Chapter Text
The scarlet train slowly came to a grinding halt at Hogsmeade Station where Hagrid, the ground-keeper, awaited the familiar and new students with a jolly smile. Harry ran off of the steaming vessel and embraced the half giant in (what he thought to be) a bone-crushing embrace.
"Good to see yer, Harry." said the giant softly. The two conveyed few pleasantries before allowing the raven haired boy to embark onto a carriage with the promise of visiting the half-giant's hut soon.
Harry recoiled at the sight of the dark, skeletal creatures pulling the carriages. 'Thestrals' he remembered his dreamy friend, Luna, telling him last year. Despite having ridden on one, the Boy-Who-Lived figured that he would never become accustomed to seeing the gentle creatures signifying death. "At least not everybody has to see them." he mumbled under his breath, somewhat relieved somewhat alone.
Hermione had heard her best friend's quiet dismissal but could not find the Gryffindor courage supposedly embedded within her to inform him that he, in fact, was not alone. She could see them too, though she doubted that Harry had been told of what had happened at the beginning of the previous month, for he had been seeking his seldom moments of peace within trains.
During the time she spent mourning over her loss, Hermione had discovered an absurd disliking for pointless conversation. She found herself longing for long, intellectual debates but found herself stuck for options when neither of her friends could maintain even half an argument if the words "Quidditch" or "Food" were not present in the conversation. Typical.
Upon reaching the captivating castle of Hogwarts, the brunette ignored her small group of friends and left her luggage inside the corridor allocated for the Gryffindor's. She sat down in her normal seat on the red and gold clad table, her friends following suit moments after.
They had all begun to notice the change in her attitude. Ron quietly complaining to his sister, Ginny, that he had caught her rolling her eyes at him more than usual, though Ginny wrote him off by saying that he had indeed been a tad more annoying than usual. But that did not excuse her apathy towards... everything; Ginny had been astounded when Hermione had not corrected her passionately when she purposely misstated a fact in order to get a rise from her. What had surprised her even more were the streaks of malicious silver manifesting within her (apparently charmed) dark green orbs. Though subtle, it was definitely there.
The ancient Sorting Hat droned it's sorting song before allocating each new first year its family for the upcoming seven years. Gryffindor guarded seventeen, Slytherin entrapped twelve, Ravenclaw achieved seven and Hufflepuff welcomed six.
Headmaster Dumbledore announced for the feast to begin and with a wave of his wand, luxurious mountains of food piled up the empty tables. Ron had taken two of whatever his grubby little hands could reach, Harry following though managing to eat with the slightest more grace than his best mate. Ginny, traditionally sticking to the reputation of Weasley, piled her food akin to Ron yet ate with propriety. The only one out of the quartet who ate with the elegance and grace that could rival every pureblood wizard was Hermione.
She did not pile copious amounts of food on her plate, nor did she pig out in front of an audience. She ate what was sufficient enough for her and her onlookers.
Biting into the chocolate cake with her fork, Hermione watched the Headmaster, her Head of House and the Sorting Hat engage themselves in a heated discussion muted by the loud voices of obnoxious students.
"Hermione Granger!" bellowed the ancient rag, prompting her into placing it on the top of her head, the sides acting as a barrier between the student body and herself.
'It is a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Granger.'
"Why have I been summoned? I presume that you have not called for me simply for a chat?" Hermione asked bluntly.
'Indeed not, clever witch. I have sensed a change in your personality rendering Gryffindor an unsuitable match any longer. The intellect and curiosity of Ravenclaw still burns passionately within you, and the Gryffindor courage is there for when the opportunity calls for it. Hufflepuff has never matched your persona, and it still does not despite your kindness, loyalty and good will.'
"And Slytherin?" she questioned intuitively.
'Miss Granger, Slytherin has always been one of the more befitting options though with the issue regarding your blood (Hermione scowled) I saw to it that Gryffindor would benefit you at the time, but no longer.'
"Why doesn't Gryffindor 'suit' me anymore?"
'I'm afraid I cannot divulge anymore information, clever witch. But if you truly live up to your title, you will figure it out soon enough and break the enchantment that was cast on you as a babe to prevent you from becoming your true self.'
"Enchantment? You mean I have been obliviated whilst I was a child?"
'Take yourself to your furthest memories, Miss Granger. You will discover the problem there.' "Slytherin!" the ragged hat yelled out to the brunette's disdain.
The student body present in the Great Hall watched in mortified silence as the bold red and gold of her tie and robes faded into a silky green and silver. Hermione clenched her jaw at the betraying glares thrown at her from majority of her former house and the radiation of disgust emitting from the snakes.
Hermione could not fathom why her former house mates, her friends, were looking at her with malice. Mere moments ago she was one of them - a lioness - and had been for the previous four years. She was the one who aided them to achieving the house cup during the years, she was the one who helped them complete their homework when required, she was the one who earned points by answering questions in class.
She was also the one detested and lonely through majority of her first year. And it was although fate wanted to play a cruel game with her as it condemned her to the same blasted position again.
Deserted by the Gryffindors, detested by the Slytherins and completely, utterly alone.