As soon as Prof. Quirrel ended the class, half the first-years practically scrambled for the door in an attempt to get their first whiff of fresh air in three hours.

Hermione didn't, but even she had to agree that, after spending the last three hours in a stuffy classroom that reeked of garlic and other pungent odours, the somewhat musty air of the castle hallways felt divine going down her windpipe.

"Ugh!" Hermione heard Lavender groan to Parvati. "My hair smells like garlic. This won't ever wash out!"

Hermione failed to catch Parvati's response as Harry spoke.

"Thank you," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing in appreciation.

Hermione squeezed back, noticing how Harry appeared to get less worried the farther behind them the class got. "What happened, Harry?" Hermione had to ask. "Why were you so upset? I was worried."

Harry sighed. "Let's just say Prof. Quirrel and I have some... unfinished business," he said.

"You've met before?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded.

"But he didn't look like he recognized you."

"Oh, he did. He definitely did."

At that moment, a familiar voice came from behind them.

"Holding hands with your girlfriend, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asked, the sneer in his voice plain as day.

Hermione realised that she was still holding Harry's hand, and she began to let go, before she asked herself a very simple question.

Why should she have to be self-conscious and avoid holding her own friend's hand, simply because of what snobby bullies like Malfoy thought?

So she didn't let go of Harry's hand. He let go of hers.

Then threw it around her shoulder as he turned them to face Draco.

"Draco," Harry said, all smiles. And if Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought he was genuinely happy to see the boy.

Then again, Harry did derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from messing with people, so maybe he was genuinely happy to see Draco.

Draco had his two usual acquaintances flanking him, his silver-blond hair was slicked back as always, and the expected sneer sat on his face, curling his thin lips.

Atypical, was the Slytherin girl standing closely beside him. She was quite thin, and tall for her age, with a head of lovely, black hair that made Hermione feel even more self-conscious of the bushy mane that graced her own head.

Most importantly however, was the snooty expression on her face that could give Malfoy's a run for its money.

"How you doing today?" Harry continued.

Draco sneer somehow deepened, and he gave Hermione a dismissive look that portrayed his very unflattering opinion of her.

"Much better than you for sure, if you've taken a muggle for a girlfriend," Malfoy replied.

Hermione frowned. That sounded like it was meant to be an insult. Not a very good one though. To be honest Hermione was much more offended by Malfoy's attitude towards her.

The girl standing beside Malfoy tittered in a way she seemed to think was adorable, as she shot Hermione a cruel look.

"Now, now, Draco," Harry chastised gently, almost condescendingly. "We've talked about this. There's no need for you to be jealous, I'm sure Pansy over there would love to be your girlfriend."

The girl beside Draco, Pansy apparently, jerked ramrod straight like she'd just been caught with her hand in the stewpot.

Hermione almost snickered.

Draco scoffed, not even noticing Pansy's reaction. "Unlike you, Potter, I don't spend all my time with girls." He practically sneered the last word.

Harry's response was a placid "give it time, Draco. Give it time."

The blond scoffed again, then stormed off, his entourage following behind. The two big boys (she really needed to learn their names) leered at them threateningly, but Pansy shyly avoided meeting their eyes.

As they walked away, Harry called, "hey, Pansy," and all four Slytherins turned. Then Harry gave the girl a thumbs up and said, "I'm rooting for you."

Pansy's face turned a fierce red, and she quickly scurried off to the confusion of the three Slytherin boys.

Harry heaved a deep, contented sigh, then looked at her. "What do you say we head over to Hagrid's for that tour he promised us?"

*****

Hagrid lived in a hut at the edge of The Forbidden Forest that was much too small for him.

For a normal-sized man, it would be a rather roomy abode, but since he, and nearly everything he owned, were super-sized, the interior ended up cramped and stuffy.

And his really huge dog (which he'd aptly named Fang, considering the really big ones the creature had), wasn't helping matters.

When Hagrid had first opened the door to welcome them in, the dog rushed out, and Harry, the boy who called himself her friend, had promptly hidden behind her. So not only was she sitting in a cramped, stuffy cabin, she also had the dog's huge, hot head on her legs, and reeked of its slobber.

Hermione felt like the stink eye she shot Harry was well-deserved.

Hagrid gave them tea, and something he called rock cakes, but which Hermione suspected were painted rocks, since she seemed more likely to chip a tooth than to bite through them.

They made small talk, mostly Hagrid asking them how they liked Hogwarts so far, and Hermione didn't even have to feign her enthusiasm about how fantastical everything had been.

There was one odd moment where she'd leafed through a few weeks old Daily Prophet sitting on the table, and as soon as she'd mentioned the article in there about Gringotts getting broken into, Hagrid had snatched the paper away and acted very bizarre, while giving Harry worried glances.

Harry himself had simply rolled his eyes and ignored the topic altogether.

The tour Hagrid finally took them on almost half an hour later, turned out to be worth the wait.

It took some effort, but Harry managed to convince the large man to take them into The Forbidden Forest, and it was in there that Hermione came across unicorns for the first time in her life.

It was a mare and her foal, both of them white and pristine, and seeming to glow with an inner light. The mare's mane and tail were a bright sky-blue, and the foal's were similar, but darker, and when the unicorns spotted them, the foal rushed to Hagrid like he was a favourite uncle.

The half-giant lifted the unicorn clean off the ground, holding it up like other men would a kitten, and the animal brayed playfully.

When Hagrid set the unicorn down, he introduced Hermione and Harry to the baby unicorn and its mother, and while the mother seemed watchful of the human children, the foal took to them instantly.

Soon, there were three running children (and a dog that looked glum because he was left out) shrieking with delight as they played a game of tag, where the foal was always it. Mostly because the little unicorn didn't really seem to understand the rules of the game.

After an hour, panting and sweaty, Harry and Hermione had to say goodbye as it was getting dark.

Spirit (Harry suggested the name, and the little unicorn had happily taken to it) was sad, but Hermione and Harry managed to convince her that they would come back when they could.

When they neared the border of the forest, Hagrid left them to go back in, saying there was a friend he needed to see, and they said goodbye to him too and went their separate ways.

"I wonder why the Headmaster had said The Forbidden Forest is dangerous," Hermione mused. "The unicorns were ever so charming."

"Yeah, it wasn't the unicorns he was talking about," Harry said. "Personally, I'm thinking it was the giant, man-eating spiders."

Hermione stumbled. "There are giant, man-eating spiders in this forest?" She asked, hoping against all hope that he was joking.

But Harry wasn't joking, and his next words were even harder to believe. "Uh-huh. Their leader is Hagrid's life-long friend too." A pause. "That's probably the friend he was speaking of just now even."

Hermione decided right then that it might be best to be far away from the darkening interior of the forest.

On their way back to the castle, they came across a woman, or, more accurately, they were waylaid by a woman.

One moment it was just she and Harry for as far as the eye could see on this side of the school grounds, and in the next, a voice came from behind them. "Well, well, if it isn't Hogwarts hottest couple?"

Hermione and Harry both jumped, but unlike her, Harry pulled out his wand and looked ready to start flinging curses.

The woman, who was heavily made up and wore red robes that the only adjective for was ostentatious, looked perfectly unbothered to be facing Harry's wand, and smiled instead.

The simple expression caused a shiver to run down Hermione's spine.

Harry instantly pocketed his wand and smiled winsomely, and Hermione instantly knew that, somehow, they were in a Malfoy Situation.

"Sweet Merlin," Harry said. "Rita Skeeter?"

The woman, Skeeter, was clearly surprised to be recognized, but the surprise quickly turned to pleasure.

"Oh, you've heard of me?" Ms. Skeeter asked.

Harry rolled his eyes like she was being silly. "Please, you're the premium reporter for Magical Britain. I'd have to live under a rock not to have heard of you."

Hermione had never heard of Rita Skeeter.

Ms. Skeeter somehow managed to look even more pleased.

"Anyway, I take it you want an interview?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes. Thank you," Ms. Skeeter said, and a levitating parchment with a quill that was scribbling furiously, floated out from behind her back. "You don't mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill, do you?" She asked.

"No, please," Harry said, and the interview began.

It was... confusing. Hermione was asked a total of three questions:

When did she and Harry meet?

How did they meet?

Had she kissed him yet?

Harry answered all three.

When did they meet? Oh, the day before, on The Hogwarts Express.

How they met? Apparently, Harry had been looking for someone to sit with, since he was so new and ignorant of The Magical World, and Hermione had been nice enough to welcome him into her compartment.

Had they kissed? Harry had squeezed her hand before she could angrily retort at this... reporter, and he'd blushed and muttered "not really."

The angry flush on her own face must have looked like a blush too, because the woman seemed to draw her own conclusions from that, and wiggled her eyebrows at them.

Ew!

A few minutes into the interview, Harry had apologized to the woman, lying that they homework to do and really needed to be going.

She happily agreed, looking like she'd just gotten the scoop of her career.

They walked away after Ms. Skeeter took a magical photograph of the two of them from an old-style camera she pulled out of her too small purse.

Hermione was boiling all the while.

As soon as they entered the castle through one of the numerous side entrances, Harry stopped, and right as Hermione was going to start asking him just why the heck he'd done all of that, he said, "I'm sorry."

Hmph! Well, at least he realised he needed to apologize.

Unfortunately, that still didn't answer the question.

"Why?" Hermione asked Harry, her brown eyes meeting his almost too-green ones. "Why lie, Harry? Why pretend? Why not just tell her the truth so she can leave us alone?"

"Because she wouldn't," Harry said. "Rita Skeeter is the worst kind of bug, Hermione. Literally. If we had refused her interview, or denied her "her story", we would have become her enemies. And that woman doesn't know the meaning of the words Journalistic Integrity. She would have printed whatever the hell she wanted, and everybody would have taken it as gospel."

Hermione blanked. "...But that's not possible, Harry. You can't just... print whatever you want."

"Around here you can. And as long as it comes out in The Daily Prophet, no one will question it. Even if it makes no bloody sense at all. And Rita Skeeter is petty, and she is cruel, and she will not hesitate to vilify an eleven-year-old to assuage her pathetic ego.

"At least this way, we know she'll print complementary things about you, and you'll probably get all sorts of fan mail thanking you for bringing love and happiness into my lonely heart or whatever. But trust me, Hermione. It's better than the alternative."

And she did. She trusted him.

Oh, she most definitely thought he was exaggerating about how bad this whole thing was (and she forced down the part of her that suggested that maybe that was simply what she wanted to tell herself), but she trusted Harry. It was why she hadn't interrupted back then with Ms. Skeeter.

Harry blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair, and for a moment, Hermione caught her first glimpse of his famous scar.

"It was supposed to be a little joke," he muttered, giving her a small, somewhat sad, smile. "Embarrass you a little bit. I thought it was so clever."

Hermione realised what Harry was talking about.

"This isn't your fault, Harry." She said.

"It kind of is, Hermione. If I'd just kept my big mouth shut. Or told The Hat to put me with you in my head like everybody else. This wouldn't have happened."

And he was right. She knew it.

But Hermione Granger had never let a little thing like right and wrong stop her from winning an argument before, and she didn't intend to start now, so she said, "I don't care. You're not the one who spread that silly rumour in the first place. And you certainly didn't make that Skeeter woman come here. You can't blame yourself for this, Harry."

She wouldn't let him. Not when he asking Nilrem to put him in Gryffindor with her was one of the nicest things any friend had ever done for her.

Eventually, Harry nodded, and because Hermione didn't know what else to do, she hugged him.

The story broke on the Prophet that evening at dinner, and an influx of owls delivered the papers to seemingly everyone.

And Hermione learned that Harry had been right; Rita Skeeter was complimentary.

So much so, in fact, that she began to wonder who the girl the woman had written about was.