"Mione, Mione, will you watch Usa for me?" Mitsukuni Haninozuka held out his stuffed bunny with a look of distracted expectation, and Hermione took the toy.
She sat alone, waiting for her turn to be examined. Predictably, she wasn't a priority patient, and so she had plenty of time to watch the hosts disappear behind curtains for their turns. Haninozuka was the last of them.
A thought twinged in her head— was she like a pet to them? A servant, perhaps? Hermione vividly remembered the relationships between those with money and those without at Hogwarts, and it was nothing she wanted any part of.
Hermione wasn't quite the last to be examined. That would have been a blatant statement. She and Haruhi Fujioka avoided eye contact as the line dwindled down to nearly nothing.
"Fujioka Haruhi!" a nurse called.
A miserable-looking boy sank down into his seat, turning dejected eyes to Hermione.
If Hermione thought about it, a memory came up to the surface. It was of an offhand comment in the hallway, snidely remarking that the boy had been disowned from his wealthy, influential family. Hermione had no idea why, but she could be certain from his demeanor that he regretted it.
For a few minutes more the boy tried to catch her eye and Hermione didn't let him. She would look up occasionally to find him staring at her, and she would smile politely and look away.
"Granger Hermione!" And she was saved.
The bunny felt bulky in her hand as she stood, smoothed her blouse, and went to meet the nurse. "Hello, good morning," she offered, smiling reflexively.
"Good morning!" the nurse chirped. "If you would come behind this curtain?"
Hermione's fist clenched around Usa, and she nodded.
###x###
It had been hardly a week since she'd begun hanging around the hosts after school, and during that time she'd learned several things about her new acquaintances.
Suoh was half-French, which explained his European looks. He didn't like talking about his family, and never mentioned his mother. What was she, a mistress? Dead? Blonde, almost certainly. Despite his mother, Suoh clearly held a lot of sway in the culture-simulation that was Ouran Academy. A lot, based on some overheard snippets of conversation. As beloved as he was by his patrons, his male classmates were significantly less fond of him. Suoh appeared oblivious.
Haninozuka and Morinozuka were cousins and best friends, and if they were apart then either something was wrong or they were planning something. Neither was a good thing. As she'd observed before, they were polar opposites, but Haninozuka wasn't as brainless as he seemed, or as unobservant. Morinozuka, while no slouch himself, wasn't as perceptive as his small friend.
The twins didn't like talking about their mother either, though she was very much a presence in their lives— even when she was travelling, which seemed to be often. After club hours some days they would get so tired that it was almost as if they built a bubble separating themselves from everyone else. On those days no one dared disturb them.
Ootori wasn't nearly so free with his inner workings as the others were. He didn't count on other people's lack of perception like the others did. Hermione did gather that he was the third son and fourth child of the patriarch of the wealthy Ootori family and that his father didn't know he was involved with the Host Club. Hermione especially made note of that bit of information, for she wasn't sure she wouldn't have to put Ootori in check one day.
For all she'd been learning about them, she hadn't revealed much of herself. It was more that she was becoming a fixture, a piece of furniture, than a friend. She was harmless, after all.
It was one of the twins' introverted days, and all but Ootori tiptoed around them. They'd already snapped at Suoh, sending him into a sulk, and sat near Hermione, since they'd discovered that she didn't try to disturb them and was a deterrent in her own right. Hermione was going through books like minutes while keeping an ear out for a disturbance.
The doors slammed open, causing Hermione and the twins to jump. The twins even snarled in the direction of the noise, and when everyone turned to look, they paused.
She was a girl, slender and sandy-haired, eyes wide with wonder. When Hermione followed her gaze, it was aimed directly at Ootori.
"It's you, Kyoya," she whispered.
"Club hours are over," Hikaru barked, and Kaoru put a hand on his arm. They both turned away to glare at the table.
The girl was still talking: "Oh, how I longed to meet you! My one and only prince charming."
Hermione looked between the girl and Ootori, taking in Ootori's cool, almost disdainful expression and the girl's manic eyes.
Was no one going to deal with her? It was obvious no one knew her, but there must be a reason she hadn't been escorted out yet.
Fine. Hermione stood and closed her book.
"Don't bother," Kaoru muttered behind her.
"Miss? Club hours are over, but any guest of- of Kyoya's is welcome here. Please, come sit. Would you like some tea?" Hermione smiled her best and held out a hand.
"Who is this?" the girl asked. Her voice was suddenly chilly. "Why is she using your first name, Kyoya?"
Hermione put her hand down. "My name is Hermione Granger. I don't have the honor of knowing your name, I'm afraid."
Ootori stepped forward, coming to Hermione's side, and that appeared to distract the girl. "Get away from him," she said.
"Sure, Miss. I'll go make some tea." It took effort to keep the anger from Hermione's voice, but she managed, even if her footfalls were perhaps too loud.
"Don't bother," the girl shouted after her, but Hermione didn't stop.
Hermione closed the door behind her, thankful for the kitchenette. She set a kettle to boil and stared into the shiny metal, willing the tears away. The nerve of her, to talk to a stranger that way! To be so obscenely possessive over a boy she'd admitted to never meeting before!
The tears fell anyway, splashing onto the stove, and Hermione did her best to brush them away.
When she had herself under control and the tea was ready Hermione emerged into the parlor again, carrying enough tea for everyone bar herself.
The girl met her eyes from across the room and immediately became grumpy again. "You can set it down there," she said, pointing to the table someone had finally convinced her to sit at.
Hermione's eye twitched, but she obeyed. The situation was tense enough without Hermione getting indignant. Once she'd set the tray down she backed up, fully prepared to leave the hospitality to the others, whom the girl didn't seem to have such violently negative reactions to.
"Kyoya tells me you aren't actually a part of his club," the girl said.
"That's correct," Hermione said, turning back.
"It's obvious what you're trying to do, you know," said the girl. "You're trying to get close to Kyoya by separating yourself from everyone else. He lets you stay here because he feels sorry for you."
"If you say so," Hermione said, and suddenly smiling was easy. She could feel smug eyes on her back as she collected her books and her bag and left.
###x###
She didn't come back the next day.
"Maybe something came up!" Honey suggested.
"It's that stupid girl's fault," Hikaru said. Honey deflated, pouting.
"She's not actually your fiance, so who cares?" Kaoru said.
"Miss Hoshokuji may not be my fiance, but she is the only daughter of a very important Ootori family client. Miss Granger was correct to remove herself from the situation," Kyoya said.
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" the twins grumbled..
The hosts pulled themselves together for their customers, but as soon as they left they were back to silence and irritability.
"Everyone!" Renge sang, the doors crashing open as they'd done the day before. The hosts winced as one. "You'll be happy to know that your new manager has baked all of you some cookies!"
Tamaki cleared his throat. "Thank you, Miss Hoshokuji," he said.
"I'm so sorry, Kyoya, they're a little burnt.- but I already know what you'll say.. Oh, Kyoya, you're always so sweet to me!" Renge set down the platter of charred cookies, and they all eyed them suspiciously for a moment.
Honey plucked one from the top which was only black on one side. He gulped and took a bite. "She wasn't kidding," he squeaked. "They really are burnt."
"Don't eat that, Mitsukuni, it's bad for you," Mori said, and Honey happily relinquished the cookie.
Renge glowered at them. "Some hosts you are," she huffed.
###x###
Changing up her routine was a pain. Where was she supposed to study now? Her apartment? The libraries? No dice.
There was still plenty of space to explore, fortunately, and that kept her mind off of lost opportunities. Sometimes, anyway. When she had nothing to do but pace the halls looking for somewhere else, she could hardly not think.
She'd known it. Suspected it, in any case. Hadn't that always been the case? Harry and Ron befriended her because she was a Muggleborn. Ron dated her briefly because she had no one but them. Hadn't she been pitied her whole life? Teachers, friends, her boyfriend? That girl had been completely right, and Hermione was just grateful she'd been told right away. Wouldn't it have been awful if she'd grown attached and then found out?
A latch in the wall twitched under her searching fingertips, and Hermione took her wand in her other hand and put up a shield before pressing it. She'd spent enough years in Hogwarts to not trust that something malicious wouldn't be built in just because it was a school.
Rather than the booby trap Hermione half-expected, a crack appeared in the wall. She opened it carefully, not letting down her shield, and peered inside.
It was a tiny little room, though bigger than a closet. A dusty old desk rested against one wall, low to the ground.
A flick of her wand Vanished the dust, and Hermione stepped inside and shut the door behind herself.
With the door closed, Hermione felt safe enough to perform more obvious magic. "Lumos," she whispered, her voice pressing in from all sides in the pitch darkness.
The brighter light revealed more than the light from the hallway had. The desk was made of dark wood, polished to a gleam. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and if she crouched to look at the legs it featured some designs typical of the Meiji period. Dragons stretched up the sides, the depths of the carvings accented in red lacquer. Two small drawers fit into the legs. It was a beautiful little piece.
As pretty and expensive-looking as the desk was, it was the only hint of furnishing in that small room.
Hermione knelt and tested the drawers, which opened easily, smoothly. There was nothing inside but more dust, which Hermione Vanished.
When a more thorough examination yielded nothing new, Hermione moved on to the wall opposite the secret door, and, lo and behold, there was another. She slid it open as cautiously as she'd opened the first.
On the other side was a much, much larger room, though it was hard to tell just how big since the lights were off. A group of several students huddled in a seated circle, each holding a lit black candle.
"We have a visitor," one said calmly. In a single fluid movement, he set his candle down on the floor and stood, his cloak swishing.
Hermione scanned the group, finding no familiar faces. Their attire was remarkably similar to Western wizard wear, however, and the echo of home expanded in her chest. She stepped forward. "My name is Hermione Granger," she said, her grip on her bag tightening.
"Welcome, Hermione Granger," the group said together.
"What brings you here, lost Eris?" the boy, clearly the leader, asked. His voice was smooth.
She would hardly call herself an Eris— she was more of a Harmonia, after all. "I'm just exploring," she said, and her voice was jarring in the quiet room.
The others stared, and their eyes were glassy in the candlelight. It would be safe to ignore them; they were high on something, though she couldn't be sure what it was.
"My name is Umehito Nekozawa," the boy said. "There's no need to worry about them. They are safe."
"Glad to hear it," said Hermione, "but it's none of my business. What is this, then?"
"This," and Nekozawa seemed to swell as he said it, "is the Black Magic Club. Are you perhaps interested in joining?"
"Not exactly," said Hermione, smiling. "There's not much I can learn here."
"Is that so?" Nekozawa smiled back, and his was surprisingly friendly. "What is it you think you know? What is it you think we do here?"
Hermione was beginning to relax, despite herself. Magic, even if they were only pretending, was a welcome surprise. "You do curses, rituals, love spells, things like that. Right?"
Nekozawa asked, "And what is it you do?"
What spells could she perform without using her wand? Mostly elemental spells, or minor physical ones, since she hadn't been training for long. "Look," she said unnecessarily, and snapped her fingers. A flame sparked to life in her hand, and after a moment spent staring at its flickering blue light she clapped her hands together, cutting off the oxygen and effectively extinguishing it.
They sat in silence for a few bare seconds, Hermione amused and Nekozawa shocked. "How can this be?" Nekozawa said. "Please, do it again."
Hermione cupped her hands and blew into them, and they filled with water, which soothed her poor singed fingers.
It felt good. Nekozawa stared into her hands and then up to her face with an awe approaching reverence, discernable even in the dark. Hermione blew on the water which was fast trickling from her grasp and it froze solid.
"How much can you do?" Nekozawa asked, "What else?"
"A lot," said Hermione, a warm feeling beginning in her chest and spreading throughout her body.
It was, perhaps, a fortuitous trade: the Host Club for the Black Magic Club.
###x###
No matter how hard the twins searched, they couldn't find Hermione Granger after the final bell sounded. It was as if she vanished as soon as classes were over. They hadn't actually gone so far as to skip their last class in order to ambush her, but that option became more and more appealing every day spent searching in vain. Their only evidence that she went to school at all was the testimony of Kyoya and Tamaki.
Renge made a nuisance of herself every afternoon, clinging to Kyoya. She'd tried to forbid him from entertaining as a host, and only Kyoya's dizzying logic made her calm down.
It was, perhaps, an unfortunate trade: Hermione Granger for Renge Hoshokuji.
"You're not leaving early again, are you?" Kyoya called after them as they sneaked to the door.
"We lost our toy," they said, and went anyway. Kyoya didn't try to stop them.
"We checked all the libraries on Monday, and I think most of the clubs yesterday. What are we missing?" Hikaru muttered.
"Cooking Club, Gardening Club... Chess Club... Black Magic Club... Oh, hey, Nekozawa hasn't come by lately. We haven't seen the room yet."
Hikaru shook his head. "She'd hardly go there, though, would she? Probably not enough light to read by. Besides, she doesn't seem very "magical", does she?"
No, she did not, not with her practical braids and books and slacks. Nothing like Nekozawa.
Cooking Club was full and loud and messy, and immediately upon the twins' arrival they had plates of cake shoved at them.
Gardening Club was hot and muggy, and a girl with pigtails invited them to stay and tend the plants.
Chess Club seemed like a good bet, but there were only guys there— and one single, bitter-looking girl.
Hikaru and Kaoru trudged to the main part of the Academy.
"You still have flour on your face," Kaoru said, but didn't move to clean it.
"You still have dirt on yours," Hikaru said. The twins exchanged a look and a sigh.
The Black Magic Club was in a part of the school not oft traveled, since it was less modern than the rest and way off to the back. It was a long walk, and they arrived at the double doors dejected and irritated.
Together they swung the doors open.
"Granger?"
"Oh, hello, Hitachiins," Hermione Granger said, A breeze lifted her bangs and let them still again, and the flame on her candle flickered.
It was an odd picture. Hermione Granger sat on a chair just outside the circle of creepy children, her legs pulled up and crossed. Nekozawa sat in front of her, leaning back so his head rested on one of her knees. His wig was conspicuously absent.
"Did you need something, Hitachiins?" Nekozawa asked, his voice deep and spooky, though not as much as usual.
"Can we talk to Granger for a moment?" Kaoru asked, the first of the two to recover.
"Certainly," said Granger, her voice just a smidgen colder. Nekozawa lifted his head obligingly, and Hermione unfolded her legs and stood. Her shoes were gone.
The trio retreated to a corner, and the twins could feel Nekozawa's gaze piercing them, judging them, warning them.
"What is it you needed?" Hermione asked.
"Hoshokuji is so annoying!" the twins cried. "If you come back then she'll go away!"
"No," Hermione said, gently. "It won't be so easy; if I come back it'll only invite confrontation. I know you two get bored, but I'm not about to sacrifice myself on the altar of your entertainment, all right?"
"But Granger—"
"No." Her face twisted, seeming to alternate between anger and sorrow. "I thank you for the invitation, but I must decline." This sentence was pitched just loud enough for the others to hear.
On cue, Nekozawa said, "Perhaps it's time you two get back, Hitachiins."
Hikaru and Kaoru looked at each other, shrugged, and left.
###x###
Even Kyoya's patience was beginning to stretch. As little as he'd liked Granger, she had at least kept to herself, for the most part, and was undemanding of their time and attention. The same could not be said for Renge Hoshokuji.
His willful silence didn't seem to perturb her in the slightest, and neither did his subtle indications that he wasn't actually as kind as she seemed to think.
The twins left almost immediately after club hours every day, and Kyoya couldn't bring himself to stop them. He knew what they were doing, but he couldn't bring himself to want to stop them. It was probably for the best that the least tactful of the hosts absented themselves when Renge arrived, for they could offend her without even trying, and then his careful cordiality would be all in vain.
Tamaki and Honey were becoming less and less cheerful. It was time to do something.
"Say, Renge, how much do you know about me?" They sat on a couch without anyone in earshot, which was no accident. He even went so far as to look up from his laptop as he asked.
"Oh! You're a gentleman who's kind to everyone and doesn't ask for anything in return. You like solitude, but in fact sometimes you get lonely, and you look like the star of the popular dating sim, Uki-doki Memorial. You're my real-life Ichijo Miyabi!" Renge turned to look at him with hearts in her eyes, the steam of the tea in her hand bringing a blush to her cheeks and brightening her eyes.
Kyoya was, after seeing this exact picture day after day, completely immune. "What have I done to lead you to that conclusion?" he asked.
"Well," said Renge, sobering a bit at his serious expression, "You were adoring those flowers in the backyard when you thought no one else was looking, and you reached out to that poor injured kitten—"
"I didn't actually do those things," he said. "You're in love with that character. You're projecting the love onto me, and you somehow deluded yourself into thinking that we're engaged. It's gone on for long enough."
"What are you talking about? Why are you being so cold? This isn't like you, Kyoya," Renge whispered, tears beginning to well up."
"It is exactly like me, Miss Hoshokuji. I couldn't be any less like that character."
"I know what this is about! It's that commoner girl, isn't it? You like her better than me! It's her fault you're acting this way, it's her fault your friends don't like me! Where is she?" Renge sprang to her feet, fabric flaring around her as if to illustrate her sudden righteous fury.
"Miss Hoshokuji, sit," Kyoya commanded. "I don't know where she is, because she's removed herself from the situation as a favor to you. The way people view you is entirely up to you. It's unbecoming to blame your problems on someone else simply because you're jealous of them. You've caused enough trouble around here. Please stop being such a pest."
"A pest? What do you mean? You're being so cruel!" She was sobbing in earnest now, and the sound grated on his ears.
"Everyone here is missing their friend. You drove her away, so it's only right that you convince her to return, yes?"
"If I do that... If I do that, will you love me again?" Renge sniffed.
"No," Kyoya said, "Because I never loved you in the first place, and you never loved me. But it's the right thing to do. Do you want to be remembered as a jealous, petty person?"
"No," said Renge, her whole body sagging down toward the floor. "But how do I apologize if no one can find her?"
"If you're determined, you'll figure it out," Kyoya shrugged. "I would start checking in club rooms if I were you."
###x###
"You're bringing in an awful lot of visitors, Hermione," Umehito remarked, smirking, craning his neck to look at her from the floor..
Hermione glanced down at the boy resting against the fold of her legs and murmured, "I'd really rather not deal with this one, but I suppose I'm going to have to."
"I could deal with her for you," Umehito said.
"Tempting," said Hermione, "But if I let you then I'll just have to have this confrontation another time." She pushed gently on the back of his head and he lifted it enough for her to move.
Hermione's posture, gait, everything was far different from what they had been when the twins had found her. She was stiff, guarded, prepared for a fight.
"Miss Granger," Ootori's guest said, her voice almost musical in its contrition. "I'm so sorry for my behavior. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course," said Hermione, "There's nothing to forgive. I never did catch your name, Miss...?"
"Renge Hoshokuji," she said. "Do you mean it?" She seemed so excited.
"Yes," said Hermione. There really was nothing to forgive; after all, there was no damage done, except for a momentary blow to her self-esteem. "You'll be glad to find that I really don't have designs on your paramour, I trust."
"Oh," said Hoshokuji. "Kyoya. He... he's the one who asked me to apologize to you. He says that his friends are upset that you don't come around anymore."
"I'm sure they are!" Hermione snorted, chuckling. "Don't get the wrong idea, Miss Hoshokuji— I'd only been studying in the club room for a few days at that time. There's no need on your part to feel guilty. I wasn't particularly attached to them, nor them to me." Her voice may have been friendly, but anyone could see that she was uncomfortable. Of course Ootori would send Hoshokuji after her. Was she finally too much to handle? It was no less than he deserved.
"Oh!" said Hoshokuji, again. "That does make me feel better! Do think about coming back sometime, then."
"I'll think about it," said Hermione. "Is that all you needed?"
"Yes, thank you!" Hoshokuji chirped. Recognizing the obvious dismissal, she turned and left.
The heavy double doors banged closed, and when they did Hermione relaxed.
"Are you okay?" Umehito asked, his voice soft. "Are you crying?"
"Of course not!" Hermione sniffled. "I'm just... I'm stronger than my body is, all right?"
Slender arms wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed, and Hermione turned to face him. "We won't let her in from now on," Umehito said.
"There's no need to go that far," Hermione mumbled, hiding her smile in his shoulder.
"Fine," he agreed in a voice that told her he would be having a talk with Reiko Kanazuki, his second-in-command. "You said before that emotion can enhance spellwork— do you want to try?"
Hermione hummed. "I'm not in the habit of letting loose like that, Umehito," she said. "Too dangerous. It's a—" It's a wartime thing, useful on the battlefield and in controlled environments, but otherwise too unpredictable.
"It's a what?"
"Nevermind," Hermione said, thinking.
Too often, wizards think that their magic is their slave, when in fact magic is almost a separate, sentient identity. Magic chooses the wizard. Magic loves the wizard. Magic is simultaneously older than time and a child, volatile and powerful in its youthful wisdom. It is not to be abused or underestimated.
Perhaps someday she could tell Umehito that, but he was, despite everything, a Muggle.
Umehito let her lean her weight on him and was quiet.
"I can show you something, if you want," said Hermione at last. "But you'll need to acquire the ingredients."
"A potion?" he said, always quick to catch on.
"Yes," said Hermione. "It's nothing too powerful, mind, but it is magic." She raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes far away.
"What does it do?"
"It will help you with your condition. There's little research done into whether the magic-less can actually create potions with their fullest power. As far as I know, actually, an actual magic touch is necessary. I can help in that regard, but if you'd like to make it on your own then—"
"Hermione," Umehito said. "I would be honoured to accept your help."
Hermione paused, her consciousness coming back into her eyes. "Okay then. I'll help."
The pair shared a fond smile.
"You should write this down," said Hermione. "Lemon balm, bay leaves, burdock, agrimony, aloe, yucca, violet, rue, and rose hips. You got that?" She'd intentionally chosen a potion that was made up entirely of Muggle-accessible herbs. It wouldn't be so effective that it would work without hard work on the part of the user, but it would help some.
"I've got it," said Umehito.
"Since your condition is mental rather than physical, it will cause you to sleep and dream. When you wake up you will have traveled into your psyche and dealt with the problem at its root. And if... if you want, I know how to go with you."
"I don't know about that," said Umehito. "Perhaps this is something I should face on my own."
"Perhaps," said Hermione.
"I will have the ingredients by tomorrow," he said. "Now, we've left the others on their own for long enough. Would you join me again in the circle, Eris?"
