DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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The process of spell casting goes something like this:
1. First, there is the incantation – a potent murmur in an arcane language, which leads to
2. The invocation of a specific strain of magical energy, which
3. Surges through the body of the conjuror (i.e., the sentient vessel within which magic resides) and then,
4. Pushes out into the world – either through a magical conduit, like a wand – or straight out of the conjuror's pores (the latter requiring considerable skill).
Hermione felt alive with the glory of magic.
She could feel it running in currents under her skin, she could imagine its brilliant swirling iridescence. Kind of like how poncy new age gurus would tell you to 'visualise your chakras'.
Om Shanti Om.
There was a mirror on the desk at which she sat, and her eyebrows were teal; quite a good look on her, she thought. They went well with her skin tone, and gave the illusion that she had subtle green flecks in her eyes.
She'd achieved this feat in one go – the purpose of the day's lesson on human transfiguration – so while the rest of her classmates were cursing at their reflections she arched one teal eyebrow at herself, tilting her head, and squinting her eyes sceptically.
Then she furrowed her teal eyebrows, settling them into a deep frown, and pursed her lips.
She was in the middle of comically waggling her teal eyebrows (à la Groucho Marx), when Professor McGonagall appeared over her shoulder.
Hermione's teal eyebrows puckered in mortification.
"Very good, Ms. Granger," she said crisply. There was however the faintest of faint upward tilt to the corners of her mouth.
Hermione slumped back on her chair, looking around the room. Dean, who had half a red eyebrow, was perched at the corner of his seat, while Seamus pointed his wand at himself. Hermione was instantly nervous as well. Nothing ruined a peaceful day like someone blowing their face off.
A moment later, Seamus was sporting bright purple eyebrows, and a very large grin.
Dean gaped at him in disbelief. "How the hell did you do that?!"
Harry had one yellow eyebrow. Parvati's were partially streaked with fuchsia. Lavender's were still dark blond. Ron's were...
Ron had given himself a tufty, curled, very ginger handlebar moustache.
It looked so ridiculously incongruous on his face that Hermione burst out laughing. The rest of the class joined her soon after, and Ron turned crimson with embarrassment and fury. He glared fiercely in her direction... Hermione should have known comeuppance was imminent.
They moved onto the theoretical part of the lesson, with Professor McGonagall quizzing them on the limitations of human transfiguration. Hermione (don't say obviously) knew all the answers – however, the smooth delivery of her responses was hindered by the great thespian Weasley's needlessly embellished re-enactment of her enthusiasm.
Lavender and Parvati were in splits.
Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them... but she couldn't.
Was it hypocritical of her to be upset?
The moment the bell rang, Hermione sped out of the classroom in search of holy sanctuary.
Fuck, she'd been crying so much this year.
She found an empty bathroom and rushed in, collapsing against the nearest wall. As she sniffled pathetically, she cursed herself for being so bloody sensitive. She really, really wanted to get over Ron, already. Living with a broken heart was terrible, and she wanted out. She wanted to hurt him. Really hurt him, the way he kept hurting her. She racked her brain for ideas while she furiously swiped at her eyes. She needed to do something sufficiently drastic to...
There were footsteps, and then there was Luna standing in front of her, softly blurred because of her tear-filmed eyes.
"What happened?" she asked.
Hermione knew that Luna was very accustomed to cruelty, so she answered truthfully. "Stuff with Ron."
"Ah. Yes. He can say upsetting things sometimes."
"Indeed." Hermione sniffed and blinked and shrugged. She was really bad at talking to Luna.
"Theo worries about you, you know?"
"Hah. I know. I'm sure he worries about you too."
"Oh yes," Luna nodded solemnly, "he gets quite angry when people make fun of me."
Hermione smiled through the last of her whimpers, "I'm glad you've become friends."
"Me too," Luna beamed, "He's even helping me with my care of magical creatures assignment. We go fishing for Dabberblimps every night!"
"That's wonderful, Luna."
"By the way, Hermione, your eyebrows look stunning."
Oh shit. Her teal eyebrows. Hermione was shifting to pull out her wand, when Luna's soft gasp halted her.
"What?" she asked; startled.
"How did you do that?"
"Do what, Luna?"
"Your eyebrows are brown again," she said softly. Hermione frowned in confusion. "You can do wandless, non-verbal magic?"
"I... I don't know. I don't think so?"
"You just did," said Luna, looking perfectly placid again. "You know, it's said that people proficient in wandless magic generally suffer from frequent mental breakdowns. You ought to careful."
"Ye—yes."
Wandless magic. Hermione was itching to go somewhere private where she could explore this possibility further. Her blood rushed at the thought.
"Shall we get out of this miserable joint then?" she asked Luna.
"Yes, please. It's good that you're not planning to cry in the bathroom anymore. Moaning Myrtle might think you're stealing her USP, and you know how awfully sensitive she can be." Luna patted her back gently as they walked out. "Oh, hello, Harry! Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?"
And indeed it was Harry with a yellow eyebrow waiting outside the bathroom. Hermione realised he must have rushed out right after her, without even bothering to fix his appearance, and she was filled with gratitude.
"Hi, Luna," he said, uneasily, "Hermione, you left your stuff. . . ."
"Oh yes," said Hermione, taking her books and things from him, "Thank you, Harry. Well, I'd better get going. . . ."
She thought she'd spare him the burden of having to comfort her – for both their sakes. She was also desperate to give wandless magic another try.
Rushing up endless staircases, Hermione tumbled through the portrait hole, into the Gryffindor tower, and raced into her dorm in record time.
She paused at the foot of her bed, her eyes falling on a thick hardbound book that she has placed there in the morning.
Inspiration struck suddenly… she had to leave immediately.
Growling in frustration at her own warped, teenage girl priorities, she left the way she had come in just moments ago.
Hermione scanned the students pouring out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the first floor. When she spotted the individual she was seeking, she beckoned to him frantically.
Looking mildly perplexed, Theo strolled over to her.
"Hullo. You look like you've been sprinting laps around the quidditch pitch all morning."
"Something like that," she replied, a bit breathlessly. "You'd asked me about muggle wars and conflict and all that-" she waved her hand in the universal sign for 'etcetera', "- so anyway, I found this book, and, um, I think you'll find it interesting."
She was still panting a little. Bloody hell, she needed to exercise more often.
Theo took the heavy tome from her hands, running his fingers over the glossy cover. "History of the World by J. M. Roberts," he read, "Wow. Thanks. You've been running around like a maniac just so you could give this to me?"
"Well... not exactly..." there was something off in his manner – his posture was too stiff, and his face was twisted into a muted frown. "You look upset?"
He took in a gulp of air, glaring into the distance. "Potter is taking Luna to Slughorn's party tonight."
"Oh?" she said in surprise.
"Why is Potter," he spat his name out with Malfoy's brand of vitriol, "taking Luna to Slughorn's party?"
"They're fairly good friends..."
"Right. Potter has almost the entire female population of Hogwarts at his disposal, and he chose to ask Luna."
"She doesn't fawn over him like the rest."
"Why didn't he ask you?"
"He thinks I'm going with Ron."
"Are you?" Theo snapped his head to look frown at her.
"No."
"Good." he stated. Clipped. And then – "Why do you think she agreed to go with him?"
"She likes him, Theo..."
"Right." he ground out, again.
"...not nearly as much as she likes you."
He peered at her. "What are you saying?"
"I ran into Luna earlier today. She told me how much she appreciates you standing up for her, and helping her with her work, among other things," Hermione replied loftily.
"I see." The ever-collected Theo Nott had two bright spots of red on his narrow face.
"I can tell you with complete surety that both Harry and Luna are interested in people other than each other."
"Yeah. Alright," He cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed; "Who're you going with, if not Weasley?"
Hermione grinned. "You."
"Oh?" his eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind his hair.
"Do you have any objections?"
"None! But the rest of Hogwarts might..."
"Oh, please. Virtually half the school has seen us together. Your friends have. My friends have. They think it's strange, but they really don't care. Harry knows, and he's dealing with it. The only person who doesn't is..."
"Weasley." Theo's smile was slow to come, but deadly in its impact. "This is very Slytherin of you, darling."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't pretend like it won't serve your agenda as well. So. Will you go to Slughorn's party with me tonight?"
Theo laid his palm on his heart: "I'd be honoured to, Hermione."
She nodded in a businesslike manner – "Eight O'clock" – and turned to leave. He called out to her just as she began to walk away.
"Thanks again for the book, by the way."
"Don't mention it," she called over her shoulder.
"And, uh... this conversation... I mean the stuff at the beginning... you know... it never happened, right?"
Hermione was glad her back was turned – he wouldn't have been pleased by her look of glee.
"Neeever happened."
She walked deliberately slowly while leaving the great hall after her meal.
Deliberately. Slowly.
She neared the grotesque, writhing, two-headed monster that materialised whenever Ron and Lavender came into contact.
"Oh, hi, Hermione!" Parvati's cheery greeting was the very soul of contrition.
Hermione smiled, and shot back an equally jaunty "Hi, Parvati!" – Show time. – "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"
"No invite," said Parvati sullenly. "I'd love to go, though; it sounds like it's going to be really good… You're going, aren't you?"
"Yes." Hermione girded her metaphorical loins. "I'm meeting Theodore at eight, and we're going up to the party together."
"Theodore? Theodore Nott, you mean?" Parvati's eyes expanded risibly.
"Mhmm. The very same."
"Are you going out with him, then?" Parvati, demanded urgently.
Hermione did her best to channel the Romildas, the probably-Marthas, and the possibly-Violas of the world. She simply giggled in response. Harry, who was sitting next to Parvati, shot her a look of disbelief.
"Wow. I'd heard you both studied together, but I didn't know it was a… a… thing!"
"He's really quite intelligent." Hermione considered twirling her hair, but didn't want to risk creating an unnecessary tangle. "You can imagine how much pleasure I take in that. Well, see you… Got to go and get ready for the party…"
"Just a minute, Hermione!" Parvati said, still looking scandalised while she pulled a bit of parchment out of her pocket. "My sister asked me to give this to you."
Hermione thanked her and left.
She hadn't looked Ron's way even once, knowing full well that she was being catty and silly and such an adolescent... yet she couldn't wrestle down a satisfied smirk.
The parchment in her hand said: 'Library- tonight. After your stupid party, obviously.'
"You're scarily vindictive sometimes," Hermione was told.
"Oh, and you aren't?"
Ginny grinned at her – well, at her reflection, standing behind her as she was, braiding and coiling strands of atypically smooth brown hair.
"You should have seen Ron's face. Like a troll struck by a dozen stunners, he was." She paused to let Hermione finish laughing. "He's such a moron. I'm sorry we're related. Surely I can't be the first person to tell you this – you can do better."
Hermione regarded Ginny – Ginny's reflection – thoughtfully. "My mum says that girls mature a good five years before boys. At the very least."
Ginny nodded. "Mine says that same. And she'd know, you know?"
"OUCH." Hermione yelped.
"Oh shut it. I didn't pull that hard. Fuck me, you have so much hair! So anyway, my mum... she'd know. It's why she kept popping out kid after kid until she had me. Pretty daft plan, honestly – stuck with six duds just for one pearl."
"I'd say you're worth all that and more, Ginny Weasley," said Hermione, giving her a warm smile.
Ginny kissed the tresses currently in her grasp. "You don't know what you're talking about. Besides the Prat Extraordinaire, you've only had to deal with that lot in small doses."
"True. But besides the Prat Extraordinaire, they're a very decent lot, I'd say."
"Oh, really?" said Ginny, deprecatingly, "let's go over this decent lot, shall we? The eldest is engaged to an overbearing cow, the one after is so desperate to suppress his homosexuality that he ran off to train bloody dragons to establish his masculinity, and the third turned out to be a foul government toady who abandoned his family. Then came a pair of delinquents with massive issues with authority. And after that..."
"The Prat Extraordinaire," Hermione joined in at the end of the tirade. She was quivering with laughter, and Ginny clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to work a miracle over here."
"Well, excuse me," Hermione attempted in vain to stem her chuckles, "I didn't ask you to do this. You practically begged me to let you do my hair."
"Of course, I did. This is a very important operation..."
"Operation Hang the Bastard Out Yonder. OHBOY."
"You have such a way with abbreviations!"
There was a short stint of silence after their mirth had subsided.
Ginny had finally reached the other side of her head when she asked- "Are you sure you aren't coming to the Burrow tomorrow?"
"I am, Ginny."
"Come on, Herms...ione," she said, acknowledging Hermione's glare, "You don't have to interact with Ron at all. Harry wants you there, I really, really want you there, Fred and George want you there, and mum and dad would love to see you. Plus, Lupin and Tonks will probably come by..."
"Of course I'd love to see them all, too; you know that. But I honestly do have a lot of work to complete. I'm not even going to my own home so that I can stay here, and –"
"And spend time with Nott?" Ginny asked, drowning out the end of her sentence.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And there we go. I was wondering when you'd bring that up."
Ginny shook her head in bemusement while muttering- "It's just so bizarre, Hermione!"
"Perhaps," she said, "but it is, okay? And before you ask, it certainly isn't a ploy or sham."
In the mirror, Hermione observed her fiery-haired friend struggle to form her next query. After a beat or two, she seemed to settle on something and asked, "Are you actually going out with him?"
"No, Ginny."
"Rea-"
"Really. It's completely platonic."
"Pity. He's not bad to look at. A little scrawny, maybe, but then, so are you."
Hermione dismissed her with a soft grunt. "Not happening."
Ginny picked up the final bit of her hair, and began plaiting it.
Meeting reflection-Hermione's eyes, she said, "Harry doesn't like it."
Hermione frowned. "He seems to have... grudgingly... accepted it, actually..."
"Nah," she said, looking a bit apologetic, "He's just not getting after you because he knows you're dealing with far too much shit as it is. He also feels guilty; like, he if had been around more, you wouldn't have gone and befriended a sodding Slytherin."
"So what if he's a Slytherin?"
"So what?! They're a bunch of no good snakes!"
No. Bad answer.
Hermione was instantly incensed. "That is blanket stereotyping, and it's beyond absurd! If that entire house is unequivocally evil, why does it even exist? Let's do away with Slytherin house, and there'll be no bad witches or wizards in Great Britain ever again! Peter Pettigrew was in Gryffindor, remember?"
"That's not what I mean, Hermione," Ginny said gently, "Bad eggs can pop up anywhere. But you can't deny where most of them come from. Even the youngest kids here act like such pissing little –"
Hermione cut her off. "Can you blame them? They come in here as eleven year olds, get sent to a particular table by a mouldy talking hat, and suddenly they're ostracised by practically all their peers, and even some of the teachers! How would you react to that?"
They fell into another stretch of silence, allowing them both to get lost in their own heads.
"I'm done," Ginny whispered, causing Hermione to resurface. She stared in awe at the intricate coil of braids and twists at the back of her head.
"You really are a miracle worker, Ginny."
"No shit. I could have done my own hair ten times over in this much time."
"You don't have to do anything to your hair," she sniped, eying Ginny's silky tresses, which she had justifiably left loose.
Spinning around on the little footstool on which she was sat, Hermione looked up and smiled gratefully at her friend.
Ginny returned the gesture with a subdued smile of her own. "I'll talk to Harry over the hols. You're right; what you said... it's true."
The atmosphere was unacceptably sombre and intense; especially considering the fact that they were due to attend a party in half an hour. Hermione lifted her chin regally and said, "Of course I'm right."
Her inflection was all wrong, but Ginny indulged her with a grin.
"Doesn't it get tiring? Always being right?"
Hermione arched her brows and pretended to examine her cuticles. "Not in the slightest. ...HEY!"
Ginny had pinched her shoulder – gently of course – and Hermione rubbed the spot while giving Ginny the two-fingered salute. Gasping in fake indignation, Ginny pulled her up by the arm and spun her around to face the mirror again.
"Not too shabby, eh?" she said smugly.
Before Hermione could say or do anything else, she found herself being dragged out of the dormitory.
"Where are we going? It's only seven-thirty..."
"We have to pass the time in the common room. OHBOY, remember?"
In those subsequent thirty minutes, Hermione felt just about as self-conscious as she had during the Yule ball. She tried desperately to involve herself in the conversation that Ginny, Harry, Dean, and Seamus were engaged in... but they were talking about quidditch, and she was consumed by the knowledge that a certain red-haired boy was sitting diagonally across the room from her, and he hadn't stop staring at her for a moment.