September 1998
Nearly a month into term, Hogwarts still feels strange. Harry's absence aches like a deep bruise, but the one-line letters he sends — full of excitement about training and the Auror department in general — lessen that pain. Hermione can't truly miss him when she knows he's far happier there than he would be at Hogwarts.
Even if the other half of his letters are spent telling her how much he misses Ginny. His concerns he may not remember the exact pattern of her freckles or the curve of her waist something Hermione could have gone her life without reading.
His devotion does sting in some strange way, though. Seeing how much Harry misses Ginny, even with all the distractions of the outside world, when Ron barely seems to notice Hermione exists outside of when she can give him something — usually one specific thing.
He's adjusted far more easily to Harry's absence. Falling in with Seamus, Ernie Macmillan, and a few of the older Gryffindor boys. Only Neville the exception, the way he has been so much of their Hogwarts experience.
Hermione would more spend time with him, but he's oddly awkward about his new hero status — hasn't accepted it with the same ease Ron has — and has taken to hiding himself away in the greenhouses.
Letting Professor Sprout ward off the sixth years who come and make crude gestures as they 'tend' to the bubotuber plants. Run their eyes over him as they appreciate his new height and broad shoulders. Hermione's heard them ask questions about 'the sword' and how well he can wield it that make Neville blush pink and the girls giggle among themselves. At least until the Professor comes along to berate them for disturbing her apprentice.
Neville had taken the same Auror test as Harry and Ron before Sprout offered him the position. And technically, he had passed, was going to be joining the rest of them before he accepted Sprout's offer — apparently far happier tending to plants than hunting down Death Eaters.
It's caused something of a rift with Ron, though. The other reason Neville spends so much time out of the tower. Hermione's heard enough of Ron's well-meaning questions about how Neville could give up the 'chance of a lifetime' to become a professor to know their dorm probably isn't as harmonic as hers and Lavender's.
So, she can't begrudge Neville his respite. Not when her meals are often disturbed by excited first years, and she can barely spend time in the common room for all the awed looks she gets — silently wishing her own Professor would come and ward them off.
Instead, she's spent the majority of her time flitting between classes and her dormitory. Enjoying the space and peace that it just being her and Lavender brings. They're in few of the same classes — Lavender taking Divination where Hermione's takes Arithmancy, Herbology for Hermione's Ancient Runes etc., but they still see each other often enough.
Still spent their nights curled up next to each other, the only way Hermione can sleep. Especially considering the grounds are still unsettling — her skin prickling at odd moments when there's no reason to.
When she's around her friends, and Hermione knows there's no danger despite some instinctual part of her brain screaming at her there is. Part of her that makes her hair stand on end and her muscles tense. Begs her to run because she somehow knows fighting is useless.
Her blood runs cold as she looks around, hoping someone else feels it too. That it's not just some figment of her imagination, but no one else seems to notice. All oblivious to, or ignoring, the wrongness that's seeped over the grounds.
They all seem unaware of the moments when Hermione swears she's being hunted. Feels eyes settle on her skin, an almost itchy feeling that makes her shift uncomfortably. Makes her glance over her shoulder and grip her wand between her fingers only to turn a corner and find Lavender looking at her in confusion.
She wishes she could chalk it up to the war. Hermione knows people who survive them often become more sensitive to things that remind them of it, but something tells her it's not just that.
That something's not right because while she's the only person who has those moments of bone-chilling terror, the grounds are still disconcerting a way they've never been before.
The forest more alive than it was before the war. Strange noises echo out of it at night — like there's something screaming. Howling. The students seem determined to ignore it, laugh it off, saying Snape must have taken to haunting the Shack, but Hermione's spent enough time in the woods to know something has changed.
That something is wrong.
As sure as she is, though, Hermione can also explain it to a certain extent. Supposes the creatures living there are sure to have been disturbed by the battle. By that much dark magic happening in one place and by whatever happened to Harry — how he was reincarnated somehow. Hermione can understand why the forest seems restless, and if it were just the noises, she could ignore it — but it's not.
It's the animals that have her on edge.
That makes her think there's more the way her spine stiffens at seemingly random moments. How she can suddenly only focus on how to get out and away — on how to run.
The animals that Hagrid finds in pieces around the grounds. Torn apart like Dolohov was. Organs with chunks missing, sometimes just gone entirely. Their bodies ripped open, all as horrific as the Death Eater's corpse had been. Carcasses found on the very edge of the forest, nestled in the tree line but easy enough to find.
Hermione wishes they could do more. That she could explain how sure she is there's something out there, but it's not as if they can report some dead animals to the Aurors. Not with how busy they are hunting down the remaining Death Eaters.
So instead, they're left to give the usual warnings to avoid the woods. The students for once taking heed of the lectures, the glimpses they've caught enough to ward them away.
But even though she knows whatever it is doesn't seem to be encroaching any further — staying hidden in the safety of the forest, despite how uneasy Hermione feels even within the castle — each new body sets her further on edge.
Reminds her she doesn't know what's doing it. That not even Hagrid does for all his knowledge of magical creatures and the forest itself. That when she asked the half-giant, he'd only said something had changed. That there was something in the woods disturbing the rest of the creatures — upsetting the balance there had always been.
Most people still seem to think it's the Acromantula's — an easy enough explanation. Images of them crawling through the battle enough to make Hermione shiver when they flash through her nightmares. Just the memory of them is enough to explain why people are so willing to blame them.
But there are still things that don't quite fit.
When they'd been hunting down Slytherin's monster, Hermione researched every creature know to be on Hogwarts grounds. Spent days reading passages about how they hunted. How they killed.
She knows the hallmarks of an Acromantula's victim, and the animals bear none of them. Their bodies should be in pieces. Ripped apart rather than having their abdomens torn open and their organs pulled out.
There should be deep, gouge like bite marks along the limbs. Chunks missing from the muscles. Spider webs covering the bodies, holding their prey in place as they tear limb from torso, feasting on the flesh.
And yet, there are none of these signs. The scenes are bloody and horrific, but they're not right. The unsettling realisation telling Hermione that whatever has her on edge is somehow worse than man-eating spiders.
Her body tenses again at the thought. The urge to flee tries to overwhelm her as she's reminded of Dolohov and that night with Lavender all over again. How close they'd been to whatever did it.
Flashes of it waking her from sleep more often she'd like, there's at least the reassurance of Lavender next to her. The other girl soothing her back to sleep when Hermione's nightmares wake them.
Offering reassuring words rather than the oppressive weight of Ron's body above hers. Lavender runs gentle fingers through her hair, her presence reassuring Hermione the same way it always has, even when there's still ice rushing through her veins. Terror that makes her limbs tense.
It always takes her longer than it should to calm down. Part of her listening out for something that isn't there. Some primal part of her brain sure she's in still danger, but eventually, she gets to sleep. Finally starts to feel rested after months of running on the bare minimum.
As much as Hermione's comforted by Lavender, though, the other girl also makes for a whole new collection of concerns. The glow she'd returned to school with dimming as the term drags on, Hermione knows she's sleeping as well as can be expected. The two of them curved around each other; she wakes Lavender more often than the other girl does her, so it's not like she's just exhausted.
Instead, she looks ill. Sickly. Washed of colour, the life draining out of her the longer the month drags on. Her lips are dry and chapped when Hermione casts her eyes down to them and her hair is brittle as it brushes Hermione's shoulders when it used to be soft like silk.
Something is wrong.
Even Lavender eyes seem strangely dead, and Hermione sometimes catches her just staring into nothing, her mind trapped in another place. One she jerks out of violently even when Hermione says her name, but that Lavender refuses to discuss whenever she asks if the blonde's okay.
She can't bring herself to press, though. Not when the thought of someone interrogating Hermione about those seconds, minutes, hours, she doesn't know , writhing under Bellatrix's wand makes her skin prickle. Makes her whole body tense. Ready to run or fight some enemy that isn't there — only well-meaning friends with poorly worded questions.
So, Hermione doesn't push. Even when Lavender seems so different to the girl she was before the war. Falls quiet in moments she would have babbled excitedly about whatever the stars were saying that day. Doesn't question when she no longer offers the reassurances and encouragements she's always given the first years.
Hermione doesn't comment even when Lavender avoids the crowd of the common room to sit quietly with her upstairs. Abandons the boys to their chess matches and the frivolity that neither of them can tolerate anymore.
Instead, Lavender leaves Ron, and the rest of them with harsh words and cutting eyes that make Hermione shiver for reasons she's can't fully explain. Before the war, Lavender would have joked that she and Hermione were going to have their slumber party in peace.
Ron would have complained about Hermione leaving him and Harry. Never quite understanding her and Lavender's friendship — demanding of attention as usual — but Lavender would soothe his ruffled feathers. Leave the boys with their imaginations running wild, but she no longer offers them that luxury. Just disappears with Hermione, daring them to say something.
They still do, of course. Make the same jokes, despite distasteful as they are. Seamus nudging Ron about whether he needs to worry Hermione's interests lie elsewhere — not that any of them realise the irony of their comments.
Even if the rest of returning to the castle has been unsettling, that's the one relief — the distance from Ron and his reaching hands. Hermione still hasn't quite worked up the courage to break things off, but the castle has provided some much-needed distance.
Let's her drift to sleep next to Lavender instead of Ron and his expectations. The two of them silent next to each other. Falling into an unsteady sleep made easier by the other's presence.
They're both changed by the war. Even Lavender, for all Hermione first thought she didn't seem to be touched by it. At times the other girl hides it better, but she's equally affected.
Hermione's tired — exhausted after the years of fighting. She can't bring herself to start another battle by trying to explain that she doesn't know how she feels about Ron. But that she can admit to herself she doesn't have the strength to try and end their relationship . She lacks the boundless energy, and tightly held belief things will always work out for the best that she used to have.
Her younger self would be horrified, but Hermione just doesn't have it in her to fight anymore — even if part of her hates this person she's become.
Besides, Lavender's changed too. The pair of them jaded by life, and the war, and the scars that neither can actually see. Where Hermione's exhausted, Lavender's almost vicious.
Harsher than the kind-hearted girl she'd once been. She bounces between quiet and withdrawn, lashing out at anyone who looks too long, and glittering, almost glowing, trying to catch the attention of anyone willing to look — even as sick as she is.
She refuses to listen to Hermione's pleas to see Madam Pomphrey. Picks at her food during meals while Hermione tries bribing her with the overly sweet tea Lavender's always preferred — hoping it will put some colour back in the other girl's cheeks, but nothing seems to work. She just keeps getting paler and sicker.
The bags under her eyes darkening to the point Hermione even protested Lavender coming with her to the library. She never thought she'd argue against it; has spent her entire Hogwarts experience trying to coax the other girl into coming with her to study, but the rest seems like it'll be more beneficial than time with the books.
Lavender refused, though. Insisted on coming with Hermione even though she hasn't opened a book since they got here. Instead, she's stared around the stacks. Tracking the movement of the other students, her eyes rimmed red from exhaustion — red lines running through them where capillaries have burst.
Looking at her, Hermione has to say something. Asks, "Are you feeling okay?" in the least combative voice she can manage.
Lavender tenses as the question, looks at Hermione with a scathing expression that makes her tense as the other girl spits back, "I told you I'm fine."
"I know — I'm just worried, I guess."
The other girl lets out an exasperated sigh at Hermione's words, replies, "Sorry, I'm just so sick of everyone asking me that question like I'm not totally fine. Sure, maybe I'm not babbling away like I would have at thirteen, but we've been through a war since then, so you'd think I'd be allowed to get away without a glamour charm for one day."
Hermione nods along with Lavender rant, assumes it something she needs to get out of her system, even if she doesn't completely believe she's fine.
Hums in agreement as the blonde continues, "Did you know Seamus asked me if I had PMS yesterday? I nearly killed him."
Hermione feels a familiar wash of irritation at Seamus's lack of tact. Has unfortunately been asked the question once or twice before Harry and Ron finally clued onto the fact it wasn't a good idea.
"Arsehole," Hermione agrees to appease Lavender.
The other girl nods in agreement as she continues, "Exactly — and I'm not, by the way. As if it's even a real thing and not some excuse they invented to make us seem crazy. I swear, one day, one of them will push me too far, and I will kill them."
Something about the words makes Hermione's blood freeze again. She wants to believe the other girl is joking. Is nearly certain she is, but there's something about the conviction in her tone, the coldness of Lavender's words, that makes Hermione's smile unsure as she tries to laugh in response.
Replying, "I'm sure they're not all that bad."
"No," Lavender hums before her tone darkens again, words dripping with barely repressed fury, "But some of them are."
Her rage is so unexpected; it makes Hermione pause. Stops her from knowing how to respond as Lavender shoots her a mean smile like she expects her to agree, and Hermione supposes she has to — some of them are that bad.
For every dream she has of Bellatrix, there's one of Greyback's breath ghosting across her cheek. His nails digging into her skin, and his threats — promises — ringing in her ears as she jerks awake.
His words echoing, she swears she can still feel him at times. Her body tensing the same way it had as she'd fought against his grip while he described the foul things he would do to her body.
Even the memory of it haunts her, and Hermione knows if she was given the chance, she'd make sure he could never follow through.
The thought he's still out there, that no one knows where he is, unsettles her more than Hermione wants to admit, but something in Lavender's tone and expression makes her breath waver as she inhales. The oxygen not quite penetrating the fog that washes over her brain as part of her can't believe Lavender not joking.
Is almost sure she isn't.
More so, when an expression so dark it makes Hermione shiver crosses her face. Makes her follow Lavender's gaze just in time for the two of them to see Crabbe follow Daphne Greengrass down one of the aisles.
He's not exactly one of the library's usual patrons but seeing his hulking form shadow Daphne's petite one sends alarm bells ringing through Hermione's mind. Warnings that are passed around the girls' dormitories suddenly springing to the forefront of her brain.
Lavender's up before Hermione can even get out of her seat. Pops up, face like thunder; Hermione flashes back to that night again but doesn't shiver this time. Feels oddly reassured by the determination on the other girl's face.
Watches her leave with the parting remark, "some of them are like him," as she sets off in the direction Greengrass and Crabbe just went.
There are some things that are given regardless of house rivalries. Wide-eyed expressions that go far beyond Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff, or even Slytherin. Millicent Bulstrode 'accidentally spilling a drink down Hermione's dress to give her an excuse to get away from McLaggen at Slughorn's Christmas party. Luna urgently needing to show someone nargles or some other creature no one can see.
Silent, unspoken moments between them. Never discussed but always appreciated. Part of Hermione thinks she should follow Lavender — remembers the darkness of Crabbe's eyes, and advice never to be caught alone with him, but even with just the thought of Lavender's expression as she set off after them, Hermione somehow knows she isn't needed.
Instead, she sits and watches. Sees Daphne escape the aisle, Lavender following a moment later, disappearing with a slight wave in Hermione's direction. Crabbe emerges a few seconds after that, clearly having given up whatever he had planned.
Lavender never returns to the library. Leaves Hermione alone to her studies, the sun sets at some point, but she doesn't notice. Enthralled by her Arithmancy texts, she barely notices the passing hours.
At least until she has one of those strange moments of panic. A cold feeling rushes over her, makes her heart hammer, but it feels different somehow. Less like eyes watching her and more like an awareness that something's about to happen. Something bad.
It makes Hermione glance around frantically. Reach for her wand before she even realises what she's doing, she tries to take steady breaths, but it doesn't work. Her heart continues to pound even though there's nothing there.
Just her brain playing tricks on her, Hermione thinks she can hear screaming from the woods again. Looks out the window to find darkness and wonders if the screams are different somehow — almost more human.
The thought makes her shiver, but there's still no cause. The screams disappear as if they'd never even happened, and there's no one else in the library who can confirm whether they were real or not, so Hermione's forced to assume it's her imagination again.
That fear that's followed her from the war until now.
She's still uneasy alone in the library, though. The familiar, comforting stacks made unwelcoming by shadows that seem to move in the flickering candlelight. Darkness that twitches and reminds her of one unsettling night.
The coldness of the castle seeps into her bones, makes her shiver again for reasons Hermione can't explain. She wants to assume it's just September in the Highlands but somehow knows it's not.
Instead, she uses the wand she still hasn't let go of to cast a tempus. Let's out a sigh when she sees how late it is. She's not only missed dinner but most of the evening too. Were she anything but an 8th Year — given all the privileges an adult should have despite living in the castle — she would be risking detention, but instead, she just risks going hungry for the night.
A thought that prompts her to stop by the kitchens and hope the house-elves are feeling generous. Letting the warmth of stoves and food they produced far quicker than Hermione ever could wash away that lingering unsettled feeling.
Two years ago, she never would have come down to kitchens. The elves still not trusting her after S.P.E.W., but they made their peace after the battle. Hermione will never agree with the practice, but after some explanations regarding different types of magic and bond, she's at least more willing to accept their assistance.
It's so late by the time Hermione creeps into the tower that the common room is empty. Something that makes her let out a breath relieved Ron's not there to greet her with goodnight kisses and suggestions she join him in the boys' dormitory for the night — as if that were ever an appealing suggestion.
Instead, she heads upstairs undisturbed. Climbs into bed with one of the romances the boys can never know she likes to read while Lavender's still in the shower. Glances up as the door opens and feels her heart stop at the sight of her.
Lavender.
Suddenly completely fine. Glowing even in the low light of their dormitory, the sickliness that she had early completely vanished. Her lips plush and soft again when Hermione's gaze flicks down towards them, her cheeks have their usual pink colour back, and her hair seems to shine.
She's beautiful. Makes Hermione's heart flutter when Lavender's soft blue eyes — suddenly sparking with life again — meet her own brown. Mischief glints out of them as the other girl crawls up the bed towards her.
Almost makes Hermione forget the promises they've both made as she says, "Oh good! You're back — I was worried I'd have to sleep without you."
She presses a kiss to Hermione's cheek that's just a bit too close to her lips to be friendly, but that she'd never dream of pushing away — still reeling from it as the other girl nestles into Hermione's side without mentioning her miraculous recovery.
Part of Hermione thinks she should question it. Magic can heal plenty of injuries, make a cold disappear near-instantly with Pepper-Up, but she's never seen someone recover quite so quickly from being as ill as Lavender was.
She finds she doesn't care, though. Almost would rather not know. Just accept her health for what it is. It's a strange thought for someone as naturally curious as Hermione, but she'd rather Lavender be healthy and not know the reason why than have the opposite be true.
Instead, she's left to focus on the warmth of the other girl's body pressed against her own. It's not like it's the first time they've lain like this. Far from it, in fact, most nights spent side by side, but Hermione still finds her heart pounding.
The way Lavender's entwined their bodies, wrapped herself in Hermione's arms, and threaded their legs together makes her heart stutter as she recalls memories she's supposed to be forgetting.
Lavender distracts her, though. Rests her head against Hermione's chest, the blonde's breath ghosting over her skin for a second before the other girl chuckles softly.
The feeling vibrating through both their chests as she says, "Your heart is racing."
There's nothing Hermione can say in response. No explanation she can give, but she doesn't have to. The other girl closes her eyes for the night as soon as she says it and somehow falls asleep immediately — like she hasn't been able to do so for weeks.
Hermione follows quickly after but finds it's far less peaceful. Wakes randomly with the screams from the library ringing in her ears. The ones she still doesn't know if were real or not. Something about them echoes in her mind — refuses to let her rest.
It's not just that, though. There's that same itchy feeling that throws her from sleep each time it settles over her. Leaves Hermione sure that something is watching even though she knows there's nothing's there.
Lavender's passed out next to her — oblivious to Hermione's nightmare for the first time they've been back — she finds she doesn't mind, though. Uses those minutes she's awake and trying to get her racing heart and screaming brain under control to confirm to herself that Lavender is okay.
Watches her long lashes brush against her cheeks as the other girl sleeps peacefully. Her body warm — almost overly so — where they're pressed together. Hermione may not sleep well, but she still feels rested, knowing that Lavender's okay.
She's awake again as the sun peeps over the forest. Finds she can't stay in bed anymore despite how poorly she slept and instead creeps out of the tower before she risks running into anyone else.
The castle should be quiet. The usual hubbub of students saved for between classes and the rush for breakfast, but as she wanders, Hermione catches a glimpse of commotion out near the forest.
The staff stand in a circle, joined by what looks like Aurors, and Hermione finds herself heading towards them before she even realises what she's doing. Wanders across the grounds before any of them can stop her and sees something thick and almost sticky looking coating the grass.
A deep crimson that stands out starkly from the frost-covered ground, part of her already knows what it is.
Blood.
More than any of the previous attacks. So much so it almost reminds her of Dolohov. A thought that makes her heart stop and forces her to trace from the splattered edges to the large pool. Noting chunks that make her stomach turn.
Places where the blood has curdled but also lumps that Hermione can't identify, doesn't want to consider what they may be. It almost makes her dry heave — her throat twitching at the sight.
And there in the centre is what's caused all the fuss. Why Hagrid hasn't been left to deal with the carcass alone, and why the Aurors have appeared for a change.
It's Crabbe.
His chest torn open. Pieces of him scattered across the ground and terror permanently etched onto his face.
December 1994
Hermione doesn't know why she's surprised Ron ruined her night. Sits on the steps as she tries to suppress tears and somehow knows it was always going to end like this. That no matter how much she wanted the night to be the perfect fairytale she had imagined, Ron's petty jealousy was always going to ruin everything.
As she sits there, she can even admit to herself that's why she waited to tell him. To tell anyone — not even having told Lavender as she helped Hermione get ready. She had just wanted to let the fantasy live on a little longer.
And it had. The night started perfectly. She and Lavender giggling nervously as they got ready. Running fingers through each other's hair with excited smiles at the thought of what the evening would bring. Hadn't even pushed when Hermione refused to say who she was going with.
Had merely nodded and made Hermione promise to find her during the ball — that they were going to take at least one photo together on the night she actually let Lavender do her makeup. Subjected herself to Lavender's wand and the potions her friend had been dying to use on her since first year.
Hermione can even admit she liked it — the way Lavender had softened her curls. Coaxed them into a pretty updo but hasn't got rid of them completely. Simply made them more manageable. She's still very much recognisable as herself, but just looks more polished. More like the woman she hopes the one day become rather than the child she's leaving behind.
She floated through most of the evening on a high. The startled silence of the hall when they entered, Lavender's excited smile, her tight embrace when they caught up again — full of excitement for her friend and wanting to know all the details.
For a second, Hermione thought she felt a flash of disappointment. Like part of her was hoping Lavender would be anything other than thrilled for her, like she was searching for something in the other girl's reaction — but the notion was ridiculous.
It made no sense; there was no reason Hermione wouldn't want Lavender to be happy for her, so she pushed that confused thought to the side. Let it rest among those other fleeting moments that Hermione doesn't let herself analyse for fear of not knowing what they mean.
The first night curled around each other, the slight sting of finding out Lavender had been invited to Hogsmeade by one of the fourth years last January, even finding out the other girl was going with Seamus to the ball. An uncomfortable feeling had settled over her chest through all of them, one Hermione's never been able to understand, so has always forced herself to ignore.
Focus on anything else but what she can't explain. It usually provides her with some measure of relief — rationalising the other parts of her life to ignore the ones she can't, but with the way the rest of the evening has gone, she's still overwhelmed.
Stuck on the steps, thinking about how she's abandoned Viktor somewhere, but that she doesn't have it in her to care. Not when she's still reeling from the sting of Ron's actions. She wasn't lying; part of her had always expected him to ruin her night. Petty and jealous, he could never let her have one night to shine, but there's something about his callous disregard that's stuck with her.
Perhaps it's because he sometimes elicits that same strange feeling in her chest. The one she can't explain. It only happens occasionally — when he's been especially courteous. Like when he'd dismissed the need for Sirius to pay him back for being Harry's friend. Something had fluttered in Hermione's chest then, and when he'd invited her to come to the Quidditch Cup, even knowing she likely wouldn't have been as excited about it as he was.
There have been enough times she's looked at his blue eyes felt warmth rush over her, but its had been absent all term. Disappeared as soon as he'd abandoned Harry, it still hasn't made its way back to her. Leaving Hermione to see his actions for what they are rather than through the haze of fondness that sometimes clouds her vision.
It's that awareness that makes his words hurt even more, though — knowing that he truly didn't see her as a viable option to ask to the ball except as anything but a last resort. And worse, that his words had likely been cutting because part of him wants her to ache as much as he is — as if she'd actually done anything to hurt him.
She knew she should go and find Viktor. That he'd been a perfect gentleman all night and doesn't deserve to be abandoned so she can mull over Ron Weasley's words, but Hermione can't get herself to move.
Knows that plenty of people saw her and Ron's argument. That their eyes will be judging if she reappears back in the hall — that they'll look at her red-rimmed eyes, and where her makeup has no doubt run and raise their eyebrows like Hermione should have known she couldn't even have the one night.
The thought tears another sniffle from her. The idea the world seems so against her forces her to press hands to her face and take deep breaths while she attempts to calm herself. She still has her eyes covered when she feels someone approach and somehow knows it's Lavender.
Confirms as much when her senses are overwhelmed by the soft scent of strawberries. A weight dropping next to her as the other girl takes a seat at her side. Hermione takes another breath before she turns to look at her. Sees Lavender smiling softly at her and is immediately relieved it's not a look of pity — thinks something may break in her if it was.
Instead, the other raises her eyebrows slightly before she asks "Viktor Krum" with a smirk.
The words full of mischief and teasing in the best way possible, they make Hermione suppress a smile — completely forgetting her previous melancholy as she recalls the way her evening started.
"Viktor Krum," Hermione nods, can feel the smile win against her attempts to fight it as she and Lavender stare at each other for a moment before they both burst into laughter.
The other girl slaps her light as she reprimands, "I can't believe you didn't tell me Viktor Krum asked you to the Yule Ball, you bitch."
"I could hardly believe it happened myself," she protests. "I would have told you, really, I would. I think I was just still processing that he'd even asked me. "
She stresses the last word. Tries to make it clear she knows exactly how bizarre the whole situation is. That she — Hermione Granger: boring, swotty, mudblood — was asked the Yule Ball by Viktor Krum, but Lavender doesn't seem to understand what she's implying.
Looks back at her as if she's stupid — an expression Hermione's not sure she ever wants to see again and was certainly unfamiliar with until this point — as Lavender smiles and asks, "Well, why wouldn't he? As if there was a better option than you."
Warmth rushes through Hermione at the other girl's words. Any of the lingering pain from Ron's harsh words and disregard vanish as Lavender dismisses all of her concerns. Looks at Hermione like she's being ridiculous, and there truly was no better option for Viktor Krum to take the ball. The expression on her face so earnest Hermione can't help but believe it — even for just a few moments.
At some point, Lavender had entwined their hands. Uses her grip on Hermione's to pull her up, instructing, "Come on. We're going to clean you up, and then you're going to back out there as if nothing ever happened because I refuse to let Ronald Weasley ruin your night just because he can't cope with the fact he's got a crush on you and Viktor Krum."
From there, she ushers Hermione into the bathroom. One that's miraculously empty as she forces Hermione to rest against the sink. Turning her head this way and that as she mutters spells from memory — all of them seemingly without thinking. An impressive display of magic that Hermione's finally at the point she can appreciate.
She and Lavender may have very different aspirations in life and appreciations for different types of magic, but she can't deny the other girl's charm work is exemplary, and her glamours are probably far beyond anything Hermione can do herself.
So instead of protesting, she just lets herself be fussed over. Enjoys the feel of Lavender's fingertips as they trace across her skin. Let's the other girl straighten the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. One that looks out of place, childish with its BFF proclamation but that Hermione couldn't bear to take off. Sees Lavender's identical chain hanging around her own neck and knows she made the right choice.
The blonde's soft scent and proximity make Hermione's brain haze. Even as much as she wants to assume it's from the evening as a whole — excitement, exhaustion, whatever she's fairly certain the Weasley Twins slipped into the punch — and not the other girl herself.
Thinks ahead to the rest of the night and the fantasies she's had about the end of it. Ones she's barely admitted to herself but finds overwhelming her slightly at the thought of them. At her own inexperience. Finds her brows furrowing the more she thinks about it, unthinkingly draws one side of her bottom lips between her teeth as she worries.
Lavender notices, of course. Finished with putting her back together again, she takes Hermione's hands, holds them in her own as she asks softly, "What?"
She can't quite believe she's about to admit it, but something about the way Lavender looks at her, the gentle squeeze she gives Hermione's hands, and the softness of her expression draws it out of Hermione, "What if — what if Viktor wants to kiss me?"
It's barely a whisper, but Lavender hears it anyway, as close as they are. Her lips curving upwards, Hermione's thinks she should be embarrassed by the way Lavender smiles as if she's some kind of tiny animal — like she's something so adorable the other girl can't help but smile — but she doesn't. Just looks to see what she says.
Sees Lavender purse her lips as if she's said something funny before the other girl replies, clearly joking despite the fact Hermione know's it's the truth, "Well, I am good with a breath-freshening charm if you're concerned."
Hermione's shaking her head before Lavender even finishes. Not the concern she was thinking of — even if it's apparently something else she needs to be worried about — she works up the courage to explain.
"No — I've…I've never been kissed before."
Somehow it's even quieter than her previous admission, but like before, Lavender catches it. Her expression still comforting but not demeaning despite the fact Hermione knows the same isn't true for the other girl. Instead, she tightens her grip on Hermione's hands, glances down at the floor for a moment as she seems to take a breath — like she's bracing herself to say something, Hermione watches, confused and entranced.
"Well," Lavender starts, "If you're concerned, I could…I could kiss you — you know, for practice."
Hermione's stops breathing as soon as Lavender makes her suggestion. The word 'yes' begs to leave her lips, but she finds it can't quite pass them. Like she's almost in shock at Lavender's question.
She isn't, though. Perhaps surprised, Lavender asked, but Hermione's not necessarily surprised by the question. Or at least not the thought of it.
Those traitorous thoughts she shoves into the depths of her mind having occasionally wondered about the softness of the other girl's lips. How they'd feel on Hermione's skin — how they'd feel pressed against her own.
She pauses just a little too long. Watches Lavender's already flushed cheeks darken further. Sees panic cross the other girl's face and knows she needs to say something but finds her brain is stuck on the feel of Lavender's hands as they're still holding hers and the thought of their lips pressed together. Some part of her almost picturing it.
Her tanned skin next to Lavender's milky white. Pink and blue robes merging together as they do. Her fingers in Lavender's loose hair, the other girl's trailing across her skin. They're thoughts Hermione has had in passing, but she's never let them dominate her mind before. Now she has, though, she finds she's inundated with them.
Like they're rushing out of the box she'd packed them into. A great tidal wave that's washing away her ability to think, to move, to do anything but watch the other girl. See Lavender rub her lips together almost nervously, drop Hermione's hand as she takes a small step backwards, panic crossing her face.
"No — wait," words finally return to Hermione. Slip past her lips before she can stop them; the sight of Lavender's anxiety forces them out of her. "I'd — I'd like that."
They're both silent for a few seconds. Look at each other like they can't quite believe what they're discussing, like neither of them is sure what's happening. It doesn't last long, though; Lavender wrings her hands together and closes the distance between them again.
She doesn't touch Hermione and instead just looks at her. Blue eyes meet brown and ask silent questions, as if they're both checking this is what the other wants, before Hermione finally feels she has to check.
That she can't risk this being some sense of obligation because Lavender made the initial offer and feels she can't back out of it. So she whispers, almost inaudibly, fearing she won't get the response she's desperately hoping for, "You don't have to, but if you want to…"
She trails off, half hoping Lavender will cut in, but she doesn't. Instead, she takes the final step towards Hermione, their bodies pressed against each other, her hips leant against a bathroom sink. She idly thinks it's not the most romantic place to have her first kiss, but the thought doesn't deter her any. Something about the who it is, far more important than the where.
Her breath catches when Lavender's hands come up to her face. Brush some of the loose strands behind her ears; Hermione's skin tingles where her fingers have been. Lavender's fleeting touches somehow so different — so much more electric — than those mere moments ago. Like the knowledge of what's about to happen has charged them both.
Hermione forces herself to let out a breath. Glances down to Lavender's lips and notices how they're shiny with something sticky and realises it'll be on her lips in a moment too. Her eyes fluttering shut as the other girl holds her chin, fingers gentle — almost like a caress — as she tilts Hermione's head upwards.
Barely a second passes, breaths between them as Lavender presses her lips to Hermione's own, and she involuntarily lets out a gasp at the feel of them. Warm, soft, everything she'd imagined they would be, they're gentle as they press against Hermione's.
Not necessarily demanding but guiding, she doesn't press any further, which Hermione is thankful for. Her breath shuddery even with just these gentle touches. Her hands come to rest on Lavender's waist, feel its gentle curve beneath layers of chiffon.
She's not sure she could take much more at this moment. She doesn't know if she could cope with feeling Lavender's tongue brush her own, to know what she tastes of more intimately than the sweet strawberry like flavour of her lips. But Hermione still finds herself following Lavender as she pulls away, like she can't bear for them to be separated.
A soft "Oh" falls from her lips as they're parted. Whether it's from surprise at the electricity that's running through her or the disappointment their lips are no longer touching, Hermione doesn't know but takes a moment just to linger in the feeling.
Finally opens her eyes and takes in Lavender's flushed cheeks from where there's still barely any space between them. The other girl's hands still lingering on her face, it soothes something in Hermione. Almost like she doesn't want them to be parted either.
They just look at each other for another few seconds before Lavender starts running her fingers back through Hermione's hair again as she says, "See — nothing to worry about. It's just...kissing."
Before Hermione can say anything in response, the other girl soothes her hand back across her face. Let's her thumb brush over Hermione's lips, gathers the stickiness that's still there and vanishes it before Hermione can stop her.
Instead, continues, "And since you're ready to go back out there, we should probably find out dates again. Merlin knows what they've been up to without us there to supervise."
Hermione nods in agreement. Let's the other girl drag her from the bathroom almost in a daze; she barely remembers the rest of the evening. Just keeps thinking of Lavender's lips on hers, the softness of her body, and the lingering taste of strawberries that no amount of punch can wash away.
The thought so dominating, she barely remembers what Viktor Krum's lips felt like against her own. Only knows there was something not quite right about them. That they didn't send tingles running through her the same way someone else's had.