Year 5 - Stockholm

Chapter 12

Oh, darling. You've Gone Red.

Hermione arrived later to breakfast than normal. Drogon had dragged out a black jumper from somewhere and wouldn't rest until she took it with her. Each time she removed it, he put it right back in her satchel. It went on for fifteen minutes whilst all her roommates complained of the incessant meowing. Finally, she caved when Lavender tossed a pillow.

Gryffindor was a sleepy table. Their heads were sunken. Voices quiet. It took a while for the lions to fully roar awake. Harry and Ron were lucky to make it in time to snag a bite of something before class.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, were in their full swing. They chatted with smiles as they ate off plates brimmed with fresh foods. Draco Malfoy was in his usual place. He chatted with a Slytherin she recognized from the Pitch. What was missing from his space was the usual high-pitched squeal of that pig Pansy Parkinson.

The embarrassment of Pansy's statement was washed away the night before. Hermione hardly cared if the witch thought of her as a whore. She wasn't one. That was the truth and that's all Hermione needed.

Through the crowd, she spotted the ebony black hair down on the other end, nearer the younger Slytherins. They stared with their wide little eyes as she ate silently.

A small, shallow vein of satisfaction twisted Hermione's mouth with a smile. She had to enjoy the little things. It looked like karma found its way to the bitch after all.

She made her way toward the deserted table of burgundy and gold when a sharp echoing whistle split the room. For whatever reason, it halted her steps.

The Great Hall was not a place of epic scenes in the morning. Some acknowledged the sound with a wince while others continued to stare at their places with a faraway look in their eyes.

Hermione Granger glanced at the Slytherin table, where, sure enough, Malfoy stared. His hand was gestured toward the seat at his side. Crabbe and Goyle were late risers. It was possible they weren't awake yet to corral her.

It was just lucky that she was not in the mood to fight him. She wanted to eat and start her day on a pleasant note.

She walked the lonely distance of the Slytherin table until she reached the section of the fifth years. The open seat was hers. She took it without an ounce of hesitation. The ease of the transition from Hermione Granger, Gryffindor to Granger, Slytherin pet was frightening.

Malfoy continued a tired-out discussion of his mother's Christmas parties. They took place every year. The Daily Prophet reported the gala every year with detailed pictures of the decorations and those in attendance. It was the red carpet of wizarding society purebloods. A practical list of Death Eater compadres and Voldemort sympathizers.

Her ears were piqued with interest as to whom Malfoy mentioned he dreaded seeing – one whom spilled brandy on his new imported shoes! The horror! – and the odd withdrawn nature of the witches.

Plates atop the Slytherin table were spread out, as they were with every House table. Hermione felt a discomfort in asking for what she desired, the plates nearest being picked through for their warmest and best contents, so she picked at some fruit and ate them quietly. Her tea was hot. That was most important.

"Here." A plate was thrust to her face. Grapes dropped from her fingers as she reached out to take it.

"Um, thanks." Hermione didn't know what to make of it.

The Slytherin witch, of wavy blonde locks and thick rimmed glasses, shrugged. "The boys clean out the plates this section of the table. You'll never get anything if you sit next to them."