A/N: Greetings. I obviously failed NaNoWriMo, but I'd like to thank everyone for all the support I got, regardless. I'm sorry that my replies to your reviews take forever, too.

AWF

Hermione doesn't react well, of course. She rushes over the moment Hem and Sally-Anne enter and proceeds to spit rapid-fire questions that can't be answered because Hem can't make out any of them. And even if she could, actually responding to all them is impossible with her current capabilities. (Not that she has much faith in improving any more than she already has.)

" ̶ re you sure that it's someone she knows?" Hem hears Hermione ask Sally-Anne, who's taken it upon herself ̶ (how different would things be if they weren't friends?) ̶ to assuage the understandable worries of an elder sibling. "And, well, even if it is, are you sure it's someone that she even likes?"

Sally-Anne gives Hermione a queer look. "She's dating them," she answers, purposefully slow. "Why would she date someone that she doesn't like?"

Hem looks over to the tables, where Ron, Harry, Keith and Luna are sitting. The first two have blatant shock painted on their faces while the latter two seem to be relatively unfazed. Luna looks mostly curious and Keith is just squinting at her.

"But how do you know that she's actually dating them?" Hermione demands with wild arms as Sally-Anne leads Hem over to the tables. Her sister follows, possibly unaware that she's moving at all with all her fretting. (Sorry.) "What if they're just threatening her to say it? And ̶ And honestly, I think we're too young to date in the first place!"

"See, I told you she would say that," Sally-Anne laughs as they sit. Ron and Harry look between them with increasing anxiety as Hermione remains standing, her fists balled up and her face steadily becoming red.

A tight feeling constricts within Hem's chest just as Hermione bursts out, "This isn't a laughing matter, Sally-Anne!" and causes the kitchen to become hushed, the house-elves all pausing in their tasks to turn to the group. Sally-Anne simply blinks at her, clearly unfazed as one of her brows quirks up. (A rather taunting move, really, which isn't likely to help things. It's the way she copes, though, and it's just unfortunate that her method clashes quite heavily with Hermione's own.)

"Hey, c'mon, Hermione," Ron tries, reaching out to grab his best friend's sleeve. "It can't be that bad if Hem doesn't seem to mind it, right?"

Hermione shakes off his hand, turning her ire onto their redheaded friend, who instinctively leans away ̶ (into Harry, who's also leaning away) ̶ with a grimace. "Honestly, Ronald!" she shouts with a stomp of her foot, her face almost completely red at this point. "Out of all people, I'd have figured that you'd understand my concerns the most! How would you feel if Ginny suddenly showed up all dirty with a split lip and love bites?!"

When she feels some kind of odd sensation on her skin, Hem lowers her eyes to find one of her hand scratching at her wrist. (She's supposed to be doing something else, isn't she?) She stares, unable to look away as her nails tear at her flesh with increasing fervour. (Is her skin turning pink or red?)

"Of course, I'd be worried!" she hears Ron ̶ (Ron? Is it him?) ̶ shout back in indignance. "But if she said ̶ "

"Oh, please! Even if she provided concrete proof, you'd still say there's something wrong!"

A pale, delicate-looking hand appears in Hem's vision and gently pries her hand away from her wrist. Raising her head, she finds silvery eyes and a serene smile directed at her ̶ (Luna; she's wearing a flower crown) ̶ while someone on Hem's other side ̶ (Sally-Anne?) ̶ says, "Ignoring Ron's predictable reactions, it's you and Hemera we're talking about, isn't it? Why don't you try asking her a few questions that she can actually understand and answer instead of bombarding her with incomprehensible nonsense?"

It quietens down again, even as kitchenware clinks in the background, the house-elves around them hesitantly resuming their tasks.

Turning her head, Hem notices the three Gryffindors staring at her from the across the table with varying levels of disquieted and uncomfortable expressions. (Stop that. Stop it. She doesn't need this. It hurts. Why can't they stop?)

Eventually, Hermione begins to shift on her feet and wring her hands as her expression contorts into shame. (She shouldn't make that face. It's not her fault that she cares.) Then, taking a deep breath, she practically blurts out, "Are you actually dating them, Hem?" and winces, evidently intending to ask with more finesse than that. Still, Hem nods. (Still, Hem lies.) "Are you dating them because you want to?" Hem nods again. (Hem lies again.) Hermione pauses, seeming to forcefully take a moment to process. Once she does, she takes another breath. "Alright. Okay. Um… Well, do you have a genuine liking for them?"

"Yes," Hem hears herself answer. She blinks, not expecting to be so forthright by verbally responding. "I like them."

(Tom is a complicated, dangerous prat with too many masks.

She likes him, anyway.)

. . .

. . .

Thankfully, Hermione is appeased enough for the moment ̶ (she's really not, but she's trying her hardest to hold back) ̶ so they manage to have a relatively peaceful lunch until Hem spots an obnoxiously pink bit of paper fluttering towards her. It's leaving a trail of small hearts and glitter and Hem wonders if the sensation pooling in her stomach is horror.

"No!" Sally-Anne gasps, sounding like she's on the verge of incredulous laughter. "No, don't tell me your secret lover actually sent you that?"

It stops in front of her, its makeshift wings aflutter and spilling glitter into the food she hasn't eaten yet. Hem doesn't want to touch it for fear of it doing something alarming like sing to her. And perhaps because her lack of initiative was already put into consideration, it opens after a few seconds, allowing her to take in the contents while a breathy, androgynous voice recites,

"To My Dearest Hem,

How I miss you so. It feels as though it's been a thousand years since we last met.

Forever Yours, Secret Lover."

Then, the paper drifts somewhere above her and she hears a tiny pop before glitter and little hearts float down into her peripheral. (They're going to get stuck in her hair and she's going to walk around looking like a bewildering mess with all these unusual features to her person.)

Sally-Anne, Ron and Harry promptly burst into raucous laughter and Hem can only look down at her bedazzled food with a deep sense of resignation.

"Well, now," Luna starts, her dreamy voice somehow cutting through the noise their friends are making with their amusement. "This is a lovely gesture, don't you think, Hem? Very romantic. I think the hearts are even rose-scented."

Keith sneezes from Luna's other side and looks rather aggrieved to have done so. "Seems to me like they're takin' the piss. If they're not, Hem needs to drop them right quick."

Hem feels herself about to reply that they ̶ (Tom, the utter arse) ̶ likely wouldn't let her go even if she asked nicely, but that would only give Hermione more to worry about and she's already worrying about whether the glitter will trigger her. (Some has fallen onto her eyelashes and, unexpectedly, it's only mildly distracting.) So, instead of exacerbating things even further, Hem remains silent.

(It occurs to her, now, that this Tom may actually be much worse than Morty. This one is actually sane enough to realise the consequences of his actions and revel in them.)

. . .

. . .

They realise later that the glitter and hearts can't be removed via hand or magically ̶ ("It's fortunate that you look very pretty, then," Luna remarks with a smile) ̶ but Hermione is determined to, at the very least, hide Hem's marks if she can't heal them outright.

"Why can't you heal them?" Ron asks, looking over Hermione's shoulder as she tries to focus.

Hem watches as her sister blows a stray curl out of her face in building frustration. (It's been a rough day for her, too. Hem wishes she could make Hermione happy.) "Healing is very advanced magic," she explains with impatience. "I don't want to risk hurting Hem by attempting a branch of magic I'm not familiar with."

"But you're familiar with charms that hide blemishes on the skin?" Keith queries from somewhere behind Ron.

Hermione worries her lip as she fidgets. "Well, no," she admits before purposefully flipping her hair over her shoulder and taking on a confident posture. "But it can't be much harder than healing charms. I'm placing magic over the skin, not pushing magic into the skin and changing it fundamentally."

"Dyson is quite good at healing bruises," Sally-Anne says. (Who's Dyson?) "And Miles is good at healing cuts. Weston says they had to learn since they brawled a lot to assert dominance when they were younger. We could go to them, you know."

"Later, maybe," is Hermione's blithe reply while she squints at Hem's neck with a look of concentration and disapproval. "Finding them would take too long and enough people have seen it already. Besides, wouldn't it be bad to show them to all of Slytherin?"

Sally-Anne's face pops into view over Hermione's other shoulder. "Honestly, everyone in our year should know by now. She did show up in front of both Ravenclaw and Slytherin," she reminds them, which only reminds Hem of the tiny tentacles. "Hemera doesn't care, at any rate, but I do feel obligated to stab someone if they call her a slag again. Although, Parkinson's an idiot; most people know that going after Hemera is a significant risk."

Having been told of their adventures during lunch, Ron's face lights up. "I have to remember that combining the Jelly-Legs Jinx and the Pimple Jinx sprouts tentacles on the face! I'll use it on Fred and George the next time they try to prank me."

Keith snorts and snarks, "Bold of you to assume that you're talented enough to fire off four spells at two targets consecutively and successfully."

His sister laughs as Ron tells him to shove off, but Hem is focused on the way Hermione looks like she's about to cry.

. . .

. . .

Hermione's odd behaviour continues when they're walking to the Chimaera Den as a group and she tells the group to go on ahead. Harry looks between the two sisters, notably the most concerned since he can tell there's a certain fragility to his best friend.

(Sally-Anne appears to be deliberately acting as though everything's fine, so it's likely that he hasn't noticed anything off with her.)

"It's alright, Harry," Hermione assures him, reaching out to grasp his hand and squeeze it in appreciation. "I just want to talk with Hem alone for a bit."

Hem sees him squeeze her sister's hand in return, giving Hermione a supportive and understanding smile. (It's odd that Hem thinks a smile like that would look strange on Tom.) "Take your time," he says, then glances behind him to see the others walking off. "Don't mind Sally-Anne. And Ron, I guess. You know they mean well."

That's true. Sally-Anne is abrasive at the best of times, but her current blasé attitude is more akin to a purposeful act than a truly genuine response. It's probably because she's aware that Hem dislikes people worrying over her. (What has she done to deserve such consideration, though?)

A deep, calming exhale escapes Hermione before she wearily replies, "I know."

With a few more seconds of meaningful staring, Harry finally releases Hermione's hand. Hem expects him to simply turn around and join the others, but he surprises her by turning to her and squeezing her hand, too.

Harry smiles as she blinks, processing. "I'm glad you're okay, Hem," he reveals. His gaze falters to her neck for a moment, which seems to break his calm demeanour as he looks to the side and uses his other hand to scratch his neck. "I hope they treat you properly."

Hem manages to reply with, "Thank you," before he finally sets off to catch up with the rest of the group. She watches their backs until they turn a corner, which then prompts Hermione to grab her hand and lead her to a nearby alcove.

For a while, it's silent while Hermione tries to seemingly sort her thoughts. Hem is content to wait, even as a bundle of anxiety starts to bubble up within her. (She just wants the day to end. Why does it feel so long? Is this because of Tom? Or is this just what most people feel with their own perceptions of time?)

A hand places itself over Hem's, signalling the end of the silence as Hermione breaks it with, "Hem, I… I know I might be overreacting, but I can't help be worried for you." She's worrying her lip again, her eyes focused on their hands. "I'm not like Sally-Anne; I can't just accept it at face value."

(Sally-Anne hasn't accepted it at face value, either. She probably won't accept it at all, but Hem knows her best friend would rather act like she has to avoid a disagreement of some sort. Even she has her vulnerabilities, after all.)

"Hem, please," Hermione continues, grabbing both of Hem's hands with a pleading sort of desperation. "Please, tell me the truth. You're not in any trouble, are you? They're really not threatening you to date them? I know I've already asked, but I wanted to ask again in private just in case you might be afraid to say it in front of everyone."

Hem ignores the ringing in her ears as she tries to focus on answering. (What is she supposed to say? Does she have to lie again?) "I'm not," she practically coughs out. "I'm not in trouble." (Not at the moment, anyway. That's subject to change whenever Tom is involved.) "They're not threatening me." (He wouldn't threaten her to date him. He'd simply declare that they're now an item and any dissenting opinions, regardless of whether they're hers or not, would be considered invalid.) "They've been my friend for a while before… Before this."

Hermione blinks before frowning in confusion. "Since last year? And even Sally-Anne doesn't know who they are?"

(Since she was four and he was seven. No one else but them at a train station of white.)

"Just between us," Hem says, her throat dry and her mind unsure. (The light from the window feels blinding.) "This… Snogging, dating… It wasn't planned. Spontaneous. I don't mind." (What is she talking about?) "I'm okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." (She never means to worry anyone. Everyone worries, anyway.)

"Oh, Hem!" Hermione sniffles, the glistening of unshed tears drawing Hem's attention before her sister embraces her. "I'm sorry, too! I didn't mean to force you into speaking so much. I'm just being overprotective, I think. It's… It's just scary, you know? We've always been together and now I feel like I don't know what's going on in your life."

Abruptly, Hermione leans back, her face contorted into a grimace. Thankfully, she's not actually crying. (Yet.) "I mean, not that I have to know, it's just that…" Trailing off, she elicits a tired, frustrated sigh. "With everything that happened last year, it just feels like you're always getting dragged into danger. And with how I am, I'm so anxious to know everything so I can at least try to do something to help. I just feel so useless! The whole point of being a big sister is to protect you because you're my little sister! If I can't even do that, then what use do I have?"

It's through the static in her ears and the snow in her eyes when Hem hears a sob and catches Hermione burying her face in her hands. Something urges for her to move, to comfort her sister who's become like this because of Hem. But she remains still, another part of her determined to bury itself in the mud where apathy permeates.

(Just stop caring. But Hermione can't. Emotions aren't logical. They aren't reasonable. It's not her fault.)

Hem tries to speak, to say something even minimally reassuring, but her mind has nothing to contribute. (Nothing very nice, anyway. It'd be better if Hermione had another sister, one who was easier to protect because they wouldn't be mentally ill or linked to a fragmented madman that tortured her with the intention of eventual murder.) Then, when she tries to reach out to provide some sort of physical comfort if she can't use words, her body refuses to cooperate.

(It's kind of funny, isn't it, that Hermione thinks she's the useless one when she, at the very least, has full control over her own body?)

So, in the end, they sit together in some alcove, one of them sobbing and the other struggling to stay grounded; the two of them connected by the idea that they're both inadequate.

AWF

A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.