Some quotes are taken from chapter 10 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: which belong to JKR and WB. The rest is mine.


It was such a promising start. This is some cannon from Hermione’s point of view.




That Halloween:


Hermione looked at her reflection in the girl’s bathroom mirror and was shocked. She’d never seen her eyes so red and puffy, her hair so messy or her school robes so wrinkled.


This was, Hermione’s realised, her first milestone into the reality of teenage girlhood; and she wasn’t proud of it. She was a really girl now; she hadn’t developed physically as a girl yet but she knew now that she was indeed full female.


Never in her life before had she felt like this and it was his fault.


Hermione now knew the identity of the cute redhead she had encountered in Diagon Alley. The one that she’d had the confusing dream about. The one with that dreamily smile and those beautiful eyes; his name was Ronald Bilius Weasley.


Today, in Charms, was the closest they’d been since that eternal moment. Not even when they’d run from Filch and Mrs Norris, then found the big three headed dog, had they been so close. Their fingers had almost grazed. She’d smelt his hair and his abnormally long legs had kept touching her own.


 His eyes were as amazing as she recalled; their blue hue had an even greater depth in autumns light. She had noticed that they sparkled differently depending on his mood: Annoyed at her, worried about Harry when he flew after the remembrall, excited about Harry’s broom or when he saw food.


Hermione told herself she wasn’t obsessed. That her start of term priorities were quite normal and natural; pleasing McGonagall (and other teachers) and to make friends with Ron and now Harry too.


The teacher weren’t a problem; they all loved her. Apart from Snape but Hermione was sure she could win him round.




For the first time in her life; Hermione felt challenged and engaged. She had begun to devourer her texts book like she devourer the great literature of Austin or the Bronte’s.


The magical world fired her imagination like the ‘muggle’ world never had. It engaged her intellect until she felt she had to know all of its possibilities. She had already memorized her text books and had started to devour other fascinating library books.


Hogwarts was enjoyable on an unprecedented scale for the twelve year old. She had achieved one out of two of her goal.


However, there was a blip, a hiccup, a fly in the goblet, a piece of food in the teeth concerning her ‘master plan’ to befriending Ron.


It was a slight problem; but it had manages to totally stop the plan before she had had a proper chance. Like a fallen leaf, or the ‘wrong type of snow’ on the railway line of life, it had set everything crashing off course. The problem that couldn’t be avoided was... Ronald Bilius Weasley.


He was the most insufferable prat, insensitive wart that she’d ever had the misfortune to meet.  A big mouthed insecure nincompoop who mocked her with his continuing existence... The only time he acknowledged her was to be horrid. Everything he said was insulting. His best friend was Harry; they were always together where as she… She didn’t have any friends. She was always alone; that’s why she was crying.


Her emotions were so out of alignment. Any moment the conflict of emotions would explode and destroy her.


Now a full two months into her magical education Hermione had begun to watch Lavender and Parvati. She wanted to have friends but not enough to try and understand them. They had however given her ideas for her hair. However, neither of them had a problem with fizz so they were little help.


Her hair wasn’t the only thing that had altered; her wardrobe had too.


While waiting for her mother at her office one day, she’d picked up a fashion magazine. She found and analysed the article’s that lay within their covers about what a girl of her age ‘should’ be like; and although she didn’t agree with most of its pre-packaged accretions. It had help the eleven year old developed a style of her own. Her non-school clothes were now a muted and mature feminine style that she felt entirely herself in.


As she looked in the mirror, this tear stained Hermione was unrecognisable. She was so different now; changed since she had shared that moment with Ron. Three months ago, teasing and such had been below Hermione’s notice. Three months ago, she hadn’t taken notice of gender labels. Three months ago, she’d been ok, all in all.


Now, a boy said something unkind and she cried. What was more incredible was that she’d missed classes all day to wallow in self-pity. The same ‘boy motivated self-pity’ that she’d questioned and laughed about. However, at this moment it didn’t feel like something to laugh about. It felt real and liberating to lose control, she let her emotions spill out.


It was like that moment with Ron and his stupidly enthralling eyes had made her realise she was a girl. Now, she was living up to every stereotype; without even trying to stop herself. Fantasists would probably think she had fallen in love with Ron. However, Hermione knew logically that she hadn’t. She didn’t even think she fancied him.


Her observation of his cuteness was, just that, an observation. She was sure she only wanted to be his friend because he was like a puzzle before her.


By the time she was standing on platform 9 ¾ September 1st, Hermione Granger had been excited and comfortable having her hair down and wearing a skirt.


When she found a compartment she had been joined by some other students: Hannah, Lavender, Seamus, the Patil twins and Neville. Then, Trevor, Neville’s toad had done a bunk like some POW in the Great Escape. Neville had gone after him, only to come back disappointed and defeated.


To Hermione, however, it had been brilliant opportunity; the perfect ploy. She could be a friend to Neville, by helping him hunt for Trevor. Entertain herself with ‘the love of the chase.’ AND find the cute redhead.


Hermione had silently giggled to herself about calling him that; but what else was she to call him?


As it turns out he was sat with Harry Potter of all people. Her heart had sunk. How could she compete with him: Especially since they seemed to be having such a good time with their sweets?


But he was just about to do some magic. She thought perfect I’ll be able to strike up conversation about that.


By asking about Trevor it was clear Ron hadn’t recognised her. He stared at her like she was some kind of alien.


He couldn’t be blame; she did look different now. Her smile had changed because her teeth had grown, and now she wished they’d stayed baby teeth.


Her parents promised braces, which was not a comforting thought at all. The mere suggestion of a magical solution to the problem from her parents had meet with such a reaction, that Hermione started to wonder what the point of magic could be.


What was the use of her spell books and other background information if she couldn’t make herself happy? In so doing, help her chances of make friends; a bit. She knew if she could shrink her two front teeth, her smile would give her a bit more confidence.


 She’d argued with her parents. She was right to argue, for no matter what she had done, over the past two awful months at magical school, Hermione Granger had remained friendless. She remained on the sidelines while those around her enjoyed the bonds of new friendship.


It was no use, thinking these things. They were like a broken wand; useless and frustrating. All she wanted to be was his friend and she’d ruined it.


She’d been nervous so babbled her introduction: Speaking at a speed she didn’t know she was capable of. Concentrating on the magic had calmed her a little bit. She’d sat down and waited to see his magical skill, ready to be impressed; nothing had happened.


The spell had been a dud. The rat had remained the colour he was; he hadn’t changed one little bit. Then, her mouth had disengaged from her brain, it had taken over and things had gone down hill from there. All the information her brain had soaked up during the holidays came spilling out.


That was the first time she realised being a girl, a bookworm and herself wasn’t going to be easy. Up until then, the transition from Tomboy to bookworm had been surprisingly easy. She loved books already and discovered that trying at school was surprisingly easy and even enjoyable.


Hermione’s overall plan had, however, failed because even though she’d tried to be a friend to Ron… and even Harry, their friendship was denied her. Her advice, her help had seemed like nagging and as such they’d ignored her. But it only seemed like nagging because they didn’t know her.


She had spent long sleepless nights, listening to Lavenders snores, lamenting the entire realm of if-only. Like if only she’d met him earlier on the train, before Harry had; if only she’d not walked into his compartment when he was trying to turn that ugly rat yellow; or if only Fred and George had given him a proper spell.


As Hermione stood in the girl’s bathroom; she looked around her. She had been trying to ignore the nagging feeling she had had; but now she realised that she had been a fool. It had been the height of girlish naivety to contemplate that this school would be different from ‘muggle’ school.


Children were children; magical or muggle born, there was no different. Ron was just the biggest child of them all.


What had happened earlier that day echoed in her brain. All that there was, to her, was Ronald Weasley’s words to Harry Potter.


Ron was in a very bad temper by the end of the class. She hadn’t meant to but when she’d tried to help him today in Charms, her helping had come out all wrong. She’d only irritated him, again; made him feel stupid without meaning to. It wasn’t her fault that he didn’t have a wand that suited him and wasn’t a book learner.


It was like the train all over again. How can he feel stupid? How could he be so cruel? Hadn’t she seen intelligence and an inner kindness in his eyes when they’d shared that moment? Or had she just romanticized that part of that eternal moment: Over analyzed it as it had replayed repeatedly.


But now another moment was stuck on replay in her minds eye.



'It's no wonder no one can stand her,' he had said to Harry as they pushed their way into the crowded corridor. 'She's a nightmare, honestly.'


She’d overheard many unkind comments during her life but that was the first to affect her.


His words hurt and she’d realized that she needed to get away.


Then, she’d knocked into Harry as she hurried past him. It startled her realizes the wet on her face was her own bitter tears; she was crying. Harry must have caught a glimpse of her face – because he seemed as startled as she to see her in tears.

'I think she heard you.'
She’d heard Harry say to Ron as she’d gone past.

she caught Ron say, but he sounded a bit uncomfortable. 'She must've noticed she's got no friends.'


“Yes, I had noticed Ronald.” Hermione wanted to shout; but the words were stifled by tears. For an hour, she’d been alone in here mindlessly crying. Hopelessly, trying to rationalize these emotions that had welled in sided of her. Her tears, over Ron and his brutally honest words, ebbed and flowed like the sea meeting the shore.


She’d gotten through a whole roll of toilet paper, when a very nice Prefect called Penelope had come in. She’d only been there for a few minutes to used the bathroom; but had spoken to her kindly.


Hermione asked her to “leave her alone” but Penelope had kindly pointed out that; ‘if, indeed’, Hermione ‘wanted to be alone she should use Moaning Myrtles bathroom on the second floor’. This observation had made Hermione smile, if only weakly.


 Tearful, she explained that it was something Ron Weasley had said that had upset her. Penelope had been sympathetic confessing that all Weasley men were insufferable. They got better as they matured.


Penelope then said something about Percy Weasley that had made Hermione blush. She’d stayed longer than was truly necessary making her late for class.


Before she left, she’d spoken words of encouragement but confessed that it was best for Hermione to cry it out. She’d transfigured an old piece of parchment into a glass so Hermione could have some water. After she had left; Hermione had been nearly been ready to leave when the true irony of Ron’s statement, hit her.


Ron, the first boy she had had a dream about; had called her a nightmare.


The first person she wanted to be friends; with had called her friendless.


She’d laugh if it wasn’t so sad.


So painful.


So true.


Every time she thought like this, she cried more until she feared she could cry no more. She never cried over the bullies at her old school. She couldn’t put her finger on why but Ron had gotten under her skin. He could make her happy or sad; angry or calm. That juxtaposition of emotions, the power he could yield, both scared and confused her.


Throughout the day, Hermione had been surprised by how many times her room mate Parvati had come in to see her. She suspected that Penelope had sent her in; thinking that the roommates were friends. However, Hermione had been suspicious of her intentions and was worried that she’d tell Lavender. The girl that had irked Hermione since she first met her.


It was dark now and Hermione felt ready for a nice long bath. It would be the last she would have in this castle because Hermione had decided that she just wasn’t cut out for magical school. Ever fibre in her being dreaded the look of disappointment in McGonagall’s face but it couldn’t be helped.


If she’d fitted in and had made just one friend it would be different. And sure, she knew that her parents would be confused and disappointed. But she didn’t feel like she could stand staying in this place feeling so alone.


This decision made her feel upset and relieved at the same time. No more of Lavenders snoring, no more people talking about Quidditch, but most of all, no more Ron. All she would have to do was speak with McGonagall in the morning and her life would return to dull unchallenging ‘normally’.


The relief was short lived. A foul stench of old socks and unclean public toilets had suddenly become overpowering. She wondered if it could be one of the stalls so she popped her head around the door. It just needs a flush she thought.


She had hurried into what she thought was the offending loo nearest the door. When she heard a low grunting and some shuffling, then something heavy started to run across the titled floor. Hermione dropped to her knees and looked though the gap between the floor and the door she saw, huge feet covered in granite grey skin; next to them sat a club.


Hermione knew what it was. She’d read all about them. Knew what to do but shock and panic had frozen her brain. All she could think was: why would a male troll need the girl’s bathroom? Her wand was the other end of the bathroom with her bag. She wanted to scream but nothing came out.


Then, between the heavy breathing of the troll she heard a sound that sent her emotions into overdrive. It was the soft click of the door locking. Not thinking she opened the stall door. The troll saw her and she heard a scream. She was surprised to realise that the girly scream of terror was coming from her.


Hermione ran, screaming, as fast as she could towards the wall on the far side. Hoping against hope, she could get to her wand from under the sink. She didn’t have a plan after that; but having a wand was a start.


The troll lumbered after her greedy like he was a toddler chasing a favourite toy. As she got to the sink she cowered for safety. The troll, in his stupidity, began to close the distance on them not noticing he was knocking sinks off the wall as he advanced.


Not noticing that he was sending pipes and taps and bits of sink everywhere.


Not noticing that water was now gushing everywhere like a group of mothers over a new baby.


What happened next happened very fast. She was shrinking against the wall, nearly sitting on her bag, reaching for her wand underneath her, feeling very faint; when she heard the most amazing sound.


Confuse it!” shouted the desperate voice of Harry Potter. Hermione heard a metal clunk; the troll stopped. It looked round seeing a new target; away from the water that threatened to wash him clean. The troll began to advance on Harry.


Then, Hermione truly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was going to be ok because she heard a yell.


“Oy, pea-brain!”


Ron’s voice was both a shock and reassurance. It made her forget her faintness. It came from the other side of the chamber. There was a thud and a clatter that the troll didn’t register as a heavy metal pipe landed on the ground. The ugly brut turned and faced Ron; upset by the childish insult.


Hermione was vaguely aware of Harry shouting:


“Come on, run, run.” But Hermione was too transfixed by Ron. He was still insulting the troll, walking backwards. Terror gripped her as she worried about his safely.


Then, she notice Harry was suddenly gone and on the troll. He had taken some kind of flying jump onto the troll and was now hanging there around his neck like a human necklace: A human necklace sticking a wand up its snout. The troll started to howl with pain. A terrible sound that seemed to echo around the walls that made Hermione sank to the floor; unable to think: Unable to breath.


It was only Ron’s voice that brought her back to the reality of the situation.


“Wingardium Leviosa” he cried and unlike earlier in class the spell worked. The troll was hit by his own club. Harry looked relieved, Ron looked triumphant but he stood like a status his wand still raised while the troll looked dead.


Hermione stood up slowly and walked over to the shadow nearest Ron; as if a sleep walker seeking safety in the shadows by his side. As if the combination of the two would save her should the Troll come up again for round two.


“Is it – dead?” She asked.


“I don’t think so,” said Harry. “I think it’s just been knocked out”. He bent over and retrieved his wand.


“Urgh – troll bogies” he said wiping his wand on his trousers.


Before Hermione had an opportunity to ask what they should do next; the door slammed open. Professor McGonagall marched in quickly followed by Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell.


They seemed shocked. As Professor Snape examined the troll; Professor McGonagall fixed Harry and Ron with a glare. She looked as angry as it was possible to be when she realised that it was Harry there. For an instance, Hermione thought it wasn’t a teacher kind of angry but a grandmotherly type. It was only as flash and Hermione was never sure she’d actually seen it.


What on earth were you thinking of?” said Professor McGonagall, with a cold fury that sent a shiver down Hermione’s spine. While, they looked to each other for answers Hermione’s mind kicked into overdrive.


You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Why aren’t you in your dormitory?” she asked and Hermione knew what she had to do. She didn’t like it but it was the right thing to do in payment for them saving her. She’d start with the truth and go from there.


“Please, Professor McGonagall” Hermione said in a small soft voice that seemed wake the teachers from a fury endured trance. “They were looking for me.”


“Miss Granger!” Professor McGonagall cried in a voice of disappointment that nearly made Hermione loose her nerve.


I went looking for the troll because I...


Why would I do such a stupid thing?’ She thought quickly.


“...I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I’ve read about them.”


‘That’s right I’ll weave the lie out of bits of truth’ Hermione thought ’blame all the books you stuffed into your head over the summer.’


Then Hermione heard a sound that made the lie worth it. Ron dropped his wand in surprise. She took her opportunity to shot him a quick look; willing him to understand.


Their eyes met and it was her turn to try and communicate something without words. Look I’m more than a know-it-all Ron. Please give me a chance. I’m going to get you out of trouble.


‘Well in for a penny in for a pound’ she thought as she looked backed to Professor McGonagall.


“If they hadn’t found me, I’d be dead now.” She admitted wanting to weep.


There’s a bit of truth there; I would be dead without them. I’ll tell them the truths from now; how brave Ron and Harry were just hope they play along and don’t get all noble.


“Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn’t have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived.” Hermione looked to Harry and Ron to back her did and thankfully they did. Hermione moved so she was standing in between the two of them.


Professor McGonagall started to stare at the three of them as if seeing them for the first time clearly.


“Well – in that case…” she said turning to face Hermione. “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?” Hermione hung her head wanting to cry; but found she had none left within her.


“Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this,” said Professor McGonagall. “I’m very disappointed in you.” Hermione felt as if her heart was going to break at this point; Never had a teacher said that to her before. “If you are not hurt at all, you’d better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”


As Hermione left she felt numb and thought of nothing. What had she done?


The common room was uncommonly busy and noisy when Hermione entered. Everyone was eating and enjoying themselves. The entire house stared at her when she entered. However, no one approached her.


 She realised she was very hungry but decided to wait for Ron and Harry by herself near the door.


As they came in they saw her standing and there; and they all gave a weak but grateful smile. There was an embarrassing pause; when they didn’t dare look at each other.


Then all of a sudden, they all muttered thanks and went to start on the feast.


As Hermione stood in the cue for the food, behind Ron, he looked back at her for a moment. And there it was; the warmth she remembered from that summer’s day. It was a look. Not a touch or anything said with words. But she felt it and smiled shyly as she took a moment to look into his eyes and meet his gaze.


He smiled shyly too and that’s when she was sure. She was sure she would stay because now, finally, after two months, Ron Weasley was her friend.


And for now; that was enough.





I have wanted to write this story for a while. My pre-Hogwarts R/Hr story seemed incomplete without it. When looking at the character of Hermione: I always get the impression that her liking for books and not being a giggling girl was due to a past full of not fitting in. It’s a very popular theory: my version is of course that she was a Tomboy.


This story fits in with the rest of my R/Hr universe.


Hope you like this and if you have suggestions as to how I can improve it or other moments you want the JustSuperMione treatment... let me know.



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