Summary:
Abandoned at a young age, first to the foster care system, then by it, Hermione has grown up living however she can, teaching herself what she can, and with no last name.
How much of that will change when her Hogwarts letter arrives? What will the wizarding world make of the brilliant, broken child with no background?
Chapter 1: Letters and IntroductionsChapter Text
July 25th, 1991 was a strange day for Hermione. She was woken up, not by the sun creeping across the London skyline as usual, but by someone banging around downstairs. Throwing on her hoodie and sneakers, Hermione rushed down the splintering stairs, arriving to a most peculiar sight. Standing in front of the electric wok and barely functioning microwave was an older woman, dressed in a wizard's hat and some robes. She seemed to have tripped over the wok and was currently threatening to turn it into a "proper teakettle."
"Hello?" Hermione called out, clutching the sides of her hoodie around her. The woman turned, her green eyes looking Hermione up and down.
"Hermione. . ." the woman began, stalling for a last name, before looking in confusion at a piece of paper in her hand. "Hermione," she said again, more confidently.
"Yes?" Hermione asked, confused and more than a little annoyed. "Can I help you with something?" The older woman looked around the room. Abandoned floor, really.
"You live here?" she asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied sharply.
"Are your parents nearby?"
"No idea."
"Can you tell me your surname?"
"Don't know it."
"Okay then," the mystery woman said with a sigh, looking around the room once more before turning towards Hermione. "Is there some place we can sit?" Hermione gestured to the floor.
"Standing it is then," the woman declared. "Very well. I assume you have gotten your letter?"
"Which one?" Hermione asked cautiously. She had only gotten two letters--one from a client, the other some sort of prank--and didn't want to screw up and conflate the two.
"The one about Hogwarts," the woman stated dryly.
"Oh, right. Is this one of those practical joke shows? Are there hidden cameras somewhere?" Hermione craned her neck to look out across the room, but saw nothing beyond the usual dereliction.
"It is not a joke," the woman said. She then drew a thin stick--a wand, Hermione guessed, and pointed it at an empty glass bottle. The bottle changed and enlarged, shifting into a comfy red armchair. The woman sat down in it, looking to Hermione with an eyebrow raised. Hermione was simply staring at the chair, hoping this woman didn't bother to read the bottle's label.
"Okay," Hermione said tentatively. "What do you want me for?"
"A student," the woman said indignantly. "You're a witch." Hermione laughed.
"I've been called that before," Hermione said. "Don't think she meant it quite as literal." The woman's brows furrowed as she pondered Hermione's words. They darkened as she seemed to grasp the meaning.
"Alright then," she said, her face clearing in an instance. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach the Transfiguration class and I am the head of house for Gryffindor. Now go get dressed, we must go shopping for your school supplies." Hermione blinked a few times before nodding and retreating upstairs.
Oh, what to wear? she thought. All her clothes were for clubs, fancy parties, or doing nothing. She was currently in her doing nothing clothes. Fuck it, she thought, pulling out a cobalt blue cocktail gown. It was short, as most of her dresses were, but not to an indecent length. She chose to wear her short black heels and a bare minimum of makeup.
McGonagall had let the dress go without comment. She was clearly overdressed for the Leaky Cauldron (that much had been obvious by the name alone) but on this magical boulevard known as Diagon Ally she seemed to fit right in. In fact, there was a woman with pale blonde hair whose dress was the exact same cut as hers. They smiled politely at each other as they passed, though the other woman had raised an eyebrow at McGonagall.
"We shall need to visit Gringotts first," the professor had said as they exited the Leaky Cauldron. "Your supplies shall be purchased with funds from the Hogwarts Scholarship Fund. The bank is run by goblins, do be careful. They can be a bit prickly." Hermione had simply nodded and carefully walked beside the professor and her tall, pointed hat.
Upon entering the bank, Professor McGonagall immediately acted counter to her own recommendation, practically demanding to speak to the "head goblin." Hermione had a feeling that was not his actual title. Looking around, she had a feeling that most of the wizards had no idea how insulting the title was.
The goblin she presumed was the "Head Goblin" soon came out of a corridor, discussing something in low, whispered tones in a tongue she knew nothing of. Though it had a fair number of hard consonants, the endings and beginnings of words matched well, giving the language a sort of flowing quality.
"My lord," Hermione said to the goblin with a curtsey. "May I ask what language you were speaking? It sounded quite beautiful." The goblin, who had only just stopped talking, stared at her, his eyes wide. McGonagall was staring too.
"Gobbledegook," he finally said. The name sounded rather ridiculous to Hermione. "That is what the wizards call it."
"And what do you call it?" Hermione asked. The goblin arched an eyebrow towards her. He looked her up and down, taking far too long. Yet his eyes were not wandering or roaming like those of a horny man. They looked with observation and sadness, as if they could see through each of Hermione's lies and layers of concealment and deceptions.
"You are here for the scholarship fund," he said to McGonagall, his eyes not leaving Hermione's.
"Yes," McGonagall said. "And I do have other business--"
"We will take care of her," the goblin said. "She will arrive at your train station on time." McGonagall furrowed her brows and glared. As several goblins, these ones bearing some sort of antiquated polearm, emerged she nodded and left, leaving behind a confused Hermione and an apprehensive staff of goblins, a few of them armed.
"My lord," one of them said. "Why are we--"
"Tell me child," the 'Head Goblin' began. "How old are you?"
"Eleven, my lord," Hermione replied.
"First year, then. You grow up with wizards?" Hermione shook her head. "Didn't think so. See, you're the first one to bow or curtsey to one of our lords since the 12th century."
"What? Why?" The goblins all shrugged.
"Bigotry," one of them answered simply. The others nodded.
"Glad to know that's the same," Hermione said with a sigh. "Hatred and rape, the two great constants." If any of the goblins found her statement odd they did not comment.
Chapter 2: The Wand ChoosesSummary:
Hermione gets her wand and gets to learning this shiny new world of magic
Chapter Text
"This is quite a surprise," the old man behind the counter said. Hermione looked at him, then at the goblin behind her. "Grinhoop! How long has it been?"
"Only a decade or two," the goblin remarked with a smirk. "You could come to Gringotts, you know."
"Pah!" the man said. "Your Count Rigoll still hasn't forgiven me for beating him in that game of chess. Besides, I detest sterile atmospheres. Now then!" he declared, switching his gaze to Hermione, who forced herself not to shy away. "What have we here? Come for a wand?"
"Yes, sir," Hermione said with a slight curtsey. "I'm Hermione, I'm a first year at Hogwarts."
"Ah yes," the old man recalled with a smile. "First year. What a joyous time. Garrick Ollivander," he then said, sticking out his hand for her to shake. "Wandmaker extraordinaire."
"A pleasure," Hermione said, shaking his hand. The man beamed and began sorting through boxes.
"No, not that one. Not this, wrong grip, wrong--" he was cut off as one box flipped off the top of the case, falling onto Mr. Ollivander's head.
"Ow!" the old man remarked, before bending to pick up the box. As soon as he had untied the ribbon the wand zoomed out, stopping inches from Hermione, waiting for her to grasp it. She did, and a stream of green and silver light flew across the room. The old man looked shocked.
"That--" He cleared his throat. "That has never happened before." He gently took the wand from her, going over every inch of it, examining the miniscule runes inlaid in each part of it. "Redwood," he said. "Helios, I believe. The runes, however, are of Red Oak. Twelve and three-quarters inches. Basilisk fang core. Firm but resilient," he concluded handing the wand back to her.
"It feels perfect," Hermione said, her voice filled with awe as she stared at the wand.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"We would like for you to stay with us, Miss Hermione," Count Rigoll, Professor McGongall's "Head Goblin," was saying. "You would be safer here, and able to practice magic." Hermione looked at the goblins, eying them cautiously.
"I--um, well--"
"We won't hurt you," he said gently. Hermione laughed bitterly at that and rolled her eyes. "You won't have to work," he said. "Not in that way." That made Hermione pause. Freeze, actually, as she stood, eyes wide in shock, mouth agape for a moment before she remembered to close it.
"Stay here," Count Rigoll said again. "Practice your wand magics."
"What do you want?" she asked. The count grinned towards her.
"Wizarding law prevents us from buying or being gifted wands," the noble-goblin said. "If you stay here and practice your wand magic, perhaps we can learn how to make them." Hermione looked into the goblin's eyes, then nodded with a smirk,
"That is all you want from me?" she asked. Count Rigoll nodded. "Then we have a deal. I shall need to pick some things up from my. . . place."
"Very well," the count said. "We shall await your return."
When she returned the goblins stared at her textbooks. It was not until later that Steelgrip told her they had been amused by a human learning maths.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first time Hermione cast a spell in Gringotts, a wizarding official showed up to complain. She had cast a Curse of the Bogies, which was apparently not allowed. The wizard (a ministry official, it seemed) left after being reminded rather forcefully Gringotts counted as sovereign territory of the Goblin Kingdom.
Although most of the goblins were uncomfortable around her (which Hermione couldn't fault them for, most wizards treated them like shit and even Hermione wasn't comfortable around herself) they quickly began watching her spell-casting practice sessions. Rigoll and some others had managed to find a bunch of adult human-sized mannequins for her to practice spells on. Griphook especially liked to come and watch the faux humans getting hit by a knockback jinx, a severing charm, or the fire-making charm. His favorite, however, was when Hermione used a levitation charm to drop the mannequin from some fifty feet above ground.
Her transfiguration and potion brewing attempts were less well attended, though equally successful. She took to transfiguration particularly well. It was the most scientific of the subjects she had, and Hermione had always been good with maths and science. She learned it even quicker than she did the offensive spells, though the latter were more potent. Ricbert had gotten her a present during her second week of staying at Gringotts. It was a small book, titled Power is Power, A Primer on the Dark Arts . Though the book contained no spells, it was a helpful guide on how to duel offensively, how to chain spells, follow up on attacks with another, and how to channel emotions into spells rather than being distracted by them. It was quite helpful. After two weeks Hermione's severing charm could cut through a marble statue. One of a human in a pointed hat, much to the delight of Gringotts employees. Count Rigoll had been so delighted he'd bought her all the required books of the second-year students, as well as books on Occlumency.
Count Rigoll described Occlumency as the single truly universal piece of magic. No creature wanted someone inside their head, and they all used the same basic structures to keep people out. He personally trained her, breaking through her walls and helping rebuild them. He learned after the second lesson, when she broke down into sobs, not to dig too far into her mind. He also learned not to look into her room without permission after he was sent flying for twenty-five feet with a knockback jinx. She had apologized profusely, and he had accepted it with grace, but he had been more than a little afraid of causing a similar reaction. No one had entered her room without her express permission since, a fact that Hermione took delight in.
By the time school came rolling around, Hermione had made every potion, cast every spell, and read every word of the textbooks. She had also read a wide variety of history books, talked with many of the Gringotts goblins about their take on much of the historical accounting done by wizards (an exclamation of "Pah!" was the most common response) and read a good number of other spellbooks, potion books, and texts on magical creatures and plants.
Hermione had also read every book she could find on wizarding law, and on the rules of Hogwarts, to the surprise of many. She simply smiled and said that she liked to be prepared, rather than mentioning the seven charges loopholes had gotten her out of. She had read supplementary readings as well, such as a treatise on goblin view of possession (maker over purchaser) and the centaur view of land ownership (you can control access, you can't own land) both of which she found rather interesting. It would be a useful thing to bring up if she happened to get lost in the Forbidden Forest and ran into some centaurs. Not that it was likely, but stranger things had happened.
Chapter 3: Trains and HatsSummary:
Hermione gets on the train, gets sorted, and meets her new housemates.
Chapter Text
Hermione was quite nervous as she approached the Hogwarts Express. Her hand were shaking (well, the one that wasn't carrying her trunk was) and she was looking around wide-eyed like a scared animal. She took in a deep breath and tried to relax, something that worked. . . not in the least. Instead she continued to freak out under a mask of increasing calm.
"Hey!" she heard someone call out behind her. Forcing herself to remain calm, Hermione turned and saw a young girl running towards her. "Do you know where we put our trunks?"
"Oh, um," Hermione began, looking around. "I think we're supposed to store them onboard."
"Oh, okay," the girl said, sticking out her hand. "I'm Bridget Dagdo."
"Nice to meet you," Hermione said, shaking her hand. "I'm Hermione." There was a pause as Bridget waited for another name, but there was none forthcoming. Oh dear, Hermione thought. This is going to be a problem.
"Just Hermione?" the girl asked.
"Just Hermione," Hermione verified.
"Oh. Okay then," Bridget said. She reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling them both towards the train. "That's kinda cool, ya know. Only really cool people don't have last names. Like Merlin, or Boudicca!" Hermione smiled at Bridget, her eyes running over the small afro and dark brown skin. Bridget's eyes, a deep brown, seemed to sparkle with excitement.
"Can I sit with you?" Bridget asked as they entered the train. "I know a lot of people already have people they sit with, but--"
"I would love to," Hermione said, cutting her off. "How about there?" Bridget nodded and the two young witches walked into the empty compartment.
"This your first year?" Bridget asked, and Hermione nodded. "Mine too. Gods I'm nervous, what house do you think you'll be in?"
"I'm not sure," Hermione said. "Won't be Gryffindor or Hufflepuff though."
"No?" Bridget asked. "Why not?"
"I'm not stupid enough for Gryffindor, not kind enough for Hufflepuff," she said with a shrug. "I'd say Slytherin, but I've no idea who my parents are and was brought up in the muggle world, so. . ."
"Ah," Bridget said. "That'd explain the no last name. I'm hoping for Slytherin, though dad was a 'claw and mum was a 'puff. Everyone gets taught the same, but Slytherin's a great place to make connections as well as learn."
"A very Slytherin thing to say," a new voice commented dryly. The two first years turned towards the opened compartment door to find an older student smirking. "Keep on thinking like that," she said. "You'll be with us shortly." Bridget beamed and Hermione smiled gently towards her newest acquaintance. She would say friend, but it had only been a few minutes. Besides, Hermione had learned not to let people in. She wouldn't be making the same mistake a third time.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Over 'ere!" a gruff voice shouted. "First years over 'ere!" Hermione and Bridget both move towards the giant of a man, until Hermione stopped them, pointing over towards the carriages with the other students.
"What are those things?" she asked in a concerned and awed voice.
"What, the carriages?" Bridget asked.
"No, the horse-things pulling them," Hermione replied.
"I don't see anything," Bridget said cautiously. Hermione frowned but didn't say anything, instead continuing to the docks in silence.
The view from the river was truly magnificent, if the idea of rowing a tad overdone, especially considering the drizzling rain. The ghosts, though she'd read about them, were. . . interesting. They certainly were eccentric, as Bagshot had claimed, though Hermione thought that was putting it lightly. Stranger still than the ghosts was the singing, dancing (apparently living) hat that was apparently in charge of their fate. Rather large bit of work for some ancient fabric.
The houses cheered whenever they got a new member. Loudly. Quite loudly. Too loudly, if Hermione was asked, but when was she?
"Dagda, Bridget!" Professor McGonagall called out. Oh great, there was her too. Realistically, Hermione knew she'd have to deal with the strange woman sooner or later, but had been hoping it was later. McGonagall had left her while disgruntled, and in Hermione's experience that usually carried on to become something far worse.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat declared after a moment's pause and the table of snakes cheered as their new member walked proudly over.
"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" The boy had barely put the hat on when it loudly declared, "HUFFLEPUFF" and he scampered off to the table. It seemed the friendliest and most welcoming by far. That alone meant Hermione wouldn't be going there.
"Greenglass, Daphne!"
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat declared resoundingly.
"Hermione!" McGonagall shouted. Hermione heard the whispering voices about her lack of a last name. She ignored them, instead walking forwards with grace and pride, two things she'd been faking for years. She twirled and sat down on the stool, carefully plonking the large hat atop her head, though it soon began to sink down.
"Hmmm," a voice mused in her ear. "What do we have here?" Hermione remained still, refusing to look anything other than calm. "Oh, this is just offensively easy," the hat complained. "Ambition, some darkness, poise and grace, come on give me a challenge! Not that I'd really have a choice anyways, what with your blood and all." Wait, what? Hermione thought as the hat sighed in her ear before loudly declaring, "SLYTHERIN!" Hermione took the hat from her head and gently placed it on the stool before walking over to the Slytherin table, all of whom were staring at her. She kept her face calm and neutral, though those were the last things she was feeling. She sat down, and the sorting resumed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Hey," one of the other first-years asked. Malfoy, if she remembered correctly. "What's with the name?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, voice full of false courtesy. The boy glared at her.
"What's your last name?" he demanded. Hermione shrugged, taking a sip from her goblet and wincing. That was definitely not what she had requested.
"I don't have one," she replied.
"Don't you have parents?" a brunette, sitting next to the blond, asked. Her eyes were sharp and eager, ready to harm any who came too close.
"I believe so," Hermione said, voice calm. "It is rather hard to be born without them." There was a snort from further down the table and Hermione turned towards the noise, an eyebrow raised.
"Ignore me," the older boy said, waving them off. He muttered a quick cleaning charm and Hermione realized he must have spewed his drink onto the table.
"Where are they?" the girl ( Parkinson, Pansy , Hermione remembered) asked. Hermione bit back her instincts, forcing the insults down.
"Why do you want to know?" Hermione asked instead. The girl glowered at her, and Hermione took another sip of her drink, this time staring into the goblet with disappointment.
"I--well, I, um--" Pansy stuttered. Hermione hid a smirk by continuing to look into her goblet. This was going to be fun.
Chapter 4: Homework and HorrorsSummary:
The first two months of school, featuring flying lessons and Halloween
Chapter Text
Hogwarts was better than any school Hermione had been to before, and she'd been to a lot of them. True, better wasn't saying much, and she hadn't stayed long at any, but still.
Hermione loved the classes. They were all magical, all interesting, and in none of them did someone stab her with a pencil. She learned, despite having read and attempted nearly every lesson in the curriculum during the summer. She avoided answering questions, however, and never volunteered, something that greatly surprised Bridget and Daphne Greengrass, the two people she somewhat trusted. Everyone else was kept at arm's length. Bridget and Daphne, though they weren't allowed inside the walls, were allowed into the outer courtyard of her mind. Hermione told them she didn't like being the center of attention and had left it at that. Though both other girls were still confused, they knew better than to try and press information from her. Last time they tried Hermione had shut down and given one-word responses for a week.
Hermione liked Bridget and Daphne. She wouldn't have described them as friends, though they were the closest she'd had since---since that happened. That was another thing Hermione didn't share. Everyone knew Hermione had no parents and no last name. That was all anyone knew for the most part. Bridget and Daphne knew that she was liked by the Gringotts goblins, that she loved knowledge, and that she was far smarter than she gave away. She even helped them with homework from time to time, though they rarely needed it. They didn't know anything else, though they suspected Hermione had more than a few bad experiences she wasn't sharing.
The flying lesson had been rather fun at first. The broom (Hermione had a hard time believing it was the most efficient form of travel) had, after a bit of resistance, jumped into her hand. Hermione wasn't a huge fan of heights, after having almost fallen from a tenth-story flat in Central London, but the idea of flying, of feeling the wind through her hair, intrigued her.
Longbottom had been a klutz, as usual. Malfoy, being the arrogant twat that he was (everyone in Slytherin agreed, save for Parkinson, who was just like him) had taken the remembrall and flown into the air. Potter, being only slightly less twatish and just as arrogant (if a bit more deservedly) chased after him and, after nearly killing himself, had been rewarded with a slot on the Gryffindor quidditch team.
That was another thing Hermione didn't really get. She had never understood sports particularly well. To her muggle sports seemed to be a bunch of angry men fighting with arbitrary rules. Quidditch seemed the same, only with women and magic thrown in as well. She supposed the flying was rather impressive, if one enjoyed that sort of thing. Still, she went, if only for the distraction and to watch and laugh as the true enthusiasts grew increasingly red-faced. Her laughter not being appreciated, Hermione decided to maintain a solid mask and laugh internally.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Her hands were shaking. Again. Damn it , Hermione thought as she bit back an instinctive wince. It was the Hallowe'en feast, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Pumpkin juice was going down by the liter, pies both sweet and savory were being universally inhaled, and the snakes-and-darkness motif of Slytherin perfectly matched the holiday.
After whispering to Daphne and Bridget, Hermione stood and walked towards the bathroom. She felt their eyes on her, but kept her mask on. She hoped. She couldn't--they couldn't know about this.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What do you think that was about?" Daphne asked in a low-toned whisper. Bridget turned towards her, lifting an eyebrow.
"She needed to use the lady's room," Bridget replied. "What else would it be?"
"Her hands were shaking again," Daphne pointed out. Bridget sighed.
"I know," she whispered back. "And I don't know what it is. Probably some disease she doesn't want us to know about." Daphne furrowed her brows.
"There's not much magic can't cure," the Greengrass heiress said.
"We know that," Bridget replied. "But does she?"
"We'll bring it up somehow. Subtly."
"I'll leave it to you then, that's your speciality." Daphne inclined her head in thanks, a small smile on her lips. The two Slytherins turned back to their meals, eating a little more of the grand feast provided. Until they were interrupted by crashing doors and a turban-headed professor.
"Troll!" Quirrel shouted. "Troll in the dungeons! Thought you should. . . know." His announcement was completed by falling face-down on the carpet, seemingly unconscious.
"Prefects, escort your students to the common rooms!" Dumbledore bellowed, his voice carrying over the student's chatter. "Slytherins, you will remain here!" A massive commotion followed the announcement as students leapt from tables, rushing to their prefects. Professor Snape was already at Dumbledore's side, the two conferring quietly with Flitwick and McGonagall. Bridget's eyes roamed the room before spotting the astronomy professor
"Professor Sinistra!" she called out, moving towards her with Daphne right behind her. The professor, who had been talking with Professor Vector, turned towards the girls and raised an eyebrow.
"Hermione said she was going to the lady's room," Daphne said. Bridget had frozen under the intense glare of Professor Vector. At least she hadn't planned on taking Arithmancy.
Professor Sinistra's eyes widened and she moved quickly to enter the four-person conference on the troll. Snape recoiled and then nodded, and Dumbledore seemed to be in agreement as well. The five professors, along with their colleagues, then left the room, splitting into different directions, likely in search of the troll. Professor Vector remained, carefully eying the Slytherins.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione growled as she heard someone stomping around in the lady's room. With a sigh she vanished the needle and ribbon. She'd been mostly finished anyway.
Walking out of the stall, Hermione had not expected what she saw. She saw a troll, some twelve feet tall and uglier than the crime boss on Wilton Way. She froze for a moment when she saw it, but then moved, grabbing her wand. The troll swung his club at her. Hermione dodged it. She grabbed some of her anger, her rage, her sadness and frustration--there was always plenty lying around--and shouted, " Diffindo! " Her wand moved in a perfect heartbeat pattern, stretched out as it pointed across the troll's neck. A flash of red flew from her wand, striking the troll in the neck. Its mouth opened as if to yell, but it had not the time. The spell's force sent the head flying backwards, rolling out the bathroom door while the body simply collapsed with a loud thunk.
The professors arrived a few moments later, seemingly summoned by the sound. All of them seemed astonished to find Hermione breathing at all, let alone breathing heavily over the decapitated corpse of a troll. All of them seemed impressed, incredulous, or (in the case of Headmaster Dumbledore) concerned. Professor Snape reacted differently. Rather than looking at her frizzed hair, her wand arm, or the dead troll, her head of house looked into her eyes, seeming to search for something. She was more than a little worried about what he found.
Unsurprisingly, Hermione had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Her mind was filled of memories, not of the troll but of her times in the warehouse, before she had claimed it as her own. Her times outside it afterwards, and even a few after as well. After a brief trip to the bathroom and another vanished ribbon, however, Hermione was finally able to get to sleep, relaxing into the soft sheets and downy pillow.
Chapter 5: AftermathsSummary:
Severus discovers something unpleasant and Hermione goes to the doctor
Notes:
Content warning for drugs and overdosing in this chapter
Chapter Text
On the 1st of November, 1991, Daphne Greengrass woke up to a dark room. Sitting up in bed, she double-checked the time. It was eight. Normally there would be some sort of light, hidden in a corner, and a reading Hermione by now. Though she supposed killing a troll had to wear one out. About time she slept in, even if her sleeping in is everyone else's waking up at a normal time (or too early).
Daphne yawned and left the room. She took a brief shower with the hot water only an early riser could get. Walking back to their room, she changed into her robes. Looking around, she saw Bridget was stirring, as were the twins, Emma and Emily Selwyn. Who looked identical and called each other, "Em." Unsurprisingly, they had gotten over house divisions to bond with fellow twins Fred and George Weasley, who still introduced themselves as, "Gred and Forge."
Surprisingly, Hermione had not yet stirred. Quite odd, seeing as how the few times Daphne had woken up first, her roommate had not been a quiet sleeper. Having fully dressed and with her wand in her pocket and books in her bag, Daphne walked over to Hermione's bed.
"Hey, get up," Daphne said. There was no response. She shook Hermione gently, then a bit harder. "For Merlin's sake!" she exclaimed. "How are you--"
"Bridget," Daphne said, her voice suddenly tense.
"Yeah?"
"Go get Snape."
"What--"
"Go! Now!"
"Okay, okay!" Bridget replied, running out of the room. Daphne knew she'd be confused, but she couldn't truly focus on that right now. The sounds of the other students filing through the door towards breakfast passed through one ear and out the other as she stood by Hermione's bedside.
"Lumos," she heard a voice say, and she turned to look at her head of house. He was looking down at Hermione, deeply concerned. For the first time, Daphne notice her lips had turned blue and that her hands were shaking. She watched as Snape forced up the sleeve of Hermione's robes and scowled at what he saw.
"What is it?" she asked quietly.
"Is she going to--"
"Miss Greengrass, run ahead and tell Madame Pomfrey I'm coming with a student," Snape said, his voice like steel. He whispered a levitation charm and Hermione floated as he carefully guided her from the bed.
"Today, Miss Greengrass."
"Yes, professor," Daphne said, rushing from the room. She heard the last snippets of conversation as she hurriedly climbed down the steps to the common room.
"Is there any--"
"Go to breakfast, Miss Dagdo. You will be informed when there is news."
The conversation faded away as Daphne pushed through the common room and hurried up the stairs from the basement. She resisted the urge to sprint through the hallways, instead striding gracefully like the proper pureblood lady she would become.
"Madame Pomfrey!" Daphne shouted out upon arrival. The woman in question turned towards her with a frown.
"There are people recovering here!" Pomfrey declared in a sharp voice. "You cannot simply come running in shouting things."
"Yes Madame Pomfrey," Daphne said. "Professor Snape sent me here. He's bringing a student."
"There is nothing unusual about that," the matron declared snootily. "I don't know why he would send a forewarning."
"She's in a coma," Daphne added. "Has blue lips, shaking hand, I think?"
"Oh my," Madam Pomfrey said, her eyes wide. "Thank you dear, now run along. We shall tend to your friend." Daphne didn't want to leave, but she knew no one got anywhere by arguing with Madame Pomfrey. So she obeyed, heading back towards the Great Hall and pushing away her concern for later.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It took too long to transport the girl to the Hospital Wing. Too many rushing students, worried that the house elves might run out of bacon. And they wondered why he sneered at everyone.
"Madame Pomfrey?" he asked as he at last entered her domain, the floating body of Hermione following him through the doors.
"Here," she said, pointing towards an empty bed. He gently let her down before releasing the spell. She landed with a soft plop onto the matress and her head jerked slightly as it bounced off the pillow. It still did not wake her up.
"What happened?" Pomfrey asked quietly. He winced and pulled up the girl's sleeve rather than elaborate. There were needle marks throughout the inside of her elbow, and a few well-hidden ones along her veins.
"How long?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"How much?"
"I don't know."
"Tolerance?"
"I don't know."
"Is there anything you do know, Severus?"
"How to brew the needed potions," he replied heatedly. Of course I don't know anything! he thought. I would have stopped her if I bloody well did!
"Good," Madam Pomfrey said. "I only have a few, I'll need a lot more. Especially if that picks up," she said, gesturing to the spasming hands. They seemed to claw at the bedsheets as the girl lay unconscious. He nodded and turned to leave.
"Severus," Madam Pomfrey called out. He turned towards her. "Do you know why?"
"No," he said. "Though considering she doesn't have a last name it's not hard to come up with some ideas." Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly.
"I'll come by later," she started.
"No," he replied firmly. "I'll get rid of it."
Chapter 6: Fallout, Part 1Summary:
Hermione's head of house and friends react to her near-death experience
Chapter Text
When Hermione woke up, the first thing she felt was cold sweat beading on her forehead, then a shiver running through her. The first thing she did was throw up, though thankfully she was able to get all of it into a waste container. She reached for her wand, unsteady hands groping around.
"It's not here," she heard a voice say. Hermione turned towards the voice, then blinked. Still seeing a bird hovering behind a matronly woman she rubbed her eyes and looked again.
"Is the bird real?" she asked, giving up on any sort of denial. If they'd taken away her wand they already knew. The woman looked behind her and glared at the owl.
"Yes, unfortunately." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, sinking back onto the bed.
"Am I expelled?" she asked quietly after a moments pause. The matron sighed and sat down in the chair beside her bed.
"No," she said. "There aren't any laws regarding muggle drugs in the wizarding world, and we can't technically prove any of the alcohol belonged to you." Hermione raised an eyebrow at that. The nurse-like woman shrugged.
"Professor Snape found some of your muggle court cases," she said. Hermione sank into the pillow, willing it to absorb her, to simply take her in whole from this. She didn't want to be known as a whore in two worlds. One was bad enough. "He seemed rather impressive." At that Hermione's head jerked up and the woman gave her a wry grin.
"We won't tell anyone," the older woman said softly. "And I think you know legal reasoning isn't the real reason you're staying here." Hermione nodded and swallowed hard. She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. She could feel the sweat running down her brow, her hands shaking as she tried to force them steady.
"The headmaster can expel whomever he wishes," Hermione said in a quiet voice. "The Board of Governors may overrule him, though it has never been done." She paused. "What does he want from me?"
"Want from you?" the woman asked, her brows furrowing. "What on earth do you mean?" Hermione turned towards her, grimacing as she fought back a wave of nausea.
"Don't lie to me," she said in a sharp voice. "I've seen more of humanity than most ever will. What. Do. They. Want?"
"They?" the older woman asked, brows furrowed. It had taken her a while to respond, stunned as she was by Hermione's shift in tone and words. Hufflepuff's really are that nice , Hermione thought incredulously. And oblivious .
"Dumbledore didn't expel me," she said, holding up a finger. "Snape brought me here. You healed me, probably with his help. Now what do all of you want?"
"I'm more interested in what you want, Miss Hermione," a voice called out. Her hand spasmed again and Hermione grimaced as she turned towards her head of house, who sat down on the chair next to her, opposite the matronly woman.
"What do you want?" he asked again in a quiet voice. Hermione's lip trembled and she took a deep breath, steadying herself before replying. Giving the same answer she'd always had for years.
"I want to be wealthy enough to not sell myself," she said, voice shaking. "And powerful enough that no one can rape me. That if they try they'll die or have to kill me instead." Her professor nodded even as the woman who'd healed her looked ready to faint. Instead she simply walked away.
"I want to do something other than teach idiots how to brew a cure for boils," her head of house said quietly. "I want to survive the next war. And I want you to learn what I did in my fifth year: how to strike fear in the hearts of those who would harm you." Hermione turned towards him again, seeing the faint smirk hidden beneath his mask. She matched it with one of her own and held out a hand. He took it and shook before nodding towards her and leaving the room.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was two weeks after their conversation (sixteen days after she overdosed) when Hermione was finally released from the Hospital Wing, under strict orders not to drink or use. She was sent with a stash of potions, taken once per day, which would decrease the compulsions.
Daphne, Bridget, and Blaise Zabini threw a small party for her. Zabini's mother had been widowed again (for the sixth time) and the papers were having a field day, which led to no one talking to him. Apparently he'd decided to join the other outcasts. Daphne wasn't really an outcast, she'd just gotten fed up with Draco and Pansy. Bridget had started cultivating a reputation as a tough dueler. She predicted that within a year it would make her quite popular, but for now everyone was either nursing wounds and grudges or terrified of her.
"So," Blaise said a few minutes after they'd cut the cake the house elves had brought. "What did Professor Snape discuss with you?" Hermione shrugged and swallowed her mouthful of cake.
"Private lessons," Hermione said, taking a swig of milk. Putting it down, she continued. "Probably wants to keep an eye on me."
"You did almost die," Bridget pointed out. "I'm tempted to keep an eye on you myself." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. That was a fair shot.
"Wonder if he kept the whiskey," Hermione said instead.
"I heard about that!" Blaise said, excitedly. "How'd you get it? My previous stepdad--not the one that just died--bought some once, it cost him a thousand galleons"
"What kind of booze costs that much?" Bridget asked incredulously.
"Goblin-made whiskey," Daphne said, a faint smirk on her lips. "Aged in a steel cask in a charcoal-filled room for two centuries, minimum. How did you get some?" she asked, turning towards Hermione.
"It was a gift," she said. "From Count Rigallo's personal stores." Blaise let out a low whistle.
"Please, tell me why a goblin count gave you his own whiskey," he said. "Give me some gossip not even Pansy Parkinson will know." Hermione laughed at that.
"Fine," she said. "If only to annoy her. I spent part of the summer at Gringotts and they let me practice some spells. They enjoyed watching me destroy human-shaped mannequins."
"What?" Daphne asked, deeply bewildered. "I knew they liked you, but they let you stay there? How did that happen, they hate wizards!"
"No," Hermione corrected. "They hate arrogant wizards. They're an independent kingdom, yet until me no witch nor wizard had bowed or curtseyed to them for half a millennium. How would Lord Malfoy take it if everyone started calling him Lucius?"
"Ah," Daphne said.
"Oh," Blaise threw in.
"That would do it," Bridget added.
"Yes, it would," Hermione said. "Now please, can we play some sort of game instead of talking about alcohol and politics?" Her fellow Slytherins agreed, and they gladly set up a game of Peril, a sort of Britain-centric wizard Risk where your troops threaten to desert and yell at you for not taking the East Anglian marshes.
Chapter 7: The Fallout, Pt. 2Summary:
Hermione gets acquainted with books and infamy. Which, being honest, could be the summation of her life thus far.
Notes:
Sorry I forgot to update last week--things were kinda hectic and my laptop broke. As thanks for y'all being patient, it's a double update tonight!
Chapter Text
Hermione's return to class had been relatively smooth, all things considered. There were a good deal of whispers on the first days she re-entered a classroom, and far too many pitying looks from professors. She very much preferred the astonished looks when she turned in all the required homework and proceeded to ace the quizzes she'd missed.
Professor Snape was teaching her two days a week, once she'd completed all the work, quizzes, and tests that she'd missed, which only took a week. He taught her for an hour at night on Mondays and Tuesdays. Every Tuesday he'd give her two or three books to read, learn, practice, and review. He'd also told her about the Room of Requirement, where Hermione spent much of her time practicing. She offered to share her lessons with Blaise, Daphne, and Bridget, to mixed results. Bridget was in, but unlike Hermione still wanted to socialize. Then again, socializing was still an option for Bridget. Hermione had walked away from the social scene after word got out. Anything said about her tended to be along the lines of "that poor girl," or "why do we have a mudblood addict at Hogwarts?" She'd heard worse. Hell, worse had been true, but that didn't mean she enjoyed hearing it.
Daphne joined her sometimes, but she played the social scene more than Bridget. People seemed to get over Zabini's stepfather's death rather quickly, and he was back to a place of prominence. He joined her a couple times, but made sure to keep his image and place of prominence. Hermione didn't blame them, though it was rather lonely at times.
The whispering had worn itself out by the first week of December. It had been going strong since Hermione went into the Hospital wing, and a full month of gossip and rumors was more than enough for the school to get tired of the story. Bridget and Daphne had been spending more time with her, and Hermione had stopped treating the Room of Requirement like it was her dormitory.
Then the second round of gossip had started.
After some work, Hermione had traced the rumors back to Pansy Parkinson, who had likely gotten it from or shared it with Draco Malfoy. The new rumors claimed she was a whore, which had once been true. It then said she was trying to seduce Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore.
Hermione first heard of the rumors on December 4th, when they were being repeated by a Gryffindor redhead during Astronomy. Hermione had barely bitten back her spells. A well-placed knockback jinx could send him right over the edge of this rickety old tower. A shame when the stone turned out to be unstable. Hermione had, however, managed to contain herself.
When she'd gone to breakfast the next morning, the entire hall stopped talking when they saw her. Sitting at her own table, many of the other Slytherins preformed an intricate game of musical chairs, trying to get away from her while appearing to follow their house motto of sticking together.
After that Hermione hadn't eaten in the Great Hall again, instead trusting whatever the house elves brought to the Room of Requirement.
Hermione's lessons with Professor Snape continued, but she was spending more and more time in the Room of Requirement. She learned the material from his books too quickly, and was too tense and frustrated to simply practice brewing an antidote to slow-acting venom for the fifth time. She already had four flasks she'd handed to Professor Snape, who would evaluate them and discuss their quality with her in their Monday lesson before proceeding to the spells learned. On Tuesday they'd finish the spells, review the theory, and he would give a brief overview of what she would learn next.
When Hermione walked into the Room of Requirement on the night of December twelfth, she was pleasantly surprised to find a bookshelf in the corner. Reading the title, she froze. Blood Magic of the Etruscans, it read. Hermione looked to make sure no one was near, then carefully pulled the book from the shelf. She sat down in the comfy armchair and began to read.
It quickly became clear to Hermione that none of the spells in the book were at her current skill level. The few spells of the type she was used to were incredibly ornate and demanded precision and knowledge of theories she'd never heard of. The rest of the book was full of complex and potentially deadly rituals in a language she neither read nor spoke involving magic that was both clearly and deeply dark.
Hermione loved it all the same. It was a new challenge, something she could work towards for months. She would need to learn ancient etruscan, then study a variety of maths courses before delving into arithmancy and universal runic symbols. She would need to practice clearing her mind, and continue to exercise her magical core, pushing it to its limits so that it could grow rapidly without accidentally endangering herself. It was complex, multi-faceted, and would have to be secret. What more could a girl trying to avoid the world ask for?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hermione had spent the last week and a half before break doing homework or holed up in the Room of Requirement. Wishing the Gringotts goblins good luck and cheer, she had written to them expressing sorrow that she could not join them over the Yuletide. As a general rule, Hermione avoided Christianity. Between burning witches like her, the religious orphanages she'd been in, and being both hired and raped by priests, she didn't trust it very much. In her preparatory reading for Hogwarts she had learned of the celtic calendar and the Wheel of the Year. She quite preferred those holidays, and had continued to do so as she read more of them. She only wished she'd discovered Samhain sooner so she could have properly celebrated it, though killing a troll wasn't half-bad for a day when the veil twixt life and death was thinnest.
She had told Count Rigallo that she needed to remain to continue her studies. Which wasn't a lie so much as not the full picture. In truth, Hermione was feeling better. Much better, in fact, and she didn't want to risk that by being near goblins, who would be drinking quite a lot quite often, and would likely challenge her to a few contests. They had been impressed when she matched Griphook shot for shot, and Biirak had lost a dagger his cousin made after losing a contest with her. Hermione still had the dagger. It fit well in the hidden pouch she'd sown onto her robes.
So, under fear of relapse, Hermione decided to remain at Hogwarts, along with only a handful of other students, Hagrid, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. None of her friends stayed, and Hermione did not mind that. Truth be told, Hermione was still not used to the idea of friends or friendship. It befuddled her as much as it delighted her.
Chapter 8: Interlude: Severus and a Very Malfoy ChristmasSummary:
Severus and the Malfoys, featuring guest artist Parental Instincts
Chapter Text
"Severus," Lucius called out loudly. "Finally!"
"I'm twenty minutes early," the potions professor said in a dour voice as he exited the fireplace.
"Are you?" Lucius asked, arching an eyebrow. He received a glowering look in return.
"Did you lie about the time again?" Severus asked. "I swear by the gods, Luc, I will--"
"I didn't," Lucius said with a laugh. "But Merlin, Sev, your face!" Massaging his forehead, Severus sighed and walked past his old friend and into the manor.
"I see Narcissa has restrained herself this year," he remarked dryly.
"As she does every year," Lucius said, looking around at the pine boughs, golden streamers, and animal ornaments. "Truly, though," he said, voice turning serious as a small smile came to his face. "It is a beautiful sight."
"So long as one is not there when it is place."
"Ah, Severus," the blonde in question said, floating effortlessly towards the two men. "Is that the sound of sarcasm and stale wit I hear?"
"Indeed it is, darling," Lucius said, an arm wrapping under his wife's waist. "Have you--"
"Lucius, if you ask whether or not I've relaxed," Narcissa began in a calm and loving voice. "You will find yourself warded out of the house tonight." Severus smirked and Lucius shrugged.
"As you wish darling." Narcissa nodded to Severus, kissed her husband on the cheek, and the swept from the room, presumably to finish whatever she needed to do for the dinner.
"She still answered my question," Lucius said with a smirk. Severus rolled his eyes at his old friend, and moved to follow Narcissa.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As always, the Malfoy Family Yule Party was a crowded and busy affair. Members of each of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (barring the Weasleys, of course) were present and mingling. The feast was large and scrumptious, the music flawless and the dancing couples graceful. At least until the guests had too much wine. Fortunately, everyone was apparating or flooing out of the house by the time the evening reached that point.
Everyone except for him, that was. Severus, as per tradition, stuck around as the house elves vanished everything and Narcissa finally got off her feet with an, "oof."
They were sitting near the Yule tree, with the fireplace roaring across the room. Snape sat in an uncushioned armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hands. Lucius was on the sofa with Narcissa leaning against him. Her head was on his shoulder, her heels on the ground, and her legs curled up on the sofa behind her. Draco sat in a large cushioned armchair nearby. Lucius was rubbing his hand up and down his wife's arm as she sank deeper into the embrace.
"Remind me," Narcissa said, sitting up to look at her husband. "Why do we have this party every year?"
"Because," Lucius replied, pressing a kiss to her head. "You are determined to be the epitome of a well-mannered pureblood lady."
"Ah," Narcissa said dryly, resting her head on his shoulder again. "Right." Lucius laughed and Severus scoffed at her tone. Watching the couple interact was always bittersweet. He was glad his friends had found happiness, and that they had continued to include him in their lives. At the same time, it always reminded him of what he could have had. Of what may have been but never would be. He sighed and looked into his glass before taking a sip.
"Oh! Severus," Narcissa said, sitting up. "Draco said you've been seeing some girl--Hermione, I think. I never thought you'd be ove--" before Narcissa could finish her sentence, Severus' whiskey has been spewed across the room. He had dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor and was coughing heavily.
"Narcissa!" he said, managing to force back his coughing. "What are you saying? She's your son's age!"
"Not like that's stopped her before," Draco remarked with a smirk before turning towards his parents. "I heard--"
"Draconis Lucius Malfoy!" Snape said, his words sharp enough to cut through steel. "I recommend you learn to hold your tongue before returning to school lest you loose it."
"Severus!" Lucius yelled. "Are you threatening your own godson?"
"No," Snape replied with an ice-cold stare towards Draco. "Though I doubt the girl in question has the same objections."
"Draco," Narcissa said in a near-whisper. "Go to your room."
"What? But mom--"
"Now." Draco pouted but got up and left nonetheless.
"Severus, what is this?" Narcissa asked once her son had left the room. She'd never seen him act like this, not towards family, not towards anyone since the last war. Snape sighed before turning to look at them.
"I assume you are as well-connected to the events of Hogwarts as always?" he asked. Seeing both of them nod, he continued. "In that case you are most likely aware of the Slytherin girl who fell into a coma?"
"Yes," Lucius said. "Though no one was told what exactly happened, Dumbledore refused the Board of Governors request for more information." Severus nodded.
"At my behest," Severus said. Ignoring the confused expressions, he continued in a low voice. "She overdosed on a muggle drug known as heroin and nearly died. And barely made it through the withdrawl symptoms when we confiscated her stash of drugs and alcohol."
"This was a Slytherin ?" Lucius asked incredulously. "Who the hell is her family?" Snape shrugged.
"No one knows. McGonagall had to track her down to an abandoned warehouse in muggle London. Apparently all she owned were sweatpants and formal outfits, so I think we can put two and two together." Snape looked at his friends, both of whom sported pale faces. Narcissa's lip was trembling. Lucius looked sick.
"After she woke up," Severus said softly. "I asked her what she wanted. You know what she said? She wanted not to be a whore again and not to be raped again. That was the sum total of her ambition. She said she wanted to be strong enough that a rapist would need to kill her instead."
"Good gods," Lucius said softly. "Where is she now?"
"Hogwarts," Severus replied.
"And the summer?" Narcissa asked, voice quieter than he had heard it since the War.
"I don't know," Severus said, staring into his drink. "Gringotts, probably. Gods alone know how but she got the goblins to like her."
Chapter 9: Rituals of ScaleSummary:
The rest of Hogwarts returns from the holidays as Hermione prepares for her first ritual
Notes:
This chapter includes allusions to Cherokee spirituality and traditions, as well as some transliterated Cherokee. While I was careful with my research, I am not Cherokee, nor do I speak the language. If any of this content is offensive or inaccurate, please let me know.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione's Yule had gone better than any of her Christmases. Even her Christmas at Hogwarts had gone far better than her previous Christmases, not that it was saying much.
Her holidays had, however, been truly joyous. Or as close as Hermione knew how to get. Other than sleeping, meals, and the Hogwarts Christmas Celebration Hermione had spent nearly all her time in the Room of Requirement, mostly reading. She had devoured Etruscan Language: An Introduction , Etruscan Runes and Ruminations , Ancient Runes Made Easy , Spellman's Syllabary , Rituals and their Kind , and Advanced Rune Translation , largely with the help of the Rune Dictionary . While the Estrucan Runes were different from the runes of Younger Futhark, they had many similarities, including their lack of modern grammatical structures, which made translating word by word an infuriating task. One worth it, however, if it could give Hermione the power that she needed.
On the theory and mathematics side of things, Hermione found a number of rather helpful books. Most of their titles were either painfully long ( Etruscan Magical Geometry: The Sacred Shapes Regarding the some of the World's Oldest Spells of Blood Magic ) or arrogantly short ( Magic , Magical Theory , and, Magical Studies ). Still, they greatly advanced Hermione's understanding of the calculations and magical theories that had led to the creation of the rituals she'd read. Although she still struggled to fully comprehend most of the rituals in Blood Magic of the Etruscans , she understood most of the ones in simpler books such as Basic Celtic Bloodrites and Ceremonies of the Braves .
There was one ritual in particular, from Ceremonies of the Braves , that Hermione was eager to try out. It was an older version of a spell she'd found in an advanced Transfiguration textbook. The newer version of the Animagus spell limited one to animals found in the natural world. The older version did not, instead allowing those whose, "souls pass[ed] beyond the mundane and into the perpetually mystic," to take the form of magical creatures. Though the book was poorly named, it was an honest (if condescending) attempt to write down the ceremonies of American indigenous mages. If half of what she'd read about magical creatures was true, it was worth plodding through the author's unconscious bias.
The first part of the ritual (keeping a mandrake leaf in one's mouth for a month) was started before school resumed session. While the newer ritual kept the leaf under one's mouth between full moons, the older used new moons, allowing Hermione to start on January 4th, the day before the Hogwarts Express returned. Each night, Hermione was to spill a drop of her blood from a fresh wound onto the leaf, without it leaving her mouth, something that was accomplished with a pin and flexibility.
The return to classes was a thing of both joy and disappointment to Hermione. While she loved her classes and what she learned in them, she longed to read more of the ancient knowledge she'd discovered in the Room of Requirement.
Fortunately, the break had seemed to quiet the constant whispering about her past career, making the transition back into the classroom much easier on Hermione. Without that distraction, Hermione's work picked back up. It had fallen slightly in the days and weeks leading up to the winter break, but know she had surpassed even the levels she was at before her overdose. She still, however, refused to raise her hand, answering questions only when directly singled out by a professor. Even then she responded in as few words as possible, desperately trying to get out of the spotlight. McGonagall had tried to keep her under it once, but stopped as Hermione squirmed in her seat, her normally mask-like face briefly breaking into a grimace.
After that few professors called on her. Hermione was grateful for it. She knew she likely got the best marks in their year (having yet to have anything graded below and "Exceeds Expectations," and even that only rarely) and was happy to let others take the points, credit, and blame for answering questions.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The night of the new moon came swiftly, the time moving faster than Hermione had expected. Sneaking out of the dorm was difficult. Sneaking outside the castle walls was far worse. There were several times Hermione thought she would be caught as she hid behind a too-long tapestry or in a not-so-hidden alcove.
Once she made it outside, Hermione gathered the twigs and sticks into a small pile. She used a silver knife to make a small cut on the pad of her thumb, drizzling the blood over the sticks. Using a modified tripod, she placed the crystal vial directly above the wood, then lit the fire with a muttered, " Incindio ." As the flames flickered she placed the mandrake leaf into the vial, then circled the small fire.
" Atsila - giga, eayi-giga, adanedi aya vlenidohv, adanedi aya ulanimuda* ," she quietly chanted as she circled counter-clockwise twice, then clockwise once. She continued to chant as she added a strand of her hair, then a teaspoon of dew untouched by sun and human foot for four days. Dropping in the moth chrysalis it was over. Hermione kept the vial over the flames until everything had fully dissolved, then quieted the flames and dispersed the ashes. Sneaking her way back into her room, Hermione magically stoppered the vial and placed it within a secret compartment of her trunk. Pointing her wand at her heart, Hermione softly chanted, "adahi adahi adahiye adahiyedi udotlvsvi," before changing her clothes and slipping into bed. All she had to do now was wait for a storm.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The first storm came two days later, on February 5th. Unfortunately, it did not result in any lightning. Or maybe that was fortunate. She planned to take the potion the night lightning struck, and it would be rather awkward to show up to the midnight Astronomy class as a pixie.
The first thunderstorm came the night of February 8th, a Saturday. Hermione was barely able to hide her joy enough to slip up to the seventh floor. The Room she entered was not the one she usually encountered at the Room of Requirement. Instead of a dueling ground, some armchairs, and a bookshelf Hermione found herself staring out at a wide, grassy meadow. She smiled, then for extra security lay a silencing charm and locked the door. Stepping out into the grass she drank the potion.
She saw an image flash through her head. Hermione knew it was the form she was about to take, yet she could not focus on it. Her body was already shifting, her bones, skin, and muscle twisting and contorting into a brand-new shape. She had known it would hurt the first few times, but the European scholar had really undersold how painful it was.
Soon, however, the pain was gone. Instead, there was. . . something. Hermione wasn't quite sure what. Calm perhaps, she had never felt that before. Calm and--was that safety? Safety in the knowledge of her power, yes, it was. So strange, to feel two things she had faked so often yet never known. Hermione wondered if she had been obvious when appearing calm, she had known so little of it. She still knew so little of it, but experiencing it once was infinitely more knowledge than she'd previously held.
Hermione smiled, to the extent that her new form allowed, and moved forward. It was an odd sensation, sliding along the grass. It tickled and--
Sliding? Hermione blinked rapidly, the stuck out her tongue. Her newly forked tongue. She tasted the scent of the parchments in her bag, of the ink bottle and its slightly loosened rubber stopper. She pulled back her tongue and slithered forwards. Okay, she was a snake. Not that surprising, she supposed, given her house. She had no idea what kind of snake though. She had no idea if she was venomous or not, what her powers were, how large she truly was (for she felt large and powerful in this form, but currently her only reference point was the small blades of grass. She paused, then moved towards the mirror in the distance. She needed to see what she was--exactly what she was--and memorize as many details of how she was as she could if she was ever to transform into it again. Which, considering how good and powerful this form felt (and how much effort she had put into having it) she rather wanted to do. Besides, if she failed now, she would never get another shot, not unless she made a corporeal patronus. Which, all things considered, seemed rather unlikely for her.
When she reached the mirror she paused before looking up. Steeling her nerves she sat (stood?) upwards. If her form had been human she would have called it craning her neck. Or pushing herself off the ground. But her form was far from human as she sat back on her coiled lower half.
She stared into the mirror and paused as a large snake stared back at her. Its scales were black, save for the silver underbelly. My scales , she belatedly reminded herself. Her eyes were pitch black, though they had a single fleck of amethyst in them. There was a jewel just above her nose slits, an emerald that seemed to pulse with light and power. Two pointed horns hovered above her head. The sharp bone could be traced back down towards the base of her skull from which they grew at an angle, the tips near her eyes.
Hermione laughed as the name came to her, arriving late as if a belated birthday present from some ill-favored aunt. It made sense, she supposed. The ritual had come from a subculture of warriors amongst the Algonquin medicine men before it had passed on to the Cherokee, written down by one of the headmasters of Ilvermorny, included in a later headmaster's compendium, which had been edited by a wizard in Germany and turned into the poorly-named Ceremonies of the Braves . Horned Serpents had lived in great numbers (for dangerous magical creatures, that is) in much of northern North America. There were, she remembered with saddened eyes, far fewer living there now.
Forcing the thoughts from her mind, Hermione turned from the mirror, slithering through the grass and adjusting to her new form. She focused on the feeling of the grass being crushed under her, the sensation of the air whistling between her horns, the taste of nearby scents on her tongue, the less colorful but sharper vision streaming through her eyes. She stopped as she neared her bag and closed her eyes. Rather than shifting her form, she focused on the various parts of her body, her attention making its way from the barbed tip of her tail, where she could feel a bit of grass stuck on, to the tips of her horns. It was the horns which shocked her, for it was not only the cold air of the Room of Requirement that she felt. She felt a blur behind her and turned rapidly, catching a glimpse of a mouse. On instinct she struck, her coiled body leaping out. Her fangs bit into the mouse's back once, then twice before she pulled back. She watched the twitching creature with a passive curiosity, unsure whether the mindset came from the limited emotions of her animal form or her problematic upbringing.
The mouse tried to run away, but the damage was done. It got less than a foot before falling on its side, twitching uncontrollably. It continued to spasm for perhaps a few minutes before growing still. The presence that Hermione had sensed faded, replaced by the same nothingness that the rest of the room portrayed.
Shifting into human form was nearly as painful as the first experience had been. Her bones ached and her muscles screamed at her as she changed forms, maw and tail disappearing as she returned to humanity, albeit exhausted.
She fell asleep as soon as she hit the pillows that night.
*Fire-blood, night-blood, give me life, give me strength
Notes:
While seven is a sacred number in Roman works, the number four is far more important in Cherokee mystical matters, if I have done my research correctly