Second Year
It all began with Hermione Granger in the library.
This was not an unusual sight, not in the slightest. On the contrary, it could be said that Hermione Granger outside of the library was more peculiar for the eyes, as the girl was scarcely seen anywhere else. She wore her thirteen years daintily, and her youth was reflected only in her small stature, for there was nothing young in Hermione's eyes. Despite having barely lived, Hermione Granger had seen things that most full-grown wizards and witches could never dream to see in their lifetime. One of these things was an attempt of the mass-murdering dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, to acquire a magical stone that granted immortality, whilst simultaneously trying to kill her best friend last year. He had failed, thank God- that would not have helped to convince her parents Hogwarts was safe. Another was the opening of a fabled chamber, created by Salazar Slytherin, to purge the school of people from non-magical families- people like her- through the use of an indistinguishable mythical monster. She supposed this was another small detail she could leave out when her parents asked how school was. This really wasn't how she had expected her first years at Hogwarts to go like.
The latter of unspeakable things which Hermione Granger had seen was the very reason she found herself in the library, alone; eyes scanning the spines of the books on the very fringes of the Restricted Section, hoping something would jump out at her. Eventually, Hermione sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she'd just have to collect all the books that poked her fancy and skim through them (which was Hermione for 'read meticulously, word-for-word'). She was looking for something; she just wasn't exactly sure what that something was. She knew, however, that she'd know once she found it.
And so, Hermione did just that, retrieving as many thick volumes she could carry and dumping them on the nearest table, where she threw herself, pretending her frazzled nerves were not screaming inside of her, and opened up the first book.
This one wasn't overly fascinating, written by some dreary bloke who had isolated himself to write about monsters hundreds of years ago, but she forced herself to continue reading, flicking through the pages and committing every single word to memory. Hermione went to turn the page, eyes scanning the one she was on, but finding nothing of interest, when she stopped-
She frowned, shaking her head to clear it. Then, Hermione swallowed and read aloud, voice just above a whisper, "'Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size, and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it-'"
"I thought you were smarter than this, Mudblood," his scathing voice jolted her out of the book, and she gasped, ripping the page she was reading out, and slamming it shut.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Hermione snapped, jumping to her feet.
He appeared at the end of the row, all cool and effortless like his unaffected twelve year old self always spat. His hair was platinum, shining almost white in the light, and slicked back. His face, a pale and porcelain edge of marble, was tilted in her direction. Hermione thought it was a shame, as she looked at his blue eyes and statuesque features, how beauty was too often wasted.
"I mean," Malfoy said, slowly, as if her request for an explanation was irritating, "that you, of all people, should know better than to wander alone in the castle. Especially at a time like this."
Hermione tried not to show just how much his words got to her, but she bristled nevertheless. His lip curled.
"Be careful, Malfoy," she warned, eyes flashing. "If someone overheard, they might think you care."
Malfoy's face dropped and his cheeks tinged a light pink. He snarled, "Who'd have thought? The Mudblood has a sense of humour."
He stepped closer to her and Hermione tightened her fist around the crumpled page in her hand. He was so close to her now, too close, so that she could feel the hotness of his breath against her freckled cheeks. Malfoy's blue eyes were cold, his sneer malicious. "I'm waiting for it to get you, Granger. Maybe it will actually succeed this time."
Hermione stared at him, and the horror crawling up her throat rendered her incapacitated, frozen to the spot. She snapped out of it, pushing him away from her. "You disgust me," she hissed.
Malfoy stumbled backwards, and once he'd caught himself again, he just stared at her. Hermione tried to control the way the blood rushed to her cheeks, and willed her fury to overtake her unease so that he wouldn't see how much his words had affected her. She swallowed, ignoring the almost painful beat of her heart and reaching up (her hands were shaking) to pat her hair down. It had become a frizzy mess.
Malfoy scoffed, and he reached for something. Hermione forced herself to continue what she was doing, hoping he didn't notice the way she hesitated, the way her eyes flicked to him when he moved. He didn't do anything though, simply retrieved a small, hand-held mirror from his bag and slid it along the table to her.
"Here," he said unpleasantly, nose wrinkling. "Sort that birds nest of a head out before you leave, won't you?"
His eyes ran over her one more time, and Hermione clenched her fists at her side to refrain from punching him, before he left. She snatched the mirror off the table, cursing him under her breath. Once she was sure he had gone for good, Hermione opened up her fist and re-read the passage of text. A Basilisk. King of Serpents. Well, that certainly sounded like a monster Salazar Slytherin himself would endorse. Perhaps Malfoy kept one for a pet, she snorted at the thought.
Hermione continued reading:
-the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death-
Murderous stare.
She almost gasped, almost dropped the mirror in her other hand. She'd found it. She'd found the monster. Hermione read it again, quickly, just to make sure... but it had to be! There was no other explanation!
She stopped short, a deep frown marring her face. But how was it getting around? A great big snake like that couldn't very well just slither any which way it liked! It would be seen in a heartbeat! So then-?
The answer presented itself, fell through the disrupted puzzle pieces of her mind. Of course- Harry had heard it in the walls. She put the mirror down and grabbed a quill from her bag, dipping it sloppily in the ink, and scribbled:
Pipes!!
Hermione couldn't contain the grin that stretched across her face. She shoved her things back into her bag, knowing that she had to tell Harry and Ron! But as she headed towards the library door, she paused.
She looked behind her, and her eyes found the small, circular mirror, still sitting on the table. Hermione felt her heart speed up in her chest.
-the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death-
She took a few steps forward and grabbed the mirror. Just in case. It was very pretty, small and ornate, with almost painfully scrupulous detail. It would be a shame to leave it here...
She had to admit it, Malfoy had taste. But then again, Hermione reckoned she would too if she was as rich and spoilt as he was. She almost smirked. It looked as though Malfoy wouldn't get his wish anytime soon. She left the library-
Hermione Granger survived only because of the mirror she held in her hand. Malfoy visited her just once.
YOU ARE READING
The Eight Years We Wasted
Fanfiction"There was so much time. What did we do with it? Where did it all go?" "We wasted it. We pretended we were invincible, and that our struggles were worth more than what they were. We thought we'd live to see our paths never cross again, or... someho...
