One hundred and forty-two staircases. Hermione only now realized what this bit of information from Hogwarts: A History really meant. Wide, sweeping staircases like the one from the entrance hall upwards. Narrow, steep staircases hidden behind curtains. Uneven staircases that one had to walk very carefully lest one tripped and fell down. Stairs that looked like they led upwards when really they led downwards. Steps that weren't solid that one had to jump or get caught in them, at the mercy of other students or teachers to get one out, hopefully before Peeves found one. The poltergeist seemed to enjoy nothing more than making fun of the new students and stalling them in their way to the classes. The other ghosts weren't very helpful either, except for Nick, who always gave directions to lost Gryffindors.
On her first morning, Hermione followed the Gryffindor prefects to the Great Hall for breakfast, not trusting herself to find the way she had walked sleepily the night before. She was right in doing so, for none of the landmarks she had memorized were to be found. Images contained other figures, suits of armour stood somewhere else. Doors that looked like doors from one side were merely panels in a wooden wall from the other and had to be asked politely to open, as there was no handle. At one point the small group had to take a completely different route because the staircase they had used the night before led to the forbidden corridor in daylight.
“It's not easy,” Percy told her as they waited for a door to open (it had just woken up and was still sleepy, complaining about its aching joints). “Never rely on the suits, they walk around a bit. The picture frames stay were they are, but the inhabitants visit each other. At least the Fat Lady stays in her frame during the day, so you can always get into the common room. Oh, look, there's Mrs Norris.”
A very thin cat with grey fur ran down the hallway, her eyes lamp-like and bulging. She cast a look at them and went on her way, apparently not interested in the prefects.
“She's Mr Filch's cat, sort of a second pair of eyes. She patrols the castle all the time, looking for rule-breakers. And when she finds one... it seems like she has some sort of connection to the caretaker. He always turns up when she finds something wrong.” He shrugged. “That's what my brothers say, anyway. They had their share of run-ins with the two.” Percy made a noise of disapproval. “Anyway, here we are.”
They had reached the marble staircase to the entrance hall. Even this early there was already a good deal of noise coming out of the Great Hall. A seventh-year prefect turned to the first-years.
“You'll have to find your own way tomorrow, this is something we only do on the first morning. Well, have fun.”
He gave them an encouraging smile and strolled away. Hermione and the other first-years who had accepted the prefects' offer to lead them to breakfast took their seats.
“Where are the other boys?” Lavender asked Neville.
“Sleeping, probably. Said something about not needing to be shepherded and that they won't get up that early.”
“As if the few minutes would help them any,” muttered Hermione.
“Well, it was early,” objected a yawning Parvati. “Don't know why the prefects had to go down already.”
Dean and Seamus arrived about ten minutes later, wide grins on their faces.
“Told you we don't need shepherds,” Seamus greeted them. He sat down and poured porridge into a bowl.
“Where's Harry?” Dean asked, sitting down opposite Seamus.
“Not here yet,” answered Lavender. “Are they even out of bed?”
“Left before us. Must have gotten lost.”
Harry's arrival was announced by sudden whispers among the students in the hall. He and Ron came over to the Gryffindor table quickly. They both looked very annoyed.
“Bloody stairs,” Ron spat as they sat down. “I had the way right, only this staircase now leads somewhere else than yesterday. Guess where.” His scowl turned into a grin.
Hermione knew the answer, but didn't say anything. How anyone could find this funny was beyond her. The others, however, didn't know.
“The forbidden corridor,” said Harry. Parvati and Lavender let out identical gasps and Dean said, “Cool!”
“What's in there, then?” asked Seamus. Harry shrugged.
“No idea. There was a door and we tried to get through, but it was locked. Then Filch turned up. Asked what we were doing there, didn't believe we were simply lost. Nasty guy.”
“And nasty cat,” added Ron. “Did you notice how the two's eyes are the same?”
Hermione ate her breakfast in silence while the others ranted about the caretaker and his cat. Some second-years joined in, offering their experiences with the “dust ball”, as they called Mrs Norris. She was therefore finished long before anyone else, but even then she didn't have anything to say. Not that the others had, really. It was their first day as much as hers, but they didn't seem to care as they happily chattered on.
Instead, Hermione took out One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi from her bag and started to re-read it. They had Herbology first thing in the morning and she didn't want to be unable to answer a question.
Just then, there was a great rush of wings. Over a hundred owls suddenly flew in through various holes near the roof, looking for the receivers of the letters and packages they bore, diving in to deliver them and then flying out. Just as suddenly as the owls had come, they were gone again.
In time they all got up and walked out of the castle and towards the greenhouses. Their classes at Hogwarts had started for real.
Most of them were all Hermione had hoped for, and more. The greenhouses were filled with dozens of plants she had never seen before. Professor Sprout was a dumpy, merry witch, handling the chaos in her classes without ever raising her voice beyond what was necessary to make herself heard. The chaos was always there, but she managed to teach despite it.
Professor Flitwick handled his Charms classes in a similar way. He was the tiniest man Hermione had ever seen, needing a stack of books to stand on so he could see above his table. In his first class Hermione noticed that not only the students were fascinated by Harry – when Professor Flitwick read Harry's name on the register, he toppled from his books in excitement. But he controlled himself after that and the classes were wonderful, with them practising basic wand movements and learning the theory of magic.
Nobody needed calming in History of Magic, though. Professor Binns, the only teaching ghost at Hogwarts, had a droning voice that seemed to put most of the students to sleep at once. Hermione had to admit that he was boring, but she still couldn't understand how people would actually sleep during class. Learning about goblin rebellions was interesting in itself and it was class after all.
Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, controlled her class with her mere presence. She waited until everyone was seated in their first lesson and then explained how she ran things.
“Transfiguration is one of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned.”
Then she greatly impressed them all by turning her desk into a pig and back again. Hermione found herself wishing that she could already do that, but for now there were notes to take and theory to learn. Transfiguration greatly differed from other magic: there were less incantations, less complicated but more precise wand movements and a great deal more concentration. Hermione forced herself to relax when they all got matches which they were supposed to turn into needles. It was very hard. Only in the last few minutes she thought she had finally discovered how to work this kind of spells. On her last try the match had gone silver and pointy, though it was still made of wood. She looked around, somewhat disappointed, but found that all the other students were still frowning at their completely unchanged matches. Professor McGonagall came over to her table and showed the match to the whole class, which threw jealous looks at Hermione. But she didn't mind; Professor McGonagall had smiled at her. It was unusual enough for her stern face that Hermione felt like she had been praised in front of the whole school.
The good feeling didn't last long though. They were introduced to Professor Quirrell and Defence against the Dark Arts next. His classes were Hermione's biggest disappointment yet. Professor Quirrell and his entire classroom all reeked strongly of garlic and he actually looked ridiculous with his strange turban; according to him, it was a gift he got from an African prince he had helped in getting rid of a zombie. The students didn't quite believe him, though, as he seemed unable to tell the story of the fight. When Seamus asked him about it, he flushed and started stuttering even more than usual. It also seemed to be the turban where the strong smell that surrounded him came from.
Wednesday was the Astronomy night. They all climbed one of the highest towers in the castle from where they could observe the moon and the stars, recognize their constellations and learn their names.
On Friday, they finally had Potions for the first time. Professor Snape had his classroom in the dungeons of the castle; the dark and murky tunnels suited his appearance. He was tall and thin, with a large hooked nose and black, oily hair. He was dressed in black robes, too, which pointed out his sallow skin. His voice was barely a whisper as he spoke to them, but they were absolutely quiet. Nobody wanted to draw attention; his presence would have kept them silent even if they hadn't been warned that Snape was very unfair and favoured the students of his own house, Slytherin. It was the Slytherins they had the class with and the reaction of the Gryffindors ranged from dread on Neville's part to anger from Ron.
The older students turned out to be completely right. Professor Snape read their names off the register and stopped at Harry's. He didn't seem excited at all, though.
“Ah, yes, Harry Potter,” he said ever so quietly. “Our new... celebrity.”
Malfoy and his friends sniggered, but Snape ignored them and finished the register. Then he looked at the class, his cold, black eyes measuring them up and apparently not pleased with what they saw.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,” he said. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death... if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
I'm not a dunderhead, Hermione thought. She was sitting on the edge of her seat, ready to start learning everything this man taught her, no matter how unpleasant he was. But he didn't seem ready yet.
“Potter!” he said suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Magical Drafts and Potions, chapter seven, Sleeping Draughts. Hermione's hand shot in the air. Harry, on the other hand, looked completely stumped.
“I don't know, sir,” he said.
Snape looked delighted in a twisted way. His lips curled into a sneer.
“Tut, tut... fame clearly isn't everything.
“Let's try again, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
He didn't even as much as glance at Hermione's hand. But she knew the answer again. Chapter 3, Common Ingredients for Advanced Potions. She stretched her hand as high as she could, waving it slightly to catch Snape's attention. But his eyes remained focused on Harry; he didn't even notice the Slytherins laughing behind his back. Or he chose not to notice – the rants of the older students came back to Hermione's mind.
“I don't know, sir,” Harry had to admit yet again.
“Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?”
She had to give it to Harry, he was a true Gryffindor. He met the Potions master's eyes stare for stare, not blinking any more than Snape did. It also kept the professor's attention well away from Hermione's hand.
“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
None, Hermione wanted to shout. She stood up, her hand pointing straight upwards, her eyes fixed on Snape's back.
“I don't know. I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?”
A few people dared to laugh. Snape's sneer fell away from his face and was replaced by anger.
“Sit down,” he snapped at her. She did, very much taken aback.
“For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?”
Hermione already knew all that, but she knew better than to argue, it might even lose her house points. So she took her quill and started to write. Over the noise she heard the professor's voice: “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor house for your cheek, Potter.”
She sighed inwardly. She couldn't really blame Harry for that point, but it still raked her. She wanted to win the cup.
Snape then sorted them into pairs and set them to work on an Amosil Potion, which was a very simple potion for curing boils. He wandered menacingly between the tables, criticising every single student except Draco Malfoy, whom he praised for the way he had boiled the horned slugs, when suddenly a large cloud of acid green smoke rose from Neville's and Seamus' cauldron with a loud, hissing sound. Then the cauldron collapsed, drenching Neville in the potion and leaking the rest of it to the floor, where it spread and burnt holes in people's shoes. Within seconds the whole class was standing on their chairs, except for Neville, who was whimpering in pain.
“Idiot boy!” Snape came over, gave his wand a wave and all signs of the accident vanished except for the boils on Neville's arms and legs. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”
Neville was unable to answer; the boils had spread to his face.
“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. And then – Hermione couldn't believe her eyes – he turned to Harry and Ron, who had been working at the next table.
“You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor.”
Harry opened his mouth, probably to argue, but a kick from Ron made him close it again.
The lesson ended an hour later. Hermione's potion had been “not a total disaster”, according to Snape, which she took to mean that it was as it should be.
Still, classes were, everything considered, highly enjoyable. Hermione wished she could say that for everything at Hogwarts.
When she got her letter, Hermione thought that she would finally find people like herself, people who wouldn't consider her a freak. She had found that to a degree: nobody was afraid of her because of her magic. Yet the other children weren't like her at all. They didn't read as much as she did, they didn't study as hard, they didn't pay as much attention in class. They considered her a freak for doing all these things. It had taken only three Herbology classes until she had been called know-it-all for the first time at Hogwarts. Lavender and Parvati had become fast friends immediately, but they had behaved so childishly that Hermione couldn't stand being near them too long. She regretted that now, but they wouldn't let her into their circle any more.
“Has the high lady decided to step down to us commons?” Parvati had asked when she sat down next to them one evening.
“Or is this just another rant about how we should do our homework sooner?” Lavender had added.
Hermione had stood up and gone to bed.
Seamus and Dean had taken to simply ignoring her. They were very good at it, too, to the point that they sometimes nearly ran into her.
Neville came to her when he needed help (he needed a lot of that, his forgetfulness seemed to extend to lessons), but otherwise kept to the other boys too. Hermione sometimes considered not helping him, but he was the only company she really had.
Harry and Ron were the worst though. Not only were they by far the laziest students of their year, they also took it worst when she reprimanded them about it. Harry was much like Seamus and Dean, ignoring her when he could and telling her to go away when he couldn't, but Ron was outright hostile. His eyes narrowed and his face set in a scowl whenever she got near them. He was never short of snappy remarks either.
“Why don't you do our homework if it means so much to you?”
“It's really none of your business if we're late for class.”
“As if you cared if we don't learn enough, you only care about stupid house points.”
It was especially bad because, for some reason she couldn't explain, she really wanted to be friends with the two. They were always laughing together, playing chess or Exploding Snap (a wizard's card game were the cards sometimes exploded) and generally having a good time. She never saw one without the other, either. She sat across the room in a corner she had taken as a near-permanent residence, watching them and not really being able to concentrate on her books. The library became her refuge, where she spent hours and hours just scanning book titles, looking for information that was suitable for a first-year. She then brought the books she chose back to the common room and again sat in the corner.
There was one obvious development in the two friends. The first few days they were always very late for breakfast, mostly due to getting lost in the castle. They adamantly refused to be shown the way though, especially by Hermione, even though she offered it more than once. Then, on the first Friday, they finally arrived on time. Over the next few weeks though, they took less and less time travelling the distance, to the point that they finally arrived in the Great Hall before Hermione did, even though they left the common room considerably later. She had asked them how they did it and had received an enigmatic smile from Harry and a “Why don't you look for the answer in a book?” from Ron.
Hermione found herself longing for classes, even Potions, so that she would be occupied and not have time to think about the other students. The days dragged on and more than once Hermione cried herself to sleep in the evenings. Ever so quietly, of course, lest Parvati and Lavender would complain about being kept awake.
She mentioned none of this in the letters to her parents, of course, keeping them carefully to what she learned in classes. She couldn't fool her parents, though, and the return letters sounded more and more concerned. Somehow it only made the situation worse.
A day Hermione wasn't keen on drew nearer. One morning a notice was posted on the message board: flying lessons would begin on Thursday. To make matters worse, they'd have the lessons together with Slytherin.
Every book she had read said the same thing: that you couldn't learn flying from books, that you had to go out and do it. She didn't like that one bit. She had been able to keep up with the children who had grown up in the wizarding world in the other classes, even outstrip them all, by reading and learning in her spare time. She wouldn't be able to do that now, and listening to the others she got the impression that flying was all young wizards ever did. Seamus and Ron loved to share their flying adventures, with themselves and with everyone else. Everybody talked about flying and Quidditch, even Lavender and Parvati.
Well, everyone but Neville. His grandmother had kept him away from broomsticks, undoubtedly fearing, with good reason, that he would injure himself. Neville was not only forgetful, he was also very clumsy. As a result, he was even more nervous about flying than Hermione was, little consolation that it was.
She woke with a cold lump in her stomach on Thursday morning. For a second she considered just staying in bed but quickly dismissed the thought. Staying away from class would lose her points and maybe even earn her a detention; besides, she needed to learn to fly after all. She sat up and pulled back the bed curtains. Parvati and Lavender were already up, chattering excitedly as they dressed.
“Padma had her first lesson yesterday,” Parvati was just saying, “and she says the school brooms are terrible. They vibrate as you go higher and some don't even fly straight.”
Hermione's heart sank from her stomach to her knees. How would she ever be able to stay on a broom that didn't hold still? She was going to fall off, somehow she knew it.
“Oh, look who's crawling out of her bed,” Lavender exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you getting up later than us, what happened? Surely there must have been some terrible disaster to cause this.”
Hermione didn't react. She was almost used to them making comments like that. Almost, except that she would never really get used to it. She dressed and left the dormitory for breakfast.
All of the boys were already there, Seamus and Ron in a heated discussion about broomsticks and the others listening. Dean and Harry were sharing uncertain glances from time to time; both were a bit nervous about flying. Neville simply looked terrified.
Hermione slid into a seat next to the boys, unnoticed as always except by Neville, who tried to smile but didn't quite succeed. She thought he might be sick any moment.
Talk turned from broomsticks to flying itself. Ron tried, without any success, to describe how to fly. In the end he gave up and just sighed, “Well, you'll just have to do it, you know. You can't explain it.”
“But isn't there anything?” Neville wailed. He cast desperate looks around the table, his eyes resting even on Harry and Dean, who couldn't help him of course, and her. Well, she thought, there are a few tips I read.
“I read a book called Quidditch Through the Ages, it contained some tips for flying. It says the most important thing is to hold balance. You have to grip the handle tight, but relax otherwise.”
One of the boys groaned as she continued to recite the book's tips. Neville was hanging on her lips though, and she was quite glad to have found an excuse not to eat anything. She was interrupted, however, by the arrival of the post owls. A barn owl headed straight for their group and dropped a small package in front of Neville. His earlier nervousness forgotten, he eagerly opened it and took out a strange, small glass ball filled with white smoke.
“It's a Remembrall,” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things; this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red... oh...” His eyes stopped gleaming and his jaw froze: the smoke had gone scarlet and glowed in his hand. “... you've forgotten something...”
He screwed up his face in concentration as he tried to remember what he'd forgotten, when a hand snatched the Remembrall out of his. The hand belonged to Draco Malfoy, who was standing behind his seat, flanked, as always, by his bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry and Ron jumped to their feet at once, as if looking for a fight. Which would undoubtedly cost house points. Hermione was on the verge of telling them off when Professor McGonagall stepped up to them, summoned by her sixth sense for trouble.
“What's going on?”
“Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor.”
Malfoy, realizing that he could do nothing with a professor looking, scowled and dropped the ball on the table. With a mumbled “Just looking,” he walked away. Professor McGonagall threw a short look after him and returned to the staff table.
It was inconvenient that the practice was after lunch. While Hermione had forgotten her nervousness over the events at breakfast, by lunch it had fully returned. She ate a few bites, but mostly she just poked at the food with the fork. She didn't want to throw it all up later, so she better not eat it now.
At three-thirty they went out on the grounds together. Together meaning that Harry and Ron led the way, Dean and Seamus shortly behind, Neville trying to keep up, Lavender and Parvati following them all and Hermione at the very end, ignored and forgotten. The weather was very good, the sky clear and a light wind blowing. “Perfect flying conditions,” as Seamus observed. They reached a smooth lawn where they found the Slytherins already waiting. About twenty brooms lay in the grass, arranged in straight lines.
Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, arrived just after them. She had short, grey hair and staring, yellow eyes that reminded Hermione strongly of a hawk.
“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she called. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”
Hermione managed to secure herself a broom that didn't look too battered.
“Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, 'Up!'”
“Up!” Hermione said. The broom rolled over and lay still again. She cast an uncertain glance around. Harry was holding his broom in his hand, looking very surprised. Malfoy held his broom too, but he looked more bored than anything else. Neville's broom hadn't moved a bit. Ron's broom jumped into his hand just as she was looking. Alright, she could do whatever Ron could do. Remembering the parchment of her Hogwarts letter, she concentrated on her broom.
“UP!” she shouted. The broom jumped in the air, but lost momentum before she could grab it. She concentrated again and made her voice hard and cold.
“UP!” she commanded. The broom sped upwards and into her hand. Only then did she realize that her command had been into total quiet. She looked around. Everyone already had their brooms in their hands, except Neville, who had apparently given up on making his broom come. Everyone looked at her.
“Very good, Miss Granger,” Madam Hooch said. “You see, it's quite easy with enough command in your voice.” Hermione wondered if that was why the teacher's voice was so hard.
“Now, mount your brooms. You should feel the cushioning charm on them. It's what makes the broom comfortable and it also provides a good part of the hold you have on your broom. If you don't feel the charm,” Madam Hooch looked at Neville, “then you're sitting at the wrong place. More in the middle, Mr Longbottom.” Neville shifted his broom. Hermione shifted hers a little, too. It really felt like there was a thick and comfortable cushion she was sitting on, but she didn't yet trust her weight to the broom. Madam Hooch was at the far end of the line, correcting Malfoy's position, something that seemed to delight Harry and Ron to no end. Especially since she didn't correct anything for either of them when it was their turn. She didn't correct much for Hermione either, only told her to relax. How she was to achieve that was another matter entirely.
Then Madam Hooch placed herself at one end of the line of students and gave her next instructions.
“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle. Three. Two..” She didn't get any further. Neville, sweating from nervousness, had already kicked off the ground and floated away.
“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville obviously wasn't in control of his broom. It flew straight upwards and all Neville could do was to look down at the ground with a very white face as he rapidly went higher. Suddenly, twenty foot in the air, he let out a gasp and lost his grip on the broom, slipping sideways off it.
Hermione screeched as Neville fell down heavily and landed with a thud on the ground.
“Everyone stand back!” Madam Hooch snapped and leant over him.
“Broken wrist,” she muttered. “Come on, boy, it's all right, up you get.”
She turned to the students.
“None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'. Come on, dear.”
She ushered a crying Neville away towards the castle. Hermione looked after them, her throat blocked. The same could happen to her on this broom. It would float away, completely uncontrollable. And Neville must have been really lucky only to break his wrist after that fall.
“Did you see his face, the great lump?”
Hermione recognized Malfoy's drawling voice. How he managed the drawl even while laughing she couldn't imagine, but it made her anger rise. How dare he and the other Slytherins laugh at Neville? Obviously the other Gryffindors shared her views.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” snapped Parvati.
“Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?” said Pansy Parkinson. She was a friend of Millicent Bulstrode, a hard-faced girl from Slytherin. “Never thought you'd like fat little cry babies, Parvati.”
Parvati looked as if she wanted to say something, but was interrupted.
“Look!” called Malfoy, snatching something out of the grass. “It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him.” He held up the Remembrall, the glass glittering in the bright sunlight.
“Give that here Malfoy.”
Hermione looked in surprise at the speaker. It was Harry, but not looking like the usual Harry at all. He had a slight frown on his face, his lips were set in a tight line (a bit like Professor McGonagall, she thought) and his green eyes were fixed on Malfoy. He had spoken quietly, but with an aura of authority Hermione would have never thought possible from him. She knew in that moment that, would he direct such a command at her, she would obey. The class had gone silent, watching the confrontation.
Malfoy didn't have enough sense to recognize the danger though, or maybe he thought himself invincible. He sneered and shook his head slightly.
“I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect... how about... up a tree?” He picked up his broomstick.
“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy didn't listen. He mounted his broom and floated away, coming to a halt in mid-air, level with the topmost branches of a large oak. Hermione couldn't believe his complete disregard for rules. Well, he would get expelled and she wouldn't be sorry at all.
“Come and get it, Potter!”
No, surely Harry had more sense than that. Or not, she realized when Harry reached for his own broom. Malfoy was one thing, but Harry was Gryffindor.
“No!” she shouted. “Madam Hooch told us not to move! You'll get us all into trouble.”
Harry ignored her. She wished she could summon up such authority as he previously had.
“You can't...” she started again but was held back by Ron.
“Shut up,” he hissed at her. She watched desperately as Harry swung his leg over the broom and kicked off the ground. She wanted to tell him that he couldn't even fly, that he would fall off, but the words died on her tongue. He could fly. For a moment he sat a little stiff, but she could see him visibly relax as he soared into the air, higher and higher. He leaned back on his broom, accelerating his ascent even more. Hermione screamed at that, the other girls gasped.
“Whoa, Harry!” Ron called. “Way to go. Knock that git off his broom.” The last wasn't quite loud enough for Harry to hear.
Seamus, on the other hand, was staring at Harry in awe.
“He's a natural,” he whispered again and again. “A natural, I tell you.”
Hermione had read of such people. They were born with a feeling for flying, they simply did it. Apparently Harry was one of them.
In the meantime Harry had drawn level with Malfoy. He stopped rising and turned his broom towards Malfoy in one swift manoeuvre.
“Give it here,” they heard him call, “or I'll knock you off that broom!”
“Do it anyway,” Ron whispered. Hermione groaned. Harry would get Gryffindor in so much trouble.
“Oh, yeah?” Malfoy called back, but his voice definitely wasn't as steady as usual.
Harry suddenly leaned forward on his broom and shot towards Malfoy, who only got away just in time. Even before Malfoy had steadied his broom, Harry had turned around and looked ready for another attack. Dean, Seamus and Ron broke into applause. Lavender and Parvati were gripping each others hands tightly. Malfoys cronies took a step forward before they remembered that they couldn't reach him. Harry seemed to have noticed that too.
“No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy,” he called.
“Catch it if you can, then!” Malfoy shouted. He threw the Remembrall into the air and dived towards the ground.
The glass ball made a wide arc through the sky and plummeted towards the ground. As did Harry. His broom handle almost vertical, he was streaking towards the ground, overtaking Malfoy, overtaking the Remembrall. Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth. He was going to crash, he was going to break his neck! He did none of these things. Just above the ground he levelled out, almost touching the grass with his toes. His path intersected that of the Remembrall. He stretched out his hand and caught the little glass sphere just before it crashed into the ground. His broom slowed down rapidly. Harry slid over the front end and toppled gently on the grass. As one, the students started to move forward.
“HARRY POTTER!”
That wasn't any of the students. They spun around. Faces went from red to ashen in a heartbeat. There was Professor McGonagall, running – running! – towards them, her face livid, her skin completely white.
“Never... in all my time at Hogwarts...” she spluttered, unable to form a coherent sentence, “... how dare you... might have broken your neck...”
“It wasn't his fault, Professor-”
“Be quiet, Miss Patil-”
“But Malfoy-”
“That's enough, Mr Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.”
They watched helplessly as Professor McGonagall led Harry away. Malfoy had been safely on the ground when she had arrived and was now grinning widely.
Hermione turned away in disgust and instead looked at Ron. He would be devastated, she assumed, but instead he had the calculating look on his face she had only seen before when he had played chess in the common room, defeating everyone.
“Alright,” he said once Professor McGonagall was out of earshot, “listen now. Nobody mentions anything of this to Madam Hooch.”
The other Gryffindors protested immediately, saying that they couldn't let Malfoy get away with this. Ron shook his head violently.
“Look, McGonagall didn't say anything about expelling Harry” – he swallowed hard – “but Madam Hooch will if she knows. As it is, Harry might only get detention or something. I promise, if anything happens we will make Malfoy pay.”
“Will you, now, Weasel?” Malfoy had come up behind him, flanked once again by Crabbe and Goyle. The Gryffindors, including Hermione, drew together behind Ron.
“Yes, we will,” Ron shot back. “Very brave again, now that you've got your friends back, aren't you? Well, see how much we care.”
Malfoy couldn't answer that. He gave Ron another sneer and turned away. Ron, his ears still red, watched him for a moment and then turned towards Hermione.
“I warn you, Miss Know-it-all,” he hissed, “one word of this and you'll...”
“I wasn't going to...” she spluttered indignantly, but Ron didn't let her finish.
“Just a warning. All your books won't save you if I'm after you.”
He turned away, leaving her standing with her mouth hanging open and a big lump threatening to block her throat. Luckily it didn't take long for Madam Hooch to return. True to Ron's plan, no one said a word about what happened during her absence, even though Malfoy kept shooting smirks at Ron which were returned with angry glares. Ron merely mentioned that Professor McGonagall took Harry away for “something, but she didn't tell us what.” Madam Hooch accepted the explanation and continued the lesson.
They all learned to hover in this lesson, but there wasn't any time left for more. Hermione was glad for it. She returned straight to her dormitory and lay down on her bed, sobbing into her pillows. The look on Ron's face when he had turned towards her was unbearable. For some reason she couldn't begin to fathom, he seemed to absolutely despise her. She only wanted the best for them. She thought of all she had done in the past few weeks.
She tried and succeeded in not treating Harry as a celebrity. Whispers followed him everywhere he went and he was annoyed by it. She could read it in his face. So she treated him just like everybody else, helping him when he had questions (he never had any), reminding him of the rules when he was about to break them (he never appreciated it and broke them anyway), telling him to do his homework so that he wouldn't lose points. Ron, too, of course, as he always did exactly the same as Harry. He seemed quite flattered to be friends with the Boy who Lived, but that faded away as time went by.
Yet they avoided her, thought she would actively work against them. Life wasn't fair, she decided. She only wanted to be friends with them.