As with every story, there is more than one point of view. To begin this next chapter in the story of Hermione and Killian, we will take a step back, reliving events that have already occurred, and others that were not referenced, through the eyes of Killian. Please bear with me during these first few chapters, as I know flashbacks can often be a bit of a proverbial drag. But I promise they are important, else I would not have included them.

But I digress ... Enjoy ... hopefully ...

- Chapter One -

The Reluctant Slytherin - Part I

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat announced in its coarse and raspy voice.

The table filled with students draped in silver and green erupted with applause. Contrary to the jubilation on display within his new House, Killian's heart dove into the pit of his stomach.

Don't think anything.

He remembered his sister's warnings about the Sorting Hat's ability to read minds, as well as it relishing in spilling private thoughts before the entire student body. It was difficult, but the young first year buried his thoughts. Either that, or the Sorting Hat was taking pity on the crushed soul who made his way to his assigned House table.

Not Slytherin, Killian finally allowed himself to think as the Sorting Hat was placed on the anxious head of another first year.

Ravenclaw … It was supposed to be Ravenclaw. Ignoring the warm welcome he received from his new housemates, Killian sat down at the table, staring across at his sister, a seventh year Ravenclaw, who returned a sympathetic smile. His sister was a Ravenclaw, his father was a Ravenclaw, his mother, grandparents, generations of Finns … All Ravenclaw. What would his father say? He did not dare imagine the disappointment.

Killian had been awaiting the Sorting Ceremony with such eagerness and anticipation. Now, those feelings were gone, replaced by the cold sensations of emptiness and isolation. He barely heard the boisterous cheers echoing throughout the Great Hall. He did not share in the excitement of the students as they discovered what House they would call home for the next seven years. All he could hear was Slytherin repeating over and over in his head. In that fraction of a moment, his life changed forever.

. . .

Several weeks passed, and Killian found himself in self-inflicted exile from the other students. He had no desire to associate with the Slytherins, and Slytherins, as a whole, had little association with anyone outside their House. The only company he kept was with his sister, who, being a seventh year, had far better things to do than to loll about with her little brother. Still, she made efforts when she could. Killian could not expect much more than that.

After classes ended one Friday afternoon in the early fall, Killian made his way to Professor Dumbledore's office. He did not know where else to go. Dumbledore was the Headmaster at Hogwarts, and being so, seemed to be the logical choice. After all, if students could not go to their Headmaster, where could they go?

For the better part of a half-hour Killian poured his misery out upon the silver-haired sorcerer. During this time, Dumbledore made no attempt to interrupt, simply allowing the frustrated boy to vent. Even in his current state, Killian felt a sense of comfort in Dumbledore's presence. There was something within the old wizard's mannerisms that put a person at ease. He could not put it into words, but it was clearly far different than being in the presence of his father.

After Killian's tongue had run dry, and almost as if on cue, a knock resonated from the office door. A moment later, Professor Snape entered, his customary scowl firmly in place, his hands crossed in front. The Potions master's eyes met Killian's for a brief moment before redirecting towards Dumbledore.

"You sent for me, Headmaster?" he asked.

Killian looked at Dumbledore quizzically. He had not noticed Dumbledore move from his decorative chair since he entered the office. Then again, Professor Dumbledore no doubt had many rather indistinguishable manners in which to convey messages.

"Ah, Professor Snape," Dumbledore greeted as he stood and crossed the room. "I believe you are familiar with Mr. Finn, one of your students."

"Yes," Snape answered, his tone short and to the point.

"Yes indeed." Dumbledore smiled, glancing at Killian, who had grown a bit fearful since Snape's arrival. "Well, it appears that Mr. Finn is a having a bit of a dilemma of sorts."

"How so?" Snape asked, as short and to the point as before.

"The boy seems to be troubled by his House assignment," Dumbledore explained. "He feels isolated and out of place, believing all Slytherins to be … How was it?" he asked contemplatively. "Ah, yes … Mindless gits, I believe."

Killian's blood ran cold as Professor Snape's dilated pupils glared at him from across the office. The young student wished for nothing more than to find a dark corner to in which to disappear.

"Whatever truths may lie in his assumptions aside," Dumbledore went on as Snape redirected his glare upon the flighty headmaster, "I thought it best that you were involved in the conversation, being a Slytherin yourself, as well as the current Head of House."

"And what, exactly, would you request of me?" Snape asked drolly.

"Insight, perhaps," Dumbledore offered. "You've, no doubt, had an opportunity to observe Mr. Finn over the past few weeks. What is your opinion of the boy?"

Professor Dumbledore glanced back at Killian again with a comforting smile. It afforded the boy little assurance, however. Killian felt as if he were some form of captive animal, being observed and analyzed through a wall of glass. He actually longed for such a separation at the moment. A wall of glass would at least act as some form of barrier between himself and Professor Snape.

"He appears to be much like his sister," Snape rattled off, his face withdrawn and expressionless. "Acute skills and promising potential. He has ambition, though he refuses to accept it. He also possesses a desire for perfection, a desire currently clouded by his childish wants for security and familiarity."

"Disregarding the childish wants, as you say," Dumbledore dismissed with a nod, "it sounds as though Mr. Finn has the tools necessary to develop into quite a young wizard, Slytherin or otherwise, no?"

"Clearly," Snape answered, returning to his pointed tone. "If he remains focused."

"But I'm not a Slytherin!" Killian cried out before he could stop himself. "I can't be! We've always been Ravenclaws! Ever since we came here! I have to be a Ravenclaw!"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested in a soothing tenor, "you were meant to carve your own path."

Killian did not respond. He heard Professor Dumbledore's words, but could not absorb them. His passions were flowing uncontrolled, clouding his thoughts and distracting his reason.

"Now, it is entirely possible, with Professor Snape's permission, of course, for you to be dismissed from the Slytherin House and placed where you believe you belong," Dumbledore explained as he walked over to Killian, now hunched down in his chair with his head down and eyes up. "However, it is my belief that you were placed in the Slytherin House for a reason. The Sorting Hat was created by the four founding members of this fine institution, and they were very wise indeed. You may not see it now, but I believe that one day you may understand why you were sorted as you were. The decision, however, remains up to you," he added with a tone of finality. "Do you stay and challenge your boundaries, or do you step back and reside within your area of comfort?"

Killian's head was swimming. It was so much to process. Professor Snape was right. He did have ambition; he did desire for perfection. But he also desired to belong. He felt so alone at Hogwarts. It was not terribly different than his life at home. Identical, in fact, might have been a better description. However, Killian was hoping that when he attended school he would be able to escape the forlorn feeling of solitude he had grown up with in a life bridging two worlds, but never truly belonging to either.

Setting all that aside, however, Professor Dumbledore had issued a challenge. If Killian had a weakness, it was the inability to back down from such a thing. He blamed his sister for this trait, as he had clearly learned it from her. Regardless of anything he was feeling, he could not possibly ask to be transferred. It would be a sign of weakness, and Killian would not allow himself that. He was ashamed that he had allowed himself to sink as far as he had.

"Incidentally," Dumbledore said, "and you may take this however you wish, I have known Professor Snape for many years, and I can assure you that he is neither mindless nor a git … Most of the time," he added with a wink as Snape sighed and rolled his eyes dismissively. "My boy, you must understand that one's path in life is dictated by their person, not their House. Would you not agree, Severus?"

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes. It appeared the Potions master was caught off guard by the comment. However, whatever message was hidden within Professor Dumbledore words, it was lost on Killian.

"So," Dumbledore asked with a smile. "What path do you choose?"

A knot arose in Killian's throat. He knew what he wanted to say. He could hear the words in his head. I'm a Ravenclaw … Please let me be a Ravenclaw …

"I'll stay," he answered in complete contraction to his desires. The challenge had been issued; he could not back down.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore celebrated with a theatric wave of his arm. "What do you say to that, Professor Snape?"

"Thrilling," Snape drawled.

"It is settled then," Dumbledore concluded abruptly. "Mr. Finn, would you mind excusing us? I should like a word with Professor Snape in private."

The question was rhetorical, of course. But, as always, Professor Dumbledore held fast to his practice of asking in place of ordering.

"Yes, Professor," Killian answered weakly as he got up from his chair and maneuvered past Professor Snape, who gave no ground to make the path more accessible. Before exiting, Killian turned back toward Dumbledore. "Thank you, Professor," he said, the slightest hint of a devilish grin curving up in the corner of his mouth.

"Pay it no mind," Dumbledore assured before dismissing Killian with a wave of his hand.

Once Killian was outside the office, the door closed with a metallic clank. Before he made his way down the spiraling stairway, however, Killian heard Dumbledore's muffled voice through the heavy wooden door.

"The boy may need a guiding hand, Severus," he said.

"Figured that out on your own, did you?" Snape retorted sarcastically. "You are ever brilliant."

"Keep a watchful eye," Dumbledore went on. "We do not want to lose him."

The muffled voices faded as Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape seemed to move further from the door to continue their conversation. With nothing left to hear, Killian made his way back towards the dungeons, the first airs of confidence beginning to cultivate within him. Forget his House, he would be great. He would not settle for less.

- Year Two -

"Welcome to the House," Killian greeted with a grin as he sat in a large leather couch in the Slytherin common room. "Big surprise for you, I'm sure."

"Never saw it coming," Draco assured with a sarcastic smirk. "Didn't see you at the Sorting Ceremony."

"I'm sure that shocked you as well," Killian said, adjusting his position as he reached for his copy of Distinguishing Dark Arts that was sitting on the end table beside the couch. "You know I'm not one for formal engagements."

"Still," Draco went on, taking a seat on the couch across from Killian, "it would have been nice if you were there to welcome me and all."

Killian laughed. "I welcomed you when you walked in, didn't I?"

"Whatever," Draco scoffed. "I was stuck sitting with Crabbe and Goyle. Not a solid brain between the two of them," he added as he looked about the common room, taking it in for the first time.

"Still following you around like a couple of lost puppies, I take it," Killian asked as he flipped through his textbook.

"It's embarrassing really," Draco conceded. "But their parents are colleagues of my father, so I have to play nice with them. Good for grunt work though, I suppose. I guess everyone has their uses."

"Is that why you tolerate my presence?" Killian teased. "Because our fathers are colleagues?"

"Oh, shut up," Draco dismissed as Killian laughed to himself. "You know what I mean. My father sends his best, by the way. Missed you on the platform."

Killian closed his book and tossed it aside with a heavy sigh before throwing his arms over the back of the couch and reclining. "Yes, well, my departure was less than pleasant this year," he said drearily as he stared at the stone ceiling. "And, of course, my sister wasn't there to provide her usual cushion. Wretchedly wonderful."

"That's because your sis is already making her way in the world, as I hear," Draco taunted with another smirk. "Perhaps you should try to be less of a disappointment,"

"Perhaps you'd like to be covered in boils," Killian retorted, drawing his wand on the pallid first year.

"All right, all right!" Draco put his hands up in mock defense. "Maybe that was in bad taste. But it couldn't hurt to get involved in something. You know, little things … Associating with your housemates and such."

Killian sighed. "I don't know, Draco. These just aren't my people."

"Really?" Draco mused. "And who are your people, exactly?"

Killian merely offered a halfhearted shrug and continued his analysis of the ceiling. It was a question he, himself, had pondered at length. He knew he did not fit in where he currently resided, nor did he fit in from where he came. In truth, he did not know exactly where he would, or if it were even possible anywhere at all. He had grown accustomed to his lone wolf persona. There were times when he wished for the company of others, but they were few and fleeting. Oddly enough, he knew that this conversation would probably be the only one he would have for the remainder of the day.

"Well, good thing I'm here then," Draco offered. "At least you'll have one person to talk to."

"How wonderful for me," Killian mocked.

"Whatever," Draco dismissed. "So, Potter was on the train. Did you hear?" he added, changing the subject, to which Killian offered no objection.

"I did," Killian answered. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah," Draco said nonchalantly as he grabbed Killian's textbook and flipped it open.

"And?" Killian pressed.

"Not very impressive," Draco said with a shrug. "Bit of a git, if you ask me."

"Well, that's disappointing," Killian said with a hint of sarcasm. "You know, being the Boy Who Lived and all ... I would have expected a certain amount of flair."

"Boy Who Lived, my ass" Draco huffed. "Bloody whelp."

- Year Four -

Killian sat by himself under the stairway leading to Professor Trelawney's Astrology class, reading through his Advanced Potions text in quiet solitude. This had become a ritual for the fourth year Slytherin. Much to the frustration of his parents—his father, in particular—he had still not assimilated into his House, nor the school for that matter. He did excel in his studies, so his professors were well aware of the reclusive teen. However, if Killian were to fall off the face of the earth, it was unlikely that any student in the school would pay any notice. That is, of course, with the exception of Draco, with whom Killian shared his only bond.

For Killian, it was something he never gave a second thought. He enjoyed his privacy. Admittedly, it was difficult at first, but he came to accept it. In time, he began to realize that he actually possessed many of the characteristics that would define a great Slytherin, a point Draco had made on several occasions over the previous two years. Perhaps that was why Killian distanced himself. If he did not associate with anyone, he would not have to face the realization that he was very much like them. He saw no reason to face such a truth at the moment. Solitude within Hogwarts was perfectly fine.

On this particular afternoon, Killian's solitude would be interrupted by an extraordinarily strange occurrence. As he sat under the stairs with his head in his text, he thought he caught the image of a young girl swinging under the stairs, her robes whirling with the motion. When he looked up, however, he saw that he was perfectly alone.

That was odd, he thought as his eyes glanced about the area.

True, it was out of the corner of his eye and the light was not exactly radiant in his current location, but Killian swore he had seen her. She had long brown hair, a bit wavy, very full. She hurried under the stairs, carrying an armload of oversized texts, and looked around as if to see if anyone had noticed her. She was there, he was sure of it.

That's it, my mind is finally gone, he thought, referring to how his sister continuously teased him that his reclusive manners would drive him to madness. Her whimsical prophecy appeared to be coming to fruition.

Just as Killian was ready to brush the event off and return to his text, he saw her again. This time he was sure. She appeared out of thin air, only a few feet from where he had seen her previously. Apparition within the school? Impossible. But there she was.

Killian remained silent, hugging the shadows in the corner. It was clear that whomever this girl was, she did not wish to be seen. For some reason he felt compelled to go along with her wishes. Instead, he simply stared at the young girl, mesmerized for reasons he could not quite wrap his mind around. In a matter of only a few seconds, she appeared satisfied that the area was clear and left the underside of the stairs in the same whirl by which she initially entered. Just like that, she was gone.

Gathering his things, Killian quickly followed. As he exited, he saw the girl rushing up the spiraling staircase towards the Astrology classroom. He stood there for a moment, daring himself to pursue, but knowing full well he would not. Instead, he turned towards several Hufflepuffs who made their way into the hall and towards the stairs.

"Excuse me," he asked of one of the girls, who, upon seeing his Slytherin robes, retreated a step as if he had some form of ghastly disease. "Please," Killian went on, his manners catching the girl off guard.

"What do you want?" she asked, her defenses a bit weaker, but still in place.

"Who is that?" Killian asked, gesturing up the stairs towards the fleeing girl with an armful of literature.

All of the Hufflepuffs glanced upwards.

"Hermione," the girl answered after a moment's thought. "Hermione Granger."

"She's a third year," another girl added. "Gryffindor House."

"Hermione Granger," Killian said to himself as he watched Hermione disappear into the class at the top of the stairs.

"Bit of a bookworm, she is," a Hufflepuff boy offered. "Pleasant enough though, I suppose."

"Thank you," Killian said with a bow of his head.

"Why do you ask?" the first girl queried as her eyes glanced up at the stairs and then back at Killian.

"No reason at all," Killian lied. "Just curious."

The girl smiled warmly. "You're a bit off for a Slytherin."

Killian grinned. "I thank you for that as well."

With that, Killian and the Hufflepuffs parted ways. As Killian made his way back to the dungeons, the image of the young Gryffindor appearing out of nothingness played back in his mind over and over again.

"Hermione Granger," he said aloud to himself, before laughing it off and heading to Potions.

- Year Five -

"You're leaving already?" Draco asked as Killian discreetly made his way towards the exit of the Great Hall.

The Yule Ball had just gotten under way less than an hour previous. The Great Hall had been decorated in streamers, balloons, candles, ribbons, and other such frivolities. All of the students of Hogwarts were mingling with students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, dancing, laughing, and generally enjoying themselves. Altogether it was a wonderful night. Wonderful for all who wished to attend, that is.

"I'm tired," Killian offered as a reasonable excuse.

"You're a liar," Draco accused with a laugh. "Snape is going be fuming if he finds out you've left. He wants us all to make a showing."

"I've made a showing," Killian pointed out. "Even dressed for the occasion," he added as he straightened his dark dress robes with mocked vanity.

"You haven't even been out on the floor yet," Draco countered.

"Snape never mentioned anything about dancing," Killian said.

"It was implied,"" Draco went on. "You know, you'd have done better if you'd actually brought a date. How pathetic is that? … Showing up alone?"

Killian cocked his head and smirked. "Well, thank you, Draco. I feel so much more festive now."

"Oh, come off it," Draco dismissed. "Just grab a girl. I'm sure there's got to be someone in here that you'd fancy for a moment. It wouldn't kill you, you know."

Killian looked to the dance floor. His eyes instantly caught sight of Hermione as she whirled about with Viktor Krum, clearly taking every delight in the moment. His eyes stayed longer than they should, but Draco did not seem to notice.

"Sorry," Killian apologized with a sigh as he feigned a glance about the hall. "It appears that all of the best options have already been spoken for."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked quizzically.

Killian grinned. "It means that I'm leaving. And what about your date? She's probably looking for you."

"Don't get me started," Draco groaned with a roll of his eyes. "She's driving me crazy. Hasn't stopped since we got here."

"Think of how well you'll sleep tonight," Killian teased.

"I can't believe you're just going to leave me here," Draco whined.

"You still have Crabbe and Goyle," Killian said, patting Draco on the shoulder. "I'm sure they'd love to tag along after you."

"Oh, please," Draco groaned. "I'd rather waltz with Professor Sprout."

Killian laughed. "I hear she dances a wonderful waltz. You'll do fine," he added sympathetically. "I'll see you back in the common room."

Without another word, Killian made his way through the throng of students and out of the Great Hall as Draco disappeared back into the crowd bounding about on the dance floor. As he left, he took one last glance back at the festivities where he saw Hermione and Krum leaving the dance floor and heading towards the tables where Harry and Ron sat with their dates, staring off with disinterest. Clearly, they were enjoying the Yule Ball as well as Killian.

He watched for a moment longer as Krum left to gather some punch while Hermione, Harry, and Ron engaged in conversation. A tinge of jealousy arose within him, but he dismissed it immediately. Turning away, he headed off to wander the halls, the sounds of laughter and music fading off in the distance behind him.

. . .

Hours later, Killian was sitting under the stairs in a quiet corner of the castle, practicing levitation without the use of his wand or verbal commands. He managed to move a stack of his textbooks several feet before losing control and having the books tumble to the stone floor with an echoing thud.

In truth, he was merely trying to distract his mind. The Yule Ball was bothering him more than he let on. It was actually quite out of character for him to be unsettled by such things. But this was different. For some reason, the Yule Ball made Killian feel especially alone. Perhaps it was seeing all of the students engaged with one another. Perhaps it was the smiles of carefree enjoyment that he saw etched on their faces. Or perhaps it was something more.

Ever since Killian had witnessed Hermione's appearance under the stairs the previous year, she had become something of a constant recurrence. Nothing of weight, just simply noticeable. He would see her in the halls as they made their separate ways through the school, find her lost amongst the dusty tomes in the library when he was trying to escape the company of others, or become painfully aware of the enjoyment she shared in the embrace of Durmstrang's champion.

Why did this bother him? It did not bother him. It could not possibly bother him. He did not care. She was interesting, nothing more. Killian, as he had several times over the previous year, dismissed it as such. After all, she was merely a student. Killian had neither the time nor desire for anything so trivial.

"Dammit!" he cursed under his breath as another attempt to levitate his books fell short of his expectations.

He was distracted. For all he tried, he could not clear his mind. Why had he gone to the dance? How bad could the consequences possibly have been if he had simply disobeyed Professor Snape's orders? If nothing else, he surely would have been in a better state of mind than the one in which he found himself currently.

Sometimes, however, things happen for a reason. Sometimes, even when it seems that everything is going wrong, it is really just fate's way of putting things in order. Killian had never believed in fate. But as he sat there, embracing the darkness, simultaneously enjoying and loathing his solitude, his disbelief would be challenged.

"Fraternizing with the enemy," came a frustrated voice from the top of the stairs.

Curious as to whom had invaded his area of seclusion, Killian grabbed his books and peered out from under the stairs, glancing up to find the source. It was then that he saw her. Hermione Granger. No longer dressed in her eloquent ball gown, she was now in simple casual attire. Even so, the mere vision of her captivated Killian beyond his control as she glanced about, clearly unsure as to where she was.

You have got to be kidding me, Killian thought as he stared at Hermione, a devilish grin emerging.

. . .

After a private dance that was cut regretfully short by the intrusion of Professor Snape, Killian made his way back to the Slytherin common room, his adrenaline still pumping, a sensation pulsing through his body that he had never experienced in all his years. He could still sense the touch of her skin, the scent of her perfume. How the night had turned.

Killian had spent better part of four years isolating himself from everyone around him, and now all he could think about was when he could see her again, his mysterious little Gryffindor.

A Gryffindor … Of all things, a Gryffindor.

He sat down on the long leather couch, staring at the ceiling. Everyone else had been long asleep by that time, so the common room was completely deserted. It was so quiet, in fact, that it was impossible not to notice when Professor Snape entered, stern and cold.

"Mr. Finn," he requested. "A word, if you please."

"Professor," Killian apologized as he got up from the couch. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have been out … I should have been at the Ball … I was there for a bit, but …" he babbled on, trying to organize his thoughts.

"Yes," Snape interrupted. "I am aware that you fulfilled your obligations regarding the Yule Ball by definition, if not in spirit. However, I wish to discuss this evening's events regarding Miss Granger. How long have you two been … engaging with one another?"

It took a moment for Killian to translate Snape's meaning. Normally, Killian was rather good at interpreting Snape's cryptic innuendos, but presently, his mind was a bit unfocused.

"Not long," Killian answered finally, unsure exactly how to explain. "I mean, not at all. Just tonight actually. By accident, really. We were just dancing."

"Not enough dancing at the Ball?" Snape queried, his eyes narrowing.

"She was upset," Killian answered.

"Really?" Snape drolled.

"I mean, she seemed upset," Killian clarified. "I thought it a pity that her night should end in such a manner."

"How noble of you," Snape remarked, rich with sarcasm. "Your father would be very proud."

"I rather doubt that," Killian dismissed.

The sternly ominous Potions master's eyes almost seemed to soften slightly at Killian's remark, but his expression remained cold and constant.

"Be that as it may," he warned. "You should be made aware that Miss Granger has a tendency to keep questionable company."

"You mean Potter?" Killian laughed. "You must be joking. He's just a—"

"Oftentimes people are judged by the company they keep," Snape interrupted, "rather than the content of their character. You would be best to realize that now, before you find yourself interwoven with dubious concourse."

It seemed such an odd comment in reference to Hermione's friendship with Harry Potter? Professor Snape often spoke to Killian in riddles and hidden meanings. And while Killian was certain this was one of those situations, whatever was being insinuated was completely lost on him. As before, however, Killian was euphorically distracted. Attempting to sift through any sort of cryptic quandary would be futile.

"Furthermore," Snape went on, "I do not wish for Miss Granger to be interfering with your studies."

"I'm your best student, Professor," Killian reassured. "I have no intention of relinquishing that honor."

"Excellent," Snape said as the faintest shadow of a smile very nearly broke through the corner of his mouth before reverting back into his customary scowl. "Then I have nothing further for you. It is after hours. Off to bed."

"Good night, Professor," Killian said.

Snape returned a curt nod before turning about and heading out the Slytherin House.

It would be several more hours before Killian finally drifted off to sleep. As he lay awake in his bed, he wondered if Hermione, too, might also be awake, going over the night's events in her head. He laughed at the idea, sure the night meant far more to him than it did to her. Although he hoped against hope that he was wrong.