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Wake of War	By : sshgdifferentfan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4060 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from publishing it.

Chapter List
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4. Salazar’s Mudblood

As she walked towards her first class that morning, optional Alchemy with Professor Basset Jhones the Third, the only class Slytherin and Ravenclaw shared this year, as apparently only Slytherins and Ravenclaws were interested in the Alchemy, Hermione's mind started wandering to the events of the night before, of this morning and to all the other things that still troubled her mind now and again -- some more often than others. There was the war, her months with Potter and Weasley, Weasley and the hatred she saw directed at her Head of House, Professor Snape and the happiness she felt seeing him back to his old self, Malfoy's advances, her weakness when faced with her needs, the parents who in their own minds have never been parents at all, the need to get her life back to what it had been before she fled, the letter she wish could write itself and many, many more.

Those were the things going to her mind, all swirling and crushing together, all giving her a headache, when memories of a time so long ago that it barely seemed to have really happened rushed to the front of her mind. Hermione had no idea what though or sentiment had called on this particular memory, but she allowed it to take over anyway. If she could just remember and not think for the rest of the way to the basement classroom she was more than fine with it. The memory was of a long time ago, when she was different, still the innocent overly excited twelve years old, brushy-haired swot on her first ride on the Hogwarts Express and she was happy -- happy because now she had proof that magic was real; happy because there, on that train, she was no more different than the toad-boy in her compartment. She was ecstatic, as the train slowed down then finally stopped and people pushed their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform.

Hermione forced down her shiver as she stepped on to the platform, as well as her eyes blinking to the cold.

It wouldn't do to miss something, she told herself.

The platform filled with students young and old and a lamp came bobbing over the heads of them all as a voice, a voice just as huge as the man that followed it spoke: “Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Harry?” Hermione's eyes snapped to her left, where the man's eyes-- Or is it giant, she wondered -- seemed to be looking at. There, in the middle of all the madness that seemed to have taken over the small platform, stood Harry Potter and he was beaming right back at the man, with now every single eye on the platform staring him down.

She knew Harry Potter of course, first from the books she'd already read, many of them mentioning him and then from meeting him only hours ago in the train. He seemed like nothing she had expected actually. She imagined him famous and special and different -- the hero type from all the films she'd seen or books she'd read -- but he wasn't any of that, instead he had been shy, scared and just or maybe even more overwhelmed than she was, yet friendly and open -- Not so different from the rest or me for that matter, she realised and giggled as the man -- or giant, she preferred giant -- spoke yet again, “C'mon, follow me -- any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!”

Slipping and stumbling, they gathered around the giant -- Hermione giggled again as some of the boys started 'Wow'-ing and 'Wahoo'-ing as they got their first close look at the giant of a man standing before them. One boy in particular, a platinum blonde haired one, caught her attention as he marched towards the giant, took one good look at him, then turned and walked back towards the end of the row with a disgusted look on his face. If she were to compare that face to anything, she would say that it looked exactly like Aunt Dee's reaction the Christmas before last when she first saw Valery's pet tarantula crawling on the dinner table.

She like that look, it made her laugh then and giggle now.

The giant started down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path and they all quickly fallowed, slipping and stumbling some more in the darkness that surrounded them right, left and centre, the only light coming from up ahead where the giant held up his lamp. Nobody spoke much as they walked. Neville Longbottom, the toad-boy, sniffed once or twice from her right as they were at the end of the steep, but that was it.

“Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec,” the giant called over his shoulder, “jus' round this bend here.”

***

“No more'n four to a boat!” he called again as they got around the bend he'd been talking about and onto a lake shore. Hermione took a deep breath, shook herself once and then climbed into the first boat she saw. Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter and a red-head boy she couldn't remember the name of though she’d made his acquaintance on the train, followed her in the boat and settled down -- Neville next to her and Harry Potter and the redhead on the bench opposite her, when the giant's voice boomed over their heads, “Everyone in? Right then -- FORWARD!”

***

“The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall,” said the giant -- she now knew from Harry Potter, was named Rubeus Hagrid and was Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts -- after they finished their boat ride, walked up a set of stairs and he knocked on a huge door which opened and a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes, that had a very stern face and looked like someone that one shouldn't cross, greeted them with the smallest of nod.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.” She pulled the door wide and they followed her across the flagged stone floor. Hermione could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -- the rest of the school must already be here -- but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously at the stern witch before them.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” said Professor McGonagall. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.” The Professor's eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the redhead's smudged nose. Hermione nervously tried to straighten her robes -- which was a success -- and then her hair -- but she didn’t really had any luck there; the stack of brown brushy wires she called hair never did the whole straitening thing.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.” She left the chamber without a second glance at the nervous first years left in her wake.

Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat and really looked for the first time at the faces that surrounded her. She knew some of them already, from the train ride, and others -- well, just one actually, Harry Potter -- was much too famous not to know of, but the rest were complete strangers to her, strangers whom she will spend the next seven years of her life: her forming years as her mother had named them.

Some will be my house mates, she mussed taking in faces and reactions as the students talked among themselves about the sorting that seemed to frighten them all -- much to her amusement. I'll live and study and make friends… I'll have friends! -- they… they'll be my friends -- I'm not a freak here. They're like me, all of them just like me, and they'll be my friends.

She continued to look as a bubble of happiness erupted inside her chest and smile at every face that happened to glance her way receiving back smiles or blank stares or even sneers, but it didn't matter -- not all had to like her, just some. Some was enough, a couple was enough… even one was more than she had now.

Then something happened which made Hermione jump about a foot in the air, her thoughts on all the friends she'll be making here going out the window of the windowless room -- several people behind her screamed.

“What the --?” They all gasped and shrieked as about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to each other and hardly glancing at them. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying, “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance --”

“My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost -- I say, what are you all doing here?” A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first-years.

Nobody answered.

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be sorted, I suppose?” A few people nodded mutely, Hermione one of them. She couldn't talk even if she'd want to and right now she didn't really feel like talking. The ghosts were less terrifying than she would have thought -- especially after reading so much about them in ‘Hogwarts: A History’ -- but they still were pretty frightening.

“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff” said the Friar. “My old house, you know.”

“Move along now,” said a sharp voice. “The Sorting Ceremony's about to start.” Professor McGonagall had returned and one by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

“Now, form a line,” Professor McGonagall told the first-years, “and follow me.” And they did, all of them, some more nervous than others and in line they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Just like the book said, Hermione thought as she first stepped into the room. The Great Hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the Hall was another long table where the teachers stood.

Professor McGonagall led them up the row between two of the house tables, all the way to the head table, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver.

She noticed Harry Potter gazing up at the ceiling with a bemused look, that made Hermione giggle and whisper, “It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”

Hermione's eyes quickly shifted from the famous boy to Professor McGonagall, never noticing the bemused look he send her way, as the professor silently placed a four-legged stool in front of them. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

Hermione smiled as she looked back at Harry Potter noticing his confused look. As she let her eyes travel from him to others around her she saw almost the same expression on most of their faces -- though there were some, like the blonde boy from the train station, which seemed to know what the stool and hat were all about. Her smile turned into a sneer, the kind Miss Chapman, her English primary school teacher used to have whenever one of the students forgot to turn in an assignment. Of course, she thought as a soft, barely audible 'Humph!' made its way out her lips, people never bother to read anything.

For a few seconds, there was complete silence in the Great Hall. Then the hat twitched and Hermione couldn't for the life of her keep the laughter within as almost all first-years around her shrieked and whispered and then shirked some more as a rip near the brim of the hat opened wide like a mouth.

She had no reaction other than laughing and throwing Harry Potter and the redhead next to him a look that clearly stated her opinion on them not knowing about the hat. They're a Pure-blood and a Half-blood and I, a Muggle-born, know more about this! Humph! She turned her eyes from them, just as the hat began to sing

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!”

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

“So we've just got to try on the hat!” Hermione heard the redhead whispering to Potter. She had to fight with herself not to say anything and just stare at the now silent hat. Humph! “I'll kill Fred,” the boy continued, “he was going on about wrestling a troll.”

Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she said and clearing he throat once she started, “Abbott, Hannah!” A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause --

“HUFFLEPUFFF!” shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Hermione saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her from his spot just above the table and wondered if the Gryffindor ghost did the same thing.

“Bones, Susan!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

“Boot, Terry!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

“Brocklehurst, Mandy” went to Ravenclaw too, but “Brown, Lavender” became the first on to be sorted into Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Hermione could see what looked to be a pair of Gryffindor twins catcalling and shouting Lavender's name.

So that's how it is to be sorted there, she thought and a smile played at her lips. Yes, she was sure now, Gryffindor it was. I'm going to be a Gryffindor! That was the house for her, the only house for her, she was sure.

“Bulstrode, Millicent” then became a Slytherin, “Finch-Fletchley, Justin!” a Hufflepuff, “Finnigan, Seamus”, a sandy-haired boy that sat next to Neville and her on the Hogwarts Express, had to stand on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat finally declared him a Gryffindor.

Then… she heard it. As if she was under water and the speaker somewhere above, the words sounded milky and indistinct when Professor McGonagall said, “Granger, Hermione!” Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

“Hmm,” said a small voice in her ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of brains, I see. Not too low in the courage department, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes -- and more than a healthy thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting … So where shall I put you?”

Hermione gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!

“Gryffindor, eh?” said the small voice and Hermione almost jumped off the stool. The hat was reading her mind. “Not the best choice, I tell you! Why do you want to be a Gryffindor anyway?”

Hermione ignored the question, not because she wanted to be rude or anything, not to the one magical object that was going to determine her future, but because she was too afraid to stop her loud chanting of, Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!

“You're an ambitious one, I see. More than anyone I've sorted in a long time… yes I remember! It was a long time ago, a boy -- you're just like him…it's all here in your head, and my sorting could help you on the way to greatness or mediocrity or…”

Hermione's chant stopped and as she opened her eyes she found herself looking into the darkness of the hat. She didn’t know what she expected to see, maybe two great yellow wise eyes, but there was nothing there to look at, nothing to help her sort through the feeling that gripped her heart at the hat's last words.

She wasn’t completely certain when it happened, but sometime in those eternity sized seconds of silence, her mind had started a new chat. There was no more Gryffindor… please just let it be Gryffindor!, but: I want greatness! as the Hat’s words still seemed to be shouting in her mind and then, just like that the shouting stopped and there was laughter, rich, sinister yet pleasant laughter. “See, I was right,” the hat said between two laughs, “you are more like him than you think!”

“What… like who?” she asked, but the hat never answered as it ignored her completely and went on to whispering, “So, not Gryffindor for you my dear -- better you be,” and then shouting for the all of Great Hall to hear, “SLYTHERIN!”

Hermione sat down that night, all those years ago, at the Slytherin table, the same as she sat now in her seventh year Alchemy class -- alone. She didn’t mind it though, not now, not after all the years she had to get used to it. She would some days -- those under the weather days mainly -- whine to herself about it, but really she enjoyed the peace and silence that nothing but her thoughts as company offered.

The memory of her soring night started to fade, another one coming to the front of her mind, threatening to surface, but just then, just when she was about to let the new memory take over and drown the sounds of the present, she heard the door close with a loud click and Professor Jhones striding up the aisle, heavy footsteps ringing in the quietness of the classroom. Hermione looked up just as the professor reached his desk, turned and offered them a smile that could have rivalled that of Gilderoy Lockhart back in the days when the pompous prat still had all his marbles.

“Good morning, everyone!” Professor Jhones greeted, eyeing and nodding to each and every student.

Lucky sod has only twelve students, he can afford it, thought Hermione with a roll of her eyes, as she always did in his class. The man was just as pompous as Lockhart had been -- less of a fake maybe, but just as annoying -- and she had discovered, early in her classes with the man, than she could stand him even less than she could Lockhart after discovering the truth about him. She had had a crush on that git, while this one she couldn’t care less about.

“So,” he smirked and waved his wand to the blackboard, the words ‘Magnum opus’ appearing in his all too perfect calligraphy -- Just one more thing to hate about the man, she thought -- “who can tell me what Magnum opus is?”

As always Hermione’s hand shoot into the air, high above her head and as usual in this class at least, where only those with the affinity and brains for the subject attended, she wasn’t the only one. One more Slytherin -- they were five of them, her included, in this particular class -- had raised his hand, as well as four out of the seven Ravenclaws.

Professor Jhones scanned the room once, before his eyes stopped on Hermione and with a large, all teeth smile -- she always felt uneasy when that smile was directed at her -- he nodded indicating that she should answer. She rose, the chair making scraping noises as she pushed it back, took one deep breath to gather her thoughts and started, “Magnum opus,” here she stopped for a little effect, “or The Great Work as some authors call it,” another stop -- less of the effect but still some, “is the process of creating the philosopher's stone. It has been used to describe personal and spiritual transmutation in the Hermetic tradition, attached to potions, Arithmancy and alchemic processes, used as a model for the individuation process, and as a device in art and literature,” she took another brief pause -- there was still more to say, “The magnum opus has been carried forward in new age and neo-hermetic movements which sometimes attached new symbolism and significance to the processes. It originally had four stages.” She paused again, only for the second needed to breathe when Professor Jhones took the opportunity to wave her down.

“Excellent, Miss Granger,” he said gesturing her to take a seat, “five points to Slytherin. Now, who can name and describe the four stages Miss Granger mentioned?”

Hands shoot into the air, but strangely this time Hermione’s didn’t. Her mind was already away from the small classroom in the basement and Jhones’ questions. A new memory was forming and this one she let flow, because really she didn’t had any chance at stopping it.
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Wake of War