It was one of those warm summer days ... muggy, but Hermione liked days that way. She thought the sweat on everyone gave them a bit of a glow. They were at the Burrow that day, lounging in the living room at dusk on wiggling bean bag chairs and squishy things that were unidentifiably comfy. People were staring up at the ceiling or off out the window into the garden, at their own fingernails or at tendrils of their hair. Hermione was pretending to stare at a book, but for once, the stereotype was out of whack. She was peering over the word "goblin" at someone, watching them watch a potted plant that was slowly curling up for the night. If the others glowed, this one gleamed, like a moonlit coin. Hermione glanced back to "goblin" nervously. Like an artist capturing someone in a sketch, Hermione felt a little guilty for her fascination, as if she were taking something from the coin.

A quantum measurement changed what was measured, she knew, so she believed that microscopic possibility of the hurricane butterfly, of ruining the moment with even a tiny measurement, and stared furiously at "goblin".

Her eyes locked on her book as she chose instead to bend reality in her head. It would never bend this way otherwise, she thought sadly. The curling plant would say good night, and then its observer would also bid adieu. Over to Hermione she would come, to rest a hand on her chestnut head before bending down to brush lips against her cheek, asking if Hermione would join her on the roof. Star-gazing was good at this time of the year, Hermione had read.

Fleur was directly in front of Hermione now in actuality. She waved a hand gently before warm brown eyes which had forgotten to stare at their book. Suddenly, Hermione came back from the roof, and after the initial shock of the French girl so wonderfully close, she quirked her head so that she could look Fleur in the eye without telepathically yearning for her so blatantly.

"Hmm...?" Hermione mumbled casually. The smartest witch of Hogwarts would know how to fake apathy, wouldn't she? Still, Hermione found it difficult to hide enthusiasm or fury or what have you. Her fingers trembled, making the pages of her goblin war text quiver.

"What are you thinking?" Fleur asked her, smiling softly. Hermione's book stopped shuddering as fingers pressed down hard into the pages.