Toil and Trouble Chapter 9 : The wrong sort - Part 1 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)

(Due to the length of this chapter, it has been divided into two parts. Here's part one.)

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September 1, 1993. The Great Hall, Hogwarts

Hermione had barely reached the Slytherin First Year table when Draco Malfoy rose to his feet, his platinum blonde hair gleaming under the floating candles.

“A Mudblood?” he said loudly, voice dripping with disgust and disbelief. “The Hat sorted a Mudblood into House Slytherin?”

A murmur rippled through the hall. Shocked whispers, gasps, and then, as if Malfoy’s words had given them permission, several other students began to shout.

“She doesn’t belong here!”

“Filthy little cheat... must've tricked the Sorting Hat!"

“What’s that bloody Hat playing at?”

Hermione froze, colour draining from her face. Never before had anyone looked at her with such unadulterated hatred and loathing.

“Enough!” a firm voice barked. Two Slytherin Prefects stood up. They were older students, but were seated at the First Year table. Hermione guessed it was part of their Prefect duties. Their badges, silver and emerald green, gleamed like warning lights. “You lot need to behave." one of them snapped, glaring down the table, "And don't let us hear you use that word again. "Are you trying cost us House points before term even begins?", said the other Prefect.

But even as they silenced the noise, their expressions made their feelings plain. The looks they cast in her direction held utter disgust, suspicion and disdain.

Hermione tightened her jaw and liften her chin defiantly.

“Well,” she spoke clearly, her tone betraying none of the trepidation she felt, “I don’t fancy sitting next to such small-minded people anyway.”

Without another glance at them, she walked to the far end of the table, at least ten full feet away from the nearest student, and sat down, alone.

Just then, a sudden chill swept through the Hall, and gasps rose from the first years. Several ghosts had drifted gracefully through the walls.

Hermione’s eyes widened. There were half a dozen of them, all silvery and translucent, their edges blurred like candle smoke. One ghost in particular caught her attention. He was a tall man dressed in tattered finery, his doublet stained with what was unmistakably blood. His expression was grim and noble, and though she could see right through him, his presence felt heavy, commanding.

The Bloody Baron.

Hermione recognised him instantly from Hogwarts: A History. She knew he was the Slytherin Tower ghost, known for his temper. Still, reading about him had done nothing to prepare her for the reality of a man, or what was left of one, floating silently before her.

The Baron’s eyes fixed on her. For a long, unsettling moment, he simply stared. Around him, a few other ghosts hovered near, murmuring softly among themselves, their faces a mix of curiosity and faint disapproval.

Hermione’s pulse quickened, but she refused to look away.

At last, the Baron gave her one last contemplating look, before drifting away, the other ghosts following.

Hermione exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bench. Seeing actual spirits, ancient, sentient and transparent. It was both fascinating and deeply unsettling.

She sat a little straighter, trying to absorb everything at once. The enchanted ceiling above, the flickering candles, the murmuring students, and the strange, cold beauty of this new world that already seemed eager to reject her.

The Sorting carried on for what felt like hours. Name after name was called, as hundreds of students were sorted. Each one followed by the same routine - he walk to the stool, the hat being placed on the child's head, the applause from whichever table claimed the new student. Most were sorted within seconds, while some sortings took a few minutes.

Appetisers floated about on silver trays, gliding gracefully between tables. They offered warm rolls, bite-sized pies, pumpkin pasties. Hermione took a few polite helpings. She nibbled quietly, her appetite dulled by the hostility.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry and Ron watched as the Sorting continued. Ron leaned closer, his voice low but full of certainty.

“I knew there was something wrong with that girl,” he muttered. “She’s in Slytherin.”

Harry frowned. “She didn’t seem that bad,” he said uncertainly. “Bit bossy, maybe.”

Ron snorted. “Bossy? She was practically lecturing me on the train. You saw her. Acting like she knew everything and you and I were a pair of idiots. Slytherin’s perfect for someone like her.”

Harry didn’t reply. He remembered how confidently she’d spoken about spells and magical theory, how she'd grilled Remus, how her tone had bordered on arrogance, though there’d been something bright, almost earnest, behind it.

His reasons for being so adamant about not going to Slytherin were clear. Slytherin was the House that produced the most dark wizards. It was the House whose teachings had shaped Voldemort, and Harry wanted no part of it. If Hermione Granger was placed in the same House, what did that say about her?

By the time the final name was called, it was nearly seven o’clock. The Sorting Hat was carried away, and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“Welcome, one and all,” he said, his voice ringing warmly through the enormous hall. “To our returning students, I say, welcome home. To our first years, welcome home for the first time.”

The words drew a ripple of soft laughter and applause. Even Hermione found herself smiling faintly.

Dumbledore went on, his eyes twinkling behind his half moon spectacles. “A few brief announcements before our feast. I am pleased to inform you that Professor Severus Snape, Head of the Potions Department and instructor to our sixth and seventh years students, has agreed to take on additional duties as the new Head of House Slytherin.”

Severus Snape rose to his feet. He was a thin man with sallow skin, a large, hooked nose, and greasy, shoulder length black hair.
There was polite applause from the staff tables. Snape gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable. As he sat, his gaze swept over the students, pausing, if only for a heartbeat, on the Gryffindor first years. Harry caught Snape looking directly at him, just for a second, before he sat down again.

Hermione’s heart lifted as she heard the announcement. So this was the fabled Professor Severus Snape. She had read some of his books, one of which was taught at Hogwarts. His brilliance in potion making was legendary. The thought that such a mind would guide her House, and her education, filled her with a quiet thrill. Surely, she reasoned, a man of such intellect couldn’t be swayed by prejudice. He was a teacher, after all. Logic must come before bias. And even if he did have some reservations regarding Muggle-borns, he'd have to at least be fair to his students.

Dumbledore’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We also have a new member joining our faculty. Please welcome Professor Remus Lupin, who will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts to our third and fourth years students."

Remus, seated midway down the table, smiled modestly as a smattering of applause broke out. Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. “I wish to make one matter clear,” he said, his tone turning grave. “Professor Lupin is a Lycanthrope. The only reason I address this most private aspect of his life is because a certain law, unjust though it may be, requires me to do so publicly. Let it be known that he is to be treated with the same dignity and respect as any other member of Hogwarts's staff.”

A hush fell over the hall. Hermione’s gaze darted toward the staff tables. Remus's expression was steady but distant. Then came the murmur, first low, then growing.

From somewhere at the Slytherin third year table, a boy’s voice rose above the whispering. “Can’t believe they’re letting animals teach us,” he scoffed, loud enough for several tables to hear.

Hermione froze. Anger twisted in her chest. How dare he? Remus had been so kind to her on the train, so patient when she’d asked too many questions. He was gentle, intelligent, and clearly dedicated to teaching. To hear him reduced to a word like animal....

She pressed her lips together, jaw tight, saying nothing. But her mind burned with indignation. If this was how some witches and wizards thought, she understood why Dumbledore had spoken the way he did.

A chill ran through her despite the warm glow of the candles. First they had called her a Mudblood, and now this. How deep did prejudice run in the wizarding world? How many people sitting in this hall believed in such things, and how many simply stayed silent?

Dumbledore clapped his hands together, his face breaking into a delighted smile.
“And now,” he said, his voice light again, “before we dine, let us uphold one of Hogwarts’ oldest and most cheerful traditions. Let us all sing the Hogwarts school song!"

A great golden ribbon of music unfurled from Dumbledore’s wand, twisting through the air until it broke into a dozen different melodies, and the song's lyrics twisted gently like banners of light for all to see. Students across the hall began singing in their own tunes and tempos. Some fast, some slow, while some were utterly off key. The resulting chorus was a chaotic jumble of laughter and melody that somehow filled the Hall with life.

Hermione stared, half amused, half baffled. The lyrics were ridiculous, talking about learning until one’s brain would rot. A bit disturbing when she thought about it. Yet the headmaster’s expression was so sincere, so joyful, that the absurdity felt almost… endearing.

As she mouthed the words awkwardly with the rest, she couldn’t help wondering whether there was a deeper meaning hidden beneath the silliness.

When the last note died out and the laughter faded, Dumbledore beamed. “Ah, music,” he said softly, eyes twinkling. “A magic beyond all we do here. And now, let the feast begin!”

At once, the empty plates before them shimmered, and in the blink of an eye, they were laden with food. Steam rose in fragrant curls, filling the vast hall with mouthwatering aromas of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, buttered vegetables, and rich gravies. Goblets brimmed with pumpkin juice and spiced cider.

Hermione gasped softly as, for a moment, the entire Hall seemed to glow with warmth. Then, right before each first year, words appeared in midair - neat, pearly script written in glowing light.

If you wish for more of any dish, simply speak its name aloud, and it shall appear on your plate.

The message lingered for a heartbeat, then faded like mist.

Hermione glanced down. Before her sat a heavenly platter consisting of roast chicken glazed with honey and herbs, golden Yorkshire pudding crisped to perfection, buttery mashed potatoes dusted with pepper, and roasted carrots that gleamed like amber. Beside it, a small silver dish held cranberry relish, and the scent of cinnamon and rosemary mingled sweetly in the air.

She hesitated for a moment, then took a bite.

The flavour was exquisite. Rich, savoury, and comforting, as though the food itself had been conjured from happiness.

As the feast carried on, laughter and chatter filled the Great Hall. But Harry wasn’t really focused on the delicious food. His thoughts kept drifting back to Dumbledore’s announcement, to the look on Professor Lupin’s face when the word 'Lycanthrope' had echoed through the Hall, followed by the uneasy murmurs.

Harry’s chest tightened. Would they all treat Remus with revulsion now? Would the other teachers avoid him? Would students whisper behind his back?

He turned slightly in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the staff table. Remus was there, talking quietly with another teacher, his expression as calm as ever.

Then, as though sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Remus looked at him. Their gazes met for a moment, and the professor gave him a small, reassuring smile - gentle and steady, the kind that told Harry not to worry. Harry exhaled, his shoulders easing a little. He smiled back faintly, then returned to his plate.

Draco was irritated by everything.

The noise, the chatter the clinking of silverware. Crabbe and Goyle chewing like trolls beside him.

“Will you stop eating like that?” he snapped, glaring at them. “You sound like a pair of starving giants.”

They froze mid-bite, exchanging puzzled looks, then returned to chewing - slower, but still annoyingly loud.

Pansy Parkinson leaned toward him from across the table, her voice sweet and grating all at once. “Oh, Draco, isn’t it wonderful to finally be here? I told everyone we’d be in Slytherin together and...."

“Oh stop talking nonsense, Pansy,” he muttered sharply, not even looking at her.

She blinked, taken aback, then asked in a simpering tone "why are you cross, Draco?" She fluttered her eyelashes in what she must’ve thought was a winning gesture. It only annoyed him more.

Everything about tonight irritated him. He was at Hogwarts, he was in Slytherin. It was exactly as it should have been. And yet, nothing felt right. Potter had rejected his offer of friendship. That Mudblood Granger had somehow landed in his House. And now there was a Werewolf teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts.

What in Merlin’s name had happened to Hogwarts?

His eyes drifted down the table almost of their own accord, finding the girl seated far away from everyone. Granger. She was eating quietly, back straight, eyes lowered, seemingly untouched by the noise and chaos around her.

Draco’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t believe he had even considered her pretty for an instant. Or thought her clever. Or, Morgana help him, pressed his lips to her filthy hand. The memory made his stomach twist in disgust.

He looked away, stabbing at a piece of roast beef he no longer wanted.

And yet, from the corner of his eye, he caught the precise way she held her fork and knife. The careful, graceful movements. The composure. She certainly ate with more elegance than Crabbe and Goyle.

He dismissed that thought just as quickly as it had formed.

Just scum trying to imitate her betters, he thought bitterly, forcing himself to focus on his plate.

But the food had lost all flavour.

When the feast ended, the Hall filled with the scrape of benches and the low roar of conversation. Prefects had the first years form lines so they could guide them to their respective House Towers.

As they moved toward the great doors, Hermione glanced to her left, toward the line of Gryffindor first years.

Ron Weasley noticed for half a second before rolling his eyes and muttering something to Harry behind him. Harry didn’t look at her.

Hermione’s stomach sank.

She’d spoken to them so freely on the train. They'd even shared some laughs. She’d thought, just maybe, they’d become her friends.

But now….

Hermione wondered if Slytherin's reputation would cause Harry and Ron to hate her.

As the prefects led the first years past the staff tables, Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the distinctive one at the very centre.

Professor McGonagall sat there with Headmaster Dumbledore and the other Heads of House. Her expression was composed as ever, but when her gaze fell on Hermione, walking with the rest of her fellow Slytherins, it flickered with unmistakable concern.

Hermione hesitated, then offered the professor a small, respectful smile and a nod. McGonagall inclined her head in return, her lips tightening faintly. That simple exchange steadied Hermione for a moment. Someone, at least, didn’t look at her like she was a mistake.

Then the prefects urged them forward, away from the warmth of the Great Hall. They were led through a long passageway. Hermione looked around, marvelling at the detail in the carvings on the walls and ceiling. There were a great many serpant motifs. She reckoned the passageways leading to each

"We are going to the House Common Hall.", said one of the Prefects, a girl with shoulder length brown hair, in a casually authoritative tone, "I'm Antonia Warrington. Seventh year." She then gestured towards the three other Prefects walking beside the long line of Slytherin first years behind her and said, "That is Augustus Black, he's in Seventh year as well." Augustus, tall and well built, cast a cold gaze at the lowly thirteen year olds. "And the ones at the back,", Antonia continued, "Connor Lestrange and Joshua Baker, both sixth years."

At the end of the passage, a great archway took them into the Slytherin Tower. They were then led down a flight of stairs towards the Slytherin Common Hall.