where I wanted to go, and then..." He paused, his smirk widening. "I told the Hat to prank Ron. Just wait, you'll see."
Hermione blinked, confused. "Prank Ron? What do you mean?"
But before Harry could explain further, Ron's name was called. "Weasley, Ronald."
Ron stood up, looking confident as he walked toward the stool. Hermione noticed Harry watching closely, his grin widening.
The Hat barely touched Ron's head before his face paled, his eyes widening in horror. He started shaking his head vigorously, his lips moving as though he were arguing with the Hat. The students in the hall began to snicker, and Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but he was too busy biting his lip to stop from laughing aloud.
A few agonizing moments passed before the Hat finally bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Ron sagged with relief, practically sprinting to the Gryffindor table. He looked shaken, muttering under his breath as he slumped into the seat across from Harry and Hermione. His face was still pale as he glanced at them.
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, looking thoroughly rattled. "The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin!"
At this, Harry couldn't hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement.
Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You!" he hissed, glaring at Harry. "You did this, didn't you?!"
Harry, still trying to stifle his laughter, raised his hands in mock innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, though his grin gave him away.
Hermione, completely confused, looked between the two boys. "What on earth is going on?" she asked, feeling like she had missed a key part of the conversation.
"I told the Hat to tell Ron he'd look good in Slytherin," Harry whispered, his voice low with conspiratorial glee. "Just to mess with him."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "You pranked him during the Sorting?" She couldn't decide whether to be impressed or annoyed. "Harry!"
But Harry only grinned wider, ducking just in time as Ron hurled a Chocolate Frog at him. It missed and hit the next table with a soft thud, sending a few Gryffindors into fits of laughter.
"You should've seen your face," Harry chuckled, his eyes gleaming as he leaned back again, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
Ron groaned, rubbing his temples. "That wasn't funny, Harry. I thought I was going to end up in Slytherin! Do you know what my brothers would've said?"
Hermione shook her head, staring at Harry with a mixture of awe and exasperation. Here she had been, spending the entire night agonizing over the Sorting, while Harry had been casually arguing with the Hat, pushing it to put him in Gryffindor and pulling pranks on their friends. It was almost too much to believe.
xxxxx
Emma Granger sat at her desk, her hands stained with the light dust of ancient books, when a soft flutter caught her attention. Edgar, a sleek barn owl with wide, curious eyes, dropped a letter neatly in front of her before letting out a gentle hoot. Emma's heart skipped a beat when she saw the familiar handwriting on the envelope—it was from Hermione.
Her fingers worked quickly as she tore open the envelope, eager to know what her daughter had been up to at Hogwarts. She could almost imagine Hermione's excitement as she wrote it. As she unfolded the letter, a smile spread across her face.
"Oh!" Emma exclaimed aloud to herself, her voice laced with excitement. "She's in the same House as Harry! That's wonderful!"
Emma let out a sigh of relief. She knew Hermione had been stressing endlessly about the Sorting. Her little girl had been caught up in the possibilities of Ravenclaw—books, knowledge, logic—it all seemed a perfect fit for her. Harry, though, was a bit of a mystery. Emma had always thought he could fit into any of the Houses, given his personality. They'd been so curious about where he'd end up. But this... this was perfect. Hermione had her best friend right there with her.
"I bet she's over the moon," Emma chuckled to herself, already imagining the giddy tone Hermione must've had while writing this. Her mind wandered to Harry, the boy with the mess of black hair and a heart far too big for his tiny frame. They had become inseparable over the summer, and Emma had always been grateful for his presence. He had a way of pulling Hermione out of her usual seriousness, making her laugh in a way no one else could.
Her thoughts drifted, and she found herself smiling wider at the idea of the two of them, side by side in their Gryffindor uniforms, running through the castle corridors, getting into all sorts of mischief—well, Harry getting into mischief, and Hermione scolding him for it.
"I hope someone had a camera," Emma muttered, half to herself. She wished she could see her daughter in her Hogwarts robes, her face full of excitement and nervous energy. A snapshot of Hermione and Harry, standing together in their House colors... that would be something she'd frame and keep forever.
She grabbed her pen, her hand already moving in reply. She'd have to ask Hermione about all the little details—what the Great Hall looked like, how the Sorting ceremony felt, what kind of spells she'd learned so far. Emma's mind buzzed with curiosity, but above all, she felt reassured. Hermione was adjusting, making friends, and most importantly, she was happy. That's all that mattered to her.
With the letter still fresh in her mind, Emma leaned back, glancing at the mess of books and papers scattered across her desk. The Potter Library had proven to be more work than she had anticipated when she first agreed to take it on. She had been tasked with sorting through the immense collection, and it felt like it would take a lifetime.
She glanced at the first five shelves she had already cleared—dusty tomes, fragile with age, now neatly stacked beside her, awaiting new, sturdier shelving. Ordering better bookshelves was one of the first tasks she had tackled. The old shelves were worn, creaking with age, and prone to falling apart under the weight of the massive collections.
After that, she still had to catalogue everything. Ancient spellbooks, historical texts, modern volumes... each one had to be classified and labeled. She planned on organizing the oldest, most fragile books on the fifth floor, while the newer, more practical ones would stay lower for easy access. Her plan was meticulous, but the workload was exhausting.
Still, she found herself enjoying it. There was something soothing about the endless task of sorting, dusting, and organizing. The house-elves flitted about, offering help now and then, their cheerful chatter keeping her company as they worked. She wasn't lonely, not really. The constant hum of activity and the occasional pop of a house-elf appearing by her side kept her grounded.
And, of course, there was Sirius.
Sirius Black had surprised her by dropping by one evening, just as she was winding down from a long day of work. She had been rubbing her sore shoulders, contemplating calling it a night, when he strolled in, carrying a bottle of wine and a devilish grin that seemed to brighten the room.
"Figured you could use a break," he had said, with a casual shrug, and Emma had gladly accepted his company.
Dinner had been... surprisingly enjoyable. Sirius was much more charming than she had anticipated, and he had regaled her with stories from his work as Head Auror. He had a way of making even the most mundane events sound thrilling, his voice filled with animated energy.
"I swear," Sirius had said at one point, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile, "if I hear one more complaint about someone's cursed teapot, I'm going to lose it."
Emma had laughed, her usual stress melting away as the evening went on. It hadn't been awkward at all, despite her initial reservations. Sirius had a knack for making people feel comfortable around him, and Emma found herself enjoying his company far more than she expected.
Between the library project and her occasional dinners with Sirius, Emma felt like she was adjusting too, in her own way. It was strange, this new life—Hogwarts, the Wizarding World, the Potters, and everything that came with it—but somehow, it all felt... right. Like she was meant to be a part of it.
She smiled to herself as she sealed the letter for Hermione, ready to send her reply.
It seemed like Hermione wasn't the only Granger who was adjusting to new surroundings.
Chapter 6: Chocolate
Chapter Text
Ron Weasley knew, without a doubt, that Hermione Granger was a menace. Not the kind of menace that caused trouble like Fred and George, no—Hermione's type of menace was far more subtle. It was the kind that made you question how on earth she could be so... brilliant. Harry had warned him and Draco about her, describing her as "a walking library with a thirst for knowledge." From the moment she discovered she was a witch, Harry said, she'd devoured books as if they were her favorite meal, diving headfirst into everything she could about the magical world.
And now, sitting in classes beside her, Ron was starting to see exactly what Harry meant.
Every time a professor asked a question, Hermione's hand shot up like a rocket, her answer always spot on, and earning Gryffindor points left and right. It was both impressive and intimidating, especially since she had only started learning about magic this summer. He found himself staring at her more than once, mouth agape, as she rattled off answers that no first-year should know. And she didn't even seem to notice that she was practically a Gryffindor points-generating machine.
"Blimey," Ron muttered under his breath during Transfiguration, watching as Hermione answered yet another of Professor McGonagall's difficult questions. "How does she know everything?"
It wasn't like Ron had slacked off before coming to Hogwarts. He'd joined Harry and Draco for their tutoring sessions in the summer, confident that he knew enough to get by. But Hermione knew facts that weren't in any of the books they had studied. It was almost unfair.
Later that afternoon, the trio found themselves in a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room, the warm light from the fireplace casting soft shadows over the room. Hermione had just excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Ron and Harry sitting across from each other, books scattered between them.
"Mate, I'm telling you, how does she know all of that?" Ron asked, still baffled.
Harry leaned back, grinning at Ron's bewilderment. "Honestly, I have no idea. Even I'm impressed." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, then smirked. "Tell you what, though. Want to bet on who'll take second place in our year? Her or Draco?"
"Second place?" Ron looked at him incredulously. "Shouldn't we be betting on who'll take first place?"
Harry shot him a mischievous grin, leaning in slightly. "Obviously, I'm taking first place, Ron." His voice was full of confidence, and Ron couldn't help but roll his eyes at his friend's smug expression.
"You're so full of it, Harry," Ron snorted, though he couldn't suppress his own grin. "We'll see how long that lasts when McGonagall starts giving out essays."
Just as Harry was about to retort, Hermione returned, her bushy hair bouncing as she approached them. Ron caught her eye, and for a split second, he wondered if she had overheard their conversation.
"What are you two whispering about?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with curiosity as she slid into the chair next to Harry.
"Quidditch," Harry replied smoothly, without missing a beat. His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable twinkle in his green eyes as he glanced at Ron, daring him to play along.
Ron smirked, deciding to go with it. "Yeah, you know, best positions, who's likely to get on the House team, all that."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between the two of them, clearly not buying their explanation.
xxxxx
Harry had explained to Hermione during one of their walks through the castle corridors that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts was more than just a teaching role. It was directly tied to the Department of Magical Law and Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, where his godfather, Sirius Black, worked as Head Auror. Every year, Sirius would send out one of his top Aurors to fill the role on a one-year contract.
"It's kind of a win-win situation," Harry had said, with a slight grin. "The Aurors get a bit of a break from their usual fieldwork, and Hogwarts gets some top-notch protection and expertise in the subject."
Hermione had been intrigued by this arrangement. It explained why the Defense classes were often full of real-world stories about how Aurors protect themselves on dangerous missions. The students loved it—especially the way the lessons were woven with tales of bravery, strategy, and sometimes even humor.
This year's Defense professor was Janus Proudfoot. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a slightly fidgety demeanor, but undeniably handsome. Hermione couldn't help but notice the way a few girls in class giggled every time he walked by, though they quickly stopped when his sharp blue eyes met theirs. Proudfoot was no-nonsense, despite his jittery nature, and Harry had told Hermione that Sirius held him in high regard.
"Great with defensive spells," Harry had said, almost admiringly. "His expertise is mostly retrieval operations. You know, rescuing hostages, getting people out of dangerous situations. He's all about protecting the team and the victims."
"He sounds like an excellent professor for Defense," Hermione had replied, a thoughtful look on her face.
Harry had nodded eagerly, his enthusiasm clear. "Definitely. It's easily my favorite subject."
But as much as Harry excelled in Defense, Hermione had quickly noticed that Potions was a different story altogether.
In their latest Potions lesson, Hermione had watched Harry sigh dramatically as they set up their cauldrons. "I'm rubbish at this," he muttered under his breath, glancing at her with a rueful smile. "Honestly, I'm hopeless when it comes to Potions."
Hermione, ever observant, had already picked up on this. She had seen him struggle in almost every Potions class, especially when working alone. While Harry was brilliant in so many areas, Potions seemed to trip him up. It wasn't that he didn't understand the theory—he just had a hard time juggling all the tasks involved: the precise measurements, the careful stirring, the timing. It was all too much, and one little distraction could throw everything off.
When Harry was paired with someone else, particularly her, he did much better. All he had to do was focus on one task at a time—cutting, stirring, or measuring—but when he had to brew alone, it was a different story.
"I don't get it, Harry," Hermione had said one day, clearly puzzled. "Sirius told me you're a great cook. You're used to multitasking in the kitchen, right? Why not just treat Potions like cooking?"
Harry had chuckled, shaking his head. "It's not the same, Hermione. Cooking's... intuitive. Potions... it's like... every single step has to be perfect. It's maddening." He gave her a helpless look, and she couldn't help but smile at his frustration.
Then there was Professor Snape. He had been relentless, particularly with the Gryffindors, ever since their first class. Hermione had been appalled at the way Snape seemed to zero in on Harry, almost as if he was trying to bully him in front of the class. She had seethed with anger, barely keeping herself from saying something out loud, but then Harry had revealed something surprising.
"Don't worry about Snape," Harry had whispered to her, noticing the fury in her eyes after one of Snape's particularly sharp comments. "He's... complicated."
Hermione had blinked, taken aback. "Complicated? He's trying to humiliate you!"
Harry had smiled a little at her protectiveness. "Yeah, but he was actually one of my tutors before Hogwarts. He knows I'm rubbish at Potions. That's why he usually pairs me with someone else or has us work in groups. He's just trying to push me."
Hermione had stared at him, speechless for a moment. "Wait, Snape tutored you? Why?"
Harry had shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "He and my mum used to be best friends when they were at Hogwarts. So, I guess, in a way, he looks out for me... in his own, really grumpy way."
It had been hard for Hermione to wrap her mind around the idea of Snape having a soft spot for anyone, let alone Harry. But as she thought about it, she realized there was more to Snape than she had initially believed.
xxxxx
Hermione really shone in their practical classes like Transfiguration and Charms. She excelled at spellwork, quickly mastering every charm and transfiguration they were taught. To her surprise, she often found herself in friendly competition with Harry, both of them determined to be the first to get a spell right.
"Watch this," Harry had said one day in Charms class, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he flicked his wand, trying to cast the levitation spell before Hermione.
Hermione had watched, her brow furrowing in concentration, before she effortlessly swished her wand and the feather floated gracefully into the air, just moments before Harry's did. She glanced over at him, a triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"I beat you," she said, her voice light but teasing.
Harry had let out a soft, frustrated huff, his green eyes narrowing at her in mock annoyance. "Only by a second," he muttered, though the playful grin on his face told her he wasn't truly upset.
For a brief moment, Hermione worried that her being better at spellwork might have genuinely frustrated him. But Harry had quickly reassured her, shaking his head with a laugh. "I'm just being competitive, Hermione. Don't worry. I don't hate it." He hesitated, then added more softly, "Actually, I think it's kind of impressive."
Hermione had felt her heart flutter at his words. It wasn't often that Harry apologized, and even though it hadn't been necessary, the fact that he had done so made her smile. She hadn't expected it, but she appreciated it.
"Well, I'm glad," she had replied, her voice softening. And for just a moment, as their eyes met, there was a flicker of something unspoken between them. It passed quickly, but Hermione couldn't deny that there was something about Harry that made her... curious. Adorable, even.
Harry had grinned at her again, shaking off the moment. "But I'll beat you next time. Just you wait."
Hermione had laughed, shaking her head. "We'll see about that, Potter."
As they continued their friendly rivalry in class, Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of pride whenever she bested him in a spell. She enjoyed the playful competitiveness between them, and while Harry was a natural talent in many areas, it was nice to know that she had her own strengths too.
It was strange, really. She hadn't expected to form such a close bond with Harry so quickly. But here they were, challenging each other, learning from each other, and laughing together in ways that felt easy and natural.
And though she would never admit it out loud, there were moments when she found herself looking at Harry and thinking that, perhaps, she liked the way he smiled at her just a little too much.
xxxxx
"Hey, Harry, Ron," Draco yawned dramatically as he strolled across the Quidditch pitch one crisp morning. The early light cast long shadows across the dewy grass, and the chill in the air hinted that autumn was well underway. He ran a hand through his pale hair, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. "What's going on? You two look like you've been scheming for hours."
Harry glanced up from the copy of the Daily Prophet he had been holding, an amused glint in his eyes. "Just the usual morning read." He handed the folded paper to Draco, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
Draco took the paper, raising an eyebrow as he scanned the headline. His eyes widened in disbelief. "Who in Merlin's name is daft enough to try and steal from the goblins?" His voice carried a mix of disbelief and amusement as he lowered the paper to look at Harry.
Ron let out a loud laugh, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "That's exactly what I said! Can you imagine? Goblins don't mess around."
"Here's the best part," Harry said with a chuckle, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "They didn't even get anything. The vault was cleared out earlier that day. Sirius told me that whatever they were after is actually here at Hogwarts."
Draco nearly choked on his own shock. "What?! You're telling me that something valuable enough to risk goblins' wrath is right under our noses?" His voice pitched higher in disbelief. "What is it?"
Ron looked equally perplexed, leaning closer as if the information might be whispered at any moment. "What is it, Harry?"
Harry shook his head, a small smile still playing on his lips. "Sirius doesn't know. But he wants us to keep our eyes open. If we figure anything out, or if something seems suspicious, we're supposed to tell him right away."
Ron's face scrunched in thought. "I remember Dumbledore saying something about the third-floor corridor being off-limits."
Draco rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh yeah, the whole 'out of bounds to anyone who doesn't want to die a very painful death' speech." He huffed. "I swear, he's a mad old goat. What a thing to say at the start of term! Can you imagine what the other first years must have thought?"
Harry smirked, glancing at Draco with a twinkle of amusement. "Funny you should mention that. Hermione thought he was joking when she heard it." He gave a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I didn't have the heart to tell her that he probably wasn't. That corridor's got to be dangerous for a reason."
Draco snorted, clearly entertained by the idea. "Of course, Hermione would think he was just having a laugh. She probably expects everything here to be strictly logical."
"So, it's obvious, right?" Ron cut in, his face lighting up with realization. "Whatever Dumbledore's hiding, it has to be in the third-floor corridor."
"Could be," Harry said, though a small frown creased his forehead. "But I'm still not sure about the 'painful death' part. I mean, if it's runes or enchantments, we'd be hopeless. We'd need to know what kind of defenses are in place. If it's spells, though, maybe we could figure something out."
Ron and Draco nodded in agreement, their minds already racing with possibilities.
"I wonder what Dumbledore could be hiding at school," Ron mused, kicking a loose pebble on the path as they began walking back toward the castle. "You think it's money?"
Draco gave a casual shrug. "Doubt it. Why keep something valuable like that here when Gringotts is practically impenetrable? No, it's got to be something else. Maybe an important artifact or something rare that Dumbledore doesn't want in anyone else's hands."
"I was thinking books," Harry said thoughtfully, glancing up at the towering stone walls of the castle as they approached. "Something really ancient—like spellbooks with powerful, forgotten magic. Spells that could make someone unstoppable." He paused, considering. "Though, that might be too obvious."
Draco's brows lifted, intrigued. "Spellbooks? Now that would be worth protecting."
Ron snickered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Or maybe it's some dusty old relic no one cares about but Dumbledore. He's always been a bit... eccentric."
The trio walked in silence for a few moments, each lost in their thoughts about what the mysterious object might be. The distant sound of students chatting and laughing filled the air as they neared the entrance to the castle.
"You know," Ron suddenly said with a smirk, breaking the silence, "we should probably pull Hermione into this. We're too dumb to figure it out on our own."
Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Speak for yourself, Weasley. I'm not that dumb." He paused, then added with a playful grin, "But you're right. We could use another brain in this. Someone who's not always wasting their time thinking about chess strategies." He shot Ron a teasing look.
Ron, always quick to defend himself, opened his mouth to retort, but Harry interrupted, shaking his head in exasperation. "You two are ridiculous. We'll ask Hermione, but let's keep it quiet for now. She'll want to solve the whole thing in one go, and I'd rather not have her sneaking into forbidden areas just yet."
Draco chuckled, leaning closer to Harry as they climbed the castle steps. "You're worried she'll show us all up, aren't you?"
"Obviously," Harry quipped with a grin. "She'd probably figure it all out before we even get close."
Ron laughed, ruffling his messy red hair. "Yeah, she's brilliant like that. But that's exactly why we need her."
As the three boys pushed open the large oak doors and entered the warmth of the castle, they shared a knowing look. Whatever was hidden behind the third-floor corridor's ominous warning, they were determined to find out—eventually.
xxxxx
Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, the warmth of the Great Hall buzzing around her as she tucked into her breakfast. Her spoon hovered over a bowl of oatmeal, but she barely noticed it, her thoughts drifting toward the pile of reading she still wanted to finish before class. The flicker of movement by the entrance caught her attention. She looked up just in time to see Harry, Ron, and Draco stroll in, clearly up to something, as usual. They paused briefly, exchanging smirks before Draco veered off to the Slytherin table, leaving the other two to make their way toward her.
As Harry approached, his grin was unmistakable, the glint in his eyes suggesting mischief. Ron was by his side, looking somewhat distracted, but there was a telltale twitch of a smirk on his face too.
"Good morning, Hermione," Harry greeted her, his tone unusually sweet. He slid onto the bench next to her, far too close for her not to raise an eyebrow in suspicion. "You look brilliant today," he added, flashing her an exaggerated smile that didn't quite match the casual compliment.
Hermione's brow furrowed immediately as she glanced at him and then at Ron, who was suddenly very interested in a nearby jug of pumpkin juice. Something was off. The way Harry was buttering her up was suspiciously over the top. "What did you do, Harry?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.
Harry, in the midst of pouring himself a towering stack of pancakes, simply shrugged, all innocence. "Nothing," he said lightly. "Ron, Draco, and I were just out at the Quidditch pitch. We were hoping to try out for the team, but apparently, first-years aren't allowed," he added, with a dramatic sigh, pouring what looked like half a bottle of syrup over his pancakes.
Hermione, still unconvinced, tapped her fingers on the table. "Harry," she repeated, her voice firm, expecting an explanation.
He looked at her, feigning hurt. "Seriously, Hermione, I haven't done anything," he smirked, then reached over to grab a cookie from the center of the table. "Oh, cookies! Have one," he offered, pushing the plate toward her with that same suspiciously charming grin.
Hermione sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Damn it, Harry," she muttered under her breath, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Harry, gasping dramatically, clutched his heart as if wounded. "Ron, did you hear that? Hermione just cursed at me!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with mock shock. He reached over, squeezing her cheeks playfully, his teasing tone dancing on the edge of a laugh. "I'm telling your mother!"
Hermione swatted his hands away, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress the slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "You're impossible," she huffed, though there was no real heat in her voice.
For the next few minutes, Harry continued to prod and poke, trying to get a reaction out of her, his teasing relentless. Ron watched on with a smirk, his mouth full of toast but clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Hermione, I really didn't do anything!" Harry insisted, holding his hands up in mock surrender, though the mischievous twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.
Hermione glared at him, suspicion swirling in her chest. This had Sirius Black's influence written all over it. The godfather and godson duo were always up to something, and Harry's behavior all morning screamed that something was brewing. "You did something, Harry," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "Or you're planning something."
Harry's lips twitched at that, but he kept his composure, only offering her another grin. "Me? Planning something? You wound me, Hermione."
Hermione's suspicions only deepened. She stabbed at her oatmeal, no longer hungry, her mind racing with possibilities. Sirius had warned her about Harry's tendency to get into mischief, especially when it involved Draco and Ron. This was definitely one of those times, and it was up to her to figure out what they were up to before things got out of hand.
With a determined glint in her eye, Hermione leaned closer to Harry, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Whatever you're planning," she whispered, "I'll find out."
Harry leaned in too, meeting her gaze with a wink that sent an unexpected flutter through her chest. "I'm counting on it," he replied smoothly, his voice soft but teasing.
She pulled back, flustered, and quickly turned her attention to her plate, though her mind was already racing with ways to uncover whatever plot Harry, Ron, and Draco were hatching. She couldn't let them get away with it—whatever it was.
xxxxx
Ron and Draco were panting, their breaths coming in short, hurried gasps as they huddled behind an ancient, worn statue of a wizard with a particularly long beard. Harry crouched beside them, looking far too amused for someone who had just been caught sneaking around for the third time that week. The shadows of the hallway danced over their faces, cast by the flickering torches lining the stone walls. The three had been trying all week to get a glimpse of what was hidden on the third-floor corridor, but it seemed like every time they got close, Hermione had a knack for showing up, ready to pester them about what they were doing.
"Damn it," Ron hissed through gritted teeth, wiping sweat from his brow, "how does she keep finding us? Is she using some kind of tracking charm on us or something?"
"Unlikely," Draco muttered under his breath, his sharp grey eyes scanning the hallway cautiously. "That's way too complicated of a spell for a first-year. Though, knowing Granger, she probably already tried looking it up." His tone carried a hint of annoyance, mixed with grudging respect.
Ron groaned, his head tipping back against the cold stone of the statue. "Honestly, this is getting ridiculous. Why can't we just tell her what we're planning to do? It's not like she's going to hex us or anything."
Harry grinned, his eyes gleaming mischievously in the dim light. "We could tell her," he mused, "but where's the fun in that? I like being chased around."
Ron and Draco exchanged weary looks, both groaning in unison. Harry's fondness for getting under Hermione's skin was becoming more than a little obvious.
"Can you please," Draco began, raising a hand in exasperation, "not involve us in—" he gestured vaguely at Harry, clearly at a loss for words, "whatever this thing is you're doing with Hermione? I'm already behind on my Potions homework, and Snape's going to murder me if I don't finish it tonight!"
"I'll let you copy off mine," Harry offered with a cheeky grin, but before either Ron or Draco could protest further, Harry's expression shifted. "Crap, she's here! Be quiet."
All three boys froze, barely daring to breathe as they heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway. Hermione was close—too close. Peeking from behind the statue, they spotted her, her bushy hair bouncing as she hurried past, her brow furrowed in frustration. She glanced left and right, clearly exasperated by the fact that she had lost them—again. Her arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a tight line of determination.
Ron and Draco both let out silent sighs of relief, their shoulders sagging slightly. But then, just as they thought they were in the clear, Harry's hand slipped to his wand.
"Harry, no—" Draco barely managed to whisper before Harry flicked his wand, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
They watched in horror, their eyes wide as saucers, as Hermione moved slightly. The jinx, intended as a playful prank, struck her with surprising accuracy, hitting her right on the buttocks.
Ron's mouth dropped open. "Did he really just—?"
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm friends with that idiot."
"Do you think she knows it was us?" Ron whispered, his voice barely above a breath. He leaned in closer to Draco, who looked equally concerned.
"Don't be daft," Draco hissed, attempting to remain calm despite the rising tension. "Just play it cool. She might think it was Peeves or something!"
But as if sensing their presence, Hermione's gaze sharpened, locking onto the statue they were hiding behind. Her brows knitted together, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed as if she could see right through their cover.
Without warning, Harry—always the instigator—suddenly bolted. "Run!" he shouted, a wide grin plastered across his face as he darted down the corridor, leaving Ron and Draco wide-eyed and utterly shocked.
"Harry! You idiot!" Draco snapped, shaking his head as he glanced back at Hermione, who was now approaching with a determined stride, her eyes blazing.
"Harry, come back!" Ron yelled, but it was too late; their friend was already a blur down the hall, laughing as he disappeared around the corner.
Hermione took a step forward, her hands on her hips, and it was clear she was ready to unleash her wrath. "You two! Get back here!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
xxxxx
Harry knew that prank had been a step too far. He hadn't intended for it to escalate; all he wanted was a bit of fun at Hermione's expense. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was drawn to that fierce, adorable scowl she wore whenever she was angry. It was terrifyingly cute, and he found himself liking it a little too much.
Now, he sat in the dimly lit Gryffindor dormitory, staring at the ceiling as shadows danced around him. The laughter and chatter from the common room below only heightened his anxiety. He was almost afraid of what Hermione would do when she finally caught up with him. She had a knack for turning a lighthearted joke into a full-blown interrogation, and Harry had no desire to face her wrath—especially not when Ron and Draco might already be in trouble.
Just then, the door swung open, and Ron stormed in, his face a mask of mock outrage. "There you are, you absolute git!" he exclaimed, hands on his hips, as if Harry were a wayward puppy who had wandered too far from home.
Harry couldn't help but smirk, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. "Did she get you?" he asked, his tone teasing.
"No! But I think Draco got caught!" Ron shot back, frustration evident in his voice. "I didn't know what to do! We split up after you bailed on us, you coward."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "That's called a tactical retreat, Ron. I was just thinking strategically." He leaned back against his bed, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Besides, I think I've had enough fun for one day. I'll just tell Hermione we're heading to the third-floor corridor."
Ron sighed heavily, flopping down on his bed like a deflated balloon. "Mate, I'm hungry. Let's just go down already," he pleaded, his stomach growling in agreement.
"I'm scared to go down," Harry admitted, glancing nervously at the door as if Hermione would burst in any second.
"She won't do anything in public," Ron reassured him, rolling his eyes. "She's not a complete monster, you know."
Harry contemplated this for a moment, weighing the odds. "Okay, alright. Just wait for me in the common room. I'll grab something from my trunk first."
Ron nodded, and as he left, Harry opened his trunk, rummaging through his belongings. He pulled out a few items, some Muggle chocolate treats that Emma had said was Hermione's favorite.
After stuffing everything into his pockets, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the encounter that lay ahead. He returned to the common room, where Ron was waiting, looking slightly more impatient than before. Together, they made their way toward the Great Hall, the excitement of the evening hanging in the air like a thick fog.
As they approached the entrance, they dared to peek into the Great Hall, their eyes scanning the long, crowded tables. Harry spotted Hermione at the Gryffindor table, her expression stormy as she aggressively stabbed her steak with her fork, making her displeasure abundantly clear.
"Blimey, she looks furious," Ron muttered, leaning closer to Harry. "And look at Draco over there at the Slytherin table! He's pointing at us like he's trying to blame us for his misfortune!"
Harry snorted, unable to suppress his laughter. "Well, it is our fault. If he wasn't so keen on hanging around with us, he wouldn't have gotten into this mess."
Ron sighed dramatically. "You know what? This is your fault, so I'm just going to sit with the twins," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender and turning to make a break for the other side of the hall.
"No, Ron, wait!" Harry called after him, but his friend had already abandoned him, muttering about how he didn't want to be collateral damage in Harry's antics.
Harry took a deep breath, feeling a mix of dread and excitement. The Great Hall buzzed with chatter and laughter, but for him, it felt like everything had slowed down to a crawl. He steeled himself and turned back toward the Gryffindor table. "Here goes nothing..." he mumbled, half to himself, heart pounding in his chest.
As he approached, he could feel Hermione's eyes drilling into him, sharp and unwavering. She wanted to yell at him, he could tell, but instead, she averted her gaze back to her plate, trying to regain her composure. Harry's heart raced a little faster, not entirely from fear, but from the thrill of the chase.
He slid into the seat next to her, the wooden bench creaking slightly under his weight. Leaning in, he nudged her shoulder playfully, trying to break the tension. "Hey, Hermione," Harry said, attempting to sound casual, his voice just above the ambient noise. "Nice steak you've got there. Looks... uh, delicious?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her fork poised like a weapon, gleaming ominously under the enchanted ceiling. "Get off me or I'll stab you with this fork," she hissed, though there was a hint of a smile lurking in the corners of her mouth.
Harry grinned sheepishly, his pulse quickening at the thrill of her feigned menace. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean for you to get hit! I just wanted to give you a little surprise," he said, his tone light and playful. With a flourish, he pulled out a Muggle chocolate bar from his robes and handed it to her, his eyes wide with hope. "Please forgive me?"
Hermione's eyes twinkled with surprise at the sight of the chocolate bar, a gift she hadn't expected. But then she quickly glared at Harry again, the fiery look attempting to mask her delight. She caught him gazing at her, his brilliant green eyes pleading for forgiveness, and her resolve began to falter.
Feeling the warmth creeping into her cheeks, Hermione looked away, battling the annoyance that was warring with a sense of sweetness. In a sudden movement, she swatted the chocolate bar from his hands, catching it deftly before pocketing it in her robes. "No more pranks," she insisted, crossing her arms defiantly.
Harry leaned back slightly, a playful grin still plastered across his face. "I promise. I'll tell you what we're up to tomorrow morning," he said earnestly, a playful lilt to his voice.
"Shut up, I don't care," Hermione grumbled, though the corners of her lips twitched upwards, betraying her amusement.
Harry shook his head, feigning a dramatic sigh. "No, no, you're coming with us. If you're not awake by nine in the morning, I'll come to your bed and carry you back downstairs myself."
Hermione shot him a look, trying to muster the most terrifying glare she could manage, but Harry simply chuckled and poked her cheek, relishing the way she scrunched her nose in response.
"Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you glare at me?" Harry whispered, leaning in a little closer, his voice low enough that it was just for her. The air between them crackled with a playful energy, and he couldn't help but admire the way her eyes sparkled with indignation.
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but instead, she found herself distracted by the way his grin lit up his entire face. She shook her head, pretending to be annoyed, but inside, she felt a flutter of something warm and bright. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Impossibly charming, you mean," he quipped, leaning back and starting to pile some food onto his plate.
xxxxx
Harry, Ron, and Draco stood in a row, shoulders slouched, as they endured Hermione's relentless pacing. She had been scolding them for a solid fifteen minutes now, her voice rising and falling like a stormy tide as she lectured them on the dangers of ignoring Dumbledore's warnings about the third-floor corridor. Her steps echoed across the empty corridor, and her expression was a mixture of exasperation and concern, eyes flashing as she gestured wildly with her hands.
Draco crossed his arms, his brows furrowed deeply. He shot a glare toward Harry, then Ron, both of whom looked equally guilty, but Draco was the most annoyed. He didn't particularly enjoy being awake this early in the morning—breakfast, in his mind, was supposed to be filled with food and tea, not an earful of nagging from a Muggle-born girl who really ought to be scolding Harry more than anyone.
"And another thing," Hermione continued, pausing mid-pace to jab a finger in their direction, "this obsession with sneaking into the third-floor corridor? It's dangerous, it's reckless, and most importantly—it's forbidden!"
Harry, standing in the middle of the trio, couldn't suppress a grin. Her cheeks flushed when she got worked up like this, and it was... well, it was cute. He almost found it funny how much he liked seeing her all riled up. "We just need to check it out once. Just one tiny peek," Harry began, his grin widening, which earned him a sharp elbow in the ribs from both Ron and Draco. The two of them were already regretting being part of this plan.
"No!" Hermione shrieked, her voice piercing through the quiet hall. "What if you get caught? What if something happens to you? You've heard the warnings, Harry!"
"We won't get in trouble if we're not caught," Harry said with a cheeky shrug, the corners of his mouth tugging upward mischievously.
Hermione let out a loud, frustrated sigh, her brow furrowing deeply as she stomped her foot on the cold stone floor. "I don't like this one bit, Harry," she said, her tone more pleading than angry now.
"You do realize," Harry said, leaning forward with a smirk that only deepened as he looked at her, "even if we say we won't try to peek, we're still going to, right? You know that, don't you?"
Ron snorted, and Draco snickered under his breath, though both boys quickly tried to hide their amusement when Hermione turned her sharp gaze on them.
"Stop smirking, Harry!" Hermione snapped, her cheeks burning a light shade of pink as she glared at him. It wasn't the first time she felt like throwing something at him for that ridiculous grin of his. Why was he so infuriating? And, more importantly, why on earth was he her best friend?!
At this point, Ron and Draco were barely holding it together, both of them stifling laughter as Hermione's frustration mounted.
"Just one teeny tiny peek, Hermione," Harry said, his voice softening, almost coaxing now. He stepped toward her, his green eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "I just need something to report back to Sirius, and then we're done. I promise."
Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, shaking her head in exasperation. But before she could respond, Harry reached out and gently took her hand, surprising her with the sudden touch. Her heart skipped a beat. She tried to glare at him, but he was pulling something from his pocket—a piece of chocolate, her favorite.
With a playful wave, Harry dangled the chocolate in front of her, flashing that infuriatingly charming grin. "Just one look, one minute, and then we're out of there," he said, his tone sweet and persuasive, as if he knew exactly how to get her to agree.
Hermione glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. She was ready to punch him, honestly, but the smell of the chocolate was tempting. It was stupid how easily he could make her lose her resolve. She groaned in frustration, but her fingers unclenched, her posture relaxing as she sighed in defeat. She snatched the chocolate from his hand, pocketing it with a huff.
"Just one look," she growled, her eyes narrowing in warning.
"Yes!" Harry's face lit up with excitement, his eyes dancing with triumph as he swept her into a spontaneous hug, nearly lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm. Hermione couldn't help but let out a surprised giggle at his antics, despite her best efforts to remain annoyed. His laughter was contagious, and though she tried to maintain her stern expression, the corners of her lips tugged upwards.
"Come on!" Harry released her, his energy practically bubbling over as he signaled to the others. "Let's go check it out now!"
"Harry! Not now!" Hermione called after him, but it was too late. He was already halfway down the corridor, Ron and Draco scrambling after him like two eager puppies. She groaned, but despite herself, she was smiling.
"Why do I even bother?" she muttered under her breath, quickly jogging to catch up with the trio, her heart beating faster than it should.