20.5.2014

What Lies Beneath The Cover of The Hedgehog



Chapter 02 The First Lesson





Morning, late at 10 o’clock, the transfiguration classroom was filled to the brim with the first years of Slytherin as well as Ravenclaw. A good combination overall. 

Carl Crabbe had smuggled a pastry from the breakfast, which everyone could tell from the smell and bulge on one side of his legs when he sat. McGonagall informed icily the glutton boy that there would be no further bringing of food to lessons, and deducted 5 points from their House for improper behaviour and reminded everyone that bringing anything consumable was strictly prohibited.

While Professor McGonagall was explaining away the fine basics and compendium of the history of Transfiguration, Hermione was busy noticing small nuances of difference in her trusted, favourite Professor. For example, there was not so much grey in the hair strands, not perhaps quite so many a line in her face, her stern look seemed sharper, her voice more firm, and if she wasn’t altogether wrong, her Professor was taller than before, or it could have been just that Hermione was back in the body of an eleven years old and her sense of lengths was altered.

They started with transfiguring peas into round wooden beads. Easy as a pie to complete it, but what would prove the actual challenge here, was to act like she was concentrating hard and doing nothing in reality. 

However, neither could Hermione give up without doing anything at all - and it would not do that every lesson in the future she just stood there doing nothing - so she would make the transfiguration look wavering and happen partway, very slowly, sometimes changing back, and not changing anything too much, and of course waiting at least ten minutes before allowing any sort of change.

 In her first year not one student except for Hermione had been able to have any sort of success and were she to show her real abilities it would only increase her already suspicious character.

Hermione felt most daft pointing her wand at the small olive grey dry pea, sitting innocently on her table. Just transfigure me! it seemed to say. 

It proved hard to look like she was intensively concentrating. Was her act alright? At some point she felt a drop of sweat roll down her temple. It was nerve-wracking. Did her Professor notice? 

Perhaps the time had come to start transfiguring. She tried to conjure an image of atomic speed of the change in her mind, the change process would be like building with one tiny particle at time, changing slowly, then progress more forward, then more backwards, altering the speed of change, creating the small flickerings, she was definitely sweating now and decided that the object could be left half pea hued and half wooden colour for a while. 

Wiping her brow she took a glance at the clock on the wall, it was bloody well only fifteen minutes since they started, still another quarter left! 

She sighed miserably and raised her wand again, not even daring to pass a glance at the Transfiguration Mistress. She now mainly concentrated in the slow change of hue to a more wooden like colour from the greenish, greyish brown. Never did time pass so poorly.

“Splendid work, Miss Granger”, came suddenly from her right as to catch her unprepared, and almost in her scare did she change the pea all the way.

“Thank you Professor”, she squeaked in a small, cracked voice. Her shaking arms felt more or less clammy while their Professor proceeded to show the whole class the result of her accomplishment and called the lesson to an end.

Just as Hermione was about to take her leave to the next class that would be Defence against Dark Arts with Ravenclaws again, McGonagall informed her about Professor Dumbledore finally wanting to see her. She had been expecting it anxiously; of course they had questions after a strange child popped up at Hogwarts out of nowhere.

“Miss Granger, please visit Headmaster’s office after your Charms, if you’d be so good.”

She was looking at Hermione perusingly, as if trying to make out something.

After the Defence against Dark Arts, and one flying lesson - the first and only one where she wouldn’t have to pretend anything because she had never exceeded in it - and finally one measly hour of Charms, Professor Flitwick was kind enough to walk her to her destination. The password of this period, Dotted Doughnuts, was uttered and the large oaken door opened to reveal a familiar sight, masses of different sort of peculiar objects, piles of scrolls and books, and somewhere in that tall book shelve divided in two was sure to be found few books on a very important subject, the Horcruxes, and sure as sun was shining the old Headmaster was sitting in front of his desk in a large amber hued armchair, half-moon shaped spectacles perched on the top of his nose, and a kind twinkle in those knowing eyes, and a funny star decorated, lilac pointy hat sitting in top of a mass of white long hair. Of course let us not forget the fact that his beard was also very white and long as well. Headmaster Dumbledore was very proud and pleased with it.

“Ah, Miss Granger, please sit down, sit down. Would you care for tea and some Cracky Crumbs, or perhaps Minty Morsels would do the trick?”

Hermione politely declined and sat down quietly for a while. She already knew what she would tell; she had had the whole morning to think upon it.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir, I wanted you to know I’ve always admired you a great deal. And I know that you are aware that sometimes there are things that one can’t tell, things that must be kept secret.”

Hermione looked upon Dumbledore with eyes lit by hope, anticipation and worry. 

“My dear girl, I’m afraid I’m lost as to what you’re talking about. But I am very delighted that people in Australia have heard about me. How cheery! Thank you Miss Granger.
Now, am I to understand, that you cannot talk about why you came here, and in such an odd manner no less?”

“Yes sir, you have it quite right. And I’m sorry that that’s how it is. However, I promise you this, a time will come when I will tell you my reasons! But I cannot yet.”

The headmaster took it all in stride, ever so calm.

“Alright then. Perhaps you could tell me about your parents instead?”

“No, I’m afraid not sir. I’m sorry, that too, I must tell you later.”

Dumbledore let out a jolly, good-natured laugh.

“Ah, no worries Miss Granger, no worries! How extraordinary! But I have to ask you, is there anything you can tell me?” Dumbledore smiled, as if sharing a joke between old friends.

Hermione paused to think.

“Well… I suppose… I came here to help my friends first and foremost, and to study”, Horcruxes ,” I love studying, and always take it very seriously. I beg you to believe me professor, that I mean no harm – can I stay here at Hogwarts?”

Headmaster Dumbledore was a skilled legilimens. He could sense no dishonesty from the small girl, albeit there was a mysterious and a bit restless air around her. Of course he knew that there was much left untold, but it would all no doubt unfold in its own time, like things generally were bound to do according to his experience.

“Why, there’s no good reason to send a potential student away! Minerva was very pleased with your half wooden pea today, you ought to know. If you ever need help, feel welcome to visit me whenever again. Oh, and also, seeing as you came here with no equipment other than your wand, we considered it appropriate to provide you with useful items, which have been conducted to your room in the Tower of Slytherin.”

Somehow, Hermione felt reluctant to part with the homely office room, storing the living and healthy Professor Dumbledore in it, nevertheless she sighed and rose up to leave anyways.

Dumbledore wondered at the sadness that reflected on the young student’s eyes, and sincerely hoped that the small girl would find here at Hogwarts what she sought after.

“Ah, before you go Miss Granger, I must say that you certainly have a very grown-up and clever mind for someone of your age”, he called out from his desk and winked knowingly at Hermione.

That rattled her a bit. Was he already on her secret? No less from the great Wizard Dumbledore. Well, maybe he didn’t understand her fully yet, but still, what insight he had!

Hermione ran all the way to the Tower of Slytherin.

Sure enough in her sleeping room, beside her bed was sitting an auburn trunk, filled with all the necessities the first years would need, as well as a small purse containing ten Galleons, thirteen Sickles and twenty-eight Knuts. What they thought she would do with such money as a first year was beyond her, but it might come in handy had she the need to shop in the middle of the school year.

She paused to think on what had taken place in the Headmaster’s Office, her brows forming wrinkled lines. Why had she not told Dumbledore everything, pour out all the horrors they had met, reveal that she had crucial information about what was to come and how it could be possibly prevented? 

Because she did not want to involve him. Not yet at least. She was afraid that Dumbledore would take too much on himself, would leave her out of it, and die from one of the Horcruxes like he did the last time. The temptation of the Resurrection Stone… Hermione held no such temptations. Nothing existed in this world for her to resurrect. She needed Dumbledore at his best to defeat the weakened Voldemort in the final battle, and to protect the school while the Dark Force rose. He could not be out Horcrux-hunting because he was needed at the Hogwarts, but Hermione could. She would sneak out in the weekends and holidays and hunt every and last one of the Horcruxes down using every ounce of her knowledge, past experience and resourcefulness.

It was but three in the evening, and after she had her supper she’d have time to take to her favourite place, the Library, and have several hours for planning and research. 

Ensuring that she had found a suitable secluded place in a far-end corner caved in by massive shelves, Hermione started with something she rather liked to make: To Do Lists. Her favourite of favourites. (Though if you asked Hermione, no doubt anything concerning schedule, keeping order, research and rules would be her favourite) 

First she charmed her paper against other possible eyes. She did not want anyone happening on her planning parchments and overseeing things that could absolutely endanger everything.


To Do List


Keep up appearances

Research Horcruxes

Research Time Travel

Get information from Death Eaters and their children

Confirm the locations of Horcruxes

Find means to destroy Horcruxes 

– Sword of Gryffindor, Fangs of Basilisk or even Fiendfyre (last option!)

Destroy Horcruxes X number (anything under six)

Discuss with Dumbledore about the future

Defeat the Dark Lord and his followers

Decide whether to return to your own future devoid of any hope (if it’s possible, even) or go hiding to the other end of the world because there cannot be two Hermione Grangers.


It formed quite the list. If she completed it she deserved a well-earned pat or two on her back.

Looking at her Time Table, she mapped out her planning/research/information gathering time accordingly:

Monday 8-10, 16-20

Tuesday 8-9, 14-22

Wednesday 8-10, 14-22

Thursday 8-10, 14-22

Friday 8-10, 14-22

Saturday – Sunday all time


Free time after classes was meant for homework and different clubs. Hermione would not spend it as such, although she would be unable to resist completing homework of any sort.

There were still plenty of hours to use. Unlike in their seventh year, Hermione had now the time and safety to go about things at the pace she wanted. There were no Death Eaters panting at your neck on every door and corner. Yet. That could be arranged as well no doubt. 

She would start on the Horcruxes easiest and most unnoticeable to acquire, which would leave Tom Riddle’s Diary in Malfoy Manor, Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup in Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault and Nagini somewhere near Voldemort himself, for later undertaking.
She needed potions, and the ingredients for them, also a space to make them in secret – perhaps the Room of Requirement – and inventing a long lasting invisibility charm would take her a long way, or finally studying what she had been contemplating  on for years; becoming an animagus. Otters were small and the form of it would prove almost as handy as being invisible. Either solution would require an immense amount of studying. Time, it seemed, was all she had in here with her light school schedule, and studying was the favourite way to spend time in Hermione’s books and a real challenge in studying sounded naught but a thrill! 

However the queer day of Monday had taken its toll on our soon-to-be hero of the Wizarding World Hermione, and after leafing through some (quite few) books on aforementioned invisibility charms and animagi she felt her eyes droop, neck make small nodding movements on its own and her head drowsy and as such was unable to produce anything sensible anymore deciding to venture out at the Slytherin quarters. 

The day had proved exhausting and Hermione for once, was not looking forward to the next day’s classes. 

Earlier, in the morning she made a decision: she would not behave in the class as she usually did. 

Such as answering anything as thoroughly and enthusiastically as she wanted lest she be carried away and start babbling out information known only to the seventh years or even more advanced. 

She thought the best solution for this was not answering any question in order to not to stand out in any way. She had always wanted to stand out, she realised with more clarity than ever. It was tedious, a chore to change something that was so deep down in her spine. How vexing!

A & T


Consuming




tap tap tap

goes the water somewhere

I roll on the other side, only to discover something odd in my reflection.
I rise up. If I walk away from it, it ceases to exist.

It’s tough, it refuses to be put out, it worms its way inside me until I burn brightly in anguish, devours me and turns my skin upside down. I’m shattered. It’s free. 

I breath water, as it envelopes me
give in to its deathly embrace

I must have forgotten to close the tap. That’s why I’m drowning. I slide to the room. The water is not flowing. The sink is perfectly dry. I don’t understand what’s happening to me. It’s not me in the mirror anymore, it’s getting harder and harder to catch glimpses of the original me. What if I can never turn back?

The room feels very cold suddenly. I hide myself under my blanket. 



13.10.2013

What lies beneath the cover of the Hedgehog



Chapter 01 Spiral



There was no greater momentum in her life than the one when Harry fell down, struck by a beam of dooming green light.

It was the peak, the climax, the world crushing down in a single instant, wiping everything under its way.

Every person in the field of battle stilled, staring at the unmoving body with disbelieving eyes. Voldemort laughed, a hollow, victorious and malicious laugh.
Hermione ran.

She sprinted madly to the safety of the school, inside her mind was storming. Running wildly in the corridors, she stupefied every opponent in her path not stopping once.

When you have an urgent need, there is a place in Hogwarts you’d seek.
Stairs, left, stairs, up, up, up she ran, more corridors and stairs until she reached a specific part of 7th floor, wall opposite of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

One single thought penetrated her mind of chaos.

I must save Harry

I must save Harry

I must save Harry, rang franticly

Thrice the phrase, thrice a pass

Had she been less distraught, she might have thought to rephrase her needs. Alas, the state of her mind prevented it from focusing on anything save for Harry, whom just fell dead on the battle ground. For example, she did not bid for saving the wizarding world from Voldemort’s terror, nor did she elaborate on the means, and what Harry be saved from. 

Save Harry from dying in that instance, save Harry from generally dying by Voldemort’s hand, save him from the unbearable Dursleys, save him from the sorrow of losing his godfather

save him from losing his parents

save him, from his cruel destiny?

This question might bring light to some of the events about to take place.

Once inside the Room of Requirement Hermione shut the door with speed, cutting out the eerie noises of the corridor. It would not take long for the darkness to find a way to penetrate the magical walls. Eyeing around her suspiciously, Hermione took note of the fine sheet of sand filling the floor, starting just shy of her toes. Cautious, she stepped one foot forward in slow motion, to the soft, whitish sand.

As nothing seemed to happen she moved the other.

A cold chill ran down her spine.

Something was trying to crawl in from outside.

Instinctively she ran further across the sand, having a bad feeling about the darkness just beyond the room. She didn’t have time to wish for the room to at least bloody well do something before the sand was already pooling around her, making her sink, deeper and deeper into sand, same sand that now also poured on top of her flowing down, there was no floor! Sand flooded everywhere, into her eyes, itching, stinging, in ears, irritating, mouth, so very dry and fine of build

the room, no the sand, whirled and whirled
around, round, round

Spinning

                      like inside a vortex

                                            of

                                                black

                                                  white

                                                   and stars

A most distorting experience. Had her brains not been washed by the sand she would have related the sensation akin to the one with travel by a Time Turner. Also the sand, while a shade whiter, held a resemblance too. She could’ve made quick math.

Nevertheless she didn’t, as she was currently sporting a major headache and a wave of sickness. After bending in two, vomiting a small pile of stomach acid fluid, still feeling wobbly and jelly legged, she noticed the odd foreign feel of her body. She moved clumsily. Glancing at her limbs, her hands.. her hands had been shrunk. Not exactly as in shrunk.. more like.. younger, smaller hands, not just in size, but with the form, texture and proportions.

Limbs were shorter and slightly more shapeless, thin but round – and no breasts. Hips weren’t wide and butt wasn’t round and mature. Cheeks soft and plump, could belong to a cherub. Very silky. Hair was a lion’s mane, so she could reach the conclusion that it still was probably her own. So there were two options, either she was in a child’s body that wasn’t hers, or it was her younger body, of anything between maybe eight and eleven. She remembered her state of puberty starting at twelve.

 If she was still in the Room of Requirement, it could conjure her mirror, couldn’t it?

“I need a mirror on the wall”, Hermione ordered and one appeared. A child Hermione looked back at her in worn, slightly tattered clothes but sporting no bruises, her body was pristine clean. She lifted her shirt on an impulse, finding a small birthmark in between her left rib cage. She felt around her teeth, and a glance at the mirror unfortunately told her that they were the same large teeth she’d had before the accident with Malfoy. She picked her wand from her pocket and quietly reduced the size and length of her front teeth until she was content.

Suddenly she remembered that there should have been sand. Lots of sand. But not a grain was to be found.

There were no trembles along the walls, no sign of Death Eaters beyond the room.
Just the quiet, and her slightly uneven breathing.

Were all the dark troops destroyed? What had the Room of Requirement done to her?

Hermione drew her courage, opened the door to the corridor, wand ready.

Empty.

She did not drop down her guard.

Being acutely aware of her surroundings, she made her way several floors down, until the second floor, where she heard sudden talking.

It was professor McGonagall and professor Flitwick, engrossed in a discussion of student timetables.

“Professor!” she shouted.

Her own voice sounded really childish, high in pitch.

They both turned their heads in the direction of the voice, surprised. And there was no sign of recognition on their faces.

“You must be one of our first years, dear. How on earth did you wander here alone? You should have been sorted along with your peers minutes ago!” McGonagall chided her with a stern expression, took her by arm and dragged her along. 

“And where is you uniform? All of you were informed to change on time at the train!  Fluctunifors,” Hermione’s outer garments were transfigured in a flash of red into a trademark billowing black robe, with a white blouse and black skirt underneath, and her dirty, soggy socks into dashing tiny shoes. 

“T-thanks. But don’t you know me professor?” Hermione asked uncertain.

“Should I know you?” the professor looked at Hermione, wondering about the child’s sanity.

Weren’t these her professors at all, disguised by Polyjuice potion? Or could it be that she was eleven all over again; had she come here to repeat her past – no not repeat – change her past so Harry would be saved and they’d win against Voldemort with her knowledge of the future? But how could she, if there were two Hermiones? Or had something happened to the Hermione in here? Did she not exist anymore?

As she pondered on what to say, how to act, they had already arrived at the Great Hall, full of merry students and staff. McGonagall left her with Mr Flitwick and went to have a quiet talk with headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore was still alive so it had to be the past. Hermione franticly searched for a face of her own in the sea of young Gryffindors, but found none to her fortune. No, in fact, she could not find any familiar faces besides Harry’s. Where was Ronald Weasley? Letting her eyes glade across the other tables as well, she noticed that all the students seemed off somehow. It wasn’t the same as she remembered it. No, it wasn’t the same. She was startled from her thoughts when Dumbledore coughed and addressed her.

“Dear, there is no person from the list of this year’s applicants, whose name wasn’t called yet. Would you tell us your name?” he said with a look that promised that there would be a talk later in his office regarding this odd matter.

Would it be wise to give her name, if this wasn’t her past? She decided against changing it, in front of the whole school, which had quieted down to listen to their exchange.

“Sir, I am Hermione Granger. Eleven years of age. I don’t know why I didn’t get an enrolment letter, as I’m able of performing magic..”

Dumbledore laughed heartily.

“Of course, dear, of course you are capable of magic as you have gotten here.  Wonderful, a new student! Let us get you sorted”, Dumbledore winked an eye mischievously. 

“Albus..” McGonagall whispered, concerned.

“The sorting hat is just over there, sit and put it on”, he advised Hermione.

Lots of whispers circled around the otherwise silent hall.

“Hermione Granger”, announced the current Deputy Headmaster, an unknown tall cold eyed man with a rough voice. Definitely not her past, Hermione thought as she walked over to the chair and pulled the hat on, feeling a light nostalgia from the strange, leathery and heavy matter enclosing around her head.

For a long time the Sorting Hat didn’t say anything. Hermione tried to talk to it in her mind.

-Please, I’d like to get sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Either’s fine, but I prefer Gryffindor.

Silence.

-You will let me go to Gryffindor, won’t you? My friends, well at least some of them are there you see, and I’m of a loyal and courageous nature! It’d be a terrible incident if I don’t get sorted there.

Finally it spoke.

-A mystical thing you are,

extraordinary no doubt

Your whole existence a lie

here by spells ‘t is bound..

Holding a secret, hide and sneak,

a cunning plan, victory you seek

The path ahead has you shivering

indeed, I shall put you to


Slytherin!

-No I belong to Gryffindor!

I belong to Gryffindor!

Hermione screamed inside her head.

“Miss Granger, please remove the hat from your head,” said the professor from before whom she with sudden clarity of mind identified as Professor Sullivan, a Defence against Dark Arts teacher between years 1963 and 1976, from Hogwarts, a History

Now that she looked around she could find names and descriptions for the few odd professors that had at first seemed unfamiliar, and from no other than her most favourite of books!

Casting a glance at the student tables again, she took note of a tall Slytherin boy with a curtain of shoulder length blonde straight hair and striking Malfoy features. Actually, a lot of the male students sported quite long hair – it had to be fashionable at that time – and it must be that time –

“Miss Granger, I repeat; please remove the hat from your head and take a seat at your House Table”, said Mr Sullivan more insistently.

A young pigtailed girl at the front of the Hufflepuff table was wildly animating with her hands, mimicking the motion of taking off a hat.

Hermione opened her mouth, almost saying something, but thought better of it and quietly took off to the Table of Slytherin, casting a miserable glance at the Gryffindors, her original House.

Why on earth the Slytherin?

She was a Muggle-born, and of honest nature.

Already she could sense some unfriendly stares from her new table.

Granger wasn’t a pureblood family name and she hadn’t even received a letter – could she be a proper witch at all?

…Was what must have been on the surface of their minds.

Dumbledore had everyone applauding the arrival of a yet new student and continued the feast.

After an uncomfortable silence, one boy asked her: “Are you a human? You didn’t get the appliance letter, so maybe you are really a harpy?”

“Uh no, as far as I know I’m a normal human…”

“Then how come you didn’t get the letter? Everyone who has magical abilities will get registered as a baby.”

“Maybe my magic grew after I was born, I don’t know,” Hermione replied weakly, knowing it untrue.

“Impossible!” someone commented.

“I guess they might have made a mistake,” a curly haired girl wondered.

Lucius Malfoy sat three seats to the right across her. She tried hard not to be so conscious of him during the dining, but it was proving hard. Was this boy of sixteen already in the troops of Voldemort? Weren’t the Slytherins the first ones to join him, and in the largest quantity?

Wasn’t this the best opportunity to learn about their doings?

To have your friends close, but your enemies even closer…

It was a scary thought.

That she had come through time in order to change the flow of history, so that Harry be saved.

I must save Harry!

Magic was at the best of times, a magnificent, wondrous thing.

She learned first the name of the dark haired boy whom had thought her a harpy, he was Cerell Cresswell. The tiny, cute doll-like girl in front of her was Alina Flidderick. The curly haired girl identified herself as Theodora Rosenlew, a boy who ate like no tomorrow managed to gasp out between chewing “Carl Crabbe”, a boy with dark brown mop adorning his head was Christian Nott, a light polka cut girl Patricia Rosier, all first years.

She was at the table with many future Death Eaters. Malfoy, Avery, Crabbe, Lestrange, Nott, Rosier, Mulciber and possibly more. Dolohov was also recognisable as a tall 7th year.

There was no way she’d tell them she was a Muggle-born in the middle of a Slytherin table. Should she invent a cover story? If she didn’t plan on living there as an unsocial loner, at some point probably sooner than later she would have to tell her housemates something. Yes, the Slytherins, her current housemates. She still had yet to get quite over it.

“So, who were your parents?”

Christian Nott, a snotnosed brat dropped the cat to the table.

“You wouldn’t know them. We lived in Australia. My mother researched Charms. I might be able to make wands one day,” the lies rolled down her tongue, easily, smoothly.

“Seriously? You must be very gifted then”, said the Rosier girl with slight envy.

“Why from Australia to here?  Why didn’t you stay and learn wandmaking, if you’re so great?” Nott asked.

“My dad was killed when I was a baby, and mother died in a cave collapse, while she was digging out runes. I didn’t want to stay so I came here to find Aunt Bathilda Bagshot,”

“-no way, the one that’s nutty as squirrel poo?-”

“and she kindly told me to get here. She got me as far as Hogsmeade and from there I walked on foot. That’s everything in short. But I’m very hungry, so if you’d excuse me for a moment”, Hermione brought the dangerous discussion to a close and started to fill her plate with vigour. No more was said to her that night.

But her performance had not ended at the eating table. When they were gathered, and walked to the Slytherin common room, she had to feign interest in surroundings, more than in her peers. She knew the route well enough; they had sneaked there with Harry and Ron a few times.



As the busy little first years swarmed out of the great hall, the past, or indeed the future, felt suddenly very far away. The Slytherins were gathered into a group and Hermione noticed small Snape among them. He truly was so young that it was hard to recognise in him the potion master he would later become. In some way, Hermione had half mind to go and strangle him, shout and demand him how dare he murder professor Dumbledore – but it would be outrageously absurd. The rational side of Hermione thought that maybe the future of Snape could also be changed, prevent his involvement with Death Eaters. Because that was what this all was about, no doubt. Already the fact that the two professors had seen Hermione on the 2nd floor corridor, meant the change of the past, as well as the future.

Hermione wasn’t sure as to how this paradox was possible, but as of still the world hadn’t ceased to exist.

”What are you staring at?” young Snape asked in a sour tone.

Hermione flinched.

”I didn’t mean to”, she muttered.
 

It seems the first years had four rooms altogether, as the girls were divided into two.
When she had bid good night to her roommates, Alina, Theodora and Patricia, sleep seemed to evade her no matter how she struggled. The day’s events, the past, everything seemed to be swirling inside her mind restlessly. Finally she gave up and settled on one particular subject that annoyed her. 

Why had she been sorted in Slytherin? 

She had never held them in high contempt, nor had they her. 

She seemed to be the embodiment of everything they stood against. Courage, loyalty, average of wealth, a sucker for the rules, compassionate towards different magical species like werewolves, giants, house-elves and on the top of it all: she was a Muggle-born. While she knew that she hadn’t been the only Muggle-born to grace the silver-green colours, she realized that it would still be very hard to hide, and she was already very suspicious a character.

As in any book about Hogwarts, and also in her beloved book, Hogwarts, A History, it said that Slytherin values were cunning, resourcefulness and ambition. If she thought about it for a while, she could admit she had the first traits, especially the second one, and ambition… she’d always had ambition, hadn’t she? In third year she’d insisted upon taking all twelve courses, in fourth year she began the House-elf Welfare campaign, and she had sometimes imagined herself a high career in the Ministry…

And the Sorting Hat had been right; she was holding a big secret. Feeling a sort of heavy, completely exhausting weight upon her, she fell at last into a light, restless sleep.