The Grey | Hermione Granger

|08| Chapter Eight

E I G H T 

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Saffron realised the boy that Hagrid had called 'Harry', was Harry Potter about two seconds after the giant oak door opened up.

Her watery eyes scanned the crowd of anxious first years. She was judging every single one of them. She used every little thing each individual did to almost create a persona for them. Maya used to scold her over this when they played on the beach near Squires, but Saffron didn't care. She knew they weren't accurate. As long as she understood these personas didn't correlate to the actual person, it was okay. She supposed people were judging her too. They may see her as a bundle of anxiety in the body of a blotchy faced half-Indian girl. When in fact, she knew they didn't have the faintest idea. When she had her moments, she could be much much worse.

She assumed, for instance, that a stout looking boy with a full head of wavy blond hair, who stood tall, with his chest puffed out, almost as though he was looking down at everyone else was over-confident, slightly arrogant, and completely privileged. That a girl with fistfuls of long curly blond hair was overly obsessive and self-conscious, judging off how she constantly fidgeted, wiped her face and fixed her hair. She looked around wildly to ensure nobody was watching her, she just didn't look in time to meet Saffron's staring eyes.

Then her eyes met Harry. His scar to be specific.

The red lightning bolt on his forehead was his most distinctive and eye-catching feature. Her eyes immediately fell on it. She couldn't see all of it but underneath the masses of thick black hair, she could just about make it out. It seemed to her like he may have wanted to hide it. She certainly couldn't have blamed him.

Saffron wanted nothing more to approach him. As so much of her past was tied to his. His parents were in her parent's wedding picture. A picture which Saffron had looked at many a time. But as much as she wanted to approach him, she wasn't sure how to do so.

Could she just casually say: "Hello, your dead parents knew my dead parents, tell me everything you know about them and be my friend!" Saffron didn't think so, besides, by the looks of it he was just as nervous as she was. The last thing Saffron wanted was to contribute to his angst, so she looked down at the ground fixedly, pulling her eyes off of him. His position was arguably worse than hers, and in the moment, Saffron allowed herself to feel grateful. For what she had, not what she wanted or felt she deserved. She was lucky to still have her siblings - Harry had no immediate family left.

The door swung open a moment later. A tall, black-haired woman who wore emerald-green robes opened it. Her face was stern and cold, she looked down at them like a vulture, her eyes sharp and serious behind her crescent moon spectacles. Saffron couldn't help but have felt a bit on edge.

It turned out the woman's name was Professor McGonagall, who Saffron knew to be the deputy headmistress and Transfiguration professor, which was one of Maya's least favourite classes.

Saffron and the other first years followed her out to the gigantic entrance hall, which was full of suits of armour, masses of pictures and winding hallways on either side of the group. Maya had told her the castle was huge, but she had never anticipated it being this big. Saffron couldn't wait to explore it in depth.

The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was so high that she couldn't see the end of it, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them lead them to the upper floors. A smile crept onto her face at the sight. It made her feel comfortable. It felt right, in a strange sort of way. It felt like what Maya had had over her for a year had finally come to life, in the best way possible.