DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS SO-CALLED PLOT.
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Ron had blushed and fussed around her all day. She had thought the way she'd indirectly asked him to Slughorn's Christmas party while he was in the middle of an unholy snit had been an absolute trainwreck; but then Ron had moved past his agitation and begun treating her with a kind of flattering consideration that left Hermione grinning like a loon.
Harry had been alternating between rolling his eyes, stifling a smirk, and looking like he wished he was somewhere far far away from the both of them.
She was still grinning like a loon that night when she left to meet Padma in the library.
Hermione was happy.
So very happy.
So what if Ron could be an arse sometimes? She didn't care about the past few days.
Didn't care if Monday's blue. Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too.
Thursday I don't care about you... it's Friday, I'm in love.
She was humming when Padma found her in their designated corner. The Ravenclaw girl just raised an eyebrow at her that clearly implied, 'I'm not going to ask, but do shut up.'
Hermione grinned at her. Like a loon.
They worked well together. It was invigorating, researching with someone who could keep up with her thought process. They were like a well-oiled machine, passing books, notes, and ideas across the table.
Hours later, Padma gasped.
"Oh! Hermione! It's nearly 2 am!"
"What? Oh my... How did Madam Pince not throw us out?"
"No idea," a bemused Padma said as she packed up her belongings.
Once they'd crept out into the corridor, Hermione whispered, "Will you be alright? With Filch, I mean..."
"Don't worry about it," Padma murmured back with a smug smile, "You Gryffindors aren't the only ones skilled at rule breaking."
They parted after exchanging a friendly nod.
Hermione was on the fifth floor when she spotted light shining out through the gaps surrounding the door of the music room, and the silhouette of a girl sitting on the floor outside it.
Curious, she made her way to the figure.
"Luna?" she whispered, squatting down next to her.
Luna was wearing a fuzzy bright purple robe over light blue pajamas that were dotted with what looked like a disastrous amalgamation of a crocodile and a wombat.
"Shh," she said in her mellow voice, "Listen."
She handed Hermione the end of an extendable ear, which ran on to slip under the crack of the door. Hermione put the flesh coloured string to her ear, and was suddenly blown away by the beautiful tinkling of piano keys.
It was Bach's prelude.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as the poignant melody of the piece washed over her. Whoever it was playing the piece was doing it justice.
Eyes shut, Hermione let the music wrap around her like a glowing aura. The moment was brief but transcendental, and she felt heavy with emotion. Luna gripped her wrist and squeezed; an all-too-knowing smile on her face.
"Who... who is that?" Hermione asked her breathlessly.
"Someone who would not be happy to see you, Hermione."
Both girls started at the voice that came from behind them.
Theodore Nott:
Noun; The personification of an unexpected muscle spasm.
She groaned. "Why are you everywhere?"
"Moi?!" he said, affronted, "Well excuse me! I was just coming to check on my temperamental best friend – he's prone to poetic bouts of night-time brooding... you know, scowling at the stars from the astronomy tower, sighing deeply while staring at the moonlight dance on the rippling waves of the lake, or like now, moping over the baby grand in there – " he gestured to the music room with his chin, before continuing, "That sort of thing. And who do I find crouched outside? You, Hermione. You. Why are you everywhere?" He smiled sweetly at her, rambling on, "I think you've put a tracking charm on me. I don't blame you. But trust me, sweetheart, you don't have to resort to such desperate tactics. I'll happily meet you anytime, anywhere. And incidentally..."
"Dried wormwood in vinegar," Luna cut him off.
Theo looked at her like he had only just noticed her presence.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Dried wormwood in vinegar. Let it sit overnight, and then strain the infusion and pour it into your ears."
"Now why would I do that?" Theo's eyes flickered to Hermione in confusion.
"You obviously have the most dreadful infestation of Blathergouts. They're like brain parasites that cause people to prattle on endlessly and often ridiculously. I'm sure it's been quite traumatic for you."
Hermione slapped her palm over her mouth to contain her laughter. Theo looked aghast.
"I'm sorry... what?"
"Oh yes. They sometimes interfere with a person's basic comprehension, too. You poor thing."
With that, Luna wandered off, quickly swallowed by the shadows in the dimly lit hallway. The expression on Theo's face wasn't making it easy for Hermione to choke back her laughter.
"They're not real, yeah? Blatherwhazzits?"
"Oh, I don't know, Theo. Luna certainly described your symptoms most accurately."
"Ha. Ha."
He sneered at her, but it promptly morphed into a smile, one which Hermione returned almost shyly.
Then his words from earlier registered.
"Hold on," she frowned, "Best friend... is that Malfoy in there?"
Hermione was astonished as Theo beamed and nodded.
"Surprised?" he ventured.
"I... well... yes..." she stammered, "He plays wonderfully."
Theo shrugged, "He had to have some redeeming qualities."
"Right. Of course." Hermione was blinking rather rapidly.
"Hey. Hermione."
She jumped slightly when she realised how close he was. He was looking down at her kindly; his voice was like a caress.
"Yes?"
"I think you should leave before he comes out."
"Yes. Yeah. Good idea. Indeed."
She was tremendously flustered, and suddenly all she could think about was the stupid underwear comment she had blurted out the last time they had run into each other.
She cringed internally.
"Goodnight, Hermione."
"Yeah. Goodnight."
She was still cringing when she woke up the next morning.
At breakfast, she made it a point to sit with her back to the Slytherin table, lest she make eye-contact with Theo, or have the chance to examine Malfoy, who suddenly had all this depth he had no business possessing.
The Gryffindor quidditch team, now including Dean, was huddled around Harry. Hermione anticipated a spot of tension arising in the face of this new dynamic.
The squad went off for practice. Left on her own, Hermione ambulated down the viaduct courtyard, thinking about taking advantage of the sunny day and getting a few peaceful hours of reading done by the lake. Thoughts flashed and disappeared speedily in her head like a disjointed flip book. She was vaguely aware of the group of Hufflepuffs in front of her- Ernie, Susan, Megan, and Roger, among others.
Ernie was in his natural pontificating pose:"...and British muggles were paragons of civilisation! Most muggles were a bit savage, see; and the brave men of Dear Old Blighty took it upon themselves to reform and enlighten the heathens. They conquered most of the world, and formed the British Empire, which is said to be the greatest the muggle world had ever seen."
At Hermione's derisive snort, they all spun around to face her.
"Wherever did you hear that, Ernie?" she asked in a befuddled manner.
"Muggle studies lesson. Rather fascinating, muggle history; quite as riveting as our own."
"Ernie," she said forcefully, "Everything you said is rubbish. A heap of jingoism and propaganda. The British empire was atrocious, devastating its colonies economically and socially..."
"That is not at all what it says in our books," muttered Susan, frowning.
"And moreover, other kingdoms and empires were not savage. They were abounding with culture and learning, and just because they didn't align with the British post-Christianity dogma, they were awfully subjugated," Hermione finished shrilly.
Ernie looked very unsure: "But the Brits were... honourable men..."
"Pfff. So are they all, all honourable men," she recited contemptuously.
She pulled out her beloved copy of Hogwarts,A History, once she had settled comfortably on a grassy patch by the lake. From between its pages, she pulled out a creased and slightly worn piece of parchment.
'A COMPREHENSIVE TO-DO LIST IN SERVICE OF HERMIONE GRANGER'S AGENDA TO BETTER THE WITCHING AND WIZARDING WORLD.'
She smiled down fondly at the words she had carefully printed as an ambitious and over-zealous eleven year old.
1. Introduce the magical community to muggle music.
2. Find a way to successfully integrate muggle technology with magic (first cause- electricity).
3. Encourage the incorporation of muggle medicinal practices in magical healing.
4. Demolish the appalling and deep-rooted social evil of pureblood ideology by enforcing strict legislation that outlaws ANY and ALL forms of discrimination.
5. Launch anti-prejudice camps to undo centuries of prejudice and indoctrination.
6. Convince the magical community that regency era societal norms are grossly outdated.
7. Prepare a robust memorandum that clearly outlines the rights of misunderstood magical creatures.
8. Establish a sanctioned union for House Elves, and make the magical community aware of the concept of labour rights.
9. Introduce anti-slander laws Free press above all, no matter how vile the publication.
10. Ensure that centres of education remain entirely independent and untouched by bureaucratic influence.
Yes, some might say she was preposterously, laughably over-ambitious.
Picking up her black gel pen (yes, pen) she added,
11. THOROUGHLY revise, redraft, and revamp the Muggle Studies curriculum across all magical institutions of learning.
There.
Hermione put away her list and her book, shed her robes, loosened her tie, and lay down on the soft grass.
The sky was a lovely shade of light azure littered with fluffy white clouds. The warm air was being balanced perfectly by frequent rushes of cool breeze. Hermione looked up at the broad leafy canopy that covered the top half of her vision. It was a network of emerald and gold flashes as gusts of wind rustled by.
She closed her eyes, absorbing the sound. There was something enticing about it – something mystical and calming, something deliberate and soothing – a rain stick in the hands of a Shaman in a trance.
Hermione tossed her arms above her head, and then arched her back off the ground, pressing her feet into the soil until she felt the all-too satisfying burn of her spine being utterly stretched.
She collapsed after a few seconds, letting out a contented sigh. Blinking dreamily, she watched the clouds drift across the arc of blue above, looking like giant floating cities with elaborate domes and spires; heavy and solid... but really just clusters of vapour, glorified air, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Ever since she was of schooling age, Hermione had had to contend with the scorn of her peers. She was used to it by this point; a healthy mix of arrogance, indifference, and sangfroid kept her from crumbling under the weight of their disregard.
But all that composure went to shit when Ron was involved. So when he completely out of the blue started lashing out at her relentlessly, she folded and stalked off to bed without a backward glance.
In the dormitory, Parvati was brushing her beautiful sleek tresses, while Lavender was draped decorously on the window seat flipping through some mindless magazine.
Hermione flopped down on her bed and pressed the heels of her palms onto her eyes that felt precariously hot.
"This sounds fun," Lavender spoke up, "According to Greta Phyllis, love expert, it's helpful to make a checklist of qualities that you're looking for in a man, so that it becomes easier to pick out who you should be with."
"Obviously," Parvati replied, "I made my list years ago. What do you think, Hermione?"
Hermione pulled up her torso and rested on her elbows to look across at the idle twits.
"I don't know. That makes sense only if you assume that there are masses of men striving to be with you."
"Oh Hermione," said Lavender, waspishly, "I'm sure some boys like you."
Parvati giggled fervently.
"Come on," she said after she had recovered, "tell us what you're looking for!"
"Who says I'm looking for anything? I've too much on my plate as it is."
"Pish Posh," Lavender scoffed, "Try not to sound like an old maid for once. I, for one, want a man with a sense of humour. It's soooo important to laugh, you know? He has to be handsome of course – ("of course" broke in Hermione disdainfully, and Parvati ardently) – and tall. I do like them tall. Perhaps... with... red hair..."
Lavender looked challengingly at Hermione, whose blood boiled. She curled her hands into fists and bit down on her tongue.
Parvati gushed, "That's such a good list, Lav! Make him tall, dark, and handsome for me. And I'd like for him to have proper respect for the refined art of Divination..."
Hermione wondered how this creature was related to someone as smart and practical as Padma. Though their features were near-identical, they were shrouded by an air so completely different from each other, that Hermione would've been able to tell them apart in seconds.
"Your turn, Hermione; go on, humour us."
Hermione sighed, and fell back down on her bed.
When she spoke, her voice was small. She suddenly felt defeated enough to search within herself and expose something true and vulnerable to these awful, air-headed girls who shamelessly laughed at her all the time.
"I suppose the most important thing is intellectual compatibility. I'd want him to be as motivated and proficient as I am, so that my thoughts are complimented and challenged. I'd want him to be ruthless in the pursuit of knowledge, but compassionate in the face of adversity. I'd want him to be driven and relentless, but then to chuck it all for a moment of tranquillity... only to... to... arise and unbuild it again. I'd want him to spare me no favours, but to stun me with kindness. I'd want him to bite back every time I'd attack, but then to say something ridiculous and flush out all the vitriol. Yes... it is important to laugh. He'd laugh. We'd laugh. He'd have wickedly funny insights into things that he'd whisper in my ear like it's a secret between the two of us."
"By Godric!" Lavender tittered, "You really let it all out."
Parvati was giggling again, "I hate to break it to you Hermione, but you're probably going to be alone forever."
"Honestly! That's not a list. I don't even know what that was. You're going to have to build your own man!"
They laughingly moved on to another article.
Hermione let the drapes around her bed fall, and curled up against a pillow. She hadn't expected anything more sophisticated from those two, but she felt more at ease than she had when she stormed into the dorm.
Whatever else her ludicrous bit of word-vomit meant, it was clear that the person she had described was not Ron.
And yet... Yet.
It had to be Ron.