The Siren's Thorn

Chapter 1- The Sorting Ceremony

Hermione Granger, 7th year Gryffindor and newly selected Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat quietly amongst rows of empty dining tables, reading and waiting.

It was the day of the Sorting Ceremony- the last one she would ever attend (as a student, at least). Her parents had recently taken a liking to the idea that their only daughter would become a Professor of some sort- any sort, so long as she'd make a good living, live up to her potential, and enjoy the job. Intended in that order, no doubt.

But at the moment, she was perfectly content with her life, though the days have certainly been darkened by the lingering shadow of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ... No, Voldemort, she amended. Voldemort's power was rooted in fear, and she would not participate in spreading it, even within her own mind.

Especially within her own mind.

But that was thought for another day. The great, echoing emptiness in the Great Hall was obviously setting her nerves on edge- and darkness was already approaching.

They'll be here soon, she told herself, going back to her reading.

The enchanted ceiling was in a peculiar array of colors, as if some eccentric artist had dipped a brush in oranges and reds and pinks and swiped it across the teal blue sky, then slashed across it a thin puff of gray, just to be abnormal.

But Hermione noticed it less and less as she sank deeper into her systematic memorization of The Muggle World by Godric Lexicon. She had bought it last week (for just eleven sickles!), and thought it a good reference for the advanced Muggle Studies course this year. But classes start tomorrow, and she was running out of time.

"The Veela is the closest bridge between our world and the Muggles," she recited steadily to the sky-like ceiling above her. "Agrippa Mellin, top researcher for the Wizard's Magic Gazette, has recently exposed a rare phenomenon in which the blessing of a Veela might -er, may- cause a rare class of magic to be developed in a Muggle." She glanced back down to the text.

...Although the magical reasoning behind this is not yet known, Agnimaeus Leimel has theorized that the roots of the matter traces back to the ancient magics, of the undeveloped kind, with which all beings- wizards and Muggles alike- are bound.

Hermione repeated the words to herself and was about to shift her gaze to the ceiling again when she suddenly noticed voices... voices that had been slowly swelling from a distance.

They're here! She quickly put the large book into her bag and rushed to the door in search for her two best friends amongst the wave of students arriving at Hogwarts. She couldn't wait to see them! Her eyes scanned the crowd for a head of notoriously messy black hair and the flame-red head that ought to be next to it...

...and unwittingly caught the snobbish, arrogant sight of Draco Malfoy instead.

A subtle, challenging sneer crept into his expression as he held her gaze, even as he chatted- albeit detachedly- with a crowd of Slytherins. Acting as if he's above talking normally with even his friends, Hermione noted in disgust, wondering how anyone could even stand this kind of treatment.

She very purposefully shifted her eyes away- and nearly laughed aloud at the sight of the two hulking cronies that still flanked Malfoy's sides. Both Crabbe and Goyle had inflated massively, like two rather deformed balloons that had been generously filled with gas.

Malfoy had grown as well, she noticed, her eyes shifting back to the pale blonde boy. There was an over-accentuated air of urbanity about him now, which was apparently endorsed with an even greater sense of self-worth than ever before. She quite honestly would never have thought it humanly possible to be so ridiculously conceited.

A corner of Malfoy's mouth tugged up into a sneer as he held contact, his eyes suddenly giving that "I know something you don't know- and it's something big" look she had long since learned to hate. Hermione instinctively sifted through her mind for any clue of what the brute might be sneering about, and came up with nothing. It was the first day at Hogwarts, she reasoned, he couldn't possibly have done something awful yet, considering even his record.

And besides, Hermione held a new card in her hands: the Head Girl badge and the Slytherin points that she wouldn't hesitate to take if Malfoy even thought to pull anything.

Yes, this year will definitely be a change, she thought, rolling her eyes and going back to her search for familiar faces.

Neville Longbottom, she saw, was near the doorway, petting something the size of a small rat and feeding it something green. He looked up, and seeing her, smiled. She waved back, shifting her gaze to Luna Lovegood, who looked to be having a good laugh with a Hufflepuff 6^th Year. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were chatting with Seamus Finnigan by the door. Some Gryffindor 7^th years had formed a card-trading group by a window... there were a few giggling 3^rd years not far from them ... a closed circle of Slytherins ...

And somewhere to her right, her name was being called by a voice that sounded awfully like...

Ron!

Hermione turned just as something with arms plowed into her. She regained her balance quickly and grinned at her tall, freckled friend. Harry came up excitedly behind him, beaming, his hair as messy as ever.

"Where were you?" he demanded jokingly. "Ron was driven into a right frenzy earlier in the train. You should've seen him running all over the place earlier, asking if anyone saw you, or if they knew you were coming on the train or not, or if you-"

"Oh, bugger off!" said Ron, crossing his arms heatedly, though looking rather happy to be offended. "You were worried too! I saw you, you know- when you were peeking in the Slytherin compartments and talking to Zabini about it. Seriously," he turned to Hermione, "he looked like he was organizing a train-wide lookout for you or something- "

He suddenly paused, as if reconsidering his words, then quickly turned back to Harry and added, "Wait- you weren't, were you?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Oh dear Merlin!" announced Ron dramatically, turning back to Hermione. "Now see there- look what you've done." he demanded, feigning accusation. "You've gone and made Harry insane! Our golden boy is ruined!"

He sighed, shaking his head solemnly.

"And I rather liked him, too," added Harry.

Hermione laughed, remembering just how much she had missed her friends as she pulled them in for a hug. And it's only been two weeks since they were last together at the Order Headquarters- though it was a much darker setting, and had undoubtedly reminded Harry constantly of his lost godfather to further dim their spirits.

She motioned towards the area where she had left her bookbag, leading them to the seats.

"So what happened?" asked Harry, still grinning. "Why weren't you on the train?"

"Head Girl business," she replied, to excited exclamations of 'of course they picked you!' and 'congratulations!' as they sat down in their usual places along the Gryffindor dining table. "I was called in a week early to plan for a new course. Active Defense. Dumbledore wants the Head Boy and Girl to organize."

She reached into her bag for a roll of the first three lesson plans she had drawn out earlier, and handed it to Harry and Ron. "What do you guys think? The classes will probably be on the weekends. Well, I mean ... since Hogsmeade trips are halted," she added with hesitation.

The response she got from that statement would have been incredible just last year: The students around her fell silent for a moment... but immediately picked up their conversations as if nothing had changed at all. Ron let out a sharp exhale of breath, but didn't say anything. Harry just shrugged.

Of course, she thought, not particularly surprised at the reactions. Everyone's changed.

The times have changed.

Who cares about Hogsmeade when death and terror mocked their every passing breath?

Here was their sanctuary, protected by the magic of the stones and the influence of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. It'd be foolish to demand more.

"So who's the new Head Boy?" Ron asked after the short, though heavy silence.

Hermione suddenly realized that she had no idea. "He didn't show up, and I didn't care to ask," she replied. It was true- she'd much rather work alone than be bothered by some nebish with an operating system bearing no recognizable semblance to a brain. It always was more work, with a return of just half the credit. Hermione wondered if she could convince Dumbledore to let Harry co-run the course instead.

She was about to explain the details of the course when her attention was drawn to the door by a collective hushing of voices. Another group of students had appeared at the door of the Great Hall and was meekly trailing behind Professor McGonagall, who entered at her usual brisk pace, her velvet green cloak rippling with each step.

The new first years had arrived.

Hermione watched as they shuffled their way to the center of the room, some gaping at the ceiling in awe, some fidgeting with their robes nervously. One of them, a little brown-haired boy, even turned a rather unbecoming shade of purple and darted out towards the door, holding a hand to his mouth. But only Hermione- and the Slytherin that had made what looked like a snide remark as he brushed past- seemed to notice. She briefly wondered if she should check to make sure he was okay, but only threw a glare at the rude fourth-year before shifting her attention to the Sorting Hat's stool.

The enchanted hat, looking old and worn as always, groaned as if waking up from a lengthy sleep before bursting into a lively song that cheered the various traits of the houses.

Hermione never paid any attention to the words, but she sensed something different about it all- there was a tint of foreboding and sadness that floated just below the cheerful movements and manifested into an additional verse about friendship and unity as the last note faded away.

A wave of applause followed, with the occasional weak whistle and feeble shout. Hermione recalled the same scene seven years ago, when the merriment had been genuine.

The time trudged past as the first years went to the stool, one by one, each to be directed to their new houses.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Applause. A plump, pinkish boy with twinkling eyes and a large smile moved towards the clapping rows of the Loyal.

"Theodore Goldhart," called Professor McGonagall. A confident-looking African boy approached the stool and barely touched his head to the hat, when-

"GRYFFINDOR!" pronounced the hat.

Hermione clapped loudly to welcome the new house member, vaguely noticing that the list McGonagall held looked much shorter than in the previous years.

Maybe some wizarding families are afraid, she thought. But how could anyone possibly think there's a safer place than Hogwarts? Here lived the only wizard that He-Who--...No, Voldemort- had ever feared... and the only wizard Voldemort had never succeeded in killing...

"Who is that?" asked Ron, startling her out of her thoughts.

What? Who, Harry? Hermione blinked a couple times to clear away her confusion, recalling the Great Hall and the Sorting Ceremony that was currently in session.

She turned to Ron, who was staring intently past her to the center of the floor.

She followed the line of sight to the few remaining first-years, noticing instantly the person he was referring to: Head and shoulders above the rest of them was a pretty girl with long, flamingo-pink hair that gleamed a light silver off the surrounding candlelight, reminding Hermione strongly of Fleur Delacour.

But her table mates were more than willing to input their own opinions, to distract from not being able to come up with a family name or background. She was turning back to the table when Ron made an uncharacteristically crude comment about the length of the girl's legs. Every head within a five-person radius turned to him in surprise.

"Fancy her?" Harry joked.

Ron burned a rather intense shade of red around the ears and shook his head fervently, suddenly becoming very interested in the ceremony as an Asian boy was sorted into Hufflepuff.

Hermione couldn't help but grin.

"Boys," she said, acting exasperated.

A half hour later, the conversation at the table had shifted from the long-legged girl to Colin Creevy's sick mother to Quidditch- and was quite hopelessly stuck there. Hermione felt a strong urge to pull out her Muggle Studies book again, but chose to watch the sorting ceremony instead.

The list was on the Y's. A visibly relieved Sakura Yuki made her way to the Ravenclaw table. Then, went an Artemis Zabini- "Brother of Blaise Zabini, the worst of the lot", said a Gryffindor in disgust- to Slytherin, naturally. A Zelinski ("GRYFFINDOR!") and a Zyzka ("SLYTHERIN!") later, the list came to a close- but that peculiar girl was still standing, alone.

"Your name is...?" asked McGonagall pointedly.

The girl answered so quietly that Hermione had to strain to hear.

"Pardon?" said the transfiguration professor, leaning slightly towards the girl.

"Rosethorn," she said. She spoke out clearly this time. "My name is Chares Rosethorn."

A wave of muffled whispers immediately pervaded the Great Hall. ("Do you know who that is?" "Isn't Agnes Rosethorn a Death Eater?" "But they can't possibly be related!")

Hermione was surprised for a different reason. No student, she remembered from Hogwarts: A History, had ever been missed in the sorting order. Not one. Ever.

McGonagall had shifted her gaze back onto the "R" section of the list. The room grew gradually quieter as a sea of eyes stared at her in anticipation.

They waited.

McGonagall finally looked back up at the girl, who stared back with mild expectancy, looking not at all worried.

"You're not on the list."

A silence rang about the room as all eyes shifted from the odd girl to the list in McGonagall's hands, and back.

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore worriedly.

The headmaster rose from his seat. "Will Miss Rosethorn please see me in the hall?"

They watched as the mysterious girl followed McGonagall, who was carrying the Sorting Hat, and disappeared past the doorway to speak with Dumbledore.

A few excited whispers immediately broke out and travelled across the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron were giving each other looks with raised eyebrows. Parvati was whispering in Lavender's attentive ears. Students all around were exchanging theories on the matter.

"Do you suppose she's a muggle and got on the train on accident?" said Ron hopefully, having recently contracted Mr. Weasley's love for Muggle things from an incident involving Hermione's computer and an internet's worth of games.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "No. She wouldn't have gotten to Platform 9 ¾ ."

"What if she followed someone?"

"Into a wall?"

"Temporary blindness?"

Hemione responded with a look.

Ron sighed heavily, and then, looking sufficiently convinced of the impossibility of his theory, set both elbows on the table and propped his chin up by his hands, starting to brood over new ideas.

Minutes later, the headmaster reappeared in the doorway and made his way towards the front of the hall, the strange girl following close behind. McGonagall shuffled stiffly to her seat, again carrying the Sorting Hat.

Everyone hushed.

"There has, as you all may have noticed, been an error in the first-years list," began Dumbledore. "But we've come across an extraordinary exception." His head tilted towards the girl, who was facing him with the same placid, almost defiant, expression as she had with McGonagall.

"Miss Rosethorn," said Dumbledore, "has been only recently discovered to possess a rare form of magic unidentified before this year's change in detection methods. By age requirement, she will be enrolled as a sixth year, in Slytherin house, until and unless modifications are deemed necessary."

At that, a large outcry sprung from the Slytherin tables. ("How could a Mudblood be sorted to our house?" exclaimed a particularly loud voice that belonged to an unknown fifth year.) Hermione turned to glare at the blond-haired girl, who was already busy making sure everyone at her table knew exactly what she thought about those types.

But it was a bit strange, Hermione had to admit. No Muggleborn had ever been sorted into The House That Hated Muggles- then again, none of them would ever want to be sorted there, considering the inevitable treatment...

But if the new girl was intimidated, she certainly didn't show it- still she stood like a proud marble sculpture, absolutely immune to the critics' contrary eyes. Hermione felt something like pity for her. The girl doesn't even see it coming.

Dumbledore waited for the whispers and complaints to die down before continuing. "There are, of course, several complications to the matter, as this is indeed an unprecedented situation. But a new era is dawning on both the Wizard and the Muggle worlds. There may be many obstacles and trials to face this year in light of Lord Voldemort's return-" (The students held their breath at the name.) "-Yes, Voldemort is back. But let us not fear his name, for it is our fear that gives him power and our fear that feeds his strength. We must instead join together to resist this common foe, as division will do us no good. I shall expect each and every one of you to set aside your differences, amongst your Houses and amongst yourselves, and to accept- and welcome- Miss Chares Rosethorn into our school."

Barely waiting for the headmaster to finish speaking, the new girl started towards the Slytherin area, snaked around the tables, and selected an empty side seat - to the loud claps from the three other Houses that overwhelmed the protests of Slytherin. Hermione couldn't tell whether it was for the speech of unity or out of glee for the situation.

Dumbledore then continued on to speak of the new policy changes that Hermione was already aware of: The Lake and Forbidden Forest would be off-limits, as in the previous years... there would be a temporary hold on Hogsmeade trips until it was deemed safe... There would be a new student-run course, Active Defense...

This was quickly becoming the longest speech she had ever heard Dumbledore produce during the Sorting Ceremony.

Hermione was nearing an oncoming daydream about stubborn wands when she heard the headmaster say something that sounded remotely like ".. Granger and Mr. Draco Malfoy...". She jumped, tugging her mind back to consciousness, and glanced around for hints as to what had just been said.

Quite a few people were looking at her. Malfoy was making his way towards the High Table.

Oh, that stupid, arrogant smirk...

Someone nudged her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Harry and Ron gaping.

"Her-Hermione..." was all Ron seemed to manage, a small improvement to the "Oh... Merlin..." Harry ever so graciously offered.

Hermione looked at them oddly.

"Go up there," whispered Parvati to her right. "You're being called."

Hermione blinked away the confusion and groaned internally, half at not knowing what was going on and half because whatever it was, a sashaying Malfoy was involved.

This can't be good.

She tentatively raised herself from her seat and carefully matched Malfoy's slow, sauntering speed, letting him reach the stage before her, in case there was anything that they were expected to do.

There wasn't. He came to a stop and stood there.

She stepped into place besides him, positioning herself sufficiently far enough away so that she'd be able to react in time in case he decided to pull something. She looked forward at Dumbledore, though out of the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy lazily examining his nails, as though saying "I'm used to the attention. Praise me".

Hermione had the sudden urge to smack him instead. All the better that he's out of my reach, too, she thought wryly as she turned back her focus to the headmaster.

Dumbledore was looking at them over his thin, crescent-shaped spectacles, his old eyes looking back and forth between her and Malfoy. There was a thick, lingering tension about this small movement- Hermione could just feel it. Then, something about the headmaster relaxed, as if a final decision had just been made in that speck of a second. Hermione thought she saw his mouth close slightly into a subtle smile, but she must've been mistaken, for he looked as stern as ever when she refocused her eyes.

"You must learn to work together," said a voice inside her. She had a strong feeling that it was Dumbledore's. He must be referring to Malfoy, but she didn't understand why. Was there a project they were to do together? But that didn't make any sense unless...unless...

Oh. Dear. God.

Suddenly, it all clicked together. She should've figured it out long ago, but somehow the click just ... it was just so absurd that she never thought... Malfoy was the worst candidate that could possibly be... but he was prefect sixth year wasn't he? He was one of the top students of the school... He was captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team... It was a completely possible situation that she had blatantly overlooked, and just... ignored... Her thoughts spun wildly in her mind as she vaguely heard Dumbledore confirm what she had realized.

"... Head Boy and Head Girl," the headmaster was saying. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger are to be the organizers for the course, and will be provided with any instruction materials needed upon request. Various members of the staff will be on-hand to offer their help should the need arise. Does the Head Boy or Girl wish to add anything?"

Hermione opened her mouth to talk when-

"Yes, thank you Headmaster," said Malfoy smoothly, cutting her off. Hermione gaped as he turned to the students. "The course will begin in three weeks here in the Great Hall, with mandatory attendance. More information will be given out later about the time of the first meeting." He paused, and added, "If you don't have friends to pass you the information, make sure you speak to myself or Granger, depending on your status. And if you don't know what status I'm talking about, chances are that you go to Grang-"

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore, warning tone evident.

"-ger," he finished emphatically, and smiling, added, "thank you Headmaster Dumbledore."

But Hermione was fuming. What the bloody hell did Malfoy think he was doing? Not only did he not show up the previous week, but he had the nerve to make everything up on his own... Her fingers itched... Two steps in his direction and she could just smack...

"Would you like to add anything, Miss Granger?"

Hermione froze. Suddenly, she couldn't think of what else there was to say. She had never been any good at speaking before large groups, and Malfoy had so effortlessly snatched away the spotlight... Oh, why hadn't she attended those speech classes they offered when she was nine years old?

A feeling of panic rushed over her, and her brain as good as melted under the pressure. She mumbled something- probably incoherently- about the sessions likely being on a Saturday, before letting Dumbledore end the ceremony with the start of the feast.