Chapter Text
November 1973
She hadn’t spoken to any of the boys for a month. For longer than a month, actually. A month and three days, but it sounded pathetic when she thought about it like that.
She’d been alone for most of her life, for one reason or another, but she felt truly, pathetically lonely. There was something othering about not having any of the boys there to tether her to that world. She hadn’t been born in it, she was a stranger, and she seemed to be more conscious about that fact than ever.
November 3rd came and went, and still, Hermione and the boys didn’t speak. Back during the summer, she’d convinced the Plaidwoods to let her roam Diagon Alley to look for birthday gifts for the boys. She hesitated but ended up sneaking into their room and leaving the small parcel on what she knew to be Sirius’ bed. He didn’t say anything to her that day, like he hadn’t all month, but she did notice the weight on his stare sometimes through the day. She didn’t approach either. That afternoon, she noticed them playing quidditch, and it didn’t escape her notice that Sirius was wearing black gloves instead of his usual brown. She’d been glad to see that he hadn’t been too proud to use her gift. It had to mean something that he hadn’t instantly thrown it away, right?
She remembered that he had told her in the summer that his family had started to refuse to buy him quidditch gear. His hands had grown, and his old gloves had gotten too tight. He’d told her, through the journal she had enchanted for him, that he wasn’t even allowed to leave the house unaccompanied, and there was no chance he would be able to buy some for himself. He would have to ask James or Remus to lend him theirs until he found a way to buy himself a pair. It’d been that same day that Hermione had bought the gloves.
No change came after Sirius’ birthday, then. She contented herself with staring at them from a distance, practicing her magic and researched dark curses. She needed to be ready for whatever the future would bring, and she had a good idea of what that might be. She had allowed herself to be distracted. She was done.
It was easier to research things she shouldn’t be when she didn’t have a band of teenage boys running after her, she had to admit. Between that and the extracurricular classes with McGonagall, she was busy enough that she could fake time flying by.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
“Hermione,” Pettricus said, as he sat next to her. It was something he had taken to do, sitting next to her during lunch so that she didn’t have to sit alone. The first few days he had done that, his friends had stared at them like they were seeing a show, but when they’d seen that all they did was talk, they’d grown bored of them. She had noticed Bott sending them looks from time to time, and she rolled her eyes at him every time she caught him. It seemed extremely immature that he was still hung up on that business from the year before.
“Hi,” she answered, focused on her food. She had to finish eating fast if she wanted to have some time to practice defensive spells before afternoon classes started.
“How was Charms?” he asked.
She had mentioned that she was having trouble with her Charms homework a few days before. It had been a lie, she’d learnt all that one time, it really posed no trouble to her. Still, she remembered struggling with stuff when she’d gone through Third Year the first time, and it wouldn’t do to appear to be too good at everything. She didn’t imagine anyone would ever imagine the truth, but she didn’t want people to be suspicious about her for any reason.
“It was good,” she told him. “I asked Professor Flitwick for help yesterday and I think I’ve got it, mostly.”
“That’s good.” He seemed to hesitate. “If you ever… want help, and you don’t want to go ask a teacher you, ah, you can ask me. If you want.”
She stared at him. Pettricus was a Weasley, and Weasleys had always had the same ability to get red as tomatoes really fast. He was halfway there when she looked at him, and he seemed to get even redder when he smiled and nodded. “I will, thank you, Pettricus.”
It was a lie, of course. She had no problem asking professors for help, but she was too prideful to ask other students. It was no secret that she had always felt somewhat inferior to her classmates, even though she wasn’t, and going back in time had not fixed that. No, she would not be asking Pettricus for help, especially when she didn’t need it. But she appreciated the thought anyway. Since they had met in Diagon Alley back before her First Year, he’d been somewhat of a friend, and with very few other people to talk to, Hermione felt like they were really close now.
She remembered what he’d said, back when he had suggested he could sit with her at lunch. “there’s other people, Hermione.” He was right, and she was making an effort to see that, she supposed. He was making an effort to make himself stand out, too. He sat with her at lunch, he walked her to class sometimes, he sat next to her in the library… And when she wanted space, he didn’t get mad at her for it, even though he clearly didn’t understand.
He would be a good friend, she thought. Not as close as Harry and Ron. Nowhere near how James and Sirius had become. But he would be a good friend, someone to count on. Maybe, once she was done with her mission, he would be someone to remember her fondly.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Hermione had not been popular on her first time at Hogwarts. She was aware that people saw her more as Harry’s charity case than as one of his friends, except when they decided they hated them. She’d been known by most people at their school, but that didn’t mean she had many friends. She had been able to count them with the fingers of one hand.
On her second time, things were similar, and they weren’t. She wasn’t popular, apart from the boys, Marlene, Dorcas and Pettricus, she did not have any friends. But she was fairly known. Now, after what had happened with Peter, people avoided her in a way they never had. She saw the looks some of the Gryffindors gave her in the Common Room, she sensed the Hufflepuff’s dismay when they crossed paths in the corridors, she was aware of the Ravenclaws muttering about her in class, she heard the Slytherins taunting each other with her. It was awful, it was othering, but Hermione took it all with her head high and her jaw set.
“Why did you do it, though?” Dorcas asked one day. It had been the first day all week she hadn’t been quiet, and Marlene had dragged them to the courtyard to suck up the rare winter sun. When Hermione turned towards the Ravenclaw, she saw her flinch from the kick Marlene had given her. “I’m just asking!” She turned back to Hermione. “You don’t have to answer.”
Hermione hesitated. “I don’t like Peter.”
Marlene snorted and shrugged when Hermione glared at her. “That’s an understatement.”
“Why?” Dorcas asked, “he seems pretty harmless.”
Hermione felt her lips pursing. She hated that no one could see what she knew. She shouldn’t get so angry at people believing Peter to be harmless, he wasn’t more than a child yet, he hadn’t done anything. But he was still the person he was. “I don’t like him.” She shrugged, trying to make her voice nonchalant enough that they wouldn’t think her crazy. “He has always… given me a bad feeling? And he knows I don’t like him.”
Both girls looked at her strangely, but it was Dorcas who decided to speak. “You’ve been friends for three years, though.”
She tried to stop her teeth from grinding. “We’re not friends,” she said, and even though she’d tried not to, it came out very adamant. It made her stomach twist when she’d heard that. No, she was not friends with Peter Pettigrew, she would never. His ratty, awful face was engraved in her memory, along with his multiple betrayals. They hadn’t happened yet, but she knew they would. If James’ original kindness hadn’t stopped it the first time, nothing she could do would. She knew it. She was sure of it. “We just… have the same friends.” It was weak, and maybe so was she. Accepting being near Peter just because James, Sirius and Remus were. Maybe she should have avoided them all from the beginning.
“That’s the same,” Marlene said, her eyebrows furrowed.
“It really isn’t,” Hermione insisted. “And he knows it. He knows I don’t like him. And he decided to tease me about my hair.” She heard the pettiness in her voice, and she saw, in the other two girls’ faces, that they had heard it too.
“That… I’ll be honest, that doesn’t seem too bad.” She looked at Marlene as she spoke, and Hermione wanted to grab her from the shoulders and shake her.
“I’m sensitive about my hair,” she could think of thousands of memories of other children teasing her for it in a much meaner way, even Ron. It was a soft spot. “And also, if we’re not friends, why would he think it’d be alright for him to mock me? He was taunting me.”
“Hermione…”
She didn’t get a chance to push her thoughts, to convince her friends that no, she hadn’t been in the wrong. Before she could, a lone figure approached them. He was wearing a black and green robe and even if he hadn’t walked right up to them, she would have recognised him. Severus Snape stared at her with his face twisted in disgust.
“Plaidwood,” he muttered. He completely ignored Marlene and Dorcas, but the girls kept quiet.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
Snape had always been a loner, even in his own House, he was a stranger, apart from the main group. As far as she knew, his only friend was Lily Evans. She’d seen him in the company of a couple other Slytherin boys a few times, but they seemed like they hated each other more than anything.
“I was just wondering where your little ragtag group was,” he said, loftily. “They’ve been quiet all month. I don’t trust it.”
She turned to stare at him fully. She didn’t like being looked up from above, with him standing and her sitting, but she hated the idea of standing up just to be taunted by him. Instead, she stayed where she was and tried to conjure up a bit of Sirius’ swagger. The one from Remus’ stories. She hadn’t gotten to see it yet, Sirius was too young still for that, not confident enough. And back when she’d known him before, he had been too broken.
“Must you always be so desperate for other’s attention, Snape?” she asked, tiredly. “What is it to you where they are? Why do you care that they’ve ‘been quiet’?” It had been true, though. No pranks, yet. Nothing. No excuse for Hermione to talk to them.
His face had turned sour. “You are pathetic,” he said.
She shook her head “No, Snape. You are pathetic. Leave us all alone.”
He looked a step away from hexing her, and she tightened her grip on her wand, hand hidden by her robe. If he did try to hex her, she would finally have an excuse to really practice some of the defensive magic she had been learning on her own. Maybe she would even get to try some of the offensive one as well.
“You have been moping after them for a month, you are pathetic.” His eyes managed to get meaner. “Maybe you’ll sneak into their room and manage to get them to forgive you. Wait, no, you can’t anymore, right? Pity.”
She stared at him as he walked away, her eyes squinted into slits. She felt her anger course through her body. Snape was a mean boy, and she knew he would grow to be an even worse man. The implication of his words was heavy in the air as Dorcas and Marlene muttered about how awful he was. Hermione didn’t intervene, she kept her eyes away and her breathing under control, somewhat. She focused on taking in the air, and letting it out, ignoring her magic crackling in the air.