A/N: So, I've been gone a while. Quite a while. I've had my imagination captured elsewhere by other fandoms, by work, by school, by applications, but I've never quite been able to get this story out of my head. Even though I'm far too busy to contemplate doing so, I will continue work on this story. At some point, I'd really like to go back and edit the first four chapters, but pushing on for now is probably best. Any changes would be cosmetic, not integral to the plot.

So here's the idea – starting with the next chapter, each chapter will cover one year of Hogwarts. I have the first year planned out and outlined, but only scenes here and there for the next. It will most likely be HBP and DH compliant. I have the ending worked out, and I urge people to pay attention to the opening lines with Lucius. They are important, or will be. If there is any confusion, please let me know and I will experiment to make his sections appear separate to Hermione's story, but expect for them to precede every installment.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or alerted this story. It is due to your interest that I keep writing.

DN

Chapter Five: The Beginning

Lucius Malfoy resisted the urge to cast the Tempus charm again. He knew that only a few minutes had crept by, slowly and deliberating, as if mocking him. How he wished there was a spell to speed up time! Or, at the very least, a magical aid to make one not feel the passage of time, so that one could spend a few hours in a daze, uncaring and unaware of the soft ticking of a clock as it marked the duration of time. Without such a spell or potion at his disposal, to Lucius, the seconds felt as lengthy as minutes, and minutes as prolonged as hours.

The spaces between the ticks and the tocks of each second were a suffocating silence, growing lengthier with each successive passing. They were a yawning deepness; the sharp clicks made each absence of sound even starker, more absolute.

More damning, even, for if the great grandfather clock could speak, Lucius knew that it would speak with the collective voices of his cold, proud ancestors.

It was not hard to guess at what they would say.

Lost in thought, Lucius gradually came back to himself and idly noted that he was slowly swinging his cane in time with the sharp clicks. The cane was clasped lightly in his right hand, the silver serpent head defiantly baring its teeth, the slivers of emeralds that composed its eyes staring into his own.

It was a poorly kept secret that Lucius Malfoy sheathed his wand in his walking stick. It ensured that his wand was always close at hand. What most people did not know was that the hissing snake head, which comprised the handle of the wand, was cleverly detachable.

He kept it on for appearance's sake and for intimidation of the weak-minded, and also because it forced his hand into a different grip, one more suited to sharp stabs and slashing when casting spells. Ironically enough, those were the same motions that most curses required.

The emerald eyes sparkled ominously, catching bits of light and throwing them into his eyes.

Inexplicable irritated, Lucius ceased the repetitive motion and smoothly drew his wand from the walking stick. He eased the stick against the desk and turned the wand over in his hands, fingertips lightly ghosting along the surface. They felt various shallow nicks, those that resisted the most stringent of cleaning and polishing.

Thirty and a half centimeters. Wood of an ancient elm tree. Stiff, inflexible, like its owner.

Dragon heartstring.

He knew why Hermione's wand had reacted so strongly, those years ago in Diagon Alley. Whereas then, he had shied away from the obvious answer, too headstrong and arrogant to accept that there were some things out of his control, now he mentally stood back from the situation and analyzed it.

After all these years, he was finally ready to accept the truth.

That was why he was here. That was why he was waiting.

How Lucius Malfoy hated waiting.

The concrete wall looked very solid.

Hermione swallowed nervously as she clutched the handle to the trolley that held her heavy trunk, stuffed to the brim with as many books as could possibly fit.

She could, of course, run full-speed into the wall and close her eyes to make it easy, but what if it wasn't a magical trick? Maybe she had the wrong wall? 'Hogwarts, A History' couldn't be wrong, but she might be.

Hermione contemplated walking up to it to press her hand against it, but a peek around the busy station convinced her that people might see and question a girl missing half an arm leaning into a wall.

She fiddled nervously with a loose button on her jacket, thinking. As was her custom, Hermione had arrived early, over half an hour before the scheduled departure time for the Hogwarts Express, and had spent a few on a long and teary goodbye to her parents, especially her father. It was only after she promised to send them a letter as soon as possible and then weekly afterwards that they allowed her to trudge with her loaded trolley through the crowded Kings Cross. Somehow, Hermione thought it best that her muggleborn status be kept as quiet as possible, at least until she was Sorted and hopefully after she made a friend or two. She had been fretting about being late and missing the train, but it seemed as if few other Hogwarts students shared her promptness. No one around her stood staring at the concrete wall, let alone running through it!

Frustrated, she tugged too hard at the button and it popped off in her hand. She sighed, and hoping that she could find a simple needle and thread at Hogwarts to sew it back on. If wizards used needles.

Scowling at the stupid button, Hermione was suddenly hit with a bolt of inspiration. Balancing the button on her thumb, she flicked it against the wall.

It somersaulted through the air, hit the wall… and passed through. A second later, she heard it strike the ground on the other side with a very muffled thunk.

Grinning in triumph, Hermione edged closer to the wall. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly shoved the trolley through the barrier. With another glance, she nonchalantly leaned against the wall and fell into the rabbit hole.

The bright red train dominated her awed gaze, and the heavy yet buoyant sensation of concentrated magic lifting her heart. Hermione gave a light delighted laugh as she grabbed her listless trolley and wheeled it towards the open door of the train. There were only a few people standing around, including the conductor, but there was no question that this was where she was meant to be.

One of the lone figures on the platform caught her eye as he strode closer to her. He was an average looking wizard, as wizards went in her limited experience, with short brown hair that looked oddly familiar, black robes, and was that a glint of silver on his right wrist?

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she briefly touched the matching bracelet on her wrist.

It was Munin.

What should she do? How should she greet him? She knew he was a pureblood, but did he hold with the customs?

She stood staring, frozen with indecision. Her mentor and benefactor quirked an eyebrow, then nodded his head to acknowledge her.

All of her breath came out in a whoosh. Hermione could not restrain herself, but launched her quivering body at the man. Her head burrowed into his soft silky robes as her arms wrapped around him tightly, her mouth spouting words of thanks, praise, and gratitude.

His body was tight with shock and discomfort, but he slowly relaxed enough to wrap his arms around her. "Enough of this," he said soothingly into her ear, despite himself. "You did not think I would neglect to see you off to Hogwarts?"

Hermione shook her head and backed out of his embrace with a slight sigh and reddened cheeks. She had not meant to lose control! She had wanted to display proper deportment befitting the old ways, even if she was an unruly muggleborn child; she only hoped that Munin understood and forgave her.

Her wand, which had been mulishly silent the past few weeks, strained once again against the confines of her jeans pocket. It warmed past the point of comfort, though Hermione was reluctant to display her wand's odd quirks in front of Munin, she tapped it sharply with a finger and told it a firm, "No."

Munin looked at her with a question. Hermione shrugged sheepishly and muttered something about a wand with too much personality who didn't know how to behave.

With a slight chuckle, the man reached a hand into the recesses of his inky robes and withdrew a leather bundle. He presented it to her with a flourish. "Perhaps she will appreciate a proper holder more befitting her abilities and temperament."

Hermione took the object with steady hands and unwrapped it to reveal a handsome wand holder, designed to strap to a wrist. It was soft and supple, polished and gleaming dimly, and she could not help but stroke it gently.

Large hands filled her vision, hands that helped her secure it to her wrist. "You must always keep your wand on you," Munin admonished. "Learn shielding and basic defensive charms first, then jinxes. Practice drawing your wand quickly and subtly. It may save your life one day."

Hermione nodded seriously. She always listened when Munin lectured, though usually it was on a paper that she could reread and memorize.

Her temperamental wand in its new luxurious throne, Hermione stretched and twisted her arm, trying to get the holder comfortable.

"You'll get used to it," Munin said.

Hermione resisted the urge to hug him again, instead she held out her hand and politely said, "Thank you very much."

Munin did not shake her hand, but grasped her fingers lightly and brought it to his lips in a courtly gesture of generations past.

Hermione went scarlet as her pulse raced and her breath quickened. The feeling of his soft kiss on the back of her hand was indescribable. It brought warmth throughout her body and she wanted nothing more than for him to do it again, then again.

He looked into her eyes as his other hand covered hers, warming it between his larger hands. "I have no doubt you will do fine, Hermione," he said quietly. "You will astound them all." He gave her hands one last squeeze before he let them drop to her side.

"How could I not, since you've taught me?" Hermione said cheekily.

He chuckled. "Very true, my dear. Together, we are untouchable, unbeatable."

His words sent another thrill through her body. They were together. He was counting on her, and he believed in her. She would not, could not let him down.

Munin's right arm jerked oddly and his wand shot out into his palm. With a subtle flourish, he tapped her trunk and muttered, "Reducio." It shrunk down to the size of a large matchbox, which he handed to Hermione. "Tap it with your wand to return it to its original size," he instructed. He didn't bother to tell her to take care, or how to shrink it again. If she had watched carefully enough, she could replicate the simple charm, or could convince an older student to do it for her.

"Thank you for everything, Munin," Hermione said sincerely, then a frightening thought came to her. "Can we still send letters when I'm at Hogwarts?"

He smirked. "I have already taken care of it," he said mysteriously. Munin glanced at his watch and at the filling platform, then sighed. "I must go."

Hermione nodded sadly. This was only the second time she had ever seen Munin in the flesh, not that she was naive enough to think this was his true form. No, if he wanted to keep his identity secret, there were many ways he could change his face and even his voice. With magic, he could be anyone.

A long finger lifted her chin to meet his light brown eyes. "I look forward to hearing about your Sorting, little one. I have no doubt that you will repay the trust and consideration I have given you."

"Even if I get sorted into Gryffindor?" Hermione asked with a trace of desperation.

A scowl flickered over his features. "Even if," he promised with a hint of reluctance. "Now, time is pressing."

Hermione nodded and stepped into the entrance to the train. By the time she turned around, Munin was gone. "Goodbye," she whispered to the air. It might be as many years before she saw her friend and mentor again.

Gathering herself and fighting back tears stinging her eyes, Hermione stepped into the long corridor, peeking into the windows of each compartment before settling on one in the middle. Most were still empty, though they were filling up quickly, and she fumbled with her wand sheath before managing to get her wand out. Munin had made it look so easy and graceful. Hermione placed her shrunken trunk on the other seat and rapped it. It grew rapidly, and she reached in and grabbed the robes she had placed at the very top of her belongings. On second thought, she grabbed her potions book as well. She could never review too much, after all.

Hermione changed swiftly, exchanging her muggle jacket for her crisp black robes, and her jeans for the grey skirt, thankful she had thought to wear hose under her jeans. Done, she settled back into her seat, delighted with her new attire. She had paraded with her wizarding ware in front of her parents and a mirror in the privacy of her room, but it was exciting to be finally wearing them for real. It was as if, by changing her clothes from muggle to wizarding, she truly became a witch. She sloughed off her magicless self for a newer, exciting, talented magical Hermione.

She burrowed into her soft cotton robes and tucked her feet under her to read her potions text for the third time. Every read revealed more information that had gone unnoticed before, even when Hermione was sure that she had read every word the previous time.

Every so often, she touched her wand secure in its sheath, then the bracelet that softly glinted in the sunlight.

Her peaceful reverie was interrupted by a chubby face contorted with suppressed tears. "Have you," he hiccupped, "Have you seen a toad around here?"

Hermione could not help herself - the boy looked pitiful. She jumped from her seat and ushered him into the compartment. "I'm sure you'll find him... what's your name?"

He sighed. "Neville Longbottom."

Hermione's mind raced. Longbottom, that surname sounded familiar... Ah yes, a very pure family, one of the moderates currently ruled by one Augusta Longbottom, this boy's paternal grandmother.

He was potentially a worthy ally.

Munin had instructed her to find them, to collect people she found useful and who would stick with her out of respect, fear, or necessity. Hermione had no illusions about her ability to frighten people, or lackthereof, so she had to stay with respect. She could do that.

"Nice to meet you, Neville." Hermione stuck out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, first year. I haven't seen your toad, but I bet we can find an older student who knows a Summoning charm. It's a Fifth Year Spell."

Neville's face lit up. "You think? That's a great idea."

Hermione carefully placed her book back in her trunk and locked it, placing the key in her pocket. "Let's go find someone," she said with a smile as they left the compartment.

They wandered down the corridor, glancing into each to find an older student who looked pleasant. Some of them had fierce scowls on their faces, which seemed incredible to Hermione. Who wouldn't want to be at Hogwarts? Who wouldn't want to learn magic?

"Do you know what House you'll be in?" she asked Neville idly as they passed another empty compartment.

He sighed gloomily. "No one knows until we get there, but there's no way I'll make it into Gryffindor like my parents. More likely Hufflepuff."

"There are worse things than being known for loyalty and hard work," Hermione said kindly. "Though I do understand wanting to live up to people."

Yes, she certainly understood that. Her parents had no preconceived notions about one House being better than the other, but Munin did. He had explained years ago about the four Houses, and had given her a rather biased view. She hadn't needed to ask what House he belonged to; his scathing explanation of Gryffindor as, "the House of the foolishly headstrong and over-compensators" had been enough, especially when combined with his praise of Slytherin as, "the home for the wisely ambitious and practically cunning."

Hermione had questioned him about her possible House, but had received no definite answer, just a vague, "wherever you should be." She wasn't sure if that was because he didn't know for certain and didn't want to be wrong (she knew he absolutely hated that), or if he didn't want to influence her Sorting. Considering his actions ever since intervening in her life, however, Hermione was more inclined to believe the former reason.

Munin had been influencing her from the beginning. Hermione rather thought that his influence was the exact reason he began their relationship.

A tall boy with shock of red hair perched atop horn-rimmed glasses slipped out of a compartment as they passed, and Hermione noted the Prefect badge pinned prominently on the boy's chest with relief. Finally, an older student who could help.

"Say, what are two first years doing wandering the corridors? Do you need help to find an empty compartment? I'm a prefect, you know, I can assist you." He adjusted his glasses and flashed his badge at them as he spoke.

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. They did need his help, sure, but did he think them blind to miss the shiny badge or merely incapable of reading the letters? Their lack of luggage might also be an indication that they had already claimed a compartment, else they'd be carrying it with them.

At least it would be easy to gain his assistance. "Oh, I'm relieved we found you," Hermione said with a laugh. "Neville, it's a prefect, he can help." Neville somehow missed her mocking and nodded vigorously. Oh dear. "You see, Neville lost his toad, and we were looking for someone who could perform a Summoning Charm."

The prefect, whatever his name was though by the look of him if Hermione consulted her genealogy books she was sure his last name would be Weasley, nodded his head in what he considered an understanding manner. "You are lucky that I am an advanced student. Most don't bother to learn this charm until the end of 5th year. What's the name of this toad?" Neville nearly shouted the toad's name in Hermione's ear and she winced slightly, but Weasley brandished his wand and intoned solemnly, "Accio Trevor."

They waited for a few seconds until a green object came zooming through the long corridor. The prefect almost caught it. He did try, but Trevor proved a mastermind at escape, and Weasley was forced to summon him thrice more until he finally maintained his grip on the squirmy amphibian. Annoyed, the red-haired boy shoved the toad into Neville's pocket.

Hermione and Neville thanked the tall boy, though Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that his glasses were askew after his uncoordinated lunges after the Houdini-esque toad.

"Make sure he stays in that pocket, Neville," she lectured as they meandered back to her compartment. "Unless you want to find Mr. Prefect again."

Neville mumbled an agreement. They stopped in front of her seat and Hermione extended an invitation. "You know you can sit with me in here if you like," she offered. "I'm just planning on rereading my textbooks. Maybe we could quiz each other and pinpoint our weaknesses."

The chubby boy looked at her with an odd expression on his face. Hermione couldn't quite decipher it, but she thought it unlikely that he would agree that her plan was as exciting as she considered it. Oh well, some people had no idea of a good time, she thought gloomily as Neville stuttered a polite rejection and scuttled away, one hand clutching his wriggling pocket.

And they had gotten together so well until then. Had she made a good enough impression? Had she "collected" the heir to the Longbottom line, as Munin would say?

She shrugged to herself. Probably not, but it was a start.

About to open the sliding door, a flash of light gold out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and Hermione turned to see an arrogant sneer in a pale narrow face crowned by nearly-white hair. That had to be a Malfoy. That had to be the son of Lord Lucius Malfoy. What was his name, Draco? He was flanked by two larger boys with dull faces; one of them clutched a bleeding hand to his chest.

Hermione froze, a slight smile pasted onto her mouth. While she was grateful towards Lord Malfoy for his most recent assistance – in addition to their initial meeting years ago – the witch held no illusions as to her supposed worth in the eyes of such purebloods.

Sure enough, the first words out of his mouth sunk the remnants of her meager hopes.

"And who are you?" His pale eyes glanced up and down contemptuously. "Never mind, I already can tell. I already know everyone of worth who starts this year. You're just some silly mudblood who wishes to aspire to my prestige. You'll soon learn that purebloods run this world, and we're going to run you out of it and back to your proper place in the mud." He twitched his robes away from her as if avoiding a plagued beggar.

Hermione fought back the tears that threatened to overrun; she knew that the boy would see them as a victory when in fact they were born from fury. She resisted the powerful urge to show the boy that a pureblood bled as easily as she, and it was only the knowledge that he probably knew a lot more hexes than she did that kept her from reaching for her wand. She resolved to research a shield and a rather nasty jinx as soon as they reached Hogwarts.

"At least you know your place already. Silence in the presence of your betters."

Hermione couldn't help herself. "No," she said sweetly, "I'm merely thinking of how red and gold will clash with your hair. Gold isn't really your color."

"How dare you," he seethed. "My family has been sorted into Slytherin for generations."

She shrugged. "There's always a first. There's no shame if you lack the subtly and cunning of a snake. After all, only an idiot would insult someone before knowing their family and connections. See you at Hogwarts, Draco."

With that, she slipped inside the compartment and locked the door. So much for hiding her blood status, if a pureblood could pick up on it within seconds, Hermione considered as she picked up her potion's text. Oh well. It's not like she was going to apologize for it. She'd stood up to Munin; Draco Malfoy was nothing.

Thankfully, the rest of the train ride remained uninterupted. Hermione managed to review half of the book, surprised once again how it seemed to be slightly different every time she read it. It was as if the words altered just slightly, or as she understood the fundamentals of a potion, the explanations lost the most basic information but included more references and connections to other potions. It made her want to pull out her Charms and Transfiguration texts to see if they had the same phenomena, but the train began to slow. She reluctantly stored her book in her trunk.

Hermione stared at her heavy trunk, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Was she supposed to bring it, or would someone else take care of it? She peeked out the compartment window and saw that students weren't carrying theirs, but that didn't mean that they hadn't shrunk them.

Better to be safe. Pulling out her wand - the slender wood was warm and content in her hands - she tapped the trunk and said the same spell Munin had used.

"Reducio."

The trunk shuddered a bit, but stayed stubbornly the same size. Hermione scowled and rapped it harder. "Reducio." This time it shrunk in half, but nowhere near the size she intended. Breathing deeply, Hermione sighed in annoyance. Magic is less dependent upon power than visualization. Power may compensate for ineptitude or a lack of practice, but may only do so much. Visualize what you demand of the spell, especially for an unfamiliar spell.

Eyes closed, Hermione saw the trunk shrink to the size and weight of a matchbox. Without opening them, she intoned the spell a third time and heard a pop.

She rolled her eyes with a grin. Munin was right, as usual.

Her trunk in a pocket, Hermione joined the throng of students leaving the train. Outside, a very large man with a lantern called for the first years, and she quickly found herself in a boat with Neville, a red-headed boy who looked like a brother of Mr. Prefect, and a small boy with a mop of wild black hair.

"Hello again, Neville," she said kindly. "Still have a hand on Trevor?"

He nodded with chagrin, patting his cloak pocket. "He does like to roam a bit, but the train didn't seem like a safe place."

The redhead snorted. "Not with those poncy Slytherins around," he said darkly. "I bet they'd take him and use him for potions, or for hexes."

Neville went white, but Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly? That's hardly helpful, and they're not all so bad."

The boy narrowed his eyes at her and was about to argue when the boats jumped forward. The argument was forgotten as the boats rounded a rocky cliff ledge and the brilliant outline of a castle thrust into the air, piercing the sky as it twirled upwards into the starry night. The image was doubled by the calm water, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The smell of the air was slightly different; it seemed almost charged with a mysterious sharpness. She opened her eyes to see the light from the stars dance, almost sparkling as it reflected upon the air itself.

Hermione felt for an instant as if she was a princess returning from exile, and nature herself was welcoming her home with open arms. The air surrounded her and she swore she felt a light caress on her cheek and soft breath kissing her hair.

Magic. It was all magic.

She knew that, finally, she was home.