If you had asked her when she was still Elena whether she had ever believed she'd be aboard the Hogwarts Express, she'd have laughed in their face and told them she had more important things to worry about, such as her life's work. Not that that had ended well. Did that mean that, as a child reading the books for the first time, she hadn't dreamed of this? No, she'd be lying to herself if she claimed otherwise. Now that she was here in her second life, it was different. She was certainly feeling that excitement, and perhaps a little nervous.

  If she was being entirely honest with herself, the excitement was starting to bleed away, and behind it, nervousness had taken its place. She hadn't managed to stay in primary school for a multitude of reasons, the work being far too simple, but the fundamental issue was her inability to connect with her peers. She supposed this made her not unlike book Hermione; socially stunted and removed from the rest of them, far too mature and with too little interest to converse with them.

  She was pulled from her self-deprecating thoughts by the sound of the compartment door opening. A boy with sleek platinum blonde hair stepped into view, accompanied by two rather brutish-looking boys. The hair alone strongly suggested this was Draco Malfoy. One thing she had already surmised after meeting Professor McGonagall was that the real versions of these people differed slightly from the actors who had portrayed them in the films. However, only one family possessed hair that distinctive. It had to be Draco.

  “Ah, my apologies. We had thought this carriage was empty. There isn't a lot of space left. May we sit with you, Miss?”

  Hermione didn't answer immediately. The book on wizarding customs had given her some insight into how an initial meeting as a pure-blood lady should proceed. When asked for something, whether it was your time, your space, or something of physical worth, do not respond immediately and make them believe you are judging their worth. She nodded.

  “Certainly. There is plenty of space, so you would not be doing me a disservice.”

  They sat down, and the blond boy extended his hand. “Draco Malfoy. These are Crabbe and Goyle.”

  “Hmm, yes, I surmised as much. The Malfoy name is rather well known. Hermione Granger,” she replied, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Granger?” Draco's eyes narrowed slightly, then widened in realization. “As in Dagworth-Granger?”

  Hermione donned her practiced mask, and her face brightened immediately. “We go by Granger on our side of the family.” Not a lie; she just didn't mention which family.

  From the satisfied look on Draco's face, he had taken that as confirmation, and she had hinted at family tensions. Good. She had wanted to avoid the muggle-born derogatory remarks, and her plan had worked. They assumed she was pure-blood, or at least half, and she had not overplayed her hand.

  “I thought so. My father has mentioned your family. Impressive lineage in potion-making.”

  Hermione smiled demurely. “Indeed, but I plan to make my own lineage. I was never really one to coast by on my family's achievements. My parents are healers, so I have some knowledge on the matter. It is hard not to, with them bringing their work home with them,” she huffed.

  Putting on the pure-blood princess act was easier than she had anticipated.

  Draco nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer. "You'll fit right in at Hogwarts. I hope you get sorted into Slytherin."

  "Perhaps. May I be honest with you?" Draco nodded. "I find all the etiquette rules to be a tad stuffy, so being in Slytherin..." she left the rest unsaid but was grateful to see Draco smiling at her comment.

  "Oh thank Merlin, I thought we were going to have to spend the whole train ride talking like that. My mother would have my hide if I had insulted a member of House Dagworth-Granger. Everyone assumes Crabbe and Goyle are dumb, but they're just hopeless with 'all that fancy talk,' as Crabbe would call it."

  Crabbe grunted and nodded. "W'll, he's not wrong."

  With all sense of formality now dropped, the boys were more relaxed and Hermione was able to see them in a new light. They were just children, with flaws and weaknesses they were scared would be used against them... this was why she was doing this, she reminded herself. She knew what was coming, and what would happen to these boys, who seemed rather sweet. Before the world had broken them, or they lost their lives in events... Well, this was why she was here.

  She exited the train with the boys as they chattered amongst themselves about Quidditch. At least some stereotypes were accurate from the books. She watched as other students clambered out of their compartments, and she could easily see how the houses acted differently. It was an interesting sociological experiment, the house system. Was there a deeper meaning to the sorting than just traits? Perhaps it was to put students where they'd be happiest.

  She had never been more grateful that Occlumency had allowed her to rein in her childish emotions and regain control over her mind. She shuddered to think about being in Gryffindor with all that noise.

  They shared a boat as they sailed across the lake, and she was excused from more chatter about Quidditch when the silhouette of Hogwarts Castle came into view, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. It was more magnificent than Hermione had imagined, and her inner child squealed at the sight. Perhaps her Occlumency wasn't working quite as well as she'd hoped. However, she'd allow herself such indulgence, just this once.

  Draco didn't even acknowledge Ron and Harry this time in the amphitheatre while they waited to be sorted. She had already made changes, which only solidified her resolve. She could change things. She could rewrite destiny.

  But Fate and Destiny are not the same thing.

  Professor McGonagall stood before them with a scroll in her hand. The Sorting Hat sat on a stool, its brim twitching slightly.

  "When I call your name, you will come forward and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall announced.

  One by one, the names were called, and students were sorted into their respective houses. Hermione tried to recall how the students had acted from her earlier observations, watching to see where they were sorted, but it didn't seem to track as cleanly as she had surmised. Perhaps their actions were coloured by their housemates. The whole Nature vs Nurture argument.

  And then the world threw a spanner in the works.

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  "Dagworth-Granger, Hermione," Professor McGonagall finally called.

  Hermione exe not found.

  She felt Draco push her from behind, and as she turned, she was surprised to see an understanding smile on his face, which reminded her of the breadcrumbs she had left behind to make them believe there was some family drama, but that had been intended as guile, not truth, which raised the unsettling possibility that Hermione herself may have always been related to the Dagworth family through a squib line, and that her tacit acceptance of that identity may have closed some magical covenant that had restored her place within that lineage.

  She had not even realised she had reached the stage and taken her seat on the stool when the hat was placed on her head.

  Hermione's heart raced, and as she sat there beneath the gaze of the entire hall, she glanced toward Professor McGonagall, who was watching her with an inquiring look, presumably because she had been listed as muggle-born, but that did not matter right now, because Hermione needed to sell the lie she had given to Draco.

  "My name is Hermione Jean Granger. Not Dagworth Granger."

  The vitriol in her own voice surprised her, although considering how deliberately she had chosen to be Hermione, and to cast off who she had been as Elena, it made sense that her very identity would provoke a defensive response when challenged.

  The Sorting Hat barked out a laugh at that. "This one has fire. Let us see where she is supposed to be sorted."

  "It is rare to find someone, even from a pure-blood family, to have such robust mental shields so young, Miss Granger. Would you please drop them so I may sort you?"

  At least it was using her real name, but she wouldn't let anything into the sanctity of her mind, that was the entire point, and she didn't trust anyone now, she didn't even believe this was the same canon she'd read in the books now, there was no way she was taking any chances. She turned her defences up, actively focusing on keeping 'things' out. "No."

  The hat laughed. "You weren't even trying before? Ha! I do like a challenge, girl."

  She hadn't realised the hat had said that out loud, but she was made well aware from the mumbling in the Great Hall. At least the hat was helping her hide being muggle-born, but all the extra attention wasn't what she wanted.

  She felt it try to probe her mind, it hadn't been joking about liking a challenge, so she grit her teeth and doubled down on her effort. Challenge? I'll show you an impossible one, Hat!

  The headmistress was obviously unhappy. "Sorting Hat, you know you're not supposed to speak aloud when sorting someone."

  "Well, what do you expect me to do, Lassie? I can't speak in her mind, she's locked up tighter than Azkaban."

  Hermione scoffed. "Perhaps you're just losing your enchantments, my defences are far from perfect."

  "Hmm, there's that fire we see again, but you've obviously got intelligence that Rowena would consider once in a generation. Oh don't give me that look, Minerva, she's already learned Occlumency to such a degree, she's obviously studious, more so than your house is at least. But the pure unadulterated distrust of anything? That's pure Slytherin."

  "Hmm yes, better be... SLYTHERIN," the hat shouted.

  She practically threw the hat from her head, glaring at it. The books had not explained how unpleasant legilimency was to experience. She'd managed to push it back, but she knew, if it had been given more time, it would have broken through; she'd need to shore up her defences. Not to mention deal with this mother of all headaches, as she held her head in her hands. She was offered a pain potion, but she was in no state of mind to accept and instead left the stage and fled the stares, making her way to the Slytherin table amid their applause.

  Crabbe, having been sorted before her, gestured towards the seat next to him. Small mercies, she'd have to return the favour, perhaps show him where the kitchens were.

  Thankfully Crabbe didn't try to engage her in conversation, and left her to nurse her headache, which was receding quicker than she had expected.

  "Thank you," Hermione replied. She observed her housemates deliberately trying to contain their interest, but she paid it no mind and instead focused on the sorting.

  Considering how long this was taking, she couldn't imagine how these sortings worked a few decades ago when the Hogwarts population was considerably more robust, perhaps she'd be able to find out, although at first glance it was unimportant, one never knew where useful information would come from.

  At the end of the sorting, Dumbledore rose, and Hermione only caught the end of his speech as she was lost in her thoughts. “‘Welcome!’ he said. ‘Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts.’ Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!’”

  One of the other first years she had not been introduced to, with brown hair, asked, “Is he a bit mad?”

  Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Why do you think that?”

  The other girl responded with, “Well, really, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! And Tweak! That’s utterly random.”

  One of the older Slytherins said, “Dumbledore’s always been a bit eccentric, but I think he does it as a conversation piece.”

  Hermione smirked at this, she had done some thinking on this when she was Elena. “Well, I actually thought he was using the alternative names for the houses,” the rest of her table became rather quiet at this remark.

  Draco, relishing in the attention they were getting, asked, “Well Miss Granger, what do you mean?”

  Hermione lifted her chin before answering. "Well, it's more about what traits those houses don't want. Ravenclaw wouldn't accept a 'nitwit,' Gryffindors are active and wouldn't want someone with 'blubber' to join them, not active enough for the rowdy bunch. Oddment is harder to explain, which as a Slytherin should be expected. We see ourselves as the crème de la crème of society, so anything not part of that would be an Oddment, something left over, and Tweak is honestly a bit insulting.” She paused, taking a sip of pumpkin juice and pulling a face. “Ugh, ghastly, I detest pumpkin juice.”

  The offending goblet disappeared, and water appeared instead. “Thank you, Hogwarts house elves.”

  A first-year girl with blond hair asked Hermione, “Why is Tweak just insulting?”

  Hermione paused for a moment, thinking her words carefully. “The badgers are all about teamwork and having the same ideas and goals, which means anything which isn't that needs to be 'tweaked,' or another way to put it, to hammer the nails so no one stands out. Which means, they see us as something that needs to be 'tweaked,'” she paused for a second, "Or, those are the 4 elves in charge of serving the four tables their food." She paused again. "Oddment, is there any onion gravy perchance?"

  A gravy boat appeared before Hermione. "Ah, I guess that answers that question then." Amusement evident on her face.

  The rest of her house looked at her in apt shock.

  “Why the hell are you not in Ravenclaw,” Draco asked while his mouth looked like it was trying to catch flies.

  Hermione just smirked at them. “Simple, Knowledge is power."

  The feast ended and they were lead to the dungeons by the prefects, the password being 'Anaconda' made her smirk somewhat. She was still surprised she had managed to smuggle her snake with her.

  The 1st years were led to an area just outside of Professor Snapes office, which had chairs already set up. Seems they were in for a speech.

  Her suspicion was rewarded when Professor Snape appeared from an alcove, he had clearly set this up for a dramatic entrance and she could appreciate the craft.

  "Welcome to Slytherin," he began, his voice low and silky. "You have

  been chosen for this house because you possess qualities that set you

  apart: ambition, resourcefulness, and a certain disregard for the rules.

  I expect great things from each of you. And if any of you are... caught. You shall see how I express my displeasure."

  He explained the house structure, the idea of a Slytherin Court, which was mostly informal and how the prefects system worked. Contrary to popular fiction, he had said his door was always open to any students who needed his help, but did explain that they had better need his help and not waste his time with childish squabbles. He dismissed them but beckoned Hermione closer for a moment.

  "Miss Granger. You have certainly put the cat amongst the chickens, Minerva was utterly surprised to see a muggleborn's name change in the book of names at Hogwarts, not to mention you being listed as Pure-Blood. As a Dagworth-Granger, your family has a reputation for potion making and I expect to see such from you in my classes. I trust you will find my teaching methods up to high bar your family has set." he demurred.

  How? How was she listed as pure-blooded? Her parents were definitely muggles. Weren't they?

  She didn't have time to ruminate the implications "Youngest Potions Master in History. I imagine you'll be more than up to the task Professor, but do expect some surprises, Sir. I do like to 'put the cat amongst the chickens'"

  He smirked "Indeed, perhaps you should remember one of our most important rules then? Do not get caught."

  She grinned back, a little predatory. "Why Sir, why would you ever think I would do something to be caught in the first place?" and replaced her expression with one of pure innocence.