A special thanks to TheLastLynx for making an absolutely gorgeous aesthetic for this story - it's played a part in the second to last segment of this chapter.

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

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The time between supper and sleep were Hermione's private study hours, during which she holed up in her room and immersed herself in heavy-duty revision.
On that particular night, however, she wasn't revising. Then again, the task she was involved in demanded some rather challenging spellwork – it could be considered brushing up on charms...

She pieced a network of gears into place, cast a modified Piertotum Locomotor, and set up a button to trigger a dormant concealing charm. And finally, at half past two, she coated her project in brilliant green paint, and curled up in bed.

xxx

In the morning, she raced downstairs, with her hair still damp from the shower. She'd overslept, and only just managed to get ready before breakfast began. In the common room, Theo and Malfoy were walking towards the exit.
"Theo!" she called and scurried forward.
"Don't," Malfoy muttered under his breath as she passed him.
Sparing him no more than a fleeting frown, she turned to smile beamingly at Theo.
"Happy bir–"
"NOT YET!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, causing her to jump back in fright. "NOT YET, HERMIONE! AFTER NOON! After! Twelve! P.M.! You know this!"
"Right," she breathed, "You maniac."
Theo harrumphed and continued on his way. Malfoy followed. And as the door slowly closed behind him, he looked over his shoulder and bestowed a dreadfully self-satisfied grin upon her.

At thirty minutes to the sanctified hour, she tramped towards the edge of the Forbidden forest, where Luna had organised a little get-together. Hermione was one of the first to arrive; Luna was still in the process of hanging streamers on the trees.
There was a large rug on the ground, with a crate of butterbeer, a basket of food, and a pile of plates. Hermione set down the large box she'd been carrying and quickly moved to assist the girl, conjuring colourful balloons at her request.

In small spurts, other people began turning up. The rug was soon more than half occupied. Finally, at noon (sharp!) the guest of honour arrived.

"Happy birthday!" the crowd chorused.
"Thank you, thank you," Theo bowed graciously, nonsensically. His gaze dropped onto the box on the rug, and then snapped up to Hermione, deep blue shimmering for a confirmation.
She nodded and he leapt and dived like a deep cover fielder.
"Please tell me it's the chocolate one from last – YES!"

They ate and drank well into the afternoon, warmed by butterbeer, hot rolls, and laughter as Seamus related a story of a brawl that had broken out in his pub a week ago.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but joined in the mirth in spite of herself. She looked at Theo, leaning against a tree, Luna against his chest; his happiness was plain and clear. It made her smile. Dean was sitting to one side with a sketchpad and pencil. Ginny was lying on her stomach with her legs in the air. Neville stretched beside Hannah, who was skimming her fingers over grass. Malfoy lay indolently with his head on Mandy's lap.

Those brightly coloured streamers and balloons were swaying in the wind. The lake was iridescent, the sky was blue.

"I'm telling you, it was wild! This one chap breaks a bottle over his mate's head screaming down with the Falcons, and that mucker doesn't react. Not even a blink! Your man decks the chap till he's a bleeding mess on the floor, says fuck yeh, arsehole, downs his drink, snogs his lass, and then... then... Argh, me 'ead, he says!"

It was a splendid day.

xxx

Evening fell, people trickled away, Theo and Luna disappeared into the forest for a (supposed) "walk", and Hermione was the last one left on the rug.

It was getting chilly. She ran her hands down her cloak while muttering a warming charm. She took a sip from her bottle, and immediately wrinkled her nose in distaste. The butterbeer had gone flat and cold. The hazy hue of dusk stained everything – it was like she was looking at the world through violet gauze curtains.
Birds made a racket while settling into their nests. The lake gushed. It gushed and gushed, gushed, gushed. The wind rushed, rushed, rushed, rushed–
From inside the castle, the call for dinner sounded.
The tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells–

"Can we go in? Have you caught that cold you've been waiting on?"
"Hardy har," Hermione droned, and stood up. "Where's Luna?"
"Inside," Theo replied, "Where it's warm."
"I want to give you your present."
"Here? Now? Can't it wait–"
"No," she answered steadily, "I prefer there be no witnesses."
While he stutteringly articulated his apprehension, she reached into her bag and took out a small package wrapped in plain blue paper. And then she was the apprehensive one as he tore it open.

"Er. W–Wow. An alarm clock. Nice."
He held the clock close to his eyes, smiling in the most credible way.
She bit the corner of her lip and elucidated: "It isn't just an alarm clock. I've done some work on it. You see that slot in the back? Once you write someone's name there, they'll be the only one who'll hear it ring."
"That's really clever magic!" he commended, looking duly impressed.
"Yes, well–" She paused to stop him from spelling his own name on it. "You should give it to Malfoy."
"Excuse me?"
"I've put a locomotion charm on it. It doesn't just ring; it runs. Scuttles about like a high speed windup toy. It's also immune to summons, stunners, fire, the reductor curse, and most hexes. And when it's finally caught and you press the button on top to shut it off... it disappears. Only to reappear when it's time to ring again."
All through her explanation, Theo's grin had grown wider and wider. He said, "And here I thought you couldn't possibly top this scarf."
"Oh, ye of little faith."
They started back towards the castle and he put his arm around her like he always did. "You're brilliant, little one."
"Do not implicate me, though, Theodore Nott," she warned, "Do not or else I'll–"
"Of course I won't! But honestly – this is the best thing you could've given me. Thank you."
"Well, those antlers were brutal, after all."

Hogwarts rose before them and the sun set behind them.

"Do thank Robert and Evie for the cake, will you?"
"Thank them yourself. And mum will skin you alive if you call her that."

On the first day of March, she sent Ron an owl with a card, a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate, and an invisible-to-all-but-him wand holster.
While coming down from the Owlery, in a show up prime arseholery, the universe threw Terry in her path.
"Um, hullo," she stuttered.
He brushed past her wordlessly.

All she could do was roll her eyes. She felt an odd urge to talk to Harry, to tell him, hey, guess what – I've got myself into a Cho Chang situation. He was at his best when being drolly self-deprecating; he'd know exactly what to say to that.

She should've known it was coming. It was bound to.

Hestia's expression reflected grave seriousness. Her hands were clasped behind her back.

"Of all known curses, one of the most dangerous is Fiendfyre. It's a hundred times hotter and more hazardous than regular fire. It's savage, sentient, and capable of consuming any and every thing that comes in its path. It can bring down an entire country in days."

A bone-rattling shudder passed through Hermione's body. Breathing, suddenly, became laborious, like she was choking to suck in air through clouds of smoke and flying ash. She closed her eyes and the backs of her lids were painted orange.
Orange that writhed, twisted, and soared. Burning, searing orange wrapped around her, reached out to grab her, tried to devour her – all she could smell was smoke – all she could feel was heat and the texture of Malfoy's shirt against her cheek –

Impetuously, her eyes opened and sought him out. He was far across at the other end of the room, staring straight ahead. Back straight and arms crossed. Mouth pursed. So pale.
He had to be thinking about it too. He had to be wondering if those flames were still performing their deadly dance; whether they would do so eternally, locked up in the room that nobody could ever require. Was he thinking about scorching panic and blistering fear? Was he thinking about the friend he'd lost?

"Only the most proficient castor can control it. Even stopping the spell is near impossible – once cast, flames seem to pour out in an unstoppable stream. It can only be quenched if the castor has the skill to do so, or with flawless, powerful, pointed general counter spells. Yes, spells. This is not something a lone witch or wizard can handle. If you ever, Merlin forbid, find yourself at its mercy... run. Run like the wind."

She ran and she ran and the ends of her hair were singed. Then it was her and Ron in a corner, surrounded by flames and flames, hissing, roaring, crackling, closing in –

The bell rang. She gasped.

A low commotion broke out as the class was dismissed. Chairs were dragging, feet were shuffling; the chatter had an undertone of awe.
Malfoy was one of the first to rush out of the room, and without a thought, Hermione followed.

She had to jog to keep up, darting between pillars and clusters of students. He was striding along with purpose and precision, climbing up one staircase after the other, until finally they arrived at the seventh floor.
She watched from a distance as he paced before that infamous wall, willing a door into existence.
It had meant so many things to her, that door. A gateway to freedom, a symbol of rebellion, a safe haven, an enigma...
Up and down Malfoy marched with escalating agitation – to no avail. On his tenth or so attempt, she stirred from her corner and approached him.

"I don't think it's going to show up," she whispered.
He stopped dead and spun around to face her. It seemed that looking at her worsened his distress, if the grimace that overtook his face was anything to go by. He turned to stare at the empty wall... and... Swallowed.
"What were you asking for?" she asked carefully.
"The room of hidden things."
His voice was hollow. He was hollow.
Hermione wrung her hands. "Fiendfyre is capable of destroying a Horcrux. I'm sure it must've broken the room's enchantments as well."
He didn't respond, but remained fixated on the wall.

So she left him there. Her skin was prickling, her eyes were burning, her brain was relentlessly conjuring flashing images of a ruthless inferno – she kept walking until she was out in a courtyard, where there was fresh air and an open sky.

xxx

She couldn't sleep that night.
She sat up with a book that detailed each and every wizarding law, and every single amendment, until the constitution was pouring out of her ears and messing with her constitution.

She felt ill. When the time came, she packed up her bag and went downstairs.

Dwelling on fiendfyre had reignited her memory in the worst possible way. She spent a week in a fog, remembering all the things that had happened later that night, and she sank back into a familiar pit of anguish.
The image of Fred's lifeless body drove her into a state of unbridled madness, and she wrote a long, rambling letter to George about absolutely nothing – a letter she didn't send.
She sat on the Quiddich stands for hours, just watching Ginny fly around, her hair shining like Fred's had shone when he whizzed about swinging his beaters bat.

She stopped in the middle of her morning run to bawl, because the pinky dawn sky reminded her of Tonks' hair.

The fog lifted suddenly, in an abrupt, clarifying moment, and she quickly climbed aboard a textbook. Words, theories, a swish and a flick, what-fucking-ever. Anything to stay afloat.
Her life had been fuelled by great expectations – her own and that of others – and there was no point in letting emotional meltdowns overpower them.
She kept repeating that thought to herself all through the afternoon, which was, in keeping with the aforementioned topic, ...one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: When it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

Her table in the library had thankfully declared summer. Submersed in the light, she contemplated the stack of parchment in front of her. One at a time, she thought, one at a time.

The sound of vigorous footsteps shattered her flimsy resolve. Frustration promptly filled the ensuing vacuum and she grumbled, wondering who the hell would dare to intrude into her corner.

Malfoy emerged from between bookshelves and offered her a stiff nod as he settled on a chair at the other end of the table. His sleeves were once again rolled up just so, keeping his Mark hidden. His tie was loose, his expression was apathetic. He had this way about him that made her feel like she was the one imposing.
It was insupportable.

"What are you doing here?" –She fought hard to make that enquiry in an even, placating tone.
"According to your study schedule," he sneered, "We're supposed to be brushing up on Arithmancy right now."
"That's correct."

She blinked.
She absolutely had not expected him to show up.
She blinked again.
If Theo ever decided to enter active politics, the world would truly be doomed.
She sighed.

She sat up straight and pronounced, "These are exam papers from the last ten years. The first section deals with the history of Arithmancy – mostly objective type questions – we could, um, quiz each other?"
He took his time sighing, too, in a very lord, give me strength kind of way, so she thanked the lord for giving her the patience to deal with such affected behaviour.
"Okay."

In the 1980 Wimbledon Gentlemen's Singles final, Bjorn Borg met John McEnroe in an engaging tussle. Both were in their prime, seemingly matched in power and skill. Their fourth set tie-break lasted over twenty minutes, and resulted in thirty-four contested points.
It was a story dad had told her many times over the years.

Nineteen years later, in the Hogwarts library, she threw questions at Malfoy, which he answered and followed with counter-questions, which she answered and –

What a rally!

"Who was the first person to apply Arithmatic principals to the Latin alphabet?"
"Agrippa. Who employed multiplication instead of addition in one of the earliest–"
"Apollonius of Perga. What is the numerical value of Sargon the–"
"Sixteen thousand, two hundred and eighty-three. Where was–"
"Sargon the Great, Malfoy."

Game, set, match.

"What?"
"Not Sargon the second; I was asking about Sargon the Great."
(In other words: Ha! You lose.)
"What the fuck does he have to do with any of this?" Malfoy barked, "He died long before the emergence of Gematria."
She shrugged lightly. "Trick question."
His eyes were simmering with vexation. He scowled. "Bloody stupid question."
"I didn't set the paper. You can stop glaring at me." Smiling widely, she divided the second lot of parchments between them. "Comparative calculations now. The one who finishes first wins."

The entire group met again a few days later to study Herbology, led by (a slightly pleased, slightly abashed) Neville. He came up with an impressive system to help them learn. They were each given a chart with a list of plants in one column, and the others, (labelled properties, uses, soil type, etcetera,) were left blank and filled over the course of their conference, as he quizzed them.
In an unfortunate display, Hermione and Malfoy's voices drowned out everybody else's, as they each scrabbled to answer Neville's questions before the other.

She found herself getting more and more riled up, but maintained a two point lead. He was getting increasingly aggressive.

"Do you mind?" Ginny groused by and by, "We'd all like a chance to participate, thanks."

The tameness of an Ancient Runes session, later that evening, was a welcome reprieve, even though the dynamic between that particular set of five was a bit strange.
Things got more than a bit strange when Luna decided to interject with one of her wild theories about ancient ciphers. Nevertheless, those instances were fairly easy to breeze by since Mandy had been going out of her way to be kind, and Susan was incapable of being anything but. Theo, true to form, made sure to keep them from getting too serious for long stretches of time.

Why was she being plagued by intermittent fits of melancholia?

While walking down to the dungeons, a draught caused all the tapestries in the passageway to flutter. Their wispy shadows struck in her a kind of all-pervading terror, and she fell against the cold stone wall, her heart in her throat...

...Thrashing, scrambling, trying to claw its way out...

"What's the matter?"

Theo pulled her aside and examined her penetratingly, full of concern and bewilderment. All she could do was shrug in a surly way and mutter, "I don't know."

Her mood was the temperamental equivalent of a surly shrug as he dragged her out for one of their walks. He talked about the odd, confusing weather they were suffering; she didn't speak at all. His shoulders were stiff, his inflection was stilted, but he didn't ask her what was wrong again.

The free period before dinner had been allotted to Potions.

With the exception of Neville and Hannah, the whole bunch was present, and they looked up at Hermione expectantly when she reached. She, in turn, avoided their eyes by locking hers on the floor.
She sat down quietly and poured all her focus onto a piece of parchment, not saying a word as silence hovered all around. They were waiting for her to take charge.

Ya, boo, sucks to you. She took a leaf out of Neville's book and began drawing neat, perfectly straight lines, to tabulate potion ingredients and their primary uses.

Aconite: Wolfsbane, Fever-Reducing Potion

Much to her relief, nobody questioned her. She pictured Theo shaking his head warningly at anyone who tried.

Aconite Fluid: Doxy Repellent

Alihotsy: Laughing Potion

She heard rustling all around – the crackle of parchment being straightened, of pages being flipped...
Her list progressed from Ammoniacum to Belladonna without any disturbances.

Betony: Mad dog bites

"Luna," Dean proclaimed, "Oh, Luna. Some day I'd like to paint your portrait."
"Would you now?" Luna asked with interest.

Bezoar: Antidote to Common Poisons

Billywig Sting: Awakening Potion

Billywig Sting Slime: Wiggenweld Potion

"Yes," Dean affirmed, "Your face softly lit, emitting an ethereal glow, long hair bound in a scarf... lips softly parted–"
"Watch it, Thomas!" Theo growled.
"–looking seductively over your shoulder... The Girl with a Radish Earring."
"It's a Dirigible Plum."
"Bless you."

Boom Berry: Wiggenweld Potion

Boomslang Skin: Polyjuice Potion

"What about me?" Ginny demanded, "I went out with you – don't I get a painting for my troubles?"

Bubotuber Pus: Tumour Reduction potions, Beautifying Potions

Dean cleared his throat. "Of course. In a dress of shimmering gold and mauve... hair spread around your face... flowers in hand..."
"That's a bit much–"
"You will be my Ophelia, tragically drowning in a river."
"You bastard!"
The air shook with ill-suppressed sniggers.

Bundimun Secretion: Cleaning Fluids

"What about Hermione, then?" Theo – the sod – broached, "Will you paint her?"
"Of course! She will be my–"
"Medusa."

Castor Oil: Love Potion Antidote, Hair Potions

Caterpillar: Shrinking Solution

Draco Malfoy's head on fire.

"No, actually – with those curls and rosy complexion, Hermione will be my Odalisque."
"You're wasting a perfect Gorgon-model," Malfoy droned on.
"She will be surrounded by smoke and silk and oil lamps–"
"That hair can so easily be turned into a clump of snakes–"
"Draped on a chaise–"
"To say nothing about–"
"Completely naked."

Absolute silence. Hermione's furiously scribbling hand stilled. She could feel all their eyes on her. Fearfully, slowly, she looked up, and that indeed was the case: Everybody was staring.

Her face burned as she hissed, "Stop picturing it!"
In a move that was eerily synchronised, they all, as one, tilted their heads to the right.
"I said, stop!"
Theo opened his mouth to say something, and Theo's opinion on the matter was the last thing she wanted to hear. She balled up her meticulously tidy chart and threw it at him.

Malfoy didn't show up for the next Arithmancy meeting and she was glad.

She felt explosive. Her mind was buzzing with anxiety, her heart was racing, and when she picked up her quill to start writing, she realised her fingers were trembling. Her whole frame was quaking, in fact.
She let out a muffled whimper and buried her face in her hands. One lock of hair fell out of her bun and tickled the side of her neck–

She jumped up wildly, unable to breathe–

What was going on–

xxx

....

xxx

Clarity came late at night when she resurfaced from a stifling nightmare with a gasp. Her limbs ached with the memory of pain. There were tears streaming out of her eyes, her lungs were aflame, and music rumbled in her ears.

Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain, we can be like they are –

Her brain hadn't registered the date, but it was etched into her physiology, like muscle memory, or like...
Like an alarm that only she could hear.

She jumped out of bed, stumbled, crashed into her desk. Her vision swam and she saw crazed eyes, the edge of a knife, a chandelier...

Her pale, shaking hand grabbed her cloak and she ran out of the room.

Terror and hysteria took her up to the blasted snogging room. She pushed the large window open; cool, brittle air kissed her skin. She felt the ghost of Greyback's rough hand on the back of her neck.

We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper

She stepped out onto the ledge, and her childish dread of heights was easily eclipsed in that moment when the only thing she could think about was the feeling of having all her worst fears turned into red-hot shards that pierced and shredded her soul... Ugh.
Damn Bellatrix to hell.
But she'd seen to that hadn't she? What must the Aurors have found when they removed that rock? A mushy pancake of blood and guts, sprinkled liberally with bits of bone like chocolate chips?

She shuddered violently and crept closer to the rim of the ledge. The night spread out before her in all directions – the whole ridiculous, malicious, wonderful world – a study in Prussian blue.
She raised her forearms and wandlessly conjured a score of bluebell flames. They twinkled like the hottest stars in the universe, and moved in a slow orbit around her.

This – this – is who she was, stripped to the bone. Her life, love, and opinions condensed to present one concise image: A girl on the edge, with magic coursing through her veins, flowing out of her pores, surrounding her with dazzling light...
Hermione Granger. Witch.

She laughed out loud, and it was the sound of her ultimate reality. It was her primordial, eternal echo. It would resound forever in her universe, where she made her own stars.

"Can't – breathe," she choked, but Theo didn't relent. He'd wrapped her in a tight hug the moment he saw her the next morning, in the entrance hall.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I'm so damn sorry. I can't believe I didn't realise–"
She extracted herself from his hold and clutched both his elbows in what she hoped was a firm and comforting manner.
"It's fine, Theo. No, honestly. I didn't really remember until last night. Before that, I just felt... off, without knowing why."
"I could see that," he said, peering down at her regretfully, "I should've been around, or – or – something."
"It wouldn't have helped." She gave his arms a squeeze before letting go. "And I promise you I'm fine now."
"Ah," he sighed, and leant heavily against the banister, "I can't believe I forgot. I saw Draco looking pretty off as well, so I pestered him until he finally – and shit, then Susan told me you'd already gone to bed–"
"What did he have to look off about?"
Theo's troubled appearance slipped away as his eyes tightened. "He was tortured to within an inch of his life that evening, too, if you remember."
Hermione's face crumpled. "Oh god," she groaned, "I'm sorry. Is he..."
"He's fine."
"It's never going to end, is it?" she whispered, "George's – Fred's – birthday is coming up. I don't know how the Weasley's are going to handle it."
He reached towards her and took her hand. "It won't end. But it will get easier."

She twisted her mouth to the side as she took in the solemnity of his expression. "I know."
"Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked.
"Not really, no. You should be proud, though. I went out on the ledge, all by myself."
"The what?"
"The ledge around the roof of our tower–"
"No, Hermione," he chided, "Call it by its official name, please."
"Oh, fine," she huffed, "I went up to Theo's Peak all by myself."
He beamed. "Let's go up there now!"
"No, thanks!" she refused most emphatically, "I've had my fill."

So of course they ended up going anyway. He collected Luna and Malfoy, she hauled Ginny along, and ten minutes later, they were up on the roof.

Hermione could sense the burbling turmoil behind every move Ginny made; perhaps she was especially attuned to it because she'd felt the same way so recently. There was nothing to be done about it. The pot was going to boil over on the first of April. Still, she sat close to her, with her legs stretched out so the heels of her shoes glanced off the edge.
Theo and Luna reclined against the roof, softly whispering to each other about clouds and their shapes. Beyond them, Malfoy's back was curved as he sat cross-legged with his elbows on his knees. He squinted against the sun's brightness; the light got caught and tangled up in his flaxen eyelashes.

The atmosphere was nothing like the night before; it was vibrant, sunlit, and held the dewy, blossoming promise of early spring.