DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".

.

.

Hermione walked slowly out of the hospital wing after another successful one-on-one stint with Ron. She had given him a belated birthday present – a dragon skin wallet that she had imbued with anti-theft wards and a charm that would have it leap back into his pocket should he ever accidentally drop it.

"Cool!" he had exclaimed with a pleased grin, and then they'd passed the time agreeably, engaging in small talk and pleasantries, with Ron giving her his own humorous account of Christmas at the Borrow, followed by a short (and entirely useless) discussion on what horcruxes could be.

And yet... Hermione wasn't feeling the giddy euphoria she expected to. There was a bothersome niggling sense of dissatisfaction swirling in her gut, and she frowned at herself in perturbation. Much to her frustration, her next lesson was over an hour away – there was nothing to distract her thoughts from travelling down a path she really preferred they stay away from.
Her mind was a bustling, hyperactive, never-stagnant bundle of neuronal confetti, constantly engaged in processing, planning, imagining, contextualising, reasoning... Ron's simplicity was exactly the respite she ought to crave. He was uncomplicated. Comfortable.

...Stultifying.

Hermione sighed uneasily. He didn't actually give her any respite, did he? Rather, he frequently gave her the additional baggage of emotional and psychological trauma, and that... well, she really had no damn time for that. How many people had tried to tell this to her – and how many times? Why did she still... STILL... it made no sense...

'Love int s'posed ta make sense, ya meff!' She heard her obnoxious cousin Charlotte's voice clear as day in her head.

Oh, why was she letting herself get worked up when they had only just re-established their camaraderie? It was fine. Ron still had a girlfriend, anyway. ...And there it was: that painful twist in her stomach.

It was official: She was a complete basket case. She needed an intervention, extensive therapy, and a short spell in a padded cell.

Outside, the turbulent conditions had calmed somewhat, with the sun sporadically and arbitrarily emerging from behind thick clouds. It was like the weather gods had grudgingly decided to take pity on their mortal playthings – 'Peace, wee worms, there is hope still! Perhaps you truly shall see spring again someday.'
Hermione found herself approaching the quidditch stands, dimly remembering Ginny telling her that the Gryffindor team had practice scheduled sometime that afternoon. Perhaps she could watch them; maybe practice a few harmless non-verbal spells on McLaggen...

...With the panicked haste of a small animal sensing a predator, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself and then ducked behind a post for good measure. In the near distance, two brooms touched onto the ground, and two figures gracefully leapt off them.

Hermione peered from behind the post, and watched Theo pull the bluegreen scarf she had so painstakingly woven out of his pocket and wrap it around and his neck, while he grinned at Malfoy. They walked across the pitch in her general direction, both with windswept hair, shining eyes, and flushed faces.
Theo said something to Malfoy that caused the latter to toss his head back and laugh, his hair glinting as the sun made one of its random appearances. Then Malfoy said something back, which had Theo laughing as well. They were both chuckling and walking, as if they were just two regular young wizards in high spirits after an invigorating spin on their brooms.

Clinging tightly onto the post as they walked by her, Hermione could hear Theo talking:

"...believe he actually thought it was a sound investment! For fuck's sake, what kind of a sodding pillock would think that was a good idea? I mean, sure, pepper imps are plenty popular, but there isn't a chance of them burning through the roof of your mouth, no matter how many you eat. And why on earth would –"
"Do you even realise you're talking, Theo?" Malfoy asked with a smirk, "I swear you'd just go on nattering for-fucking-ever, if there was no one to stop you..."

And then they had gone past her.

Hermione stared at the back of their heads – caramel and spun gold – with profound discomfiture. This was the person Theo was so desperate to protect: the person who made him laugh, who laughed with him – his friend; his "brother". This person was a complete stranger to her.

She had been, and always would be, an active opponent of the 'everything is black or white' worldview. Objective, she knew it wasn't possible for Malfoy to be nothing beyond the snarling, hateful, dimensionless bigot she knew him to be. It was why, in spite of everything, she hadn't stopped giving Theo books for him. The fact that there was some secret, miniscule part of him that was susceptible to the power of good literature gave her long-suffering idealism something to chew on.

Even so, the scene she had just witnessed gave her pause. It didn't absolve Malfoy of anything, of course... but it worked to further strengthen her compassion for Theo. He was stuck in such a horrible, impossible position.
They were all stuck in such horrible, impossible positions.

She pictured grossly twisted, paralysed bodies. Frozen screaming faces. Pain and horror. A horse in agony... the head of a bull... Picasso's Guernica.

Hermione was pulled away from her morbid musings with the arrival of the Gryffindor quidditch team. They appeared to be completely engrossed in strategising, not noticing her at all.

"Hi, Harry," she said loudly.

Harry jumped about a foot in the air, and then spun around in a wild circle.

"Whozere?!"

The rest of the team had similarly spooked expressions as they turned this way and that.

Oh right. She was still disillusioned.

She undid the charm with a sheepishly mumbled word of apology. Harry gawped for a couple of strained seconds, before marching right up to her and angrily demanding, "Why are you constantly trying to give me a heart attack? Don't you think there are enough people trying to kill me already?"
"I said I'm sorry," she muttered. "I forgot I had disillusioned myself."
Ginny popped out from behind Harry and asked, "Why the hell were you standing out here all by yourself and invisible at one-thirty in the afternoon?"
"Er... I was... thinking..." Hermione replied idiotically.

Harry and Ginny stared at her like that one sentence had robbed them of all their faith in her sanity forever.

"Anyway," she said awkwardly, "I should get going. I have to –"
"Well, well. Look who it is! Come to watch me play, doll?" McLaggen strutted over to her side, flashing a disgusting half-grin.
"No," she asserted coldly, and left.

Hermione was done with interacting with humans for the day. Quite thoroughly done. What she needed now was a deliciously complicated book, and six to eight hours of complete solitude. She checked her watch – thirty-five minutes till her Ancient Runes lesson. Best make the most of it.

As the newest couple in the castle, Padma and Anthony were causing quite a stir. Infinitely more dignified than Ron and Lavender had ever been, they cut through crowded corridors holding hands and seeming perpetually immersed in some riveting discussion or the other.
They were both quite tall, and with her long dark hair and his burly built, they made a striking pair.
As it happened one evening, Hermione was climbing down the same flight of stairs that they were climbing up, and since preoccupation was a common affliction for all three of them, they only ended up locked in a silent and startled staring match around the middle of the staircase. Rather, it was Anthony who was silent, Hermione startled, and Padma was staring.

Five, six, seven, seconds passed.

Hermione offered them both a sudden, snappy nod each, then recommenced her decent. She didn't look back, they didn't say a word, and later, at dinner, she ate two large slices of chocolate tart.

Since only twelve sixth year students had opted to take Arithmancy that year, all four houses sat for lessons together.

It was eleven-thirty at night, and those twelve students gathered in the astronomy tower where Professor Vector waited for them with four glorious brass telescopes. She quickly divided them into groups of three, and launched what was undoubtedly one of Hermione's favourite lessons of all time. Combining the laws of trigonometry with Hellenistic astrology was exhilarating – she sat with a piece of parchment doing rapid calculations, while Sue Li from Ravenclaw peered through a telescope, and Roger Malone from Hufflepuff neatly tabulated the results. They were a proficient team, and they had the entire Monomoiria charted within an hour.

Professor Vector checked their work and said, "Very well," (which coming from her was praise beyond comprehension,) "By the next lesson, I expect ten predictions derived from these calculations. And read pages 45-78 from volume five of Valens' Anthology."

Once, in a transfiguration lesson years and years ago, Professor McGonagall had told her class to read the first ten pages of Early Transfiguational Arts. Eleven year old Hermione had turned to her neighbours and said, "Of course, I'll be reading the entire book..."
Seventeen year old Hermione nodded and said, "Yes, professor," while thinking, of course, I'll be reading the entire book.
Oh, how age mellows a girl down.

Professor Vector moved onto the next group. When Sue turned to Roger and asked him if he was excited about his house's match against Gryffindor the next day, Hermione immediately tuned them out. She gently massaged her cramped fingers and walked over to the opposite side of the tower, where she leaned against the rampart and observed the rest of her classmates. Anthony and Padma had teamed up with Terry Boot. Next to them, Michael Corner, Wayne Hopkins, and Sally Smith were arguing heatedly over their calculations. The final group consisted of Tracey Davis, Lisa Turpin, and Draco Malfoy, and they seemed to have completed the assignment as well.
Lisa and Tracey, with their shoulders hunched against the wind, were pleasantly chitchatting. Malfoy's posture couldn't be more different – straight and impeccable in that 'would you just look at how well-bred I am' regal way, he stood apart at a distance; aloof. He wasn't even wearing a cloak, as though the bitter chill wasn't affecting him in the slightest. With his stark white shirt and his pale hair, he shone like a beacon against the dark sky, as he gazed out into the endless night. Clearly, no one had ever warned him about the dangers of getting into a staring match with the abyss.

"Hi."

Terry Boot had abandoned his partners and come to stand next to her.

"Mind if I join you? I'm a bit sick of being the third wheel over there," he gestured towards Padma and Anthony with a tilt of his head.
Hermione forced out a laugh, "I hardly think they'd do anything to make you uncomfortable."
"No, but they're definitely giving out some serious please-leave-us-alone vibes. Makes a bloke feel really unwanted, you know?"

Her laughter was more genuine this time.

"So," he continued, "Good lesson, eh?"
"Oh yes," she replied enthusiastically, "Arithmancy keeps getting more and more fascinating."
He grinned, running a hand through his hair, "It does. And you should know I've upped the ante. You might not have as easy a time topping this term. I reckon you'll need to add a good three minutes to your daily study schedule to beat me."
"Oh please," she chided, simultaneously flattered and flustered.

She'd only ever spoken to Terry a small handful of times... he always found a way to compliment her every time. She really wished she knew what to do with compliments.

"It's true. You know it is. It's bloody aggravating, alright? There are no less than six 'I hate Hermione Granger' clubs in Ravenclaw. They've even attached your picture on the dart board in our common room."
"Oh really? How perfectly lovely. Um... you have a dartboard in your common room?"
"Sure. Everybody needs a good way to unwind. And we enjoy flinging small, pointy objects at your face. What do you Gryffindors do?"

Hermione bit her lip to stop herself from doing something atrocious, like giggling.

"We have a gramophone, and tend to spontaneously break into dance."
He laughed, and the spots of light from nearby candles danced charmingly in his hazel eyes. "You dance? I mean, do you dance?" He waited for her to nod in confirmation, "Well. Mark this moment as the only time I've ever wished I was in Gryffindor."

She really hoped the sound she made was more of a chuckle than a giggle.

Things were so strange this year.

As she made her way back to the Gryffindor tower, Hermione pondered over the many ways in which her world had suddenly opened up. She couldn't understand how she had gone from being lonely and unapproachable to... this... to... whoever she was now. Yes, whoever, whatever; she wasn't going to spiral into an existential crisis over it. She only had a small window of time to just be, before grave and serious eventualities became her life.
For now, she would embrace this barmy new reality. The next time Terry came to talk to her, she might even flirt back.

"...oh my, Smith has lost the Quaffle again. That's the eighth time so far. He isn't a very good player, is he? I think he's suffering from a terrible fit of Loser's Lurgy... he does look quite sickly..."

Hermione guffawed and cheered along with the rest of her house while Zacharias Smith bared his teeth at Luna. Whoever had picked her to commentate was a genius. Hermione had never enjoyed a quidditch match more.

"...Cadwallader is flying towards the Gryffindor goal posts again... but look at that cloud behind him! Looks rather like a tap-dancing niffler..."

"She's brilliant," Neville yelled over the roaring crowd. Hermione beamed at him in agreement. She really wanted to see Theo at that moment. His grin was probably putting the Cheshire cat to shame.

"...Smith's new hairstyle makes him look rather like a plimpy..."

Delightful commentary aside, there was little else good about the game. McLaggen was proving to be – predictably – an unmitigated disaster. He was everywhere except where he should have been. Hermione could tell, despite the vast distance between them, that Harry was absolutely fuming. Ginny, Demelza, and Dean were trying their best, but it was forty minutes into the game and the score was a dismal –

"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall shouted into Luna's megaphone.
"Is it, already?" Luna wondered with mild surprise, "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats."

And indeed, McLaggen the lug had taken custody of Peakes' bat, and was brandishing it about like a deranged showman. Harry was zooming towards him, yelling bloody murder… just as McLaggen swung the bat…
Hermione's shriek of horror was drowned out by the various loud reactions emitted by the other spectators. The bludger had whizzed like a rocket and hit Harry straight on the head. The moment of impact was sickening; and then Harry fell off his broom. Hermione was on her feet in an instant, fumbling for her wand.
Luckily, Coote and Peakes caught him before he hit the ground. He hung limply in their arms as they floated him down and laid him on the ground. A stretcher was summoned, and Harry was promptly levitated to the hospital wing.

Bile sat suspended in Hermione's throat. Seeing Harry pale and unconscious felt far too much like a premonition. For neither can live while the other survives. Hermione sat back down slowly, trembling, and the racket and clamour around her dimmed to a dull and endless whistle.

"Hermione? Hermione, come on... game's over."

She let Neville lead her through the swarm. Apparently, the Hufflepuff seeker had caught the snitch, and the whole lot of them was celebrating like it had been a fair win.
They met Ginny just outside the changing rooms, and she looked enormously furious.

"Let's go see Harry," she barked, dragging Hermione along by the wrist. Neville got left behind somewhere among the sea of bodies.
"Er, Ginny... slow down?" Hermione broached tentatively.
"Sorry," she grumbled.
"Are you okay?"
"Of course I'm not okay! We lost the match. Harry let himself get hit like a prat. McLaggen knocked a bludger at him like a prat. And Dean thought the whole thing was funny, the bloody, bloody prat."

Hermione held her tongue the rest of the way.

Harry was still unconscious when they reached him, and Ron greeted them with a cheery nod, all the while gorging on sweets.

"How'did haffen?" he enquired with a full mouth. Hermione felt her lip curl, but she dutifully retold the events of the past hour.
"So McLaggen really fucked it up..." Ron was tickled.
"Just hurry up and get out of here so that we can get rid of him," Ginny groused, "Coote and Peakes tore him to shreds, but it didn't affect him at all. Prat. Ugh. I just knew today was going to be an utter crock of shit. First McLaggen, then all this bloody wind, Harry barely making the game on time, and then –"
"Wait," Ron barged in, "He barely made it? How come? He left here early enough."
"He was rambling on about Malfoy and a couple of girls... I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening..."

Since Harry was showing no indication of waking up any time soon, and Ginny began complaining about crippling hunger, the two girls left for the Gryffindor common room, where post-match snacks would indubitably have been laid out.

They walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts till Ginny suddenly spoke up: "Do you think he fancies Malfoy?"
"Huh?"
"Harry, I mean. Do you think he fancies Malfoy?"
"WHAT? ...I'm sorry... You're joking, aren't you...? What?"
"He's so obsessed with him! I've never seen him like that about anyone else."
"Ginny! He's absolutely convinced that Malfoy is up to no good, that's all! Not all obsessions are a manifestation of secret romantic feelings!"
"I know that," said Ginny, with a pinched expression on her face, "It could simply be burning, burgeoning lust. And Malfoy seems pretty obsessed with Harry too..."
"Oh god. That is beyond twisted. They genuinely loathe each other. You honestly think it's just a front and that they're secretly having a roaring affair right in front of our noses?!"
Ginny shrugged sullenly, "Or it's just denial."
"Fuck. You're batty. And you clearly have a seriously disturbed imagination. Honestly, the whole acrimony-masking-blazing-desire-leading-to-torrid-hate-sex is a clumsy and ignorant cliché," Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly, "On another note, have you seen the way Harry looks at you?"

She got another shrug in response. Hermione shook her head in disbelief, wondering about the harmful psycho-somatic effects of an overdose of absurdity.

Thing was, while Hermione firmly stood by her disdain for Trelawney's fondness for envisaging doom, she couldn't help her own staunch acceptance of Sod's Law.
Of course, Theo would be waiting for her on the third floor. They had planned to meet after the match, after all. Harry's ordeal had made her forget about her Ancient Runes homework. God, that boy was going to ruin her.

"Hermione! Oi. Buddy!" Theo stopped short when he noticed the redhead beside her.
"Buddy?!" Ginny snorted. Hermione flushed.
"Weren't we supposed to go to the library about now?" Theo asked Hermione with a frown.
"Yes, er, sorry... slipped my mind..."
"It's okay, Hermione," Ginny chirped, suddenly in high spirits, "You go on. I'll just grab some food and join you both in a bit."

Hermione and Theo gaped at her.

"What?" she asked innocently, "I think it's time him and I got to know each other. We're both your buddies, after all."

Yes, too much absurdity was fatal. Hermione was sure of it. She was now a washed out ghost watching Ginny's hair dance as she bounded away from them. She would presently go join Myrtle in her bathroom and pass the rest of her days wailing and moaning.

"Well. This ought to be interesting," Theo quipped.

He spent the journey to the library raving about Luna's dazzling commentating skills. Hermione nodded absently, not paying much attention. Her stomach was full of lead-coated knots, and it wasn't because she was worried that Theo and Ginny wouldn't get along – he was eminently likable, and she was buckets of fun. In fact, Hermione was sure that they'd get along fantastically... and that thought was what made her feel vaguely sick. The bottom line was this: she was not ready to share Theo. His relationships with Luna and Malfoy didn't bother her; those were completely separate dynamics at play. But Ginny could – and would – become his friend. She was exciting, much more so than Hermione, and what if... if Theo ended up preferring her company...

Her insecurity was beastly and insuppressible. She had only just found her perfect friend.

She was not not not ready to share him.