Descendant

"There must be some mistake," Hermione pleaded, "I can't be in Slytherin" "A muggle-born you say? HA! But I sense courage. So perhaps…," A hum escaped the hat's rim, " –GRYFFINDOR!" it roared. Relief washed over her like rain in a drought, but the Sorting Hat's words turned over and over again. And they nagged and itched and festered. And she picked at them until they bled.