Frustration was a feeling Elena was more than familiar with, and not one she had felt since becoming Hermione, yet she felt it more keenly now than she could recall at any point in her past life. Her plans had gone up in smoke. The bloody Sorting Hat had drawn attention to her on day bloody one, and what was with her being a Dagworth? She reminded herself of an old Yiddish proverb: Der mentsh trakht un got lakht, or “when man plans, God laughs.” That adage had never felt more apt than right now. She had doubled down once the hat had shone a spotlight on her; it was that or let her shields down.

  It also seemed her mask was not entirely perfect. Daphne Greengrass had seemingly noticed something was amiss, despite having never met her before, and had passed her a book: Wizarding Genealogy. It was a stroke of good fortune, and she would need to return the favour to Daphne, because within that book was her answer to the question: How am I a Dagworth-Granger? So even though God had laughed and closed a door in her face, He had opened a window. She scoffed lightly. Was this what she amounted to now? A walking example of age-old proverbs?

  Hermione knew what she was, and she relished it. She was a control freak, and if she needed to wrestle her destiny from the hands of God, so be it.

  Hermione woke the next morning exhausted for the first day of classes. Thankfully the prefects had anticipated this and had a wide-eye potion on hand to make sure Slytherin was not shown up by first-years falling asleep in class and losing them points. They were rather competitive about the House Cup.

  She could respect the spirit of it. The Cup was not worth anything, but bragging rights were bragging rights.

  Hermione allowed herself to be swept along with the other first-years, guided once again by a prefect to their first class.

  Potions.

  The classroom mirrored the books rather closely, though it was far more spacious than the films portrayed. That made sense. Why would anyone place volatile potion ingredients and brewing cauldrons near other workstations where a single mistake could trigger a chain reaction? This layout was far more sensible and would reduce the chance of injuries.

  Hermione took a seat at the table beside Ron and Harry. It would allow her to judge their characters for herself. She had already established that the books and films had given very one-dimensional depictions of them, along with everyone else, and so far reality had proven far more complicated.

  Professor Snape entered with his characteristic dramatic sweep of robes, his mere presence enough to silence the room. His dark eyes scanned the students, lingering on Harry before moving on.

  Well, some things were the same.

  "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of

  potion-making," Snape began, his voice a menacing whisper that filled

  the room. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will

  hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand

  the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes,

  the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching

  the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame,

  brew glory, even stopper death; if you aren't as big a bunch of

  dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

  He paused, his eyes once again fixing on Harry. "Potter!" he snapped.

  "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion

  of wormwood?"

  Harry looked taken aback. He stammered, "I - I don't know, sir."

  "Tut, tut. Fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneered. "Let's try

  again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

  Harry's confusion deepened. "I don’t know, sir."

  "And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

  "I don’t know, sir," Harry repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

  "Clearly, fame isn't everything," Snape repeated, his disdain evident. "Let's see if Miss Granger knows." He turned his gaze to Hermione, who had been sitting quietly, her hand not raised.

  "Miss Granger?"

  "Powdered root of asphodel and essence of wormwood are ingredients used in the Draught of Living Death," she began. "Bezoars are undigested clumps of matter that accumulate inside the digestive systems of goats and can cure most poisons. Monkshood and wolfsbane are commonly said to be the same plant, which is incorrect. Their Latin names are Aconitum napellus for monkshood and Aconitum vulparia for wolfsbane. They are part of the same family, but they do differ. Wolfsbane is actually less toxic than monkshood. Considering the difficulty in brewing the Wolfsbane Potion, the use of monkshood would create a more violent and painful reaction, which would agitate the wolf's mind and cause it to fight against the human mind, making the transformation far more painful and potentially deadly."

  She paused.

  "Which is why it is named the Wolfsbane Potion and not the Monkshood Potion. Although if you read any off-the-shelf potions book, it will say they are the same."

  Snape’s expression was unreadable, though a hint of respect flashed in his eyes.

  "Five points to Slytherin for Miss Granger’s correct answers. Though one might expect such familiarity with advanced potion theory from someone named Dagworth-Granger."

  "Hermione J. Granger, sir," she corrected.

  He gave a slight nod, though Hermione did not miss the interest now lingering in his gaze.

  Hermione and Draco worked on their potion together, and she was not particularly surprised that Draco knew what he was doing, although she did show him a couple of small tricks when preparing the ingredients to prevent contamination, constantly cleaning the knife after dicing and slicing each ingredient thinly so that no residue from the previous cut remained. Even a small trace of residue could interfere with a chemical reaction, and more often than not it resulted in a measurable loss of efficacy in the final potion.

  She smiled ruefully, the careful preparation reminding her of long laboratory sessions back when she had been a physicist.

  It seemed Snape had caught her smiling to herself. Well, it would help sell the idea that she was used to brewing and actually enjoyed it, which would further reinforce the impression that she was a Dagworth-Granger and not some muggleborn, at least. She still was not entirely sure how she felt about knowing she was not muggleborn. Happy? Sure. She would go with that for now.

  She kept sneaking glances at the so-called golden duo, as the trio was effectively dead in the water with her usurping Hermione’s life here. Ron Weasley, sitting next to Harry, was glaring at Snape with barely concealed animosity, and she mentally categorized him as hot-headed and impulsive, traits that would almost certainly lead to trouble sooner rather than later.

  Snape prowled the classroom, making scathing comments and criticizing students’ efforts. When he reached Harry and Ron’s table, he sneered at their potion, which was emitting a foul odour and looked nothing like it should.

  "Pathetic," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Clearly, you two have not been paying attention. Maybe if you spent less time talking and more time listening, you might actually learn something."

  Stolen story; please report.

  Hermione glanced again at Harry and Ron, both now red-faced with embarrassment. Yes, definitely hot heads. They were going to be trouble.

  By the end of the class, Snape called for the students to stop. He examined each cauldron in turn, making snide remarks as he went. When he reached Hermione’s, he paused, looking down at the perfectly brewed potion.

  "Acceptable," he said grudgingly. "Miss Granger, you seem to have a talent for this. I expect you to maintain these standards."

  "Yes, Professor," Hermione replied, her voice steady.

  As the class began packing away their things, Snape called out, "Miss Granger, a word."

  Hermione approached his desk, thinking, Let us see what he has made of me.

  "Miss Granger, I trust you will continue to meet these standards in my class. The Dagworth-Granger family has a long history with Hogwarts, particularly in potions, much like your distant cousin, Hector."

  Ha. So not all her plans would fail after all. The control freak in her was practically preening at the confirmation.

  Hermione looked openly repulsed.

  "Please do not ever compare me to him," she said, almost spitting the words, pitching her voice just loud enough for the nearby students to hear.

  Snape's eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice, the classroom now almost empty. "I would advise you to temper your tone, Miss Granger. While you may have personal reasons for your disdain, it does not excuse disrespect towards your ancestors or your instructor."

  Hermione took a slow breath, steadying herself. "Professor Snape, I understand the importance of family history, but Hector’s views and actions are not something I wish to be associated with under any circumstances," she said, letting just enough bitterness seep into her voice. Even though she had rehearsed this moment, she truly did loathe what the man had devoted his research to.

  Snape's expression seemed to lose some of its harshness at the rebuttal. "Very well, Miss Granger. I suggest you focus on excelling in your studies. The wizarding world may judge you by your name, but it is your achievements that will define you."

  Hermione nodded. It appeared he had taken the bait.

  "I understand, Professor. Thank you."

  Hermione grabbed her bag and left the room, making a mental note that she would never be friends with Ron and Harry, though that did not detract from their importance.

  "Granger," Draco began, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, "that was quite the conversation you had with Snape. I didn't realize you had such strong feelings about Hector Dagworth-Granger."

  Hermione maintained her composure, knowing that Draco's interest could either be a nuisance or an opportunity.

  "It's a family matter," she replied coolly. "It's somewhat rude to listen in on other people's conversations, don't you think? Besides, Hector's a pig."

  Draco raised an eyebrow.

  "True. And my mother would never let me hear the end of it. Not for listening in, of course, but for getting caught." He shrugged slightly. "I have heard of Hector's research, so I can't say I'm surprised you're not a fan. Father talks about him sometimes."

  He left the question unsaid, but the implication was obvious.

  Hermione suppressed a sigh. She had not expected eleven-year-olds to be quite this politically savvy.

  Why had she ended up in Slytherin again?

  Hermione shrugged, acting as though it were hardly worth mentioning, carefully selling the ruse.

  "Everyone has skeletons in their closet, Malfoy. I'd rather focus on my own path."

  Draco grinned at her. "Well, that sounds like it could be interesting. If you ever want someone to go looking for skeletons, look me up."

  With that, he turned and jogged off to catch up with Crabbe and Goyle.

  Draco’s offer was tempting; an ally in politics could prove useful. But trusting a Malfoy carried obvious risks, and Draco himself was still young enough to ruin careful plans with an impulsive outburst. Better to wait until she had the measure of the other players on the board.

  "I'll keep that in mind," she said finally, giving him a measured look. "But for now, I have my own goals to focus on."

  Draco nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response. "Fair enough,

  Granger. Just remember, even the best-laid plans can benefit from a

  well-placed ally."

  The classroom was filled with the quiet hum of students settling into

  their seats, all eagerly anticipating the lesson. Professor McGonagall,

  a strict but fair teacher, began with a brief introduction to

  Transfiguration.

  "Transfiguration," she said, her eyes sweeping over the class, "is

  some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts.

  Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You

  have been warned."

  Hermione's attention was immediately captured. She opened her

  notebook, ready to absorb every word. Professor McGonagall continued,

  explaining the theory behind Transfiguration, and then wrote the

  Transformation Formula on the board:

  T = (w * c * m) / (a * d) * Z

  She turned to the class, her expression serious.

  “This formula represents the fundamental elements involved in Transfiguration. The intended transformation, T, is influenced by wand power (w), concentration (c), and the caster’s magical strength (m). These factors determine how much magical force can be applied to the spell.”

  She tapped the denominator with her wand.

  “Opposing these are the mass of the object (a) and what we call morphological distance (d) — the degree to which the original form differs from the intended one. The more mass involved, and the more different the target form is, the harder the transformation becomes.”

  McGonagall paused before underlining the final term.

  “The final variable, Z, represents factors we have yet to fully understand. It may involve the inherent magical qualities of the object being transformed or the caster’s magical affinity. What we do know is that materials are easier to transform into similar things; a matchstick is used because its size and shape are already close to that of a needle, leaving the material itself as the primary challenge.”

  This immediately had Hermione thinking. She wondered if it was

  related to atomic structure, much like how coal and diamonds are both

  made of carbon but differ in their atomic arrangement caused by heat and

  pressure.

  The practical part of the lesson involved transforming a matchstick

  into a needle. Professor McGonagall demonstrated the spell, and the

  class watched in awe as the matchstick in her hand turned into a shiny,

  sharp needle with a simple flick of her wand.

  "Now, it's your turn," she said, her eyes twinkling with challenge.

  Hermione took a deep breath, focusing on the matchstick in front of

  her. She recalled the formula and considered the spell the teacher had

  used. The spell was very generalized, ‘Transfiguro.’ Her studies had

  included Latin, as the spells were based on it, so she tried something

  different without a wand movement. “Acu-signis,” she whispered.

  Her matchstick immediately changed into the needle she had imagined.

  She thought the idea of concentration might be misinterpreted and was

  actually the ability to imagine the process and end result.

  Professor McGonagall walked around, inspecting the students’

  attempts. When she reached Hermione's table, she paused, examining the

  perfectly formed needle.

  "Impressive, Miss Granger," she said, a hint of approval in her voice. "Five points to Slytherin."

  Hermione smiled at the professor. First Potions and now Transfiguration, she had changed her plan after the sorting ceremony, hiding in plain sight wouldn't work, she needed to dominate in every class now.

  Charms class with Professor Flitwick was equally captivating. The

  diminutive professor, standing on a stack of books to see over his desk,

  greeted them with an enthusiastic wave. "Welcome to Charms! Today, we

  will be learning a simple yet essential charm: Lumos."

  "Lumos," Professor Flitwick demonstrated, his wand tip glowing

  brightly. "This charm is useful in dark places and can be modified for

  various uses. Remember, it's all about concentration and intent."

  Hermione practiced the wand movement, a subtle flick, and the

  incantation. "Lumos," she whispered, and her wand tip glowed faintly. She had already mastered these spells in her visits to Diagon Alley.

  Her wand shone brightly, illuminating her face. But Hermione wasn’t

  satisfied with just producing light; she wanted to understand its

  potential. What if the charm could be modified to respond to emotions?

  As the class ended, Hermione stayed behind to ask Professor Flitwick.

  "Professor, is it possible to modify the Lumos charm to change colour

  based on one's mood?"

  Professor Flitwick’s eyes sparkled with interest. "Ah, an advanced question! Yes, Miss Granger, it is possible. Such modifications require a deep understanding of both the charm and the caster’s emotional state. You might start by experimenting with the colour-changing charm, Colorvaria, in conjunction with Lumos."

  Eager to experiment, Hermione spent her free time in the library researching both charms. That evening, she decided to try her idea. In her dormitory, she cast Lumos and then added the incantation for Colorvaria, focusing on her feelings.

  "Lumos Colorvaria," she whispered, her wand glowing softly at first and then shifting through a spectrum of colours as she thought of different emotions. Happiness made the light warm yellow, sadness turned it a deep blue, and excitement made it pulse a vibrant red. Magic wasn't nearly as hard at this level, but these were relatively simple spells based on what she had read.

  Her roommates, Daphne and Tracey, were amazed.

  "Hermione, that's incredible! I didn't expect you to already be experimenting like Flitwick suggested," Daphne said, giving her a critical look.

  Hermione smiled, pleased with her progress. "Thanks. It is just a start."

  She returned to her earlier revelation thanks to Daphne, the name in the book.

  Harold Granger – Squib.