a/n: Here's oneshot four, for d. See if you can guess who it centers on. And thanks to everyone who's been reading them!

She sat, simply watching, as she always did. This time, however, it was different. They were fighting, again. This time, though, they didn't seem likely to reconcile. She knew better of course. They were perfect, a triangle, a trio. Without one of them the other two would fall apart. She could never be quite certain what they were fighting about. They preferred silence to yelling, at least in the public places.

This time was different. It had taken her two weeks to realize the girl was still isolated. The boys hadn't taken her back. An intervention would soon be made necessary. After another week, it became clear the boys would not forgive the girl soon. And so she stood, her feet carrying her over to the library table where the girl was sitting, nose buried in a book. Her observations had shown her the danger signs.

The girl's eyes betrayed her constant sadness. They watched from down the table as the two boys joked as if all was right. They trailed the retreating backs of the boys as they walked around the school. They stared emotionally one day, yet apathetically the next. The girl's sleeves covered her arms, but she knew that if she rolled them up the arms would match her own. The signs were there, and after three weeks of isolation they had turned dangerous.

The girl's distress has been well hidden. Only her sudden silence betrays her image of a lack of wrongness. She knew the pain the girl was in, and that the girl, strong as she was, was too fragile for another friendship. Her unfounded belief in her inadequacy, combined with the destruction of her only friendships, had left the fourteen-year-old reeling. The girl had turned to books, and later, to other methods of coping.

As she passed the girl's table, she dropped a note, knowing the girl would not see it until it was too late to discover its origins. She knew the text of the note by heart, as she had labored over its exact wording for many days.

Hermione,

I know what you're going through. Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. Since I know a secret of yours, here's one of mine: my arms match yours. So don't think I'm lying to you when I tell you it will get better. You don't have to get better right away, and you won't, but you will get there slowly. Until those boys realize their idiocy, try to focus on the small things. Watch a sunset, they really are beautiful here. Reward yourself with some reading time when you finish your homework. Sleep in late on a Saturday. Talk to your dorm mates. Quite simply, live. And one day either the boys will have come back to you or you'll realize you don't need them. That's when you'll know you're getting better. I'm sorry I didn't come speak with you in person, I just didn't think either of us were ready for that. Stay strong, you brave Gryffindor. You'll make it through this.

~A friend

She watched, later, as the girl packed up her books. She knew her note would be noticed at any moment, and she only hoped she had done the right thing. She remembered how her blonde hair had whipped in the wind that night in the astronomy tower, illuminated by flashes of lightning in the stormy sky. Had someone done this for her, she may have never reached that point. She hoped her note would save the girl from her own midnight crisis.

She watched as the girl lifted her note, distress giving way to confusion. The girl's brow furrowed as she skimmed the note, and she saw her mouth drop in shock more than once. As Hermione reached the end, the girl exited the library, her hair moving in time with her steps.

Little did she know that the girl would search for her for many years. It wasn't until they had truly known each other for many years that each spilled her secret. Hermione's shock had given way to gratefulness as she cried on the shoulder of a girl who she had never understood, but who seemed to see her in a way no other could.