DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Leafless branches on pitch black tree-silhouettes swayed to a divine beat like the swinging pendulum of a metronome. The moon was a perfect semicircle; a half disc made of prime marble on a velvety sky. Hermione's room was a dark extension of the winter night.
She pulled her chair up to the window and sat with her knees pressed against her chest. She was flustered, mortified, and sore between her legs.
Staring outside, she drew in a deep breath and thought back to the evening that had led to this wretched moment.
Supper. Warm chicken casserole. Cabinet pudding. Neville accidentally tipping his tumbler...
Terry drew her to his side as she was exiting the great hall, and instead of holding her hand, he slipped his inside her robe and laid it against the small of her back. His fingers trailed up and down her spine in the most distracting way. When he whisperingly asked her if she'd like to come up to his room for a bit, she gladly agreed.
What followed was to be expected. They kissed, touched, and clothes were shed piece by piece. He looked into her eyes with a question, and she nodded affirmatively.
Then they were on his bed. He lay on top of her – so much bulkier than she'd realised – progressing with purpose towards the inevitable –
But then she – ("Oh, god," she groaned and buried her face between her knees,) – she wasn't able to... to... unclench.
Terry stroked, coaxed, and gently cajoled. He even tried to pull away but she insisted, no please I want this, bringing them back to the same humiliating cross point. Eventually, he used a spell on her. Do you trust me, and he laid his wand against her folds and – (she whimpered and cringed so hard that her joints creaked,) – and they went through with... whatever.
There was no question of her enjoying a second of it.
At least Terry got off, and after, he held her close and cooed reassuringly in her ear. It's never smooth sailing the first time.
She didn't correct him. She didn't asked why on earth he knew a spell like that. She stayed absolutely quiet with nausea churning at the back of her throat, and she waited for him to fall asleep.
Thankfully, it didn't take long. She slipped out of his bed, got dressed, and tumbled over to her room, where she swiftly undressed again, and aimed a series of spells at her womb. A hot shower followed. Under that scorching cascade, she slathered body wash all over herself to eradicate the pungent smell that lingered around her from Terry's room. She scrubbed around her neck, down her chest, her ribs...
Her hand iced over as it got to the base of her stomach. When she finally got going again, her eyes were squeezed shut.
Then she put on fresh knickers and her dad's old jumper.
She pulled her chair up to the window and sat with her knees pressed against her chest. She was flustered, mortified, and sore between her legs.
So flustered, so very mortified, shit, she didn't know what to do anymore.
She didn't want to live anymore.
Well, that was dramatic.
Ugh. This hadn't happened with Pete; not even close. Perhaps it was because she'd been out of her mind and so desperately wanting a distraction? But what went wrong? Why did that have to happen? How was she ever going to look Terry in the eye again?
She straightened her legs and they exploded with pins and needles from being constricted for so long. Like Mr. Wobblyman, she rocked her way to bed, where she curled into a foetal position. It goes without saying that she barely slept that night.
She was pressed against the wall by the door between the girls' dorms and the common room. There were just fifteen minutes left before breakfast ended; she'd spent most of the hour cowering in her room, hoping that Terry would give up waiting for her and leave.
And yet, there she stood by the door jamb, too scared to peek and see if he was still around or not. Perhaps she could conjure a mirror? Why oh why hadn't she asked Harry for his cloak? Surely her need was greater than whatever Auror business he'd use it for.
The sound of feet tripping down the stairs paused her planning, and she looked over, smiling wanly at Padma and Tracey. They both looked puzzled by the picture she made.
"What are you doing?" Padma asked.
"Nothing," she answered in a fairly sullen manner.
"Really? Because to me, it looks like you're hiding."
Hermione could only purse her lips and sniff.
A very evil grin spread across Padma's face. "Are you hiding from Terry?"
"No."
"You are!" she laughed, "What did he do to warrant this?"
"He didn't do anything!"
"Well then. What did you do?"
"Nothing!"
"Stop being a cow, Padma," Tracey chided, "Hermione, would you like me to check and see if he's there?"
"Yes, please," Hermione mumbled in a small voice.
Tracey's demeanour cracked; she was fighting a smile as she peeped around the door.
"All clear," she assured, and smirked when Padma let out a giggle.
"Thanks."
Bypassing the Great Hall, she headed straight towards the greenhouses. She inhaled great big gulps of clean, cold air and listened to the sound of snow crunching beneath her boots. Boots. Boot.
Just like that she was back to square one.
xxx
She hurried out after the lesson was over. She had felt his eyes on her the whole bloody time.
"Hermione!" she heard him call out from behind, but Ginny, Demelza, and Dean were up ahead and she rushed to them.
Even quiddich talk was better than facing Terry at the moment.
But by the end of the day, she felt childish and guilty over the crestfallen look she'd seen on his face every time she dodged him.
And so, that evening, she dragged herself to the library, where she knew he was studying with a few of his mates. A "few" turned out to be a few too many – and when she asked Terry if she could have a word in private, she saw Padma struggle to stifle a smile.
"So now you want to talk?" he responded coolly and crossed his arms.
"Yes, please," she croaked.
He got up with a heavy roll of his eyes and led her to a vacant corner. Hermione, for good measure, cast a quick muffliato around them.
"Well?" he stated, eyes narrowed with ill-temper.
"I'm sorry I've been so difficult–"
"Difficult?" he echoed with disbelief, "You've been a nightmare."
She flushed and wrung her hands. "I was just so embarrassed, you see!"
"What for?" he cried. "Seriously, what the hell for? Sure, it was awkward initially, but it happens, alright? Specially the first time–"
Again, she said nothing.
"– besides... it got so bloody good after that, yeah?" He stepped right up to her and tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Right," she whispered, blinking rapidly.
"You see?" he lowered his voice to match, "Nothing to be embarrassed about."
He kissed her and she forsook all her hang-ups and simply fell into it. Her tired brain appreciated his affection like never before.
"Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Ms. Granger?" asked Scrimgeour.
"No, I'm not," retorted Hermione. "I'm hoping to do some good in the world!"
Over a year ago, a combat-ready, idealistic version of her had scoffed at a career in law. The slightly older, world-weary version of her scoffed at that.
On a Saturday morning, she sat in Headmistress McGonagall's highly organised office, seeking some clarity. It jarred and disturbed her to be like this – to only have a fuzzy plan for the future based on a throwaway comment by not one, but two Ministers of Magic. How had this become her life?
In her youthful zeal, she had rejected the thought of becoming a cog in the shambling bureaucratic machinery. She had so many plans, most of which led to her piloting a revolution, setting off great change...
Then she learned that after you've fought a war and skirted around dystopia, all you really want is to find the peaceful way to do things.
And yet, how entirely mad was it that she was going straight from school into the business of law making, without spending any time actually studying law?
"You learn on the job," McGonagall reassured her, "The first year, you will mostly be tailing an official, sitting for meetings, attending seminars, researching..."
"But is that enough?" she questioned fretfully, "Shouldn't there be some sort of test to gauge whether candidates understands the law well enough?"
"I'm sure the department does not take this lightly, Ms. Granger. If they do not believe you to be up for the job, the will make it abundantly clear."
"O-Of course," she stammered.
From his gilded frame, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus tsked loudly. "I for one wouldn't consider this young lady capable of any–"
"Yes, thank you, Phineas," McGonagall snapped.
Hermione left forty minutes later, with a comprehensive list of reference books, a contact, (one Madam Gemma Mandrake, head of the Wizengamot Administration Services,) and not even a smidgen of confidence. The only thing she was glad about was the fact that Dumbledore's portrait had remained empty.
It was noon, and they slinked into his room after indulging in a couple of boozy hot toddies at Hog's Head. The air was buttery golden like the steaming beverage in her mug had been... like Terry's eyes in that light... like the ends of her hair when it spilled over her face as she bent to pull off her socks...
xxx
"Does this make up for the last time then?" he asked slyly as he buttoned up his trousers.
Her answering smile was genuine. "More than."
"Gods, look at you," he murmured, and she flushed, standing there in just her t-shirt and knickers.
He took her hand (well, of course he did,) as they returned downstairs... but she pulled them apart the moment they did, for downstairs there was quite a scene.
At the centre of it was Malfoy. His hair was all over the place, his shirt was half tucked out and wrinkled, and he was positively flaming with anger. Theo and Neville were close behind – the former looking equally furious, the latter a bit terrified. Facing off against him, scowling feverishly – Ginny. Everybody else had formed a ring around them.
"What's going on?" Hermione whispered to Dean who was sat on an armchair at the fringe.
He pulled a face. "Some fifth year tried to deck Malfoy because his Dark Mark was showing."
"So according to you, Weasley," Malfoy growled, "I deserve to get the shit beaten out of me?"
"That's not what I'm saying, you pillock! You just need to have the decency to keep that Mark covered out of –"
"I shouldn't have to do any such –"
"OUT OF RESPECT for the people to whom it means the death of a loved one!"
"Oh, you think it's a symbol of happiness to me? You think it's something I like seeing? But there's nothing I can do about it, and I'm not going to fucking hide it because some wimpy little twat can't handle –"
"That kid – Alex – his mother was killed! She was decapitated and left under a Dark Mark! How dare you call him wimpy? How dare you go around flashing that hideous thing –"
"I am NOT ashamed of it!" Malfoy roared. He was leaning forward like he was ready to spring; his tiger-footed rage was making him visibly quiver. "I did what I had to do! And if you have a problem with –"
"This is not about you!" Ginny spat, "This is far bigger than you and your feelings, and –"
Something that felt a lot like delirium took over Hermione. She didn't know where it came from, but it carried her into the thick of the commotion, and it made her reach out and touch Ginny's shoulder.
"Leave it," she told her firmly, "Malfoy's right. People will just have to deal with his Mark."
"What?!" Ginny hissed, aghast, but Hermione ignored her. She was too focused on Malfoy, the way hints of confusion began to seep into his posture and the angle at which his eyebrows slanted.
When his eyes where fixed on her, she lifted her chin defiantly.
"Isn't that right, Malfoy? It's just the emblem of the darkest and vilest wizard of our age. Nothing to make a fuss about. Nothing seriously distressing, like say... a wand."
Oof, the way his face fell slack with shock was exquisite. Then he sucked in a deep breath, and he seemed to swell. Fury bloomed high on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.
She held her breath.
Surely she was in for it now.
His eyes were round; opened wide. His pupils had constricted into two tiny specks floating in whirlpool storm clouds. She'd had it.
Except... not.
Malfoy turned around and marched away. He tore through the huddle of spectators, kicked a ripple on the carpet, and thudded his way up to the boys' dorms. Everybody turned to watch him go, and when he'd disappeared from sight, they all turned to stare at her. She wanted to crumble.
"Was that really necessary?"
Theo now stood right before her and his look, voice, tone, everything seared his disappointment into her very soul.
It wasn't really necessary. But no. Actually – "Yes, it was!" she replied hotly, suppressing the discomfort that was bubbling away somewhere inside her.
He seemed to be on the cusp of retorting, when he suddenly snapped his head to the right and barked, "Where are you going?"
Alarmed at having been put on the spot in such a manner, Mandy blinked vulnerably. "I – erm – I'm going to check up on Dra–"
"No!" Theo growled, "Now is not the time for you to show him your compassion, or your tits, or whatever it is you're good f–"
"Theodore!" Hermione reached out and shoved him. He grit his teeth insolently and she glared back in horrified disbelief. She hadn't ever seen him like this. It was like... any second now... he'd burst apart...
"Theo. Stop it."
Luna appeared at his side and took one of his clenched fists in both her hands. He sighed heavily and swayed on his feet; his eyes fell to his and Luna's hands, Luna's face, then Hermione's... and finally he looked a bit like himself again.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled at Mandy's feet, "That was an... atrocious thing to say. I am truly, very sorry. But trust me, Draco needs to be left alone right now."
He let Luna lead him out of the room, and left behind such astonishment, so many shuddering exhales, so many scandalised looks. Hermione saw Terry making purposeful strides towards her, so with superhuman immediacy, she scurried away into her own room.
Sunlight had lost its allure – she closed her curtains with a careless wave of her hand. She sank to the floor by the foot of her bed with her legs stretched out before her. There was a loose thread hanging out from the hem of her jeans. Her wand was on her lap and she felt, most patently, the subtle alchemy of shifting conceptions.
It wasn't like he could go out and purchase a new arm. And... He shouldn't have to. She ran a finger across the delicate, twining pattern that twisted around her wand and imagined what it might have been like if she hadn't been able to free herself from the physical reminder of her most traumatic moment.
I'm not ashamed of this, he'd said, but Hermione thought he really was. She had been wretchedly ashamed of Bellatrix's wand, and nothing about its hold on her had been directly caused by a choice she'd made herself. He'd seen terrible things too, hadn't he? Every time he looked at his arm he must be reminded...
Blast it all, she felt terrible.
She thought people putting the Mark above all that Malfoy had done right. She thought about Theo's meltdown, about Malfoy breaking down over his dad in the library, and about Harry talking about the moment of Dumbledore's death.
That room in Malfoy manor with the mirrors and the chandelier: Moments before Bellatrix arrived, Malfoy had stared into her face and grudgingly confirmed her identity...
She pressed cold fingertips against burning eyes and swallowed.
She finally found Theo again long after dark, gazing pensively out of a window a short distance away from the entrance to their common room. He turned when he heard her approaching footsteps, and bound her way at once. Before she could so much as open her mouth, he'd pulled her into a tight hug.
Her cheek was pressed against his chest, his rested on the top of her head, and they held on for a long time.
"I was an arse," he rasped when they broke apart.
She wiped the corner of her eyes with her thumbs and replied, "I suppose I was too."
"A bit," he agreed, laughing humourlessly, "Are you up for a walk? I don't want to go back in there for a while. People keep staring, and fucking Zabini has been shooting awful, smug smiles at me..."
"What has he got to be smug about?" she demanded with bewilderment.
"He believes this is comeuppance, Draco getting roughed up, and all. That's what he gets for turning his back on his real friends."
Theo's mouth was one thin line. With his head bowed, the top half of his face was completely concealed by his dishevelled fringe and its considerable shadow. She reached out and swept it to the side.
"In that case, he's the arse."
He bestowed the smallest of smiles upon her, though it was obviously something he struggled with. Then they took a long walk, from one end of the castle to the other. He didn't want to talk, and she didn't want to force him to.
Hermione's schedule was running away from her.
At times she panicked. Her hair would be a fuzzy ball of static, and with ink on all fingers she'd be flapping about amid a pile of books, convinced that she was going to fail all her N.E.W.T.s. She'd have no choice but to move to Australia to become the receptionist at her parents' clinic. Olivia would hate her for getting her fired. She'd have no friends. Mum and dad would be so let down.
Whatever became of Hermione Granger? I hear she was last spotted living in a tree in the Gondwana Rainforest...
At other times, she was. That's it; she just was.
Like the afternoon she sat with Luna and Theo, happily arranging her notes on legislative reforms while they discussed the details of the wedding they were all soon to attend. Or the time she helped Neville in the greenhouses, or the hours she spent with Terry – studying silently, chatting idly, having sex...
That nightmarish instance of their first time provoked no more than the smallest spike of shame. Sex, she quickly came to realise, was just as good for her mood as running was.
xxx
The present moment was one of panic. Hermione had been so lost in revising and preparing that she forgot – she actually forgot – about homework.
She forgot about homework.
Don't even try telling her she wasn't the biggest dunderhead in the world.
Ancient runes was due the next day. Arithmancy, the day after that. It was six in the evening.
Twenty four inches of parchment and two broken quills later, she was just about halfway through her first task.
"What are you up to?" Theo's voice floated over from... somewhere.
"Go away," she snapped.
Fifty inches of parchment and one minor ink-blotting incident later, she was through.
"Oh goooooooood," she moaned and hunched over so that her forehead rested against the tops of her knees.
"Yes, God is here, not to worry."
She turned her head to look at him without bothering to sit up again. "Hi."
Clearly fighting a smile Theo asked, "What was this all about then?"
"Rune's homework."
"The assignment we got three days ago?"
"Yes."
"And you only just completed it?"
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"Ugh."
She turned her face back into her knees. He chuckled, and she felt him fiddle with something on her head... the next second, her bun came undone, and her hair tumbled all around.
"You know, when you sit like this, your hair covers every last inch of you... except for half your legs. You look like a haystack with stumpy legs."
"How nice."
"You're being a bore, Hermione."
"Ho hum."
He clicked his tongue and poked her shoulder, and she veered to the side like the rag doll she was. Still didn't sit up though. No thanks, I'll pass.
"Did you know," he maundered on, "Ginny and Draco seemed to have buried the hatchet."
"Lov-er-ly," she drawled, like Oh, wouldn't it be lov-er-ly.
Oh, so lov-er-ly sittin'
Abso-bloomin'-lutely still
I would never budge till spring
Crept over me window sill.
"They all played quiddich together... her and him, Thomas, Corner..."
"Hm."
"Not that she understands a dot of what he's been through or going through. I wouldn't expect her to. There's only one other person I know who understands what it means to do something difficult and morally questionable to ensure the safety of one's parents–"
She shot up. She tossed her head back, and her wild, unencumbered hair flew back in a huge arc. He tracked it with his eyes and grinned.
"Impressive."
"What I did to my parents is not the same as pledging allegiance to Voldemort, plotting murder, and putting a castle full of children in peril!" she argued hotly.
Theo rolled his eyes. "So if Voldemort had his wand pointed at Robert and Evelyn, and said you must kill Dumbledore or they die, you'd have...? What? Thumbed your nose at him?"
She glared. He looked back, unimpressed.
He lowered his head to say go on. She growled and looked away.
"I know what you're trying to do."
"What am I trying to do, Hermione?"
"You," she fumed, "Know full well. Constantly pointing out how similar we are, pushing us to study together... you think you can trick me into... into..." oh, it felt ridiculous to say out loud, "becoming his friend."
"And why can't you be?" he retorted glibly.
"Are you serious?" she spluttered.
"Yes! I'm hardly reaching when I'm talking about your similarities!"
"All right. Okay. We share some vague character traits–"
"Not vague!"
"– that's all anybody needs right? Wonderful! We'll be great buddies–"
"Oh, you said buddies!"
"And it'll all be dandy until one day he calls me a mudblood and that'll be on you. Are you fine with that?"
He fell silent.
He was silent for quite some time. She realised that there was no one else around – what time was it – well shit – one-thirty AM.
"He isn't like that anymore."
"Huh?"
"His beliefs have changed in the most remarkable way."
"Right," she scoffed, "Just like that."
"Not just like that," he snapped, "Nobody goes through hell and comes out unchanged."
"Have you talked about it? With him?"
"Obviously. At length."
"And?"
"That's between him and me, sorry. If you want to know, you'll have to speak to him yourself. I can assure you, your doubts will all float away. And, from an intellectual point of view, his perspective is fascinating. Really, truly, captivating. Intellectually."
Hermione narrowed her eyes witheringly. "Is that your idea of clever manipulation? You're such a lousy Slytherin."
"No, buddy, that was mockery. I was mocking you."
Grrrr. "I'm going to bed," she announced with irritated finality, and quickly began chucking her things into her bag.
"Do you really think I'd put up with him if he still thought you were inferior? Do you think so little of me? And by the way... the Bowtruckle's a half-blood."
"And who's to say he isn't using her to make a point? A... statement, if you will. Like you, when you first befriended me to–"
"Don't you dare bring that up."
"Hmph. Fine."
Her bag was packed and she was getting out of there.
But Theo had one final play.
"Okay, hang everything I've said. Can't you get along with him for me?"
She was already on her feet, and shouldering her bag. Thanks but no thanks, Theo.
"That's quite unnecessary."
"Well, excuse me!" He latched onto her wrist and wouldn't let her leave. "Unnecessary?"
"We have a schedule, don't we?" she sniffed, "And it's working just fine–"
"Oh, your fucking schedule," he said with a dismissive laugh, "It's anything but fine. Do you really think I enjoy running between the two of you like the child of a broken marriage? Remember all that time ago, I told you he's my family, and you're my family, and bleeding hell, Hermione, is it so bad to want to be able to sit in one room with my family and have a reasonably pleasant time? Is it wrong for me to want the most important people in my life to just be nice to one-another? Merlin, the world would be a better place if everybody was more like Luna."
She couldn't find the right words to say. He appeared to sense her struggle and laughed ruefully. Sadly. "How's that for manipulation?" he murmured, and let go of her wrist.
"I'll try," she whispered.
"Okay. Thank you."
He got to his feet and stood before her with solemn dark blue eyes – this incredible person who deserved to have some semblance of a happy family after everything he'd been through.
"If I don't wake up on time tomorrow, I'm going to blame you."
She laughed breathily, and bid him goodnight.
Hermione wandered listlessly into the library, hoping against all odds that Padma had decided to skip care of magical creatures in favour of being available with her copy of Early Numerology.
But alas, she scoured the place from corner to corner, and found no Padmas hanging around. Time to give up, she supposed. Slumped defeatedly, she shambled down aisles, she went past bookcase after bookcase...
A strange glow from between a miniscule crack between two shelves stopped her in her tracks. Pressing an eye against the gap, she recognised it to be a head of platinum blond hair. Malfoy was sitting alone at a small table and, Jesus Christ, she was having the worst bout of bad luck. She really did need to get that assignment done, though – it had to be submitted the next day, after all.
And that decided the matter.
She bounced on the balls of her feet... once... and again... biting into her lower lip till it hurt. A sloping shaft of sunshine fell right upon him, lighting him up like the cruellest salvation there ever was.
Suddenly, she practically pounced, launching out of her hiding place and bounding over to the seat opposite his.
She busied herself with setting up her workstation – spent a silly amount of time placing her inkpot and parchment exactly so – trying to take no notice of what her peripheral vision was telling her: He'd frozen, and he was watching her.
Still without meeting his gaze, she reached out towards Early Numerology and pulled it closer so it was equidistant to them both. Then, promptly, she began to write. Six uneasily printed numbers later, she heard the scratching of his quill.
She breathed out. Heavily.
Many minutes went by. She stopped for a spell, to rotate her wrist and stretch her shoulders. Malfoy was still scribbling away, his posture straight and so unlike her own. The sun had sunk a notch; its beams now engulfing his form like a halo. His hair looked pure white, gleaming as his shirt was.
His left hand was resting on the table, with the index finger marking a spot on his reference notes, and the other four curled inwards. His skin was milky and smooth, warmed subtly by the sun's light that bounced off his knuckles and made the sparse smattering of pale hair on his arm glitter. Long, straight, slender fingers radiating out of a large palm, which led to a lean but strong wrist: It was a beautiful hand. Hermione thought about Myron's Discobolus and the way his hand elegantly hovered by his knee as he –
"What?"
She jerked her head up and he was glaring at her with flinty eyes and down-turned lips.
"No!" she cried in panicked haste, "No! I wasn't looking for your mark! Honestly, Malfoy, I was just... just..."
...Admiring your hand?
Her mouth closed with a click of her teeth and she dropped back into her work feeling unbelievably hot under the collar. She didn't dare look up again.
On the plus side, she finally completed her assignment.
Quite suddenly, it was February. The weather began a teasing game of sending down random suggestions of warmth that never fully manifested or lingered.
After a particularly distressing lesson during which Hestia hurled iron balls at them for Blasting curse practice, Hermione lay naked beside Terry – also naked – finally getting a chance to catch her breath.
"Let's do something different tomorrow," he suggested softly, running his fingers along her clavicle, "How d'you feel about a picnic by the lake?"
"I can't."
His hand stopped moving. "Why not?"
"Harry and Ron are visiting."
"I see," he muttered stiffly, "Will you be with them the whole day though?"
"More or less. I haven't seen them in months."
He looked very carefully and very pointedly at her for a long moment, like he was waiting for her to invite him to join them.
Which simply was not going to happen.
They left together some time later, for Arithmancy. He was abnormally quiet, and made no attempts to touch her in any way. Hermione only felt a little bad – there was no chance she was going to risk bringing him along, not until she knew where she stood with Ron. And besides... he would just mess up their dynamic.
All she wanted was to spend a few peaceful hours with her oldest friends.
xxx
He didn't wait for her after Professor Vector had dismissed the class; having a proper sulk and what not.
Well, fine.
She wasn't going to let it bother her, not when she was going to see Harry and Ron again in less than twenty-four hours, and in her hand she held her assignment that was topped with a shining green 'O'.
Just as she was turning the corner to climb up the stairs for Ancient Runes, she spotted Malfoy standing by a floral tapestry, peering down at his assignment. She faltered momentarily, but gathered herself swiftly enough. She squared her shoulders and strode over to him.
"How'd you fare?"
He blinked at her with a funny look on his face, and it was hard to tell whether it was stupefaction or outrage because she'd had the audacity to speak to him. However, he didn't immediately bite her head off, which caused her to wonder if Theo had upended a bucket full of guilt on him as well.
He turned his parchment over to reveal a familiar green 'O'.
"Me as well," she mumbled, a bit sheepishly as it was painfully obvious that he didn't care a hoot.
"Well, of course you got an O!"
They both jumped as Mandy joined them, wearing a perfectly cheerful grin.
"In fact," she continued, "You getting anything less than a perfect score would probably be a sign of the apocalypse. How are you not in Ravenclaw?"
Oh, not that again. Hermione sighed and tiredly eyed the two in front of her, all tall and imposing; smiley and frowny.
"But then again," Mandy went on, "A lot of the Sorting Hat's calls make no sense. I mean, why is Michael in Ravenclaw? Not the sharpest quill around is he? And don't even get me started on Loony Lovegood."
Hermione bristled – prepared to attack – but Malfoy beat her to the punch.
"Don't call her that," he barked angrily.
Mandy was chagrined. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I know she's your best friend's girlfriend–"
"She's my friend."
"Right. Sorry."
Hermione's ears were full of a strange squeaky-buzzing sound as she frantically thought of an acceptable way to remove herself from the situation.
"Were you headed for Runes, Hermione?" Mandy inquired uncomfortably.
"Um. Yes."
"Shall we?"
Bloody hell, no. But there was no way out of it now. She wordlessly fell into step alongside Mandy, leaving Malfoy and his churlishness behind. And naturally, they weren't going to walk along in silence.
"I really wasn't having a go at Luna, honestly!"
"No," Hermione ground out, "You were just suggesting that she's too stupid for your esteemed house."
"Give me a break, Hermione!" Mandy exclaimed, "You have to admit she lacks all the necessary qualities–"
"I will admit to no such thing. Luna is one of the most sharp and insightful people I've ever met."
(She'd almost qualified that with an unconventionally. Thank god she'd held it back.)
"Perhaps," Mandy muttered softly, "I suppose I don't really know her that well. As for the whole... 'Loony' thing – well – we've always called her that. It isn't even an insult really –"
"It is an insult, though." Hermione was fast losing her patience. "People have bullied her for years. It's not right."
They'd arrived at the classroom by then, and Hermione stomped off to sit next to Theo.
"What's got into you?" he asked, taking in her annoyed countenance.
"Oh, you know," she repined, "Damn Bowtruckle."
A delighted little chuckle tore out of him. "At last, my stars have aligned."
Arm in arm, Hermione and Ginny bravely fought back against the force of cold winds. Together, they slogged their way across shops, searching for black and red.
Ginny spotted them first. She let out a shriek, tore away from Hermione and ran. Harry stumbled back when she crashed into him, but wasted little time before lifting her up and spinning her.
When Hermione got to them, it was evident that the reunited lovers weren't going to separate anytime soon. She looked at Ron – oh, there he was, lanky, blue-eyed, freckled, grinning – and... What the hell – she threw her arms around him. He hugged her back just as tightly, and laughed when they parted.
"Hello, Ron." She beamed.
"Hi there – oh, bloody hell."
She looked over and shoulder and saw Harry and Ginny snogging like it was the only chance they'd ever get. It, along with Ron's nauseated expression, made her beam even harder.
"Let's give them some time alone, shall we?" she suggested.
Ron grumbled, but agreed.
As they strolled towards The Three Broomsticks, their shadows knocking together with every step, Hermione said, "Well. How are you?"
"Good. Brilliant. China was incredible, Hermione. I – um."
He stopped speaking quite abruptly. A bright flush crept up his neck.
"What is it?" she pressed anxiously.
"Um. See... the thing is. Fuck. Okay."
He stopped and she stopped, and they faced each other under a lamppost at the side of the road.
"I suppose I should get this over with," he sighed, "Hermione. I'm sorry."
She was not expecting that.
"I'm sorry for the stuff I said to you, and the way I behaved. I was out of line."
"I understood," she whispered, taken aback by his intensity, "Everything was so awful and I'd – I'd just–"
"Broken my heart? Ha. Yeah. It was pretty shite, to be honest. But it's no excuse. Look, I know I've done it a lot – got all shirty and lashed out at you. But you should know it won't happen again. I've become one with the unplanned rhythms of the universe."
She blinked. Many times. "...What?"
"It's Taoism. Shifu got me into it, and... by Godric, Hermione, it's changed my life. Non-action. Non-forcing. Spontaneity. I know how to deal with the world now. I know how to be."
Hermione didn't know what to say. She floundered like a fish out of water and –
"Please tell me he isn't nattering on about his Taoist bullshit already!"
She spun around with a squeal and flew to hug Harry, who grinned when he saw the jade pendant hanging from her neck. He squeezed her so tightly, she teared up – it was so so so so so good to see him again.
"Harry," she breathed, utterly overwhelmed.
"It's not bullshit!" Ron spewed indignantly. "I'm enlightened."
"Bah," Harry gibed, "Enlightened. You're deluded. And that's not surprising, considering the amount of Maotai you put away."
"Taoism doesn't say you can't have a good time!"
"And that," Harry announced, "Is Ron's real philosophy: Enlightenment via extreme self-indulgence."
"You know what? I'll take it."
Guffawing, they spilled into the pub and sat down to an afternoon of butterbeer, chips, and endless conversation.
By evening, a sizeable crowd had flocked around them: Most of Dumbledore's Army, (not including Terry,) and at least a dozen starry-eyed people who really had no business being there. (Ginny moved from her chair onto Harry's lap when Romilda Vane and her lackeys showed up.) Luna brought Theo and wedding invitations for Harry and Ron. Seamus burst in with a raucous "'OWAYA!"... and ale. George handed Ron an enormous box that contained a mooncake the size of a truck tyre.
Hermione sat between her partners in multiple crimes (and heroics,) and she didn't stop grinning for a second as they regaled the gathering with tales of their adventures in China.
.
.
.
A/N: You have no idea how badly I want to write a spin-off fic: 'Harry and Ron Go To China.'