On Teenagers and Love

a story by anamatics

part three - the fog

Chapter 42 - On Arithmancy

an: lol more grad school


In a way, Hermione's come to welcome the patrols she shares with Pansy. Granted, she's a horrible person with a bad attitude and a lousy personality, but Hermione enjoys listening to her mutter insults at the portraits as they silently move from corridor to corridor on patrol. She's funny, when she thinks Hermione isn't paying attention. And she's very, very good at arithmancy, which is helpful when each time Hermione runs her proof as she tries to limit the expansion charm, it fails. She's written to Fleur, but Pansy's there and usually very willing to flaunt her knowledge if Hermione presents it as her own personal failing. It's useful, to have a second pair of eyes before she embarks on what is sure to be the hardest part of this independent study – taking the limiting and looping elements of these proofs and applying them to a memory charm which will completely erase her own existence.

"Your proof was off by several degrees, which threw the Q-constant for a loop," Pansy says in lieu of greeting on their third weekend back. "Which you should have known, we learned it in third year."

Hermione's mine had been elsewhere, lost in thought over Harry's fruitless efforts to get information out of Slughorn and her own failed attempts at researching what horcruxes might be. She wishes that Harry could borrow Dumbledore's penseive, so he could show them the memories that have been shared with him. He has a woeful inability to properly convey information in a way that Hermione's brain can process it, and the frustration is starting to get to all of them. Even Ron has pulled Lavender Brown's tongue from down his throat to be annoyed at how poorly Harry'd explained the things he learned.

She starts and tilts her head towards Pansy, a little bit confused. She doesn't recall not solving for the Q-constant. In fact, she doesn't recall the concept of Q-constants at all. Frowning, she looks over Pansy's corrections on her proof and see where Pansy's circled a few lines of the proof and written the correction beside them. Swallowing, Hermione thinks back to the moment in the dormitory nearly a week ago, before she'd given Pansy this proof, when she'd found herself at the mirror looking at her third year arithmancy textbook.

Elation blooms slow. Hermione can barely keep the grin off her face. She's done it! She's successfully charmed herself to forget something!

Almost immediately she feels hollow. She looks down at her fingernails. She has to lie to Pansy now, and while it shouldn't bother her, it does. She's never been particularly dishonest with Pansy, just avoids telling the whole truth at times when she thinks Pansy shouldn't know things that could get people hurt. They're not really close enough to require more honesty than that. Still the lie feels bitter and like a betrayal, and Hermione isn't sure what to make of that.

"Fleur said as much in her letter, I think I've fixed it, thanks." She doesn't want to sound testy, but it comes out that way. Pansy can handle it. Hermione starts to move down the hallway, a mental apology to Fleur cast quickly to the heavens. Fleur is sure to forgive her.

"Then why ask me to check your work if you're having Delacour do it?" Pansy grumbles, falling into step beside Hermione. "I have better things to do with my time that supervise your third-year mistakes."

She puts up her hands placating. She can't very well say that she's made herself forget the concept as a part of a test, and it isn't a lie to say that Fleur's bad at arithmancy, because she is. "Fleur isn't… well, her areas of skill are far more concentrated on theoretical charmwork and ancient runic decryption – arithmancy isn't really in a curse breaker's repertoire beyond the usual diagnostics to determine origin and name." She smiles at Pansy, and it's painful and awkward, but she knows what to say. The words seem to slot themselves into her mind before she can think better of them. "Besides, isn't it better to use the best resources you have available to you?"

Pansy's cheeks go slightly pink and she looks away, up at a painting of a series of Cherubs giggling behind their hands. "I don't see you asking Professor Vector for help."

"Maybe I don't want to explain to her what I'm doing." Hermione counters. Professor Vector would have my skin if I mentioned that I'm using her class's basic principles as variables in my experiments with memory charms.

She turns then, facing Hermione, her hair bangs falling into her eyes. Her cheeks have lost their flush, and Hermione's struck by how pretty she looks in this moment, dangerous – lethal – like Fleur at her most veela. She wonders if perhaps Pansy's deep interest in Hermione's business comes from something beyond just the want to feel superior to Hermione in a tangible way. "What are you doing, Granger? I doubt this is some sort of bonding gift for Delacour, so out with it, what are you making with that convoluted expansion charm?"

They turn a corner and Professor Snape rattles by, all dark robes and omnipresent scowl. He takes one look at the pair of them and his lip curls. "Patrol, sir," Pansy chirps helpfully before he can say anything and he nods. Hermione lets out a low groan. She will never live down his overhearing them last summer. Never.

They start up the stairs and Hermione exhales. Pansy is a Slytherin, but she's been nothing but helpful. And wasn't that they always said, keep those who wish to harm you closest of all? "It's an expansion charm," she explains, pulling the beaded bag from her school satchel. "For this."

Pansy's eyebrows shoot up. "But it's so…" she looks as though she doesn't want to say it, but finally her lip curls in a gesture oddly similar to that of her head of house. "Garish…"

"That's the whole point." Hermione shoves the bag away, her tone creeping into testy. "Hidden in plain sight, right? My mum bought it for me over the hols and I wanted it to be useful rather than just decorative." She lets out a self-deprecating snort of laughter. It's a bit of a fib, but close enough to the truth that it feels comfortable as she says it. This is the problem with Pansy, sometimes, she can be perfectly disarming in her civility. It sets Hermione on edge with the ease it puts her at. "I mean, when am I going to need something like this anyway? It's not as though I go out dancing or to formal events very often."

"Doubt your mum would have considered the Slug Club," Pansy says.

"Quite." Hermione sniffs.

They lapse into silence. It's an easy silence, the kind that seems to curl around them as they stalk the hallways. Hermione hands out a few stern warnings and Pansy takes points from a collection of Ravenclaw first year boys out well after their curfew. By the time they circle back to the Great Hall it is close to midnight and Pansy's hiding her yawns behind coughs and scowls.

Hermione wants to tell her that she's allowed to be tired. She's exhausted, after all, they've both had very long days. They pause at the doors to the Great Hall and they're so close together it feels like one of them should say something. Pansy's perfume smells nice, like clean cotton left out in the summer. There's a beat, where they're both staring up at the enchanted ceiling watching as stars shoot across the nighttime sky. Hermione thinks back to the star charts she memorized for her astronomy O.W.L. and realizes there's a meteor shower on. This is a time for wishes and wonderment, even if it's bitterly cold outside.

Pansy's breath is soft, and there's tension radiating off of her as she stares up at the stars. Hermione steps back slowly, feeling the unsettling feeling of the moment wash over her unexpectedly. She isn't sure what this is – why it's suddenly gotten easier to talk to Pansy – it makes her nervous. Like she's doing something wrong when all she's doing is what Fleur suggested, using her for assistance, a means to an end.

"Say," Pansy says, turning. "Do you have any idea why Potter's following Draco around the castle at all hours?"

"Malfoy?" Hermione frowns. She had no idea Harry was doing that, but his late-night wanderings were nothing new. "No, I don't."

Pansy looks deeply conflicted for a moment. Her hands clench into fists and she sucks her lower lip into her mouth. "Well, tell him to bugger off or he's going to end up getting hurt." She turns and leaves in a swirl of black and green.

Hermione stares after her, wondering what on earth she's on about.