It is a tiring existence - this flitting back and forth between the veils of her mind. Oftentimes and with much dismay, Quinn finds that she has grown accustomed to discovering herself lapsing perilously into the pools of the demented unconscious during various instances of her waking life. These visions arrive unprovoked. It is as though part of her is acting as an alarm, a sadistic reminder. As the end of October peaks mischievously above the horizon, her mind prods at her as though to say, 'Wake up! Wake up—and rise to the occasion!' with the occasion being her sacked training sessions with Trelawney, Emmeline, and Hermione. For days she has steered very clear of them all, as Quinn reckons that she simply cannot face them.

With Trelawney comes fear of the unknown. What would Quinn be exposed to next? The ideas, both great and terrible, seem endless. Would Quinn discover that she could manipulate the future to become a sick and twisted god, destined to become drunk off her own power? Would she be doomed to turn against her friends, her family, for the sake of befitting her own foresight? or would she even unearth herself to be the very Reaper in the flesh? It is these possibilities and then some that haunt her ceaselessly, that drive her away from that batty old woman's haunting room.

It follows that with Emmeline comes the ambiguity of suspended judgment. Quinn has not seen Emmeline since she, Quinn, had originally confided in her mentor shortly after Professor Trelawney's discovery of Quinn's manner of psychic technique. Shortly thereafter, Emmeline had chosen this as the opportune moment to make herself scarce. While at first this had seemed a blessing to Quinn, now it strikes her as frightening as it does infuriating. Where is her mentor when she needs her most? In Quinn's mind, Emmeline should be here with her, guiding her through these trying tries. Yet, all the while, Quinn dreads her return if not just as much—for the strong hand of Emmeline's judgment is sure to accompany the older witch's fated return.

Yet it all comes full circle with Hermione. Through Hermione comes somewhat of a paradox. Quinn feels shame, and yet she is not apt to admit this. The guilt had settled no less than six days ago, shortly following their impetuous spat relating to Quinn's recklessness and (more indirectly) allegiance. Quinn cannot even so much as look at Hermione without experiencing the unpleasant pang of culpability. 'YOU SPEAK WITH THE ARTICULATION OF A CHILD,' Teacher had told her. Teacher, though it irritates Quinn to think so, had been right. Even so, such a deduction is more easily met within the safety of Quinn's mind. It is portraying it to another party that provides difficulty. For that reason, when passing Hermione in the halls, Quinn pretends that the other witch does not exist. Quinn ignorantly presumes that this is, in the end, the only acceptable alternative.

It's cowardice, her inner critic berates her, causing Quinn to visibly scowl as she sweeps her navy sweater around her shoulders one late afternoon.

Yeah, Quinn argues fruitlessly back, well, you try to defend yourself to Hermione the Faultless. Tell me how that goes for you. Feeling unreasonably smug for having just supposedly triumphed in an argument with herself, Quinn sets out toward the library where she is due to meet June to help the younger girl study.

June is the only consistency that Quinn is able to manage these days. As her pill count dwindles, Quinn seems to cling tighter to the idea of keeping herself nearer to June. It is both a conscious and subconscious desire to keep herself steady as she teeters toward the brink. Quinn lives in the mindset that so long as the youthful June is near her, the inescapable edge is not a sixty-foot drop but instead a six-inch stride. This is, admittedly, a feeble attempt at best on Quinn's part as far as self-care is concerned.

As it is, the walk to the library is wholeheartedly dismissible. Quinn permits her mind to wander, to answer the calls of her most mundane daydreams. Because of this, it is not long at all before she is staring down the library doors and, soon after, the bowed head of June. Although it takes the gentle clang of the door shutting behind Quinn for June to notice the initial's arrival, they share a smile all the same. Disregarding the librarian that, quite honestly, Quinn cares little for, the blond witch makes a beeline for her roommate. Then, in compulsory silence, Quinn takes her seat to the ginger-haired First Year's right.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," murmurs Quinn, careful to keep her voice at a whisper.

June shakes her head, causing her corkscrew curls to bounce liberally.

"What are we working on today?" Quinn is rummaging through her Ravenclaw shoulder bag for a quill and some parchment. "Potions? Or did you say History of Magic?"

"Potions," June groans softly, looking frustrated.

Quinn grins.

"Don't feel bad. I hear Snape's a pain in the a- ah... butt for everyone," she wets her lips in order to recover quickly from her verbal stumble. This isn't the first time Quinn has had trouble with her language around the eleven-year-old.

"Sometimes I feel like he's just being plain unfair," sighs June.

Feeling a little playful, Quinn gently bumps her shoulder into June's.

"Chin up, kid," chides Quinn affectionately. "You're smart, and you know the material. You're just feeling overwhelmed, I think."

June, appearing thoroughly unconvinced, gropes forcefully at her temples. They continue to keep their voices low so as to appease the vigilant librarian.

"Oh, you," Quinn rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Okay, well - at any rate, let's crack open some books and take a look at this stuff, all right?"

With a begrudging noise of apparent agreement, June opens her Potions textbook as Quinn peers solicitously over the young witch's shoulder. From what Quinn can glance, the majority of the material could have been a foreign language. It's as though Quinn has glimpsed the surface of the work, dabbled in it even, and yet she can't make hide or hair of the finer workings. For instance, Quinn cringes at the thought of what good armadillo bile would do anyone. Almost everything about this world of magic still perplexes Quinn to varying degrees. All the while, it nonetheless manages to remain distantly familiar. As she wanders the halls, often late into the night (when her nightmares are at their worst), she finds that it nearly feels as though she has been here before. The portraits, though more often fast asleep, seem to gleam at her in recognition.

What is it that you're keeping from me? Quinn's eyes adopt a somewhat glazed look as she allows June a moment to scribble down a few notes. Her far-off look travels over clumps and piles of textbooks as she considers that this is a thought that plagues her daily. Just who is it that inhabits her mind? or, she supposes, the appropriate term is 'what.' Knowledge and information are not necessarily exclusive or even personal. But this troubles Quinn. More and more, she experiences these 'flashes,' so to speak - these enlightening glimpses of the previous owner's past. The men and women in black come to mind. Who are they? Are they even of any purpose at all? This seems unknowable.

Beside Quinn, June stirs restlessly.

"What's up?" Quinn wills the words from her bone-dry tongue.

June exhales diffidently.

"Just feeling a bit..."

"Burnt out?" suggests Quinn, a droll smile blooming on her lips. "Yeah, I figured. You study way too much, June-" as June looks about to protest, Quinn cuts in. "You're eleven, and this is your first year at a school for magic. Why don't you let loose a little?"

"But Mum says that school is for learning and studying," June recites quietly, eyes on her notes.

"Well, yeah," Quinn laughs. "She's your mom. That's what moms are supposed to say. But," and for emphasis, Quinn superficially scopes the library. "I don't see your mom anywhere around here. It's just you and me and Madame Pince."

"Yes, but-"

"But nothing!" interjects the older witch. Quinn flips June's Potions textbook shut. "Now, what do you want to do instead?"

June looks completely aghast.

"But Quinn - I have to study! I have a -"

"Whatever you have can wait," insists Quinn with a smirk. "Today... you are just a kid!"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh-ush!"

Madame Pince is scowling at both of them now with her hands propped dangerously upon her pointed hips. Quinn sucks her breath in humorously. Then, she lowers her voice again.

"Now, as I was saying... it is a positively be-auuutiful Wednesday," Quinn croons, leaning closer to June. "Forget about school for a second. If you weren't at Hogwarts... if you were free to do whatever, what would you do?"

"Read probab-"

Quinn waves this answer away quickly.

"Besides reading," snickers the blonde. "Come on, June. I mean outside. What would you do outside?"

For a moment, June looks to truly consider this question.

"Well," now rosy of cheek, the young Ravenclaw bows her head. "I- ... uhm. I always thought it'd be fun to watch you and Hermione practice, maybe even... try a few things with you two."

Salt, poignant and rough, settles firmly in the wound for Quinn. It takes the Seer a moment before she can even think to counter this, for guilt becomes her. Hermione. For a few minutes, it had seemed as though Quinn had forgotten about the girl. But of course not. Karma had never allowed it to be that easy for her before. After Quinn's puerile display, weeks if not months of shame is sure to follow closely behind her - ready to pounce at any given moment. Moreover, it occurs to Quinn that Hermione probably wants nothing more to do with her.

"June, I-"

"-think that is a fine idea," finishes a definitive voice, drawing warmth to the surface of Quinn's flesh. Standing just shy of their table is none other than Hermione herself, cradling a single, large book in her left arm.

When the hell had she even gotten there? It takes all of Quinn's wits to keep from gawking.

"Hermione," Quinn says her name formally, as though greeting a long-lost and long-forgotten acquaintance.

"Quinn," mimics Hermione befittingly.

There is a peculiar and noticeable glint in Hermione's dark brown eyes, one that Quinn receives with an edge of suspicion at first. She seems bemused yet intrigued, almost... enchanted. Then Hermione's eyes fall on little June, and Quinn knows at once that her intuition is, unfortunately, unmistaken.

Hermione had seen Quinn (more specifically, Quinn's behavior) with June.

Quinn swallows and averts her eyes strategically to the former. As of Hermione's unanticipated arrival, June has taken to staring widely up at the witch, mouth agape. June has expressed her admiration for the Gryffindor Prefect on many an occasion. This must be like meeting a celebrity for the young girl. Quinn, on the other hand, is at a loss for words. Her mind is a hurricane of thoughts and feelings, anger and guilt.

Who does she think she is! How dare she think that this will change anything. I won't forgive her for trying to tell me how... for trying to tell me how to- ...How to, what? to stay out of harm's way? to stay alive? Yes, how dare she... care.

Keeping her eyes low, Quinn inhales slowly.

"We were just studying," she explains dully, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"It sounds to me," Hermione observes tolerantly. "like you two were just about to get some fresh air."

Beside Quinn, June shifts in her seat, seemingly looking from Quinn to Hermione and back again expectantly. The ball is in Quinn's court, and she knows it. Whatever Quinn replies with will be the final say. Her cheeks, though only slightly rosy, burn nonetheless.

"Yes," comes Quinn's strained reply. "June wanted to-"

"Miss Hermione, could you maybe show me what you teach Quinn?" pipes June, so abruptly straightforward that Madame Pince almost fumbles out of her desk chair from the sudden noise. Mortified, June clamps both her palms over her mouth before falling roughly to her bottom in her chair once more.

Quinn presses her own lips in a tight line, clearly amused. She wonders for a moment if Hermione will parrot Madame Pince's absurd military-esque behavior, but there is a hint of a smile on the brunette's face. She beams silently at June before taking in both Quinn and the little girl. Hermione mouths the word 'outside' prior to passing off her book to the nearest deposit box and starting toward the exit. Shortly after, June is up on her feet and bounding as painstakingly slow as she can manage after Hermione. Quinn, however, takes her time. Pushing in their chairs and readjusting her wand in her pocket again and again, she ponders over how she's supposed to handle this unprecedented situation. In all honesty, she has barely a plan at all by the time she has met the two witches at the entrance hall.

"What took you so long, Quinn?" June asks, genuinely concerned.

It is the first instance that Quinn ever recalls wishing that her roommate would not have spoken.

"Just... putting our table back the way it was," mutters Quinn, not meeting Hermione's eyes, in spite of the fact that she feels the brunette's gaze, hot and searing, upon her. June looks to accept this as her eyes flit eagerly up to Hermione.

"Where are going, Miss Hermione?"

"Just 'Hermione' is fine," the Gryffindor witch chuckles. "and to the training grounds, of course - ah, what did you say your name was?"

"June," she smiles. "June Summers."

"Well, June, it's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione persists. "how about you run up ahead and scope the place out; we will need to make sure it's open for use. Quinn and I will be right behind you."

With a look of sheer delight, June bobs her head and sets off toward the training grounds. Quinn tries to swallow again but finds that her throat is uncomfortably tight. Catching Quinn's eyes, Hermione looks to smile furtively before starting off after the exuberant June.

"Walk with me."

Quinn stares after Hermione, the latter's words barely registering as Quinn's legs seem to move forward of their own accord. The blonde is essentially speechless as she falls in step slightly behind Hermione.

"I'm angry with you," Quinn reminds her crassly. "or did you forget?"

Hermione emits a small sound of amusement before shrewdly shaking her head.

"I have not forgotten."

At this, Quinn prickles with unease. In front of them, June is swiveling her head to check out the field (which is, naturally, uninhabited). What is Hermione playing at? The corners of Quinn's lips twitch anxiously downward. They have since arrived at the training grounds, and Quinn is determined to keep her resolve strong while in the presence of June. She would not allow Hermione's peculiarity, however alarming, to get to her.

"It looks clear to me," exclaims June as she sweeps around to beam at them both.

Hermione nods pleasantly.

"Good," she decides. "Quinn?"

Still leery, Quinn narrows her eyes. She says nothing more and merely stands, noiselessly battling with the unnerving prickling sensation at the pit of her stomach. Hermione blinks slowly as she settles her fists in front of her waist.

"What shall we show June here first? perhaps a Patronus Charm -"

"Quinn!" June gapes at her, causing Quinn's cheeks to redden slightly. "You never told me that you could produce a Patronus Charm!"

If looks could kill. How desperately Quinn wishes that she could glower openly at Hermione! What the hell does she think she's doing, anyway? Quinn has been purposefully avoiding her. Ergo, they haven't been meeting for their usual training sessions. Hermione seems to be under the impression that this can be remedied with a simple intrusion. Quinn's body stiffens as she takes in Hermione's appearance.

"Hermione showed me how it was done, yes," Quinn speaks carefully, her voice taut with unvoiced fury as her eyes held their ground against Hermione's.

"Can I see you cast it, Quinn?" pleads June, her green eyes rotund with excitement. "Please!"

Quinn breathes easily in an attempt to appear relaxed, even when - in actuality - she had never felt more nervous. Surreptitiously, she directs a dirty albeit brief glare toward Hermione. She would pay, Quinn assures herself with certainty, for this.

"I don't know," Quinn shrugs, her subsequent words acting like food caught in her airway. "Hermione's probably better at it."

The Ravenclaw witch reflects that she has never wanted to pummel someone in the stomach as much as she did Hermione right now. All of this is entirely purposeful! The faint gleam of humor in the other witch's eyes all but confirms it. Quinn grimaces, all the more put off by Hermione's too-polite smile.

Two can play at this game.

"Show her yours, Hermione," says Quinn with a lilt of pretension.

There comes a slight upward twitch of Hermione's left eyebrow at this. Perhaps she hadn't expected Quinn to fight back. If so - and Quinn smirks to herself at Hermione's expense - then she'd been a fool.

"Perhaps," Hermione wets her lips coolly. "we'll start off with something smaller. June," her notice turns to the more-than-eager, bright-eyed First Year. "what can you do?"

To have the focus suddenly thrust upon her causes June to start slightly. Pink-faced and sputtering, she looks up at Hermione as though stunned.

"W-Well, I me-mean - I-I... we're... learning the Hover Charm," June stutters. "and I'm a-all right at the... at the Knockback Jinx, too, I think."

"Brilliant," commends Hermione genuinely, walking around to stand at June's left. "Would you mind too terribly if I asked to see?"

Truly, June looks as though she could have fainted on the spot. Quinn muses that it can only be the stiffness of June's tie (perfectly pressed and ironed - rather unbelievably so) that keeps her even moderately upright.

"Ah, sh- sure!"

Quinn crosses her arms loosely as she watches Hermione shift back somewhat to stand closer to Quinn. The latter frowns at this but somehow resists the impulse to move. As a substitute, the blonde offers her undivided (and quite unnecessary) attention to June.

"How about that small rock?" Hermione proposes astutely, indicating a palm-sized rock a meter or so shy of where they all stand.

June nods stiffly as she turns her gaze upon the stone with her brows furrowed. A sensation resembling pride settles comfortably within the swell of Quinn's abdomen as she sees June prepare herself, how the young witch bites her tongue and tightens her jaw in concentration. As June lifts her wand (a simple yet fervent instrument from the looks of it), Quinn spies a change in the normally meek student's behavior. She is certain of herself, absolutely positive of her hand and wand's positions. It is but an immaculate swish and flick of her wand and an utterance of 'wingardium leviosa' later that the rock in question is hovering soundly a good two meters in the air. Near Quinn, Hermione clasps her hands together in assumed admiration or delight.

"Brilliant!" she says again, moving to clap June compellingly on the back. "Absolutely wonderful, June! You should be very proud."

For half a heartbeat, Quinn wonders if this is directed at June or Quinn. This question comes partly from Hermione's backward glance at Quinn whom still stands with her arms draped lazily across her chest. Immediately, Quinn wills a barely visible smile (for June, she rations) upon her features. At the very least, this looks to please the younger girl.

"Do you think you can levitate something a bit more -" it is Hermione speaking again, yet she seems - for a moment - caught on her wording. "- substantial?"

Looking to be a bit more self-assured, June blinks at this inquiry.

"What?" queries June. "As in... a bigger rock?"

Hermione flashes her a budding grin.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a person."

Quinn freezes, her fingers pinching at her own skin as she stares at the pair of them. Contrary to (perhaps) popular belief, Quinn Fabray is not an idiot. She can only fathom so many directions that this conversation is heading.

"No," she tells them at once, stepping forward. "No, absolutely not. No."

June looks taken aback, while Hermione appears the pinnacle of patience.

"Oh, come on, Quinn," Hermione asserts lightheartedly. "Where's your team spirit? I was under the impression that June meant quite a lot to you."

Quinn thinks that her own eyes ought to have popped out of her head. A cheat! that's what Hermione is. A dirty, filthy cheat. If Quinn hadn't been so annoyed with her, she may have been impressed or even pleased.

Hermione Granger knows how to play hardball, but so does Quinn Fabray.

"Of course," Quinn permits both her arms and shoulders to fall nonchalantly. "Although, naturally, I'm sure you'll want to see how 'brilliant' June's Knockback Jinx is firsthand, as well. You know, after she's finished practicing on me."

This had been the trigger. From the look of shock on June's face to the expression of vigor on Hermione's, Quinn knows that she has accomplished whatever goal that Hermione had set for her for this particular situation. Quinn isn't sure how it is she knows this. For all she knows, it may have been the definite flicker of a challenge that had flashed through Hermione's dark eyes in that instant or perhaps the shadow of vitality that had wrung its spry fingers upon her lips. Either way, as they lock eyes just before Quinn is to take to her station as June's personal Charms test dummy, they exchange between them some sort of silent code. There is something to be said for this behavior later.

. . .

They would spend the next hour or so perfecting the already adept arts of June's Hover Charm, Knockback Jinx, and Stunning Spell. As one would possibly expect, the young student lacks the ability to be able to fully lift Quinn all her own. Yet, even so, this would only be deciphered only after June's first failed attempt lands Quinn short of breath and face-down in the grass. June had been embarrassed, practically asphyxiating herself with apologies, while Hermione had remained tight-lipped but recreationally concerned. In retrospect, Quinn assumes that the brunette had been trying not to laugh. Though, in Quinn's eyes, there is hardly anything at all funny about the grass stains down her pristine, white button-down shirt.

But that's Granger for you, something in her mind reflects. Some sort of unspoken competition had unfurled at the beginning of this spur-of-the-moment training session. Somehow, Quinn's anger had morphed into competitiveness. Instead of wanting to shove Hermione face-down in the grass along with her, Quinn had wanted to make an emulous display of herself. In essence, Quinn supposes, she had wanted to show-off, to come off as impressive. At the start, the former had concerned Quinn. Surely it hadn't meant that she had intended to impress Hermione. No! why, she had inwardly reeled at the thought. The object of her desire to impress would have been June - yes, June. She had to look a good role model, after all. And so, Quinn had allowed herself this choice of explanation... naturally.

Time had quickly evaded them in the face of their merriment, however.

As it happens, it had not been until June - out of breath from a boisterous case of the giggles - had glanced up to notice stars beginning to dot the atmosphere that any of them had actually realized the true nature of time.

"Oh!" exclaims June breathlessly. "It's nearly dark!"

Quinn whom at the present sits at June's right leans back on her hands to stare menacingly up at the heavens. The sky seems to mock them with its cheeky cloak of pink, orange, purple, and dark blue. On June's left, Hermione gasps. She, too, had been chortling along with the redhead as she had just received a rather successful blow from June's Stunning Spell.

"Goodness!" Hermione tries to compose herself hurriedly, yet her now hopelessly unkempt and bushy hair is a tried-and-true lost cause. "June, you'll need to be back up to your dormitory soon!"

June groans softly, clearly disgruntled with the idea of underclassmen's earlier curfews.

"But we can do this again one day, right, Hermione?" inquires the little girl, a subtle, starlit etching of a plea lined in the contours of her rounded face.

"Of course," Hermione replies at once, smoothing out her skirt before rising to her feet and extending her right hand for June to take. Quinn's eyes never leave the two of them as Hermione helps June, too, stand. "If you can convince Quinn to leave the castle, that is."

The two girls share a well-meaning chuckle at Quinn's expense, but Quinn remains quite silent. Her gaze rests upon Hermione. Though the blonde's face seems expressionless, she is thinking - considering something with philosophical observation. A moment later, however, Quinn is on her feet, as well, and smiling eloquently at June.

"We'll see," Quinn speaks directly to June now, whom grins.

It is the first time that Quinn thinks that she wants to touch the other girl, to reach out and hug her as an older sister would. Yet she resists, if not unhappily.

"Are you coming?" wonders June as she levels out her mildly disheveled clothing.

"In a minute," Quinn answers a fraction of a second before Hermione, much to the previous' surprise. "I have something I want to talk to Hermione about."

June, though perceptibly curious, nods her head and looks toward Hermione. Momentarily hesitant, the ginger-haired girl moves forward a single step before closing the distance between Hermione and her with a timid yet friendly hug. It takes Hermione only a second of confusion before she is returning the kind gesture, igniting a spark of jealousy in Quinn. Affection is simple for them - so natural and uncomplicated. Honestly, the embrace (if one could even call it this) is over in the blink of an eye before June is starting up toward the castle, but still it lingers in the space in front of Quinn as though it is fashioned as a captured photograph in midair.

It seems almost unreal that, seconds later, Hermione and Quinn are by themselves. There is that distinct irony of being alone but together—together and alone. Quinn recognizes then that it the explanation rides on her. She is in control of the reins, so to speak, and Hermione's eyes are swiftly upon her. Quinn pulls on her sweater and stows her hands away in its front pockets.

"What are you doing?" demands Quinn plainly, her eyes on the stars.

"I beg your pardon," Hermione exhales a small billow of breath into the nippy fall air. "Oh, I'm not sure. Perhaps I'm merely forcing you into having a little fun for a change?"

"No," Quinn is quick to stop her momentum. "What are you playing at? What do you want from me?"

For a lingering moment, Hermione looks chagrined.

"Must I be playing a game to 'want' for you to feel settled here, Quinn?" pursues Hermione, her eyebrows furrowing in disapproval.

Quinn sighs as she continues to glare absentmindedly at the night sky.

"I yelled at you," Quinn explains flatly. "I didn't expect to see you again."

"Yes, well," the bushy-haired witch is tucking her hands into her own newly-applied jacket. "This doesn't change the fact that you can be a very rude girl at all, and - I'll admit - Harry had quite a lot to do with my coming here today -"

"Harry?" interjects Quinn, the ghost of her temper flaring. "What could he possibly have to do with anything?"

As though witnessing this herself, Hermione shoots Quinn a lessened warning glance.

"Calm down. He merely told me that I ought to give you another go. To be honest, I hadn't wanted to at first, but he made me think about it," Hermione's eyes meet Quinn's at this. "He knows what it's like to be singled out, to be isolated and different - and well, I suppose he made me considerably more sympathetic to your viewpoint."

Something inside of Quinn tightens. A feeling of gratitude, of propensity, seems to beat in tandem with her briskly pumping heart. Though she is quite sure she has never held a private conversation with Harry (or even a substantial conversation of any sort at all), she feels a sort of blind affection for him.

Slowly, as she pries her eyes from the stars, Quinn finds that her anger is involuntarily melting away. With her gaze floating leisurely toward Hermione, she meets her stare there for a moment in contemplation. As Quinn stands now, it is as though she is gazing across at Hermione from the opposite side of a gaping canyon. Hermione is there, on the other side, but just out of reach. Between them lies a vacuum of everything that Quinn has neglected to tell her - or, really, has been unable to tell her. Still, Quinn reaches for her, her fingers arcing to touch. But the canyon is deep and vast, and Quinn's eyes turn to the stars again.

It occurs to her suddenly that the true nature of time is fleeting.

"Sit with me," Quinn sighs severely. "Just for a minute."

Hermione looks absolutely puzzled but, to her credit, she says nothing. She only walks a few paces with Quinn to the swell of a small hill and sits with her there, a good arm's length between them.

For several minutes, neither of them says a word.

"I used to be in chorus," mutters Quinn out of the blue as she picks idly at a few blades of grass. Hermione and she both know that she is prolonging the inevitable. Though, to be fair, only Quinn knows what the 'inevitable' entails.

"Do you sing?" Hermione indulges her softly.

In response, at first, Quinn merely shrugs.

"I don't know," a wry smile crosses Quinn's lips. "maybe just a little."

Out of the corners of her eyes, Quinn thinks that she catches the tiniest of smiles settling on Hermione's lips. Quinn's main focus remains on her plucking of grass, however.

"It was fun," Quinn continues uncertainly. "chorus - or Glee Club, really, was what we called it," abruptly self-conscious, she clears her throat. "It's funny. Originally, I had only joined as a spy. I was Head Cheerleader for my school's cheer squad, and my coach wanted me to help her destroy it the Glee Club. To be fair, I also wanted to keep an eye on my then-boyfriend," the final words send an uncomfortable shudder down Quinn's spine. It doesn't help her nerves, either, that Hermione's gaze is on her now, intense and unwavering.

"I won't try to make myself out to be someone of redeemed quality," maintains Quinn as her fingers swirl unconsciously over her small pile of plucked grass. "In a way, I guess I regret some of the things I did, and in another manner of speaking, I suppose I don't really," she shrugs, feeling her mouth growing drier by the second.

Her anxiety is high and climbing higher still. She knows what she must do, what she must say, and yet this does not cease to terrify her. The thought alone of having to formulate the words after keeping them restricted for so long made her want to vomit. Quinn loathes the idea of this lack of control. Soon the gavel of judgment would be out of her hands and resting, instead, snugly in Hermione's. This frightens her more than she can say.

"I've made a lot of mistakes," Quinn breathes the words, constricted and quiet. "I've put myself and my... my body through a lot. My sophomore year," she swallows the toxic bile that rises in her throat, but still there is a visible quake in her words. Catching this, Hermione seems to hesitate herself - her fingers spreading out as though she had considered touching them to some part of Quinn in a show of comfort. Yet Quinn knows she is inaccessible. If either of them is to reach the other on the other side of that canyon, Quinn would need to be the one to descend her own - in essence, to jump.

This would be her first descent.

"I messed up," says Quinn, detaching herself from the words. "I got pregnant. I was fifteen."

The words hang in the air like stains. Quinn could not have washed them away regardless of how much she had wanted to. They are there, and there is no wiping them clean. They are permanent, but they had acted as her first plunge. Nevertheless, it would be entirely up to Hermione as to the damage done by this harrowing fall.

It's nearly sick, Quinn assumes, how eagerly that Quinn wishes that she could look upon Hermione's face. What is she thinking? Is she repulsed? Would she judge Quinn for the worst? God, does Quinn ever want to know, and yet all the same, she finds herself trembling as she draws her arms back into herself. Abandoning all form of play with the blades of grass, Quinn wraps her arms around herself, trying to make it appear as though she's simply cold. In spite of her careful ministrations, her own words still act as a grave trigger for Quinn. In her mind - still riddled and bleeding from the experience of her pregnancy and the events thereafter - she recollects the experience and nearly chokes her urge to cry.

Later, she begs herself, limbs still noticeably shaking as she tightens her grip around herself. Yet she can bare one particular thought no longer. Her eyes, unintentionally round and pleading, turn against their mistress and gaze upon Hermione. They first look into her face, soft and pleasant. Soon after, Quinn discovers Hermione's full yet taut lips. As far as Quinn can tell, she isn't frowning. Admittedly, though, the increasing darkness doesn't aid in this discovery. Veritably, it is Hermione's eyes that tell the entirety of the story.

Dark and pensive, they behold Quinn with a sort of sublime affinity. They are thoughtful but void of judgment. Had there been any previous decrees labeled in the depths of Hermione's eyes, they are gone now - replaced with the essence of enlightenment, understanding, and - it seems - sorrow. As though embarrassed and unwilling to face her tribulations reflected in another's eyes, Quinn turns her stare away and glowers once more at the stars - this time with her head bent and her chin resting upon her knees.

"I had no idea," Hermione's voice comes several seconds after Quinn's revelation (which seems now days-old in contrast). Her tone is reserved, even mournful.

"You are the first person I've told," the words nearly suffocate Quinn on their journey out.

They are met with another equally profound silence. The distance between Hermione and Quinn acts as a farce to them now as their discussion progresses.

"I gave... the baby up for adoption," Quinn adds in monotone. "to a nice woman. I'm sure they're happy," but I'm not. It is with much difficulty that she keeps these words within herself, but Quinn manages. "I had to leave. Nothing was the same after that. So, I convinced my mother to come here, to England, so I could try to feel normal again."

A sense of déjà vu bids Quinn welcome in the question following.

"Why England?" Hermione asks this so softly that Quinn nearly misses it.

"Just a feeling," a brooding smile appears on Quinn's face. "I guess I know now that it was more than just a common hunch."

In different circumstances, they probably could have shared a laugh at this, but it is only weighted quiet that follows. Oddly enough, however, Quinn experiences, too, a kind of buoyancy. Her chest, formerly constricted with the anguish of her confession, feels only placidly aching if not mostly relaxed. She feels positively lighter in comparison to before.

"You have been through quite a lot," Hermione murmurs thoughtfully.

"I'm not looking for your pity," replies Quinn at once, her newfound weightlessness bringing with it a bit of her old spark.

Patiently, Hermione shakes her head.

"And I am not looking to degrade you with it," she tells her serenely. "I feel for you, though, Quinn. I feel for you, and I almost feel, too, as though I now have glimpsed the beginnings of who it is you are," those dark, deliberating eyes rest fully upon Quinn now as Hermione angles her body more toward the blonde. "But I do not - and will not - pity you. You are above that."

Fresh heat, foreign in the face of the autumn cold, spills across Quinn's body. It visits first her cheeks followed shortly by her ears and her neck, her chest and her stomach. Soon, her entire body from head to toe-tips feels to be on fire with both flames and pinheads. Quinn is on her feet before she realizes it with Hermione quickly following suit.

"That's all I have to say," Quinn informs her plainly, the stars reflected in her deep green eyes. "Thank you for... for sitting with me." in her pockets, her fingernails pull violently at the seams of her sweater's material. She feels uncomfortably hot and suddenly wishes that the sweater had not been on her at all, despite the chill.

Though Quinn continues to look elsewhere, she can still feel Hermione's piercing gaze. It feels to stare straight through her.

"That you would tell me any of this speaks volumes to me," comes Hermione's tender reply.

Quinn licks her lips and tries desperately to pull her own eyes off the sky to meet Hermione's gaze.

"And if you tell anyone I'll -"

But she stops. Her unfinished threat falters and then flounders before them as they stare into each other's eyes. A silent understanding looks to have passed between them in this moment.

"I wouldn't dream of telling a soul, Quinn," Hermione affirms, chancing to move a single step forward.

"Not even Harry," Quinn is saying fiercely before she can catch herself. "or Ron, or anyone."

Hermione watches her with firm resolve.

"No one. No one at all."

"Good," mumbles Quinn, gazing off to her left then, incapable of holding Hermione's gaze any longer.

They stand once more as though suspended in both space and time. There is no curfew, no absent sun. There is only Quinn and Hermione on a small hilltop just shy of the castle.

"I would like a chance to know you, Quinn," Hermione discloses to her delicately, edging another pace forward. "outside of any obligation, just you and I - meeting of our own accord. I wouldn't be your instructor, and you wouldn't be my pupil," even in the darkness, Hermione's eyes - which Quinn had since taken to - look to shine with prospect. "I would just be Hermione, and you... you would just be Quinn."

There is a pause before Hermione sums it all up with a cordial yet definitive request:

"Will you allow me this?"

Quinn could hear her own blood thumping wretchedly in her ears. Wordlessly, she thanks the sun for stealing away with its light, for concealing her face which she knows to be cherry red. She swallows, her mind ticking away with the weight of Hermione's proposition. Quinn can barely think, much less conjure up the words that fall short of her mind's present abilities. She can only nod, bob her head once up and down; and this seems to do the trick. Hermione takes to her muted response with a tentative smile.

"The library," says Hermione. "Will you meet me there tomorrow just before lunch hour?"

Before Quinn can hoarsely voice her misgivings about Madame Pince, Hermione flashes a certain grin at her - as though having read her mind.

"I know a particular spot where we will go unheard," she contends. "Trust me."

"If you say so," Quinn says at last, unexpectedly and quite awkwardly discovering her voice a good octave lower than usual. She clears her throat at once, sharp needle-points stabbing at her cheeks at the horror of it all.

"Magnificent," whispers Hermione as she takes in Quinn's appearance. "I'll see you there, then?"

When Quinn only nods, Hermione seems to prepare herself for the trek back up to the castle. Their curfew now seems to loom treacherously over their heads, and yet something looks to hold Hermione back. Quinn, with her hands still in her pockets, watches as Hermione pauses mid-step, an imaginative yet indiscernible thought bubble poised above her head. In an instant, Hermione puts her foot down before turning her body away from the castle and back toward Quinn. What happens next seems to occur of its own accord, without any sort of participation on Quinn's part.

Hermione's arms are wrapped around Quinn before the blonde can think to thrust her backward. As though a victim of spontaneous combustion, the heat that had previously inhabited Quinn's body explodes with devastating force to every inch of and immediately around Quinn. Her heart, too, quickly jumps to her tapered throat where Quinn thinks she audibly chokes on it. Yet it must have gone unheard for soon Hermione is bidding her goodbye and beginning up the slope toward the castle, insisting that Quinn follow along, as well. Quinn, however, feels rooted to the spot, her entire body a display of unseen flames. She is left but to stare after Hermione's wake, her eyes slightly wider than before, fearing for the damage that has just been done by this unwarranted touch.

But nothing comes. Though hotter and more perplexed for it, Quinn's mind shows no signs of death or gore, foresight or prophecy. Quinn had been touched and fared well enough psychologically to relive the tale.

Breathing somewhat excitedly now, her eyes trail Hermione as she disappears further along the field toward Hogwarts castle. For a moment, she thinks that she hears Hermione call for her, but this comes in tangent with a pulsing thought that bars Quinn's mind from all else.

Has Quinn's strict derailment of touch all been for naught? or had there been a reason that Hermione's embrace had triggered not a single vision?

For the first time in months as Quinn follows Hermione's retreat toward the entrance hall, Quinn discovers that her usual menacing sadness has been replaced with what almost feels like giddy curiosity.