The Scientist

Author's Note: So, holy crap, guys. This is the second to last chapter. There will be one more chapter plus an epilogue after this. (And maybe a chapter of Tomione scenes from the story that got cut from the original chapters). As usual, thank you all so much for your amazing reviews. It's been fun writing this bit of fluff! (and I still can't believe I'm actually finishing a story. Shocking, really.)

Disclaimer: the HP universe does not belong to me; I am just borrowing.


Chapter Nine: Violet Hill


Christmas was fast approaching. Somehow Harry had managed to work his boyish charms on Ginny, and after a bit of a rocky start, the redhead had accepted her brother's new relationship with Hermione. Hermione could not have been more relieved. Ginny was one of her few female friends that she didn't want to throttle after a half-hour of hanging out, and she had been noticing her absence quite a bit.

(Naturally she had not been able to resist reaming Ginny out for thinking the worst of her so easily. Ginny had been a bit shocked at Hermione's rage, but it had been good for their friendship. Hermione suspected their bond had strengthened after that episode, because it seemed like Ginny respected her more now that she knew the level of rage Hermione could reach.)

It eventually came out that while Fred had been romancing Hermione, Angelina and George had gotten together. As Fred had dryly remarked, this was a good explanation for George and Angelina's rather mystifying recent tolerance of Fred and Hermione's courtship. Slowly, things within the group of friends returned to normal, though between the twins and Hermione and Angelina there was an awkwardness that Hermione figured would likely be there to stay.

But meanwhile... things with Dr. Riddle were so stressful to Hermione that she wanted to tear her hair out.

Exhibit A: after a long night of working together on the Barty Crouch Jr. case, they had both stumbled into the kitchenette to make some coffee. Bleary-eyed and a bit wonky from extreme sleep deprivation, somehow Hermione had found herself running her hands through Dr. Riddle's hair. He had only belatedly pulled away, and while neither commented on the incident after that, it hung in the air between them.

Exhibit B: first they had been running to the all-night grocer nearby for food breaks. Then, their meeting and working together became so routine that they simply grabbed food from the store on the way to Dr. Riddle's flat. Then, in the week before Christmas, that routine somehow morphed into stopping for dinner at one of the on-campus coffee bars. They were practically joined at the hip, and sometimes Hermione found herself dropping hints that they really ought to simply move in together.

And with all of this time they spent together, and the intensity of their interactions, sometimes Hermione felt more like she was dating Dr. Riddle than Fred. She rarely saw Fred, and when she did, she was so exhausted and her brain was so fried from working on Crouch's case and keeping up with her homework simultaneously that she was sure she wasn't much fun to be around. Luckily this issue was masked by the fact that Fred was working overtime in the effort to make Weasley Wheezes work. He and George rarely got a full night's sleep with all of their work in designing and accounting.

The final trial for Bartemius Crouch Jr. was to take place December twenty-third, which was a Wednesday. The Friday before, around eleven at night, was when Hermione and Dr. Riddle finally finished preparing the evidence of Barty Crouch Jr's innocence.

"I can't believe it," Hermione said, shaking her head as they stared at the scattered notes over the kitchen table. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, and with all of the frantic work she'd been doing over the past few weeks, she'd actually lost the weight she'd been trying to lose since freshman year of college without even trying. And yet...there was an underlying sense of accomplishment that beat out even the guilt she felt for supporting Barty Crouch Jr, who she was positive belonged behind bars for life. "It's so odd that it's finally over."

"I'd say I couldn't have done it without you, but that'd be lying," said Dr. Riddle in a smirking tone as he leaned back in his chair. "But you did help," he conceded.

Her good mood was high enough that she could ignore that comment, and she merely reached across the table to smack him upside the head. As was their routine, he caught her by the wrist at the last moment as usual, grinning devilishly at her as she tried to squirm out of his grip. He'd taught her the proper way to break out of someone's grip a few days ago, and she used the technique now.

An idea struck her, and perhaps if she had gotten more sleep in the recent weeks, she might've stopped herself from suggesting it. But as it were, she was too far gone to care.

"Let me buy you a drink tonight," she suggested, her eyes twinkling. "You've taught me so much these past months, and I'd really like to thank you for it."

"Your tuition money is a good start," he said, winking and earning another slap. "But I won't turn down a drink. Remind me to order the most expensive thing I can find."

"You would," she fake-pouted as they both stood, locating the various items of clothing they lost around the flat. Hermione blushed when it occurred to her the usual implications of losing one's clothes in a man's flat. Of course, she had only removed her shoes and her heavy jumper, as she wore a tee shirt underneath. Still...

Soon they were both dressed and ready to brave the biting December air.

"Of course I would. You know me, Granger. After you," he said, holding his front door open for her with an exaggerated bow.

Hermione was positive that there was nothing better than walking through the city with Dr. Riddle. He was as much of a knowledge-hound as she, so she could ramble on about the historical importance of the different older buildings in Hogsmeade that they passed, complete with an analysis of the architecture. When she tried to do that with Harry or Ron, the boys both started complaining loudly and would often switch the subject to cars or sports. It wasn't much different with Ginny, who sometimes would instead talk about clothes or sex (but was still just as happy to rant about sports or cars. Underneath her lovely exterior and obsession with fashion, Ginny was something of a closeted tomboy.).

But with Dr. Riddle...it was a different story entirely. A sort of happiness that Hermione had never before known thrummed in her veins as, with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, she gestured to the different interesting aspects of the architecture of each building, rambling on earnestly. Dr. Riddle asked the most interesting questions, and even knew enough about architecture and history himself to make some intriguing points of his own that she hadn't heard before.

He wasn't just a lawyer—he was a lover of knowledge, history, and logic. Just like her. The only difference between them, really, was his elitist tendencies and her compassion that he referred to as her 'hippie tendencies'. And, in line with his elitist perspective, he suggested one of the more exclusive bars to drop by for a drink—the Leaky Cauldron.

"Of course. I should have known," she scoffed as they crossed the busy wet street. Instinctively, like always, their fingers brushed as they crossed, as though to hold hands. And, like always, their hands darted from each other hastily as they each stuffed their hands in their pockets, pretending the point of contact hadn't occurred.

"Well, since you're buying, I might as well make the most of it," said Tom with a cheerful, cat-like grin. When he held the door open for her, Hermione began to step through and he abruptly closed it, smirking as she glowered at him.

"Really, how old are you again? You're practically a teenaged boy," she said grumpily as they went inside.

Inside, the lighting was low, and pulsing music played over the din of people chatting and laughing together. They snagged a spot at the corner of the bar and ordered Firewhiskeys, their glasses clinking together as they congratulated themselves. Dr. Riddle's smirk felt decidedly intimate and private as their glasses clinked and their fingers brushed.

"To us," Hermione said, her throat a bit constricted at the touch. Her mouth went dry when his smile broadened.

"To us," he agreed, and they each drank from their glasses. For one heated moment, Hermione was vehemently jealous of the glass as Dr. Riddle's lips touched the glass. "I hate to admit it, but you have impressed me," he said after they had set down their glasses. "You've really matured. I only wish you could have a shot at defending Crouch—it'd be the entertainment of the year."

"And why's that? Are you making fun of me?" Hermione asked a bit prissily, narrowing her eyes. His stunning shadow-colored eyes flickered to hers, then down imperceptibly to her lips, and back to her eyes again. The pit of her belly was growing warm.

"No. I'm just pointing out that you've really changed. When I first met you, you were hiding your true personality underneath this very silly anxious and shy persona. You've found your backbone like I knew you would."

It was rare to receive a compliment from Dr. Riddle. Hermione was temporarily speechless, and she had to look away to gather her wits again.

"Thank you," she said quietly. She chanced a glance back at Dr. Riddle, whose eyes were still on her heavily. She warmed under his penetrating stare.

"I mean it. You stopped taking any heat from me a while ago, and you always rise to defend yourself now. I don't say things I don't mean, Granger." Now it was his turn to look away, and Hermione's stomach tightened. It was rare for him to look uncomfortable. She watched as he fidgeted with his glass in thought before finally looking back at her. "You're going to be an excellent lawyer."

Her eyes burned now, not with exhaustion but with unshed tears. She had never done well with such strong compliments. She blinked rapidly, waiting for the moment to pass, before speaking.

"Thanks—"

"Tom! Oh, how I've missed you. Where in Merlin's name have you been?"

Just. Great. thought Hermione grumpily as she watched Bellatrix sail over to them, flanked by the blonde man she had come to know as Lucius Malfoy. He did something in finances, though Dr. Riddle had given her the impression that he had received a sizable inheritance and his true occupation was to schmooze. A younger carbon-copy of himself was following behind them in a light grey suit that matched his icy gray eyes.

"Bella. Lucius," greeted Tom flatly. Hermione found it amusing how these people hero-worshipped Tom, and how little he returned the interest. "Draco," he added curtly as his eyes landed on the younger Mr. Malfoy.

"Ah, and if it isn't Miss Gordon—"

"Granger," said Hermione tartly, straightening in her seat and wondering how many times it would take before Lucius Malfoy could no longer pretend he didn't know her name already.

"Right, of course. So sorry," said Lucius absently, his leather-gloved-fingers tightening around his carved cane. "So, Tom. The big day's on Wednesday, I take it?" he asked smoothly. Bellatrix nodded eagerly, slinging an arm around Tom's svelte shoulders and practically assaulting his face with her heaving breasts, put on display by her tight suit and the blood-red lace camisole underneath.

"It is, and you're going to be simply brilliant," cooed Bellatrix, stroking Tom's hair. He tolerated it for a brief moment before brushing away her hand irritably. Hurt flashed in her lust-filled eyes but she made another attempt for his attention, instead leaning into him so much that she may as well have been sitting on his lap. Jealously flooded through Hermione, and before she could stop herself (later she'd blame her reaction on lack of sleep and firewhiskey) she made her move.

"Thanks to me," she snapped at Bellatrix. Amusement flashed in Dr. Riddle's eyes as Bellatrix straightened, apparently rising to the challenge. Lucius chuckled to himself.

"Oh, poor thing. She thinks she's actually helping you. Silly girl—don't you realize this man is considered one of the most brilliant lawyers of his time? How do you put up with her, Tom, especially when she looks and sounds like that?" he asked silkily as he toyed with the deep emerald silk ascot at his throat.

"I doubt Dr. Riddle would tolerate my presence if I weren't worth his time. Rather like how he brushes you off any time you crawl to him, begging for the slightest ounce of attention from him," she said, her fists clenching in anger. Lucius' face contorted in rage as, to Hermione's surprise, both Tom and Draco began laughing at the same time. Lucius smiled simperingly at Tom before turning to his son and barking at him to silence himself. Draco complied, but he sent Hermione a grateful smirk over his father's shoulder that Hermione happily returned.

"Never mind that," said Bellatrix hastily, urging Tom's eyes back to her. "We're here to celebrate. Little Draco has made it into the entrepreneurship program at Hogwarts."

"Congratulations. I'm so pleased you found something useless to do to occupy your time and bank account," drawled Tom with a nod toward Draco. Hermione waited for Draco to be offended but he only seemed amused. He straightened his black tie in a move remarkably like his father's before speaking.

"I've got better things to do than get a normal job. I am a Malfoy, after all," he said coolly. Tom snorted a bit darkly and Lucius and Bellatrix began laughing, looking a bit confused as to what was so funny. Hermione rolled her eyes. What a bunch of sycophantic idiots, she thought irritably.

Every time she was with Dr. Riddle and they ran into Lucius, Lucius always attempted to make some sort of degrading remark at Hermione. Usually it was about the state of her appearance or about her status. At first she had been hurt that Dr. Riddle hadn't defended her, until one time he had said something cryptic about her acting annoyingly similar to a kicked puppy.

And after that, Hermione had not hesitated in ripping into Malfoy every time he took a shot at her. It was more than gratifying to give into her bossy urges and act the way she always had wanted to act before. Something used to stop her every time she tried to defend herself—almost like a mental block. She used to walk away from situations where she had been bullied, thinking of the ways in which she could have defended herself and desperately wishing she had instead of laying down and taking it.

Now that she was learning to rise to the occasion, however, her own self-esteem was sky rocketing. She was learning to walk taller, prouder. She was learning to take the sassiness she had always exhibited in the classroom and apply it to other aspects of her life.

And this was one of those times.

"Well, that's all very interesting," Dr. Riddle was saying lazily. Apparently she had missed a portion of their conversation due to her inner pondering. "But Miss Granger and I are here to celebrate as well. She's made an impressive contribution to my work on the Crouch case."

"Oh, how lovely," said Bellatrix, a pained fake-smile on her face as she leered at Hermione. Hermione returned the sarcastic smile with pleasure.

"Thank you," replied Hermione. Dr. Riddle glanced at her with a knowing smirk and winked at her. Hermione was sure that none of the others had caught the wink.

"If you'll just leave us to it, then..." he said pointedly, arching his brows at Lucius and Bellatrix. In a commotion, they apologized loudly for their intrusion and clamored to leave them be. Dr. Riddle and Hermione watched them leave, with Lucius and Bellatrix apparently caught up in an argument of some sort, with Draco sauntering behind them, looking more than amused at his father and aunt's hissed argument.

"Good job," Dr. Riddle said, turning back to face Hermione. "Next round's on me."

"You have this perverse obsession with seeing me verbally abuse your friends," Hermione remarked, accepting the next glass of Firewhiskey that Dr. Riddle ordered.

"Perhaps you're right," said Dr. Riddle, giving her a sly grin that made her unable to resist smiling as well. They each held their glass up.

"What're we toasting this time?" Hermione asked. Dr. Riddle's dark eyes had never looked this dark before, and for a moment they stared at each other. She could not breathe.

"...My perversions, as you call them, then," he finally replied. Hermione's cheeks warmed and something in her belly warmed as well. "Because I do love seeing you fight back," he clarified.

"R-right," she stammered, hitting his glass with hers a bit too hard and sloshing Firewhiskey over the rim and onto her fingers. "To your perversions, then."

Tom watched Hermione hastily gulp down her firewhiskey with pleasure as he polished off his own glass. He was positive there was nothing better than watching Hermione fight back against her aggressors. Watching her grow from the skittish gazelle he had met those months ago on that sunny September day into the fierce lioness she had become now had been more than gratifying. It gave him even more pleasure to know it had been due to his encouragement, and that he alone was responsible for bringing out the real Hermione Granger. She was more than just intelligent—she was able to think on her feet with ease and was compassionate in ways that he admittedly never had been, and probably never would be.

A few weeks ago, Dumbledore had expressly warned Tom away from the young law student. It had been a surprise to have his old rival approach him in the empty corridors of Hogwarts that late evening, and at first Tom had assumed the confrontation was relevant to the Crouch case. But Dumbledore's words after abruptly gripping Tom's arm had been: "about Miss Granger, Tom..." and proceeded to remind Tom of his many foolish theories on his innately corrupt personality.

At the time, Tom had simply thrown back his head and laughed in Dumbledore's face, informing the old crackpot that his interest in Hermione Granger was of a purely scholarly nature and hinting at his own impression of Dumbledore's impending senility. But as he walked back to his flat that evening—on his way to meet Hermione outside of it, in fact—happiness flushed his cheeks at the prospect of having Hermione and her delightfully combative nature all to his own for a few hours. And he realized perhaps Dumbledore had more insight into Tom than Tom had initially credited him as having.

His desire for Hermione had not waned, as he had hoped it would. Instead it had intensified, and as he had reached his street and seen Hermione standing there in the cold, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly, her hair wild from the wintry wind, he had to accept that, for the first time in his entire life, he fancied someone.

He could accept it, but that didn't mean he had to like it. She had a boyfriend, after all. And normally he would have simply gone about ruining her relationship to make room for him in her heart. But he realized those tactics would not work on Hermione, and that was precisely why he liked her so very much. She was not an idiot like the rest of the girls who had been in his life.

And now he was left at a loss, watching with inappropriate interest as she set the now empty glass down, her tongue darting out to run over her lips furtively before her pretty brown eyes turned back to him.

"I don't know how you can stand Malfoy and that—that woman," Hermione informed him in her bossy tone, clearly changing the subject to draw attention from the obvious tension tautening between them.

"I don't tolerate them," he said crisply. "Bella's amusing once in a while, I'll admit. The only person besides you that I see regularly is a friend from college. Actually, he's a chemistry professor now here at Hogwarts," replied Tom thoughtfully. Hermione went pink at the notion that she was one of two people he allowed in his life.

"Oh, really? What's his name? I took chemistry here in undergrad," she said casually, again passing by his invitation to question their friendship.

"Severus Snape," Tom said, smirking as he thought of Severus, the closest thing he had to a friend. Luckily, Severus was not too different from him, and thus their friendship operated smoothly. They never had to waste their time trying to make the other feel comfortable. They simply saw each other when they wished, for as long as they wished, and nothing more. But he imagined that Hermione, with all of her self-righteous indignation and fire, would have disliked Severus had she met him. Rather tellingly, her eyes darkened with dislike.

"Oh. Professor Snape," she said darkly. "I remember him. I should've known you two would be best friends," she continued bitterly with a grimace. "I was the only one who always had the answers, and who did he never call on? Yes, you guessed it: me."

"I take it this is a sore spot," said Tom, grinning at Hermione. "Yes, that sounds like something that Severus would have done for his own private amusement."

After more joking and laughing, Hermione's cellphone rang. Probably from that stupid ginger, Tom thought irritably, glowering as Hermione answered her phone, oblivious to Tom's disgust. She finally hung up after gracing her boyfriend with sparkling laughter. Tom contented himself with imagining bludgeoning the ginger to death, or else perhaps hitting him with his car. No, wouldn't want to hurt the Firebolt, he thought disdainfully, smirking at his own musings.

"We should probably head out. It's getting late," Tom said, rising to his feet, not wanting to hear any gushing about how in love they were. Hope sparked within him when Hermione looked a bit crestfallen, but she covered it up by nodding and turning away to shrug into her coat.

"You're right. Thank for the drink," she said as they wove through the bar to the door. Outside, their breath clouded in the air as they began the trek back to their area.

Despite the bitter cold, Hermione's palms were clammy in her pockets as she screwed up her courage. For some reason, Dr. Riddle seemed strangely suddenly remote. In the warmth and cheer of the bar, she had been prepared to remark on how sad she was that the case was completed, as it meant they no longer would be working together. But now in the frigid sobriety, her mouth could not form the words. Where's that courage and fearlessness he's been working to instill in you, dammit? she demanded inwardly. But every time she glanced at him and saw his lovely angular face and smooth pale lips, her courage took flight.

It was flurrying, and Fred had called to invite her to go ice-skating with their group of mutual friends the next day. It would be a perfect winter date, and yet Hermione found herself not wanting this night to end. She purposefully walked slower, finding lame excuses to prolong their walk to her flat. After that, he'd say goodbye. She had had more time with him than she normally would, obviously, but after this, would she ever even see him again? The semester, and consequently, Critical Theory, was over. She had no excuses to see him anymore, really.

Finally, they reached her block, and they stood facing each other in uncomfortable silence, the flurries twirling around them.

It's now or never, Hermione told herself.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sad this is over," Hermione began in a wavering, rather high voice. Dr. Riddle's face was impassive as he stared down at her. "It's been—it's been a lot of fun, honestly, and I feel like I've never connected with anyone this much before, and I'm really so very grateful that you allowed me to help you out, and you've done so much for me, and—"

She stopped when he pressed one finger to her lips, a slight grin curving his lovely lips.

"It's no problem, Granger. I..." he paused for one painful moment as it felt like every nerve in her body sprang to life, waiting for him to continue,"...enjoyed it too. I hope you'll come to the trial. Have a good night."

If she supposedly wasn't in love with Dr. Riddle, why did it feel like her heart was breaking as she watched him turn and wave shortly before walking down the street and rounding the bend?


You did the right thing, his rather small good side pointed out in a shrinking voice as Tom unlocked his door, kicking the bit of snow off his shoes before entering.

Fuck the bloody 'right thing', snarled his much more prominent bad side. You're not following your own advice at all. You've never shied away from a challenge before, have you?

"Oh, shut the hell up," he grumbled to himself, angrily casting off his coat and stalking over to the kitchen table. Aragog was looking a bit wilted on his windowsill, and Tom shot the innocent plant a glare before dropping into his chair and attempting at organizing all of the work he and Hermione had done.

Something caught the light on the table and he squinted, leaning over to find a small silver earring. He recognized it as the only jewelry Hermione ever wore. It must have fallen out. He'd have to return it to her. Or else he could simply keep it. Could that be labeled as sappy, lovesick behavior? He wasn't sure. "Dammit, Hermione," he sighed, picking up the earring and holding it to the light before letting it drop back on the table.

He knew he would not be sleeping well tonight. That was for sure.


Hermione was exhausted. After she and Dr. Riddle had parted ways, she had tearfully gone to bed, errant tears leaking out of her eyes until she had finally drifted off. She had slept fitfully, and woke up hung over and not recovered from the weeks of sleep deprivation. She hated seeing Fred when she looked like such a mess, especially since Angelina had the same gift that Ginny seemed to have: of never having an ugly day.

Still, she felt empty and really just down as she dressed in a bright red jumper, hoping the color would bring a bit of life to her drawn and sallow-looking face. Following Ginny's advice, she even blew her hair dry and applied a bit of mascara, but it didn't do much for her and, for all of her efforts, she still left her flat looking like death itself.

The outdoor ice-rink was packed with people. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were already there, skating fast and terrorizing the others. Bloody athletes, Hermione thought darkly as she laced up her rented skates.

"Mione! You made it," greeted Harry as they swung by. Upon closer inspection, Hermione saw the twins were there too, as well as Angelina and Lee.

"This should be interesting. Did you know that they keep the Lochness monster underneath this rink?" a dreamy voice interrupted Hermione's thoughts and she stifled a scowl before looking back over her shoulder. Luna Lovegood was approaching her bench, wearing a hand-knit hat with unidentifiable animal ears sewn into it and carrying skates that had been drawn on in magic marker.

"Luna, the Lochness Monster doesn't exist," Hermione snapped impatiently. Luna chortled condescendingly as she sat beside Hermione and began lacing up her skates. Harry, Ginny, and Ron swept by them again and Ron's face went tellingly red as he spotted Luna.

"Yes it does. I've seen it. I got a bite from it last spring when I went swimming in this lake," she said mildly, pausing to roll up the sleeve of her kelly-green puffer coat and show Hermione what was very obviously an alignment of freckles. Hermione drew in a breath, ready to explain the concept of freckling to Luna, but at the last minute shook her head and simply smiled at Luna.

"Ah yes. You're right. An avalanche of evidence there," she said dryly as Luna nodded eagerly. Hermione soon tottered over to the rink and anxiously crept onto it, tensing and waiting to fall over. A skater rammed into her shoulder, nearly toppling her over, but strong hands caught her. Fred was standing before her, having no trouble keeping balance in his skates. George and Angelina skated by, hand-in-hand, but Hermione did not miss the furtive longing glance that Angelina looked upon Fred with.

"The Ice Queen has arrived," Fred joked. Hermione glowered.

"I can't skate, Fred," she said grumpily. "I'm not like the rest of you coordinated people. I don't like being unsteady on my feet."

They watched a bit witheringly as Luna walked obliviously onto the rink and promptly fell over. Instead of getting to her feet, she peered down at the ice, rubbing at it curiously. People skated around her, ramming into each other and causing all kinds of collisions that Luna was either ignorant to or was simply ignoring.

"She's a character, that one," murmured Fred wickedly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"She's positive the Lochness monster lives underneath the ice," she explained with a sigh as a man tripped over Luna's bent form. Luna looked up and shot the man an irritated glare before resuming her inspection of the ice.

"Probably just seeing her own reflection. When I was little I thought George and I had another brother because I always spotted him when I looked in mirrors," said Fred with a wink as he tapped Hermione before dashing off. "You're it!"

"Oh, bloody hell. I hate tag," whined Hermione as she half-heartedly began inching along the ice hesitantly, cringing away from people as they skated by her. She looked up for a moment, spotting Fred already on the other side of the rink. George was up ahead, skating alongside Lee. Fred was skating backwards, laughing with Angelina and repeatedly pretending to fall backwards before stopping himself at the last second every time.

Oh my god. It hit her like a ton of bricks as she stared at Fred and Angelina. They're still in love.

It was so obvious. It was obvious in the twinkle in Fred's blue eyes, obvious in the way Angelina was grinning more broadly than she ever did with anyone else. The electricity between them seemed to crackle in the air around them as Fred began to reach out to Angelina, grabbing her hand almost instinctively before dropping it.

"Alright there, Granger?" George and Lee greeted as they passed Hermione. Lee continued but George slowed to a stop, his eyes, identical to Fred's, following Hermione's gaze to Angelina and Fred.

"I've been an idiot," she muttered, knowing George would understand. His mouth curved into a half-smile.

"Yeah. Been wondering when it would happen, really," he teased gently.

Instead of feeling hurt or left out or betrayed, however, Hermione found herself breaking into a huge grin.

"We're not in love," she said aloud to George. She expected him to crack a joke, but instead he shrugged.

"Not really, no," he agreed. "Attracted—yes. In love...no."

Fred and Angelina finally parted as they came round the bend to where George and Hermione stood.

"Slowpokes," George greeted wickedly before taking off in a hurry. Laughing, Fred darted after him with ease.

"Angelina, wait—" Hermione began as the older girl started to skate after the twins. She stopped, immediately arranging her features into a blank and indifferent expression.

"Yeah?"

"Just wait a bit. I can't skate very fast, obviously," Hermione said. Exhilaration at the revelation she had just had let her forget her own lack of coordination, and it wasn't too difficult to keep up with Angelina as they very slowly moved along the ice.

"Look, Hermione, I know you just saw Fred and I talking," began Angelina, but Hermione waved her hands, cutting her off.

"That's just it. We're all being complete prats," she said breathlessly.

"...What?" Angelina was eying her nervously.

"You and Fred are still in love, and Fred and I just have a bit of chemistry. But no real feelings. And maybe not even real chemistry—I think he was just getting afraid of commitment and I was confused about my own feelings for someone else," Hermione explained impatiently. Angelina stopped skating and Hermione gripped the railing on the edge of the rink for support to look at the older girl. "I'm really sorry about all of this stupid drama. I think you and Fred belong together."

Knowing Angelina, Hermione expected her to crack some sarcastic retort, or tell her off, or something. Instead to her shock, Angelina's eyes became wet. Before Hermione could process what was happening, Angelina threw her arms around her in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm sorry too," she said a bit tearily. "I was trying to make Fred jealous and was so upset when he didn't react—"

"And I think Fred was trying to make you jealous too," said Hermione wisely. "Truce?"

"Of course," said Angelina immediately. The two girls shook hands, smiling at each other. Eventually the twins circled round to Hermione and Angelina.

"Alright there, ladies?" George asked.

"Fred, can we talk for a moment?" Hermione asked, not missing the way Fred and Angelina almost reflexively made eye-contact.

"...Sure," Fred replied, looking too uneasy to joke. Angelina grinned at Hermione before urging George to keep skating with her. "What's going on?" he asked after they were alone—or, at least, as alone as they could be on a crowded ice rink.

"I think we're over. And I think George and Angelina are over. And that's okay," Hermione said quickly, looking up at Fred. "But I know two people who aren't over yet."

Fred paled.

"Look, I know it looked like I was flirting with Angelina—"

"And you were, because you still love her," interrupted Hermione firmly. "But that's okay. We were using each other, I think. I just realized it today."

Fred ran a hand through his short fiery hair before laughing and covering his face with his hand briefly.

"Yeah. I've been thinking that too," he confessed finally. "Tell me, was it obvious in the way I shagged?"

"Well..." Hermione bit back a grin but it escaped anyway, and then they were laughing at each other. "You were fine, Fred..." she reassured, patting his arm.

"Oh no, damning with faint praise," cried Fred, pretending to faint before righting himself and grinning down at Hermione. "It's okay. I know I was a bit crap in bed," he said, mimicking Hermione and patting her arm detachedly. "You know, I think this is the easiest break-up in the history of humanity," he remarked, which set them both off laughing again.

"I still really enjoyed being with you," she said finally, after they had finished laughing.

"Yeah. I enjoyed it too. You're more fun than your librarian exterior lets on," he confided.

And when George and Angelina circled round again, all four people were smiling and feeling lighter than they had in weeks. Without a word, Fred immediately dove after Angelina and began chasing her. Winking at Hermione, George and Lee joined forces and began plotting to trip the happy couple on their way around. Shaking her head, Hermione edged back to the opening of the rink.

Eventually Ginny joined her on the bench, as they watched their friends skate round and round. As usual, Ginny had completely ignored the dress code naturally dictated by the activity of ice-skating, and was wearing a short dark amber dress with a coat that matched it exactly, with dark tights and a white scarf. She looked a vision. Every time Harry skated by, he nearly crashed into Ron because he kept stealing glances at her.

"So what was that all about, anyway?" Ginny demanded as Ron teased Harry and helped him back up.

"We fixed things," Hermione explained happily. Fred and Angelina skated by, and for the briefest moment, there was a pinch of jealousy that evaporated. They so obviously belonged together that she couldn't help but smile. Ginny was grinning at her and poking her leg.

"So now you can go shag Dr. Riddle's brains out?" she asked coyly. Hermione instantly flushed, slapping at Ginny.

"Ginny! That's inappropriate!" she hissed immediately. Ginny was giggling wickedly.

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you want to. And by the sound of it, he's dying to as well..." she wiggled her sculpted brows at Hermione lasciviously and Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Your eyebrow activity is making me even more uncomfortable than what you just said," she said dryly. Still...her heartrate was quickening considerably. She chanced a glance at Ginny. "You really think...?"

"I don't think so, Hermione, I know so," Ginny said, giving Hermione a friendly punch on the arm. "Seriously, you guys spend all your time together—"

"Because of the trial!"

"He doesn't need your help on that. You've said so a million times. And he doesn't sound like the type to just hang out with someone out of pity. You guys meet for dinner and drinks all the time, and often, he pays."

"I pay sometimes. He only pays because he likes the chance to make fun of me for being a penniless graduate student," Hermione said defensively. Ginny gave a loud, long-suffering sigh.

"Hermione, it doesn't matter. A guy paying for dinner repeatedly is probably the surest sign I've ever heard of real interest. I mean, all things considered, it sounds like he really fancies you."

Hermione's mouth went dry.

"What should I do?" she mumbled, burying her face in her hands. "I tried to let him know how much I enjoyed working with him last night, but he just sort of dismissed me and walked away." The burn of the rejection returned full-force as she recalled how Dr. Riddle had so easily turned away from her.

"Maybe because he knew you had a boyfriend, and has too much pride to be the other man?" Ginny scratched her chin in thought. "Sort of like how Harry pointed out you have too much pride to be the other woman. You guys are really similar."

"And I'm still mad that Harry had to point that out to you," said Hermione crossly, wagging her finger at Ginny who ignored her with ease.

"Whatever," she said dismissively with a blase wave of her hand. "Clearly the only option you have is to find some way to subtly let him know that the thing with Fred is over. Then, go to the trial. It sounds like he's pretty likely to win. Corner him afterwards, and I bet you both will be feeling so exhilarated from the trial that when you snog him, he'll just go with it."

Hermione stared at her best female friend in fear and shock.

"Ginny...you are the most devious woman I have ever met," she said timidly, shaking her head. Ginny let out a wicked cackle, tossing her fiery hair and earning another eye-roll from Hermione.

"Yes..." said the redhead, rubbing her hands together with an odd gleam in her eyes, "And of course, since you're so grateful to me, your beautiful and intelligent best friend, for supplying you with such a clever plan, you'll finally have to let me pick out your outfit and fix your hair out of gratitude."

"Ginny!"

"Just kidding...except not really."

Hermione let out a groan. She had the feeling that the days leading up to the trial were going to be long ones.