Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 41: The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

"I hate rain," said Draco, trying and failing to rub water drops off his cloak.

Hermione smiled. "I love rain."

There was an odd, silent moment during which they both stared almost dreamily up at the grey sky before they snapped out of it, traded glares and went their separate ways, Draco off to a covered area on the platform where Katie Bell was handing out free candy.

Hermione walked over to Harry and Neville, who were going over their grades. The former looked fairly pleased, while the latter was ashen.

"I got a Troll in Transfigurations!" Neville exclaimed, his voice shaking.

"But you got an O in, uh, Herbology, right?"

"How'd you know that?" he demanded, looking up at Harry, who stood across from him looking down at his own parchment.

"Because it's . . . the only subject you're good at."

Hermione rolled her eyes. After the Leaving Feast, all the students had been given an hour and a half to pack up their belongings, straighten their dorms, and get down to the entrance hall. There they had been given their much anticipated—or dreaded—grades, then taken down to the platform, where they currently were waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive.

Neville frowned deeply. "But I got an A in potions, and I'm dreadful at that."

Harry cleared his throat loudly, but Neville didn't seem to notice.

Hermione shook her head and smiled. Harry Riddle was possibly the strangest person she'd ever met, and not a little shifty. She didn't at all know how he got away with half of the things he did, or how he'd gotten Professor Snape to doctor Neville's potions grade, or why McGonagall and Hagrid hated him, or how he knew so many dark spells—in fact, it was a little frightening.

But, she wasn't about to say anything, despite her curiosity. When she'd first gotten her Hogwarts letter and come to realize it wasn't a joke, and that she was actually a witch, and that there was actually an entire world out there, just for people with magic . . . well, she'd been terrified. Fascinated, too, but more frightened. It was hard enough to fit into the world she'd grown up in—how was she ever supposed to adjust to some completely different, very strange society, especially one where her "kind" were scorned?

But then, by chance or design or just plain luck, she'd met Harry that day in Madam Malkin's. It wasn't even as though he'd been very receptive to her, but when they'd met again on the train, he'd talked to her, introduced her to people, tried to make her feel accepted. She'd been afraid that Draco would be there to remind Harry of the pureblood ideals they both obviously shared, so she'd tried to insert herself into their lives more and more, for fear of being left alone.

It might've worked, but she got the feeling that if Harry hadn't wanted her around he would've made it clear. The Hat had wanted to put her in Gryffindor originally, but she'd seen how he talked about them, how calculatingly he'd watched her as her name was called during the Sorting Ceremony—Ravenclaw, she'd begged.

It's not the best house for you, the Hat had replied.

I don't care, Ravenclaw!

She'd been shocked when it had actually given in to her demands, and for a moment she'd worried that she'd made the wrong decision—but then he'd waved and smiled and she'd realized that even being in the wrong House was better than being without friends.

Draco came back over with several handfuls of candy, probably having threatened poor Katie to get so much. He handed some to Harry, and then (much more reluctantly) some to Hermione and Neville.