Author's Note: It's been months since my last update, I know. I've recently gotten a full-time job and my free time has been quartered. That being said, I hope you all enjoy!

"Pansy Parkinson has been in the hospital wing since last night," Lizzie laughed at breakfast the next morning. "Apparently she caught a nasty case of food poisoning."

Behind her book, Hermione's eyebrow quivered with irritation. Pansy Parkinson may have been as prejudiced and horrible as Malfoy and the handful of the other Slytherins, but she felt no sense of accomplishment with her being the one suffering continuous vomiting, not when the platinum-haired imp was the intended target. Hermione had only realized how much she yearned to make Malfoy suffer after the Weasley twins delivered the disappointing news; Pansy was also in the radar of Hermione's malice, but she was the lesser evil when it came to Malfoy.

The only silver lining in this cloud was that Malfoy couldn't report Fred, George, or Hermione due to him having stolen the Puking Pastilles. There was no way he could rat them out without suffering any form of punishment subsequently.

Hermione's irritated gaze then glanced past the gaps of the Ravenclaw table and landed on Harry, seated at the Gryffindor table and speaking with Ron. It was only a few seconds before Harry took notice of her looking at him and waved merrily at her. She kept the lower half of her face hidden behind her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages – in doing so keeping her bashful smile out of his view – as she returned his wave.

Lizzie caught their barely concealed exchange and couldn't resist teasing her. "Hogwarts students may bring an owl or a cat or a toad as a pet," she recited in a waggish manner, "or in Hermione Granger's case: Gryffindors."

"Shut it," Hermione snapped.

Playful teasing from her roommates was no match for the disquietude today's flying lesson gave rise to within her. Even though she had expressed to Harry that blunders were to be expected in the process of learning something new, the butterflies in her stomach would've served as clear evidence that she was considerably anxious herself. Slytherins were known to consider all possible outcomes what could result from the tiniest blunder, and Flying held the most potential for physical injury.

Or perhaps she was just letting her nerves get the best of her? After all, how perilous a lesson could the flying instructor direct to a class of first years?

Beside her, Terrence sniggered after swallowing a mouthful of bacon. "What's all this coyness about, Granger? Muggle-borns may be minorities in Slytherin House, but a Slytherin sweet on a lion really breaks the mold!"

Neville's cry of dismay from the Gryffindor table intervened before Hermione could snap at him as well. Of course it was the consistently horrid Malfoy and his minions harassing Neville.

Her eyes alight with ire, Hermione slammed her book shut and dropped it on the table, making the platter of sausages before her jump and send several of its contents rolling onto the table.

"Whoa, easy, Granger," Terrence spoke with worry. However Hermione had already tramped away.

It may have sounded odd aloud, but as one of Malfoy's favorite targets she felt an obligation to defend anyone he antagonized in her presence, even those from different Houses.

"My Remembrall!" Neville cried.

As she approached, she saw the sphere-shaped object Malfoy was waving before Neville. It wasn't surprising that Neville's family sent that to him; Neville was a sweet boy, but also a bit of a duffer. Her recognizing the object's role in Neville's scholastic vitality just may have the secondary reason she was coming to his aid.

"Still haven't grown weary of victimizing your peers, Malfoy?" the girl said with disgust once she had approached them.

Crabbe and Malfoy turned and glowered at her – whereas Goyle wiggled his eyebrows slyly at her.

"This doesn't concern you, Granger," responded Malfoy. "Why don't you return to the heels of your Blood Traitors?"

Hermione had already built up an immunity to Malfoy's insults. "Give it back to him. Or would you fancy joining Pansy in the hospital wing?"

Malfoy's grasp tightened around the Remembrall. "You miserable...!"

Hermione suddenly felt two taller bodies flanking to her sides. "You giving our princess trouble, Malfoy?" Fred interrogated with sinister glee.

Multiple heads turned in their direction, detecting a potential showdown between the two trios in the atmosphere. Hermione was confident that Fred and George could handle Crabbe and Goyle, thus her focus was upon Malfoy. She had never seen the Pureblood duel another student, and she herself only knew a few offensive spells. She would have to be watchful of the slightest flicking of his wrist once his wand at the ready.

Harry stood, impulsively intending to hurry over to defend her, but Ron seized his wrist and furiously shook his head.

Professor Greyback intervened just as all of their hands were creeping into the pockets of their robes.

"What's this? What's this?" He ambled between the six of them. "Slytherins fighting each other at breakfast? What ever happened to fraternity?"

Needless to say, their hands withdrew sharply from the pockets. It was clear the situation resolved itself, so the attention of the spectators faded back to their breakfast.

"Now then...What is this all about?" Professor Greyback's tone was more curious than chastising.

Neville piped up. "Malfoy took my Remembrall, Professor!"

Malfoy huffed and dropped the clear orb on the table. "I was just looking."

And the opposing trio took their leave.

"Cretin," Hermione growled.

"No one in Hogwarts would appreciate seeing a fierce duel more than I, little lamb," Professor Greyback stated, "but my job description requires that I dissuade students from engaging in such. So I must insist that you take care not to be involved in any altercations."

"It won't happen again, Professor," Hermione said.

"Yeah! We're her chaperones! We'll keep her out of trouble!" George chirped.

Professor Greyback suppressed the urge to roll his lurid eyes. "I'm certain," he replied before walking away.

"Gotta hand it to you, Granger," Terrence said once Hermione was seated with him and the triplets again, "standing up to Malfoy twice in one term is saying something...You're gonna earn respect left and right throughout Slytherin House!"

She snorted. "Because their praise and acceptance are number one on my list of priorities. I better go return this book before Flying class starts."

Harry watched Hermione leave the Great Hall still visibly fuming, and found himself in an internal struggle with whether or not he should follow after her.

Ron was able to read Harry's worry through his expression. "She's got my idiot brothers and a werewolf looking after her, Harry. She'll survive."

Anyone who frequented the library as regularly as Hermione would've been able to find their way there blindfolded.

"You're probably the most daring first year I've seen at Hogwarts, Granger," spoke Marcus's velvety voice. He had been leaning on the wall next to one of the Great Hall's tall doors, arms folded and smile as haunting as ever. "I guess we can always count on you to provide us a good show, eh?"

Marcus's off-putting presence wasn't able to reduce her to a frightened fledgling – not in her current state of mind. "I do hope you're not watching should I ever decide to use his bloated head for target practice."

Marcus chortled before walking up to her and patting the top of her head. "We Slytherins are brothers – I'll always be watching you, Muggle-born."

"Comforting. Really."

The two parted ways, but Hermione stopped abruptly. Something in her mind caused her to go still as statue as she listened to the fading sound of Marcus's footsteps, and the eerie echoing of what he had just said to her. She stiffly remembered Marcus waiting for her outside of the common room earlier in the term, and he had been waiting outside of the Great Hall as though expecting her.

And then the dreadful dream she had had the night after the start-of-term feast replayed...

"I'll be watching you, Muggle-born," the "Salazar Slytherin" in her nightmare had said.

"I'll always be watching you, Muggle-born," Marcus had said.

Marcus's young voice and Salazar Slytherin's older one overlapped each other at the last three words of their similar promises. "...watching you, Muggle-born."

Hermione turned and stared at Marcus's back, her mouth opened slightly as she acknowledged the unnerving parallel. "Watching you...Watching you...Watching you...Watching you..."

Marcus was gone now, but Hermione continued to stand there, her wit and perception petrified.

Marcus Flint...who is he really?