Hermione wasn't sure what she was expecting after the end of the war. She'd tried to imagine the future in the months she'd spent on the run with Harry and Ron, and mainly, she thought about how nice it would be to not be terrified. Hermione thought about other things, too – whether she'd be able to restore her parents' memories, which takeaway she would order the first time she could have it again. But she'd never allowed herself to consider the possibilities of what life would be like if they hadn't won. Maybe she had understood that if Harry couldn't defeat Voldemort, she'd simply be dead. And so she'd only entertained dreams about what her life would look like after they were victorious.

Now she looked out the window of the Hogwarts Express, barely taking in the countryside she'd passed so many times before. When she was a completely different person.

This was an outcome she thought of often when she checked the protective wards around their campground or parsed through the book their late Headmaster willed to her. She always thought there would be a good chance she'd return to Hogwarts for her final year – she was unsure what to call it – seventh year? Eighth? It didn't matter that she hadn't been there last school year. There wasn't much learning going on during that time – not the kind she was interested in, and certainly not the kind that qualified students for exams and jobs. Not that any of that seemed particularly relevant during a war.

But this return to Hogwarts to finish out her schooling was under circumstances she hadn't considered in any of her possible scenarios. She'd expected Harry and Ron to be with her like they'd always been. She never expected to take her final first ride on the train without them sitting next to her in their compartment, but they'd been interested in a future that all of them were already far too well prepared for. The program Kingsley had offered for them to enroll in acknowledged that their understanding of defending against the dark arts went far beyond what most regular Hogwarts graduates had when applying to become an Auror. They had begun their training to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the week before she left for school.

Hermione knew that she could've joined them. It wasn't a secret that she, too, was overqualified in that area of specialty. Yet none of them were surprised that she'd decided to return to school. She always liked doing things by the book, and it only made sense to her that she see her education through as she always thought she would – before the war. When Kingsley told the three of them about the program at the beginning of July, Hermione wasn't shocked that Ron and Harry readily accepted, just like they knew she'd more than likely turn it down. She was excited for them and they supported her choice to return to school.

And yet none of them could've possibly expected the news that had come two days prior – a Ministry decree that would impact all three of them immediately, despite the fact that the boys were already starting their careers and Hermione was still a year from doing the same. They were all of age, after all.

It was another bludger Hermione never considered, yet couldn't be completely surprised by. Kingsley himself gave them the news a couple of hours before the rest of the world heard. A perk of being so well-connected to the rebuilding Ministry, made up and run largely by members of the Order.

The kitchen of the Burrow sat in anxious silence as Mr. Weasley asked them to come sit down, flanked by acting Minister Shacklebolt. And he had certainly ensured they were in fact sitting down as he explained to them that, as was to be expected, the Ministry had come up with an idea after thinking for months about how best to address the issues in a post-war wizarding world. Most notably, of the losses to the wizarding population and the lack of civility between people who'd fought, or even associated, with the other side. Both of the two forces had lost hundreds – and the survivors struggled to see their peers as individuals. The majority of surviving free witches and wizards were sticking with those they'd fought beside. Even though the worst of Voldemort's living followers had been tried and punished for their war crimes, it was impossible to ignore one's past association with such a cause. Hermione was inclined to try to forgive those who hadn't been sent to Azkaban, but she herself had run into Theodore Nott when she picked up her books last week, and promptly bolted. To her knowledge, he never took the mark – she didn't even remember seeing him at the final battle. And yet being a Slytherin from her year seemed a good enough reason to associate him with the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. Even if Hermione knew, logically, he was probably nothing at all like Voldemort's deranged and faithful servant.

So no, Hermione was not surprised that the Ministry was undertaking some sort of initiative to mitigate the post-war issues. But honestly, she expected something more along the lines of an annual gala. A few large donations from "reformed" Death Eaters to worthy causes. Not anything like what the Ministry had actually come up with.

And so yes, Hermione sat staring out the window of the train without taking in any of the passing scenery. She glanced around her compartment at Ginny, Luna and Neville, wondering if they'd been thinking the same thing she was. How the fuck could all of them possibly be expected to be married at this time next year?

Chapter 2: Two

Notes:

In which Hermione rides the train for the last first time.

Chapter Text

Perhaps married wasn't the right term. Hermione thought she was being a bit extreme with that phrasing. This time next year, they could all reasonably expect to have found the person they'd eventually marry. Much less intimidating.

She'd spent much of the past 48 hours drilling Kingsley and the head of this endeavor, Florence Shiptrill, on its particulars. They guaranteed her that they had devised a solid process to ensure that Hermione and all other unwed witches and wizards of age could expect to be matched to their so-called perfect mate by simply taking a potion. This of course was the most general description of the Ministry's mandate.

The worst part was that Hermione couldn't yet poke a hole in the calculations and results Florence and her colleagues had drawn. Every witch and wizard of legal age would be required to submit a blood sample to Shiptrill's new department at the Ministry – the Office for Magical Compatibility. Based on the analysis of each submission, a process that – to Hermione's chagrin, Florence insisted needed to remain relatively confidential – they'd be able to deduce more about each person and the qualities they needed in a long-term partner than anyone could expect to get from say, an interview with a matchmaker. Apparently, each person couldn't be trusted to provide an accurate profile of themselves to the office. They'd instead be taking a more muggle-esque approach, although the results would include magical information as well.

Despite her efforts to find some major hole in the compatibility formula Shiptrill had provided, Hermione had to admit – the process was sound as far as she could tell. It considered genetics and complimentary pairings, the nature of one's magical signature, their personality and even intelligence levels. Just as Florence had originally explained, the results of each DNA sample would then be sorted and processed to produce the potion each person would receive. They'd all be drinking, from Hermione's estimation, a very personal and specific mixture that strangely borrowed elements from both amortentia and felix felicis. This would allow all who took their potion to be inclined towards connections with those deemed compatible with them romantically, physically and biologically.

There was another aspect of consuming such a potion that gave Hermione pause, though. It also purported to alter one's magical core, effectively treating it like an open wound. Without pain, though – Florence insisted the sensation wouldn't be debilitating. One could simply expect to feel the pull towards the magic of possible "mates," as she called them – upon interacting, you could expect a feeling of completion. One would apparently be able to feel the difference between platonic and romantic interactions and be able to sense the difference between someone who you might be compatible with and someone who literally resealed your magical core. The potion allowed one to seek and be sought by those that suited them. Once their magic interacted with what it determined to be a perfect match, the potion's remaining traces in your system would allow you to be permanently connected to your mate, a bit like a soul bond.

Hermione nearly vomited at the concept of, essentially, being forced to fuse with a potion's idea of her perfect match. And yet she had to admit, the expected effect seemed to address both issues of divisiveness and lowered populations in one fell swoop. One couldn't choose to only seek out people from their side of the war for romance – your magic made the decision for you. And, if the experiment worked the way it was supposed to, one would also be bound permanently to their other half, with strong physical attraction and genetic compatibility almost guaranteed. Thus, the Ministry could reasonably expect steady birthrates – if not a straight-up increase in births.

Back in the here and now, looking down from the train window, Hermione glanced at Ginny.

"Ginny – do you – are you a bit –"

"Spit it out, Granger," Ginny laughed and gave Hermione a somehow encouraging eyeroll.

"I'm sorry. I suppose it's a bit awkward. Are you and Harry quite nervous to be separated when you take the potion?"

Neville looked at Ginny with uneasy but obvious interest – it seemed Hermione hadn't been the only one wondering how already-established couples felt about the mandate.

"Honestly, it's difficult. I've loved Harry for years – I can't see my magic recognizing anyone else but him," Ginny looked down at her hands and played with the bracelet on her left wrist.

"But?" Hermione could tell Ginny wasn't finished.

"It's taking everything in me not to scream – not only because I feel like my relationship could be finished before its even really begun, without Harry and me having any say, but also because if we aren't a match, I can't really protest one way or the other. If it's all sound, it'd just be revealing that we aren't meant to be – even if we don't feel like that's possible right now." Ginny finished, her head in her hands.

"I think that's quite right, Ginny. But I expect that you and Harry would know by now if you weren't suited. After all, your nargles coexist beautifully. Hardly squabble at all," Luna stated airily with a smile.

"Right," Hermione tried to hide her insincerity as she looked from Luna back towards Ginny, "I'm sorry I even brought it up. You and Harry are great together, and if it's meant to be, I know it'll work out. In fact, I'm sure it will. I'm just curious how everyone else is feeling about it." Hermione reached across and clasped Ginny's hands in a comforting squeeze.

She was glad that she and Ron had recognized their friendship was intended to remain just that before they found out about the potion. She couldn't imagine the strain they would've felt. Instead, they'd grieved together in the aftermath of the battle and avoided the subject only briefly. By the middle of July, they'd both been relieved when Hermione had brought up their kiss – and how she couldn't help but feel it was a mistake. Not a mistake – that was the wrong word. It was right in the moment.

But after everything, they couldn't bring themselves to want to take it further. She was glad they'd at least tested the waters – she'd have always wondered about Ron if they hadn't acted on their mutual crush. Everyone had been prodding them for years about their feelings for one another. Now they could both respond honestly with the same answer.

"You have nothing to worry about, Hermione. Between classes and prefect duties, you'll be too busy to try to speed-date the rest of our year," Ginny scowled as Daphne Greengrass passed their compartment, giggling loudly as she pulled at Adrian Pucey's elbow.

"I'm surprised so many Slytherins decided to come back without the Carrow's oversight," Neville stated. Hermione was quite impressed with how he'd come into his own in the past year. She glanced between him and Luna, wondering whether she'd made him feel awkward when discussing the potion. He'd declared his love for Luna amid the chaos last year, and she wasn't sure how they defined their current relationship. Either way, Luna looked positively content as she smiled along with the conversation.

"I'm not. I bet most of them were ordered to be here by the Wizengamot. Gives the Ministry a way to monitor the snakes in a contained garden," Ginny replied with an edge in her voice. Hermione knew that to be the case for a few particular Slytherins, but she refrained from saying so. She didn't want to feed Ginny's fury on the matter – she found herself glad Ron and Harry weren't there to fire her up, and then she found herself a bit shocked and guilty to have thought as much. She knew she'd miss Ron and Harry this year.

"I'm very excited for September 15th. I like tasting potions," Luna stated, bringing the discussion back to where it began. Hermione smiled and stifled a response. For all her strangeness, she loved Luna. She envied her lack of nerves and that Luna seemed capable only of taking things in stride.

Still, Hermione's stomach turned. Today was September 1st. That meant in two short weeks, she'd be taking the potion.

Chapter 3: Three

Notes:

In which Hermione wonders if she's changed.

Chapter Text

Hermione huffed out a sigh as she collapsed onto her bed. It felt strange to be in her own room at Hogwarts. She understood why the Headmistress had given all the eighth years – that's what she'd decided she would call her year – and most of the seventh years their own rooms. Not only were they back in fewer numbers than the younger students, but most had just fought in a war. They weren't children anymore, and McGonagall felt they would all benefit from a bit of privacy. As weird as it was to be in her own room at school, she couldn't help but feel it would be even more unsettling to be back in the girl's dormitory sharing a space.

If she were in the business of thinking deeply about it, she'd admit she couldn't stomach the idea of the shared Gryffindor girl's dormitory without a bed occupied by Lavender. It was well-known they'd never been particularly close, but Hermione couldn't imagine school without her. They'd grown up together. She didn't want a daily reminder of the last time she'd seen Lavender under Fenrir Greyback. Just the smell of lavender sent chills up her spine as it wafted into the kitchen from Molly's garden this summer. Hermione smothered the thought.

She glanced around at her space. It wasn't anything grand, and she was glad. Just a small room that fit a bed, her desk, and a small wardrobe. She wasn't a fan of clutter – just her light green quilt with tiny blue flowers and a few picture frames served as her decoration. On her desk she had a photo of her with Ron and Harry, taken in the back garden at the Burrow this summer. They were laughing with dirt all over them – Molly had tasked them with de-gnoming the vegetable patch in an effort to get them off the couch. She'd been right to force them outside. They'd all finally moved around, and to their own surprise, laughed. There was another photo with Luna and Ginny taken at Bill and Fleur's wedding. When Ginny had given it to her upon their arrival at school, she couldn't help but let tears fall as she blinked. Hermione had never expected a photo from the wedding to survive. They looked happy.

And hanging on the wall next to her door was a muggle photo of her with her parents. It was the only one she'd saved as she left her childhood home for the last time. A photo of them after a dance recital, back before they'd even known Hermione could use magic. Hermione had her own suspicions at that point – she was seven or eight in the photo and had taken a liking to levitating all the books on the floor of her bedroom back onto her shelf in the evenings before bed. Her parents hadn't yet walked in on that trick.

They stood outside a theatre in the photo, her parents smiling and proud. Hermione was wearing a frilly tutu, holding the bouquet they'd gotten her. It had always been her favorite. She smiled at it sadly. She hadn't been able to bring herself to travel to Australia that summer. She knew there was a possibility she would be unable to restore Monica and Wendell Wilkins' memories to those of the Grangers, and she didn't feel emotionally strong enough to add two more names to the list she mourned. She'd spoken to a mind healer that specialized in treating memory charms. He'd assured Hermione that waiting another six months or a year to attempt a reversal would make the memories no more or less likely to be retrieved. She'd decided, ultimately, that she would try her best to compartmentalize the feelings and emotions associated with her parents. It would be a task for a later time.

Ginny was Head Girl and she and Hermione had rooms next door to one another. Ginny had already begun discussing an expansion charm for a closet – one, she insisted, that would have a door on both ends, so Hermione and Ginny could both access it from their respective rooms. Hermione didn't much care about her style choices now, but she liked to see Ginny's creativity and determination rearing its head. She had told Ginny she'd love to see the closet idea through. She wasn't worried about getting approval from Headmistress McGonagall – Hermione knew their former head of house would be pleased they'd be interested in undertaking something that seemed so undeniably… pre-war.

She heard a gentle knock on her door and glanced at the small clock on her desk. It was approaching the dinner hour.

She opened the door to find Parvati – she hadn't seen her on the train.

"Hermione! It's so good to see you!" Parvati pulled her into a gentle hug. Hermione returned it and immediately felt her stomach turn, realizing this was the first time she thought she'd ever seen Parvati without Lavender's arm hooked through her own. This would be a hard year.

"It's so nice to see you, Parvati. How are you settling in?"

"Oh, I'm all finished with my room. It's just there, on the other side of Ginny's. Would you like to walk down to the Great Hall? Everyone else is in the common room." She peered down the hall, pointing towards the stairs, and then turned back towards Hermione. She glanced over Hermione's shoulder into her space, no doubt taking inventory of the décor. Parvati had always been interested in style, a bit of a perfectionist if Hermione thought about it. She was a perfectionist, too – although she funneled that energy mostly towards her studies.

"Of course. I'll be right down," Hermione said with a smile. Parvati snapped her gaze back to Hermione and returned a grin before turning and starting down the stairs towards the hum of activity. Seamus' distinct voice floated into her room as he spoke in his usual loud and excited tone – likely to Dean.

Hermione turned back to retrieve her jumper from the back of her desk chair. They wouldn't be expected to don their uniforms until tomorrow morning. She glanced in the mirror above her dresser after she tugged the dark cashmere over her plain white shirt and examined her reflection while pulling on her boots. Her favorite muggle jeans tucked right into the leather and she briefly thought she looked like she could be headed to the shops for a spree in her outfit. The jeans were fitted – a bit scandalous, by magical standards. She couldn't find it in herself to care – the heavy robes witches favored could be a bit stifling. She tilted her head as she examined herself – suddenly caring about her appearance for the first time since… she couldn't even remember.

She'd finally managed to put a bit of weight back on after spending the summer under Molly Weasley's roof. The soft material fit snugly over her chest, and to her surprise, the jeans no longer needed to be transfigured not to fall off her frame. She began to turn, wondering whether her arse had finally begun to look less bony and non-existent. For all the taunts she'd received when she was younger about her frizzy hair and buck teeth, she was pleased with the way she looked as an adult. She had grown into her teeth years ago, and her hair no longer stuck out in every direction. It flowed in waves and curls – she used a gentle glamour charm – all she found she needed once she grew it out. The length weighed it down and tamed the wildness.

Suddenly, she was thinking about all the people that would be seated in the Great Hall. Her future spouse might see her. Perhaps that was why she surprised herself by caring about her appearance.

She shook her head to clear it of the racing thoughts. She turned towards the door as she reminded herself that she was Hermione bloody Granger. She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age. Admittedly, she despised the moniker. But would the alleged brightest witch of her age be worrying herself with superficial thoughts about her physical appearance? Of course not. She was back at Hogwarts. To learn.

Hermione walked beside Neville as the group of Gryffindors moved towards the entrance to the Great Hall. He was carrying a small sack in his right hand.

"What's in the bag, Neville?" Hermione's curiosity was piqued.

Neville startled and looked at the burlap as though he'd forgotten he was carrying it.

"Oh! Just a few things I collected by the carriages. I wanted to show Professor Sprout – it looked like culder roo- it looked like something I saw in a book she gave me. I'm going to bring it over before the meal – I'll be right back," Neville suddenly picked up his pace and disappeared ahead of her. Hermione was shocked. Someone else was starting their work before her, for the first time in memory. She expected to feel instant competitiveness – both with Neville, as well as with Ginny following her appointment to the Head Girl position. Instead, Hermione felt a smile forming. It was nice to not immediately be running to the teacher's table. She felt a bit less anxious as she reached for Ginny's arm.

"What are you smiling for, Hermione?" Ginny asked as she linked their arms together solidly.

"Neville just left me in the dust to speak to Professor Sprout about herbology."

Ginny laughed as she looked forward at Neville's head as it bobbed towards the front of the hall.

"Is he taking your place as top swot?" Ginny couldn't help the amusement in her voice as they started towards the Gryffindor table.

"He just might be. I'm most preoccupied with the fact that I'm not feeling immediately like I should come up with a question for Slughorn and race him up there."

She glanced around at her classmates as they sat down. She was surprised to see Luna seated directly across from her, her back to the Ravenclaw table with a happy look on her face.

"Hello Hermione! Ginny. I do hope there's pudding served with the first course."

"Luna, not that I'm not pleased to have you at the table, but is there a reason you aren't sitting with your house?" Ginny looked at the Ravenclaws behind Luna.

"Oh, I'd nearly forgotten. Separate houses seem silly now, don't they?" Luna replied.

Hermione didn't disagree. She'd have never thought to sit anywhere but with her fellow Gryffindors, it was like muscle memory. But she realized it wasn't particularly surprising that Luna didn't share in this impulse.

As they all settled in, McGonagall stood to welcome them. Hagrid stood behind her, proudly holding the sorting hat in his giant hands. He caught her eye and smiled warmly, waving. She'd have to remember to visit him soon.

"Settle down, ladies and gentlemen." McGonagall's voice projected with surprising strength through the hall. The chatter died down quickly.

"I'd like, on behalf of the faculty, to welcome you all back to Hogwarts for another year." She looked out on the student body, smiling slightly more warmly when she and Hermione locked eyes.

"I understand this year, for many of you, feels different than those past. It is my sincere hope that we are all feeling closer to normal in no time at all. The staff wants to impress upon all of you that we are always available should you need to speak with anyone during this transition back.

"With that, I want to encourage all of you to begin this term with your best foot forward. I'll not tolerate blatant animosity, fighting or ignorance of the rules. I trust that you all know them well," McGonagall made a point of looking towards many of the seventh and eighth years.

"Prefects, we'll be meeting tomorrow after dinner to discuss the particulars and expectations this year. I trust you all will set a worthy example of your positions between now and then."

Heads of older students nodded along with the Headmistress' words.

"With that, I'd like to turn our attention, as always, to the first-year students joining us." She smiled at the young group gathered in a cluster at the front of the room. Hermione could hardly believe she'd ever been one of them. It seemed like a different life. She supposed it was.

Her thoughts began to wander as McGonagall began calling names of first years to be sorted. She clapped along with her housemates whenever the other Gryffindors applauded, but her gaze began to wander around the room.

Her brain kept prodding at her to look at the table situated against the far wall. A gloominess hung over Slytherin house, a different sort of mood than she would've recognized from years past. She noticed Theodore Nott seated with his back to her. She grimaced as she thought of their non-interaction last week in Diagon Alley. He sat next to Astoria Greengrass. Though she couldn't see Astoria's face, she'd recognize her posture anywhere.

Then Hermione's gaze moved to the Slytherin's seated across from Nott, facing her, albeit from almost an entire room away. Blaise Zabini was laughing at something – she thought it might be the first time she'd seen anyone from their house crack a smile in the hall.

And as her vision floated from Zabini, she felt a lump form in her throat. The bright blonde hair came into focus as she realized she was looking at Draco Malfoy for the first time since she'd testified at his trial. She jumped as she peered at his face and immediately found herself locking eyes with him. She quickly looked to his other side at Pansy Parkinson, who seemed bored as she sized up the first year joining their table.

Hermione looked down at her plate as she tried to calm her nerves. She couldn't tell if she'd been caught staring by Malfoy, or if he had been staring at her first. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to look anywhere but at the Slytherins. Why had she been observing them so closely? And why wasn't Malfoy's face set in a sneer? Her eyes snapped back up towards him before she could stop herself.

He was looking at Pansy now, smirking slightly as she spoke animatedly. Everyone else around them was laughing loudly at whatever she was saying. Hermione blanched again as she saw a lively energy from their group, considering how indifferent they'd all seemed a moment ago. She looked back at Malfoy to find him staring back at her again, his eyes hard and features strained. She immediately turned to Ginny and tried to jump into conversation for the first time since dinner began, intentionally avoiding glancing at the table on the far side of the room for the rest of the meal.

As she made her way back to her room after dinner, she kept thinking about Malfoy's expression. It wasn't the typical pratty sneer she'd seen on his face in years past. She sat down at her desk chair and removed her boots, wondering why Malfoy had unsettled her so.

But of course, the obvious answer crept to the front of her mind. She knew why the look he gave her had nearly knocked the wind out of her. It was because she'd seen it before.

Malfoy didn't look at her with disgust or superiority. He looked at her with a pained expression that he was attempting to mask in indifference. The effort left his features strained.

He looked at her the way he had as she lay bleeding on the floor of his drawing room. When their eyes met in the Great Hall, she had jumped. Because they were the same eyes she looked into as Bellatrix used a dagger to carve into her skin. The eyes she'd sought out as the cruciatus tore through her very soul.

Chapter 4: Four

Notes:

In which Hermione and Pansy Parkinson embark on their first patrol.

Chapter Text

The first days of term provided Hermione with plenty of distractions. She settled into her schedule, gaining confidence through routine just as she always had in the past. Her classes were stimulating and she took a particular liking to Astronomy and Arithmancy, although she loved it all. She didn't realize just how much she missed school until she was back in her seat at the front of the room. Ginny assured her Neville had not, after all, taken her place. She was definitely still the swottiest of swots.

And yet she didn't nearly jump out of her seat to answer questions the way she would have in years past. She participated actively, of course – but she no longer felt she had anything to prove. She never knew just how much that need to prove herself had driven her behavior in her earlier school years. But now her classmates were both her own age and Ginny's age, and she didn't really give a shit whether they thought she was smart. They filled a classroom that would have been half empty had they not been combined. Because there had been a war. Some of their friends hadn't returned to school. Some of their friends were dead.

She tried not to focus on the morbid thoughts that always seemed to come without warning. She, as she always had, spent most of her free time in the library. Her summer reading and studying put her preparedness past midterm exams. She could even start her final project for Charms if she really wanted to get ahead. Two years ago, she definitely would have. But Hermione found that without the looming threat of Voldemort, relaxing wasn't so difficult. Her brand of relaxing, anyway. Ginny constantly reminded her that it was acceptable to just complete her work as it was assigned, without going beyond what was due the next day. Hermione told Ginny that she was hilarious.

Her biggest shock in the first two weeks of the year came the second full day back at the Prefects meeting. Ginny and Anthony Goldstein stood at the front of the classroom with Professor McGonagall as the chosen prefects filed in. As she pulled out her notebook and quill, she nearly fell out of her chair when she caught a head of white blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. To her left, three rows back, Draco Malfoy sat in all his aristocratic glory beside Pansy Parkinson. Hermione spun back to the front of the room quickly. As she looked at Ginny in panic, Ginny shrugged, and it dawned on Hermione that perhaps she shouldn't be surprised. It only made sense, what with their drastic reunification efforts, to give the Prince and Princess of Slytherin an opportunity to lead. Hermione snorted at the thought and quickly stifled it with a cough as she looked back to the Heads and the Headmistress. She kept her cool all through the meeting, and even smiled tightly at Pansy when they were assigned to patrols together on Monday and Thursday evenings. To her surprise, Pansy returned the smile with a nod. That was the closest Hermione had ever come to a friendly interaction with her.

And so that Thursday, when Hermione left the library to drop her books in her room, she made her way towards the Dungeons with a surprising sense of optimism. She and Pansy had agreed to meet at the lower end of the castle for their patrols, and they'd make their way up on their shifts together.

She found Pansy inspecting her nails and using her wand to trim her cuticles just outside the entrance to the Slytherin dormitories. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Granger. Lovely to see you." Pansy quipped as they began their trek upwards. It was early in the year and Hermione hadn't expected to come across anything untoward. Everyone was still trying to settle into a routine upon returning. Some of them were just trying to get through the day without crying. Everyone had lost someone. Most of them had lost many.

Hermione was wrong. She was so wrong.

By the time they'd made it to the Great Hall, she and Pansy had broken up three separate squabbles. All between Slytherins and members of other houses. Boys and girls alike. Hermione thought she might cry when she took ten points from her own house as she sent a third-year boy named Martin towards the Headmistress' office, with a second year Slytherin following him at a safe distance. She stood watching them walk away, hands on her hips, with an air of disbelief around her.

"Can you believe this?!" She hissed in Pansy's direction.

"I've never seen so many elbows in ribs and hair being pulled. What the hell is going on?" Hermione looked at Pansy with utter shock. Honestly, who had the energy for this?

"Granger, I hate to piss in your pumpkin juice, but this is nothing. I thought we'd have been punched by now. Hogwarts looks like a fucking fun fair compared to last year." Pansy tried not to roll her eyes as she turned and resumed walking. Hermione's jaw dropped as she flinched a response in her partner's direction, trying to quickly recover and then hurrying after Pansy. The weight of her absence last year suddenly felt much heavier.

"I'm sorry – I'm not used to this. I shouldn't have said that."

"You know, Granger, you're right. You shouldn't have. Normally I'd fucki-" Pansy clenched her hands into fists and slowly released them. She stopped and looked at Hermione.

"I'm working on my reactions. Court ordered." She smiled as Hermione looked at her in horror. She had no idea Pansy had been tried. Hermione's eyes darted towards her fellow prefect's forearm, expecting to see it. The mark.

Pansy crossed her arms and laughed harshly.

"Fucking gods. It was a joke. I'm not a fucking death eater, you judgmental bitch."

"You said -!" Pansy cut her off.

"It's called sarcasm. I never took the mark. I wanted nothing to do with that half-blood fucking mons-" She stopped herself again.

"Look, Granger. You and your little war hero friends weren't here last year. You have no idea what it was like. And you don't know me. At all. So just stop with your savior act and your all-forgiving bullshit. You and your friends have made just as many assumptions about me as I used to make about you." Pansy somehow looked furious and hurt at the same time.

"For your records, I've never called you – that word. Ever. That was Draco's specialty.

"I know I never rode in on a fucking unicorn to defend you but being in Slytherin doesn't automatically mean you begged the Dark Lord to let you wipe his ass. And it doesn't mean I'm a blood purist. I never have been, so let's get a few things straight before we embark on our little prefect partner project." Hermione stood stunned as Pansy spat her words.

"I didn't fucking fight. For either side. I'm 18 years old. I wanted to be left alone, just like I'm sure you did. Just because I didn't fall on a bloody sword doesn't mean you have any right to judge me.

"So just spare me the stunned looks and the outrage. This school was a large-scale torture hall last year. I'm not into using crucio as foreplay, so no, I didn't learn shit. I certainly didn't finish off with a stamp of approval from Shacklebolt to head up a department like I'm sure you would have. I want to get through this year and start my life. That's all. Are we clear, Granger?"

Pansy took off walking ahead again. Hermione stood rooted to the ground, shocked by Pansy's diatribe, trying to figure out how to respond. Suddenly, she felt a surge of anger and she catapulted after Pansy, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around.

"What the fuck, Granger!"

"I gave you your turn to speak. You owe it to me to hear my-"

"I don't owe you shit!" Before she could think better of it, Hermione flicked her wand, sealing Pansy's mouth and gluing her heels to the stone floor with a sticking charm.

"I'm sorry – I shouldn't have done that." Before she could cast a finite, she caught the crazy look in Pansy's eye. Maybe she should hold off.

"Look – I'm going to release it in one fucking minute, just stop looking at me like that." Hermione said calmly, watching the fury in Pansy's features soften just a smidge.

"You're right, Parkinson. I wasn't here to see what went on last year. I have no idea what type of person you are, and I don't have a clue what it would have been like to go to school under the Carrows." Pansy somehow communicated through the look she was giving Hermione something like 'fucking right, you have no idea.'

"Because even if I hadn't been on the run from a mass murderer, trying to figure out how to end the war and protect my friends, I wouldn't have been allowed at school. In case you forgot, I'm the resident Mudblood." Hermione spat the word.

"I'm sorry I made assumptions about you. Truly, I am. But you haven't given me any reason not to, the same way I haven't given you any reason to think I see myself as being above you and your house. But you should know something about me. I would never. Look down. On anyone. I'm sorry for inspecting your arm for a mark. I'm not exactly sure when that little impulse was born – sometime before your fucking boyfriend and his family had me tortured on their palace floor last spring." She ripped her sleeve up, showing Pansy the bright red scar on her own left arm. She nearly vomited at the sight of it but pushed on.

"We don't know each other, Pansy. You're right, again. But I don't think I'm a hero, and I don't have a savior act. I am who I am, and if you want to take it as self-righteous, fine. I can't stop you. But I'm telling you that it's not my intent. I'm barely getting through each day. I have no fucking family. And this scar on my arm? It hurts. So please, spare me. We have no idea what each other went through last year, but if you don't want me to make assumptions, you owe it to me not to make them either." Hermione wiped at the tear that escaped and ran down her cheek. She hadn't even noticed she was about to cry.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and pointed her wand at Pansy for the second time that night, releasing the spell and bracing herself for a screech.

To her surprise, when she glanced up, Pansy was looking at her with, if Hermione hadn't known better, some sort of respect. What?

And suddenly, they were walking again, albeit with a healthy distance between their shoulders. Almost opposite sides of the corridor. But they moved through the remainder of their first patrol without any more soapboxes. Not even a word as they made their way to the last few steps of their route.

As Hermione was about to turn to head back towards Gryffindor tower, she met Pansy's eyes and gave her a nod. As she started to walk, Pansy's voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Maybe I was wrong about you, Granger. I'll see you Monday." As Hermione started walking, the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. As Pansy walked in the other direction, Hermione heard her bark out a laugh. She turned to look at the Slytherin.

"And by the way Granger, if we're going to be dropping assumptions, please don't insult me again. Draco isn't my fucking boyfriend." She giggled at the thought, as if it was the most absurd idea she'd ever heard, and left Hermione with her mouth hanging slightly. She didn't move for two whole minutes.

Chapter 5: Five

Notes:

In which Ginny catches Hermione in the act.

content warning: discussion of masturbation.

Chapter Text

As Hermione sat at her usual stool in Potions the following Friday, she asked herself the same question for the millionth time. Why did hearing that Malfoy and Pansy weren't an item stop her dead in her tracks? Surely, it wasn't that frivolous point that had stunned her. She realized that in calling Malfoy Pansy's boyfriend, she'd also divulged her experience with torture in his home. She showed Pansy the disgusting scar on her arm, for Merlin's sake. She must just have been humiliated that she'd shared so much with Pansy. They weren't friends.

And yet, simultaneously, she felt a bit proud of how she'd responded to Pansy's outburst. As Ginny took her seat at her right, Hermione couldn't help but lift her chin ever so slightly. She really couldn't regret how she'd handled herself or what she'd said. And she seemed to have earned something like Pansy's respect. They'd run two more patrols since and managed them each without egregious animosity. They addressed the problems they met in the halls and even talked a bit. Ginny's arrival stopped Hermione's train of thought before it came full circle: analyzing why she'd been thinking so hard about her first patrol with Pansy at all. Before she could revisit her reaction to the Malfoy bit.

"I know I'm saying this to the wrong person, but I really can't wait to be done with school. It's bloody exhausting." Ginny dropped her chin to rest on the books in front of her and closed her eyes.

"Ginny, you know I-"

"Yes, Hermione, I know you don't think there's anything wrong with me admitting as much. But being Head girl is draining me of my energy. The only thing I'm excited about is Quidditch, and I can't even look forward to it this weekend because we have to take a fucking love potion-" Hermione froze at Ginny's words as Professor Slughorn's entrance and greeting cut her off. She'd been trying not to think about the fact that she'd receive her vial on Sunday night, and she had nearly managed to forget about it for the last 90 minutes.

She largely tuned out her Potions professor as he began explaining that they'd be researching and brewing a Draught of Living Death with their partners in the upcoming week. How fascinating. Hermione could brew that potion in her sleep.

Her mind raced with all the possibilities. Would she look into Neville's eyes the moment she left her room, and fall in deep, undying love? She had, after all, determined that he and Luna were not an item. And what if she found a match in someone else's significant other? What if her magical core was completely screwed up and led her to Cormac McLaggen? Her hand shot to cover her mouth just at the thought of it.

"Miss Granger? Are you quite alright?" Slughorn looked at her with genuine concern. She felt the rest of the class turn to look at her. A class that included Cormac. She nearly heaved.

"Fine Professor, I'm sorry – I'm feeling a bit unwell."

"Well out with you, Miss Granger! See to it Miss Weasley shares her notes!" Her professor looked more alarmed that she might vomit near his precious cauldrons than at the idea that she might not feel well.

Hermione nodded, cheeks growing hot and bright red as she tried to collect her things as quickly as possible. As she leaned to pick up her bag, Ginny looked at her with concern.

"Do you need me to bring you to Pomfrey?" She asked as quietly as she could.

"I'm fine – I'll see you later tonight. I'm fine, really." Hermione hurried from the room without meeting the eyes of any of her classmates. She'd hardly said a word and managed to have made a scene. Wonderful.

As she laid on her bed back in Gryffindor tower, summoning a glass of water and a cold compress, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. With her eyes shut, she went through the things she knew for sure. Normally she found this to be a centering practice.

She'd nearly vomited in front of her peers. She'd flew from the room like a rogue bludger. She'd shown Pansy her scar.

As she went down the list, she visualized each thing as a page. She put each page into a book. She placed the book on a shelf inside her mind. She was occluding.

She'd begun to practice occlumency last year. They'd had so many close calls. She worried constantly that she'd crack under the pressure of interrogation. And so she decided to confront the issue head on by becoming a self-taught Occlumens.

She'd practiced a lot. So much so that when she was dragged from her friends upon arriving at Malfoy Manor, she was almost relieved. She could handle this better than most. She definitely would keep her thoughts better hidden than Ron.

And then Bellatrix began her torture. She was never focused enough to begin looking for information about what they might be doing in the woods – hunting horcruxes – in Hermione's carefully constructed mental bookshelves. Bellatrix was a purely evil, destructive presence in her mind. No matter how many shields she threw up, the mad witch tore through her defenses. Hermione had no explanation for why they possessed the Sword of Gryffindor, so there was nothing for Bellatrix to find. Instead, she decided to have a bit of fun with Potter's Mudblood while she had the chance.

Hermione continued stacking the books in real time as the panic rose with the memories. Grey eyes bombarded her thoughts. She slammed a book shut.

Hermione sat straight up, gasping for air, trying to get herself in check. She grabbed the glass of water next to her bed and took a long gulp. She set it down, laying back and trying to regain control of herself.

She walked up and down the aisles inside her own mind, pacing and adding pages and stacking books. At some point, she exhausted herself and drifted to sleep.

She woke at 6 the next morning with the worst headache she'd ever had, in complete disbelief that she'd managed to sleep for well over 12 hours. She hadn't slept more than five or six at a time in years. She always woke up, either from a nightmare, or just in discomfort.

She chugged the remaining water in her glass and laid back down. The pain slowly ebbed, and she felt well enough to fling her legs over the side of her bed. She glanced around the room, taking inventory of how she felt.

With her headache fading, she realized she felt better, physically at least, than she had in a long time. She didn't feel tired. She was well-rested. She decided not to waste the feeling and made her way down the hall towards her favorite shower. It had the best water pressure. Hermione felt the tension in her body melt away under the heat and steam.

By the time Hermione had shampooed, conditioned, shaved and rinsed, it was nearly 7:30 on Saturday morning. She only had about an hour before Ginny came knocking to check on her. She was equally as shocked at how long she slept as she was at the fact that Ginny hadn't beat down the door. That was out of character.

And so Hermione decided to indulge in a bit of self-care. She shut her door behind her, hung up her towel and fastened her soft pink robe around her waist. She used a bit of wandless magic to summon her lotion and a comb. She detangled her long locks and twisted her wet hair into a bun atop her head. She rubbed lotion on her legs and arms and glanced up at her reflection. She stood and turned, finally allowing herself to inspect her backside.

Hermione let out a startled laugh when she found that it was rounding out, looking much more like it used to. She smiled and then promptly chastised herself for being concerned with the state of her physical appearance. She glanced at her clock and found it was only 7:38. She crawled back into bed, about to grab her book from her desk when a thought presented itself. She couldn't remember the last time she'd even considered it, but as she took a breath in, she felt the tell-tale pull in her lower abdomen. She squirmed, warmth building between her legs.

And so, at 7:43, Hermione decided that after literal years of being on hiatus, she'd indulge in a bit of… self-care.

She waved her wand, locking her bedroom door, and settled under her covers. As she moved to a comfortable position, she used her wand to conjure a small cylindrical object. With another flick of her wrist, it began to vibrate gently.

Hermione instantly relaxed at the sensation between her legs. She used her fingers to position it, moving it over her clit, finding a rhythm that worked.

And then she began to think about her favorite little scenario. Bizarre, totally unlike her, but she always returned to this story inside her head.

Hermione imagined herself at a party with her entire year. They weren't necessarily at Hogwarts – she wasn't exactly sure where they were. All she knew was that everyone was drinking, and she was dancing, and suddenly, she felt a hard chest press up against her back. She'd imagine reaching her arm up to wrap her hand around the back of his neck. In the past, red fringe used to be at the edge of this part of her fantasy. No doubt, resembling a certain wizard's hair. Now, at 7:51, she didn't see any hair at all as she pictured the man coming up behind her.

She imagined pressing back into him for a song, getting acquainted with each other's bodies. And then, before anyone else around could notice them, he took her hand and led her somewhere private. They could still hear the sound of the party, but it was quieter.

Hermione focused on the vibration, her eyes shut tightly as she walked through her new and improved fantasy.

They were kissing. Whoever he was, she wasn't focusing on his face – he was kissing her. Without overwhelming her, without being sloppy. She's leaning against the wall, her arms wound around his neck, and they start to rub against one another. Friction.

Chest to chest, she feels his strong, solid muscles against her jumper. Against her breasts, through her bra. His long, strong fingers are creeping down her sides gently, and she doesn't mind.

His hands move over her waist, down and around to squeeze her arse lightly with both of his hands. He pulls her pelvis forward, towards him. He grinds himself against her in all of the right places. He's telling her that she's driving him crazy.

And at 8:13, Hermione is moving her hand a bit faster, approaching her orgasm. Her first orgasm in she wasn't sure how long.

And just as she pictured his fingers unbuttoning her trousers, moving to look up at her for permission as she was already nodding…

"Hermione, finally! You're-" Ginny burst through the closet door. Why had she agreed to ask McGonagall if they could attempt to construct a shared walk-in closet?! And why hadn't she thought to lock that door when she'd locked the door to her bedroom?

Hermione's eyes snapped open, losing focus and causing the vibration to die immediately. She froze and looked at Ginny just as Ginny's eyes widened in recognition. She'd walked in on Hermione. Self-caring.

And then, because she was Ginny, and nothing if not open about all matters, she raised her eyebrows and let out a genuinely joyous laugh.

"Oh my gods, Granger. You randy little minx." She put her hand on one hip and leaned her body weight against the doorframe of the closet.

"Ginny! You frightened me! I was just-"

"Masturbating?" Ginny said with a wink.

"Of course not!" Hermione looked around the room incredulously.

"Sorry to interrupt. I love it, I really do. I'll be in my room when you're ready to… include other people. In your day. Your daily activities." Ginny smirked and made to close the door, refusing to hear Hermione's protests. As the door shut, Hermione collapsed back against her pillows.

She was thoroughly wound-up. She'd been a minute – maybe seconds from her first orgasm in memory. And now, Ginny was having a laugh and encouraging her to finish her business.

She huffed out a sigh. Her mood was killed. Her shock and embarrassment made the thought of even attempting to finish out her personal moment seem humiliating. Covering her face with her hands, Hermione cursed Ginny and all her abruptness. She looked up at the time. It was 8:17 in the morning. She couldn't remember the last time Ginny had been up, by choice, on a weekend before 9 AM. She thought she'd been generous by predicting an 8:30 wake up for her friend.

"Fuck. Me." Hermione muttered to herself as she retrieved a pair of knickers, black leggings, a bra and her biggest and most comfortable jumper before sliding on her slippers and facing Ginny head on.

As she opened her closet door and walked past the rack of robes and dresses, she decided to make a statement. Instead of simply opening the door to Ginny's side, she solidly knocked on the wood three times.

"Come in!"

As Hermione braced herself and opened the door, she heard Ginny's grin before she saw it. How was it that she could hear her smiling? When she met her eyes, Ginny let out a laugh, and Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed along with her.

Her embarrassment melted away as they giggled and laid back on Ginny's bed. Hermione covered her eyes with her arm and Ginny pulled it away, looking over at her friend.

"Sorry to interrupt."

"Ginny, please!"

"Okay, okay. I'm not trying to tease you. I really was sorry. In all our years of friendship, you've never once even mentioned masturbating. And we've lived in communal settings for all of it."

"Are you sure you're not trying to tease me?" Hermione groaned.

Ginny sat up, suddenly serious.

"Hermione, I'm dead sure. I've been waiting years for this opportunity to present itself. And for it to maybe not lead back to a discussion of my brother."

"Oh god, Ginny. Please."

"I'm serious, Hermione! You should be sexing it up! Trolloping through the ranks! You should be throwing it all across the school! You certainly have the qualifications!"

"I'm being completely honest with you, Ginny. I genuinely have no idea what you're trying to say."

"You are so full of it, Hermione. You are easily the most gorgeous witch in our year. Maybe on the planet. You don't even put any paste on your face, you just are. And you genuinely don't see it!" Ginny finished with a shout.

"I am not! I do not! I'm – I'm confident! In my… mediocrity." Hermione hardly understood what she was trying to say. She knew Ginny was a bit nuts, but in this instance, she was taking ownership of completely mad. Hermione was certainly not the most gorgeous witch of their year – not with the prim Slytherin purebloods floating lightly in their glass slippers. Not with someone confident, like Ginny, next to her!

"You know what? I've decided I can't wait until tomorrow night. I'm going to love watching you take your potion. Because the next morning, when you walk into the Great Hall, everyone else will have taken theirs too. And I'm going to force you to look around at all the eyes on you! They might sneak their looks now, but come Monday morning, they're going to be openly gazing. And you deserve to feel the want!"

Hermione bit her lip. She'd noticed little glances. Ever since fourth year, she caught the looks. She'd gone up a full cup size that summer, she had a tan from vacation with her parents, and she'd started doing squats. Her mother had been doing them after her exercise classes, and Hermione had wondered if they really would help her build up a bit of rear cushion. She hadn't cut her hair before they came back to school that year, either. She'd finally figured out how to tame it.

"Hermione, I know you resent the female focus on physical appearance, especially to impress men. But you deserve to feel special. And they're going to be lining up for a chance to lick your big toe."

"Ginevra!" Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the lunacy of it all. Her big toe. Ginny was positively insane.

"I'm honestly getting hungry from all the work I'm doing trying to get you to recognize your worth, Hermione. Considering the morning you've already had... I bet you're starving." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione hit her over the head with a pillow.

"I certainly am! I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday!" She ignored the sexual implications of Ginny's statement.

Ginny stood to pull on her trousers and jumper.

"I stopped in to check on you three different times, by the way. In case you thought I'd abandoned my ill friend. You were sleeping so peacefully; I couldn't bring myself to rock the cradle."

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. She was shocked that she hadn't woken up at Ginny's arrivals. Normally she was a light sleeper.

After breakfast, Hermione made her way to the library. She wanted to get far enough ahead in all of her classes that, as was the case for Charms, she'd only have final essays and exams to think about for the rest of term. She sat at her favorite table, tucked back in the deepest part of the library. It was private and quiet, although the entire library was quiet. Madame Pince saw to that.

She was just setting down her quill to reread her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay when her stomach grumbled. Her hand flew to it and she waved her wand to check the time. Almost 6:30 in the evening. She'd worked straight through lunch.

"Hungry, Granger?" Pansy Parkinson whispered as she strutted into view.

"A bit, yes," Hermione smiled. She began collecting her things to leave when she turned back to Pansy.

"Have you been down to dinner yet?" Pansy looked up and shook her head.

"I was just putting this back. I'm about to head down myself." She replied as she placed a book back in its designated spot.

And that was how Hermione found herself walking down the corridor with Pansy Parkinson. Without being on patrol. She smiled at the thought – she liked Pansy more than she ever imagined she would. The Slytherin girl was honest. She didn't fancy beating around the bush, and she didn't try to make her beliefs more palatable for anyone. It was refreshing to be around someone like Pansy. Hermione actually wished she could be a bit more like that. As they walked through the doors of the Great Hall, Hermione looked at Pansy and waved. "I'll see you on Monday for patrol?"

Pansy nodded and gave a small smile. As they made their way to their respective tables, Hermione noticed that nearly half the school was staring at her, wide-eyed.

Not just her – they were glancing back and forth between she and Pansy, wondering what in the friendly interaction hell they'd just witnessed. Hermione resented the shock. They were all supposed to be trying to put their past feelings aside.

As she sat down next to Luna, who alternated between all four houses during meals, she remembered how hungry she was. She began filling her plate without a word.

"You feeling alright, Hermione?" Dean asked from a few seats down.

"Oh, I'm fine. It was just a fluke yesterday, nothing contagious." She replied, looking up at Dean before digging into her dinner.

"Right..." Dean continued with an odd look on his face. Seamus cut in, decidedly less vague.

"He doesn't mean because you turned green yesterday, Hermione. He means because you just walked in with Pansy Parkinson. By choice, from the looks of it." Seamus laughed as he finished.

"Is there something wrong with being civil with my classmate?" Hermione had managed to take a few bites of dinner, and her energy was coming back quickly. Along with her annoyance.

"Oh no, Hermione. It's quite nice to see you walk in with Pansy. She's surprisingly knowledgeable about merfolk. Is that something you've discussed?" Luna asked innocently.

"Er- no, Luna. Not this time." She looked around at the others, finding even Ginny wearing a look of surprise. She decided to continue.

"And for future reference, Pansy Parkinson and I run patrols together. We had quite a constructive discussion about our pasts and our beliefs. She's given me no reason to avoid her as though she started an outbreak of Scrofungulus. In fact, I find her to be… funny. I'd have walked with her even if I wasn't separately determined to stop living in the past," she declared indignantly.

That shut them up.

"Of course, Hermione. Good for you. I'm quite tired of all the lines in the sand myself." Hermione was both surprised and pleased to hear Neville speak up. She really was impressed with how he'd grown.

After that, Ginny changed the subject. They'd had quidditch practice that afternoon, and she was speaking excitedly about their match against Hufflepuff in a few weeks. Hermione was relieved to focus on something besides inter-house civility.

Chapter 6: Six

Notes:

In which our of-age witches and wizards take the mandated plunge.

Chapter Text

Hermione was pacing.

It was finally Sunday night. It was September 15th. The day she'd been agonizing about for weeks. Tonight, she'd be drinking her potion.

She'd seen Florence talking with Professor McGonagall in the Great Hall that evening during dinner. She was seated directly to the left of the Headmistress, and Hermione knew she'd probably be at Hogwarts when the potions were administered. There would be a lot of them taking it, and it gave the head of the Office for Magical Compatibility a chance to observe some of the youngest forced participants. Hermione couldn't manage to eat. No one else could either. Actually, scratch that. Seamus and his appetite seemed unaffected. At the end of the meal, the Headmistress stood.

"I'd like to ask that all seventh- and eighth-year students remain seated."

As the younger students filed out of the hall, looking back at their older friends, siblings and peers with curiosity, a buzz began among those who'd be staying for the chat.

Hermione and Ginny gripped one another's hand beneath the table as they shared a look. Padma had come to sit next to Parvati, and they appeared to be doing the same. Anxiety was rolling off of everyone in droves. Except Seamus. He was still indulging in pudding.

"Fiddlesticks. I forgot to wear my charm." Luna stated breezily, seemingly unaware of why they'd been asked to stay behind.

As Florence stood at the front of the hall, the room fell totally silent. Hermione hoped that maybe, she would announce that the Ministry had had a change of heart. No potion mandate, after all. Not bloody likely.

"Good evening, everyone. I hope you've all had a successful start to your year." Hermione sent daggers in Shiptrill's direction. A truly successful start to a school year would require impending soul-bonding not to hang over one's head.

"As you all know, tonight, your specific potions will be administered. At 9 o'clock, it's important you all be safely turned into your quarters. The potions have been charmed to arrive promptly within close proximity of your person. Again, it's very important you be settled in your own rooms or areas and that you drink the vial, in its entirety, punctually upon its arrival. The vials have a trace on them – meaning the Ministry will be closely tracking that all have been taken at the expected time. We recommend heading straight to bed following consumption."

Hermione grimaced. She was getting instructions on how to drink a potion the right way. Never mind if it would be interacting with the very foundation of her magic – please, go to sleep, right away!

Her stomach flipped upon realizing it was already nearly 8 PM. One more hour before she ceased to be this version of herself – the one she recognized. Tomorrow, she'd wake up feeling like... well, what exactly would she feel like? Suddenly, swot mode was activated. Full blown. Her hand shot up in the air.

Before Florence even noticed it, Hermione decided she didn't need to wait to be called on when discussing matters concerning her entire future.

"Pardon me, Florence, but I have a few questions."

Hermione heard nervous laughter and Pansy saying, "Of course you do, Granger," from across the hall.

She was glad to break the tension for her peers. Have a laugh at her expense, sure! We're all on the same bloody broom, and it was cursed, but yes – do make jokes about Granger being a nerd.

"Please, Hermione," Florence gestured for her to continue, "I'll answer any questions anyone has." Damnit, she wanted to hate Florence. She wanted to forget that she herself had still been trying to find fault in the process, even up until dinner that evening, without success. She wanted to be able to flip off the Ministry and point to some law that invalidated the legality of the whole damn program. But she hadn't been able to find one.

"Well, firstly, should we be prepared for a particularly awful taste? Or any immediate physical side effects of the potion?"

"We've done our best to ensure the potion not taste abhorrent. It's no Polyjuice, if any of you have ever had the pleasure. You all might find you disagree about what the flavor is – each of your potions are tailored specifically to you, after all. There are differences between each and every vial." Hermione gulped.

"As far as immediate side-effects, none besides drowsiness. This potion will be making cellular changes – it will be incredibly tiring to occupy a body in which such a process is happening. This is why we require you all be isolated to your own quarters."

"And what about when we wake up tomorrow?" Hermione's voice was shakier than she intended. Almost a squeak.

Florence looked meaningfully around the room.

"I want to assure all of you that you will not wake up tomorrow feeling like different people. This substance does nothing to alter who you are. It is designed simply to allow you to very effectively understand who others are as it relates to compatibility. Think of it like – a mild desire to eat, perhaps not even that strong a sensation. Certainly nothing like when you're absolutely famished, or when you've eaten so much you might burst. The potion feels, in many ways, exactly how one feels when they find that they aren't particularly hungry, but they could certainly eat. If the right dish was in front of them."

Hermione grimaced as she suddenly understood exactly what Florence meant, while remaining resentful of the hunger analysis. Positively indecent!

"Keep in mind that we would never be coordinating dosing you all with a substance that would have you climbing one another in the hallways while you're all attending school. There are rules, and we strongly believe this will not cause anyone to behave in such a way that would force them to violate those. I've discussed all of this at length with Professors McGonagall and Slughorn, as well as Madame Pomfrey. I assure you, again, they wouldn't allow for this to move forward if they believed it would create an uproar or be overwhelmingly disruptive," Florence glanced back at the aforementioned faculty, smiling gratefully at the three of them.

"This is another reason I'm grateful for how the Headmistress has handled you all returning this year, especially given the circumstances. I'm sure many of you feel overwhelmed, not only because of this endeavor, but in the fallout of the past year. I'm sorry for that, truly.

But you all have more space this year than you've ever had as Hogwarts students. We want you all to have privacy to deal with everything you're going through – this process included, perhaps especially."

Hermione couldn't help but agree with her on that point. At least she knew she could lock herself in her own room when she needed to.

"That being said, does anyone have additional questions? If not, we really should let you all go get settled. It's nearly 8:15, and you may have a few things to do before you turn in." Florence looked around the room. No one moved. It didn't even seem like anyone breathed. Professor McGonagall came to stand next to the Ministry employee and cleared her throat.

"I believe that concludes the evening, everyone. You're dismissed." If Hermione didn't know the Headmistress so well, she might've missed the way her lips pursed, and her brow furrowed ever so slightly. She knew what McGonagall's look meant. She pitied them.

And so almost 45 minutes later, there Hermione was, pacing in her bedroom. Her mind was racing with all the other questions she could now think of that she hadn't asked. She was in her pajamas, ready for bed, and not even mildly tired. She could run a bloody marathon.

Just as she was about to throw open the closet door to stomp into Ginny's room, she heard the sound of air moving at her desk. Something had materialized behind her while she faced the closet door. And as she turned, she felt her heart thumping hard. Loudly. As though it was about to fly out of her chest.

She nervously moved over to her desk. Her eyes widened.

There, as promised, sat a vial of clear liquid. A light blue tint. And the label clearly read Granger, Hermione J.

As she took it in her hand and unstoppered it, she felt an unexpected rush of adrenaline. She thought she'd wait as long as possible before taking it. Florence herself would probably be alerted – Hermione Granger was undertaking an act of rebellion. The head of the Office for Magical Compatibility would have to come administer it by force herself, sod it all.

But before the clock could even strike 9:01, Hermione had thrown it all down the hatch. Every last drop.

Chapter 7: Seven

Notes:

In which placebos are contemplated and patrols are swapped.

Chapter Text

Drowsiness had been putting it mildly. By the time Hermione had set down the vial, she felt her lids growing unbelievably heavy. Before she could even watch the empty glass be collected, she was crawling under her covers. She wasn't even thinking about what she'd done. She fell immediately to sleep.

And then, a moment later, she woke up.

Only it hadn't been a moment. It had been a full nine hours. The sun was rising. Hermione shot up in her bed.

She immediately flew toward the closet, throwing the door open at the same time Ginny did so on the opposite end. They looked at one another for a split second before Hermione exclaimed, "How are you feeling?" at the same time Ginny near-shouted "what the fuck?"

Ginny hurried through the closet into Hermione's room and they stood for a moment, just thinking and staring at each other. Hermione spoke first.

"Ginny, I nearly passed out on the floor. I barely made it to my bed before falling asleep. Are we sure it wasn't dreamless sleep they gave us?"

"Oh, it wasn't. My sleep wasn't dreamless. I went to bed immediately – same as you, but my dreams were… odd."

"Odd?" Hermione was surprised. She'd slept like the dead and felt as though she had only been unconscious for a moment.

"I'd rather not elaborate. Surprisingly sexless, which is unusual for me. But very… colorful." Ginny looked disturbed.

"I don't feel any different, not really I don't think. I mean, we've just woken up, maybe it's going to take a moment."

Ginny nodded. They stood and stared at one another, waiting to feel the shift.

They stood like that for about twenty seconds before immediately discarding the waiting approach. They'd both showered the night before when they got back from the Great Hall and decided they'd simply try to begin their day normally. Perhaps the potion had been a placebo.

As Hermione fastened her robes, she glanced at her reflection. It was then she noticed she was feeling something different. Before she could stop herself, she was pulling the makeup bag from her top drawer. Without a second thought, she applied a bit of mascara and gloss to her lips. Then, she was running her fingers through her mane, considering wearing it up. As she began to tie her hair back, she stopped. What in Godric's name was she doing? She'd never so much as thought about putting on makeup before a day of classes. Who did she have to impress?

And then she thought more. Who did she have to impress? She recognized the pull to present herself in a slightly different way, but she had no one in mind as she was doing it. Just a bit of anxious excitement. Giddiness and nerves.

Hermione shook her head to clear her mind. Giddiness? Excitement?

She secured her ponytail with a few pins, pulling a few loose curls out in front to frame her face. Then, grabbing her bag, she forced herself to leave her room without looking in the mirror. It felt like losing a limb. She wasn't being dramatic. She felt physical pain at not allowing herself to evaluate her appearance.

She found Ginny and Parvati waiting in the common room. To her horror, they were sitting with Neville and Seamus. She was immediately struck with the realization that her magic might be about to seal itself to the likes of Seamus fucking Finnegan. Not that he wasn't a friend or a decent person. He just… didn't appeal. And then Seamus looked up at her, and she felt… nothing. Exactly the same as she usually did when looking at Seamus. She exhaled with relief.

"Doing okay, Hermione?" Parvati looked up at her. She too was jittery. She was also wearing her hair down, which she almost never did. Hm.

Ginny, on the other hand, looked exactly like herself.

"We're both fine, Parvati. But, out of curiosity, did you have dreams last night?" Ginny asked, glancing at Hermione, who'd nodded to Parvati that she was indeed okay. She wasn't soul bound to Seamus she didn't think, so she was fine. Right?

"Erm – well, I had a bit of trouble falling asleep. I felt tired but couldn't actually quiet my mind. I tossed and turned most of the night – I can't even remember if I had any dreams."

"It was the same for me," Neville nodded at Parvati. Hermione took a risk and looked up at him, too. Still Neville. She didn't see any sparks flying out his rear – their energy still felt solidly platonic.

Her reaction to Dean was the same in that she felt nothing out of the ordinary. She felt more confident that the potion had been ineffective with each passing moment as she entered the Great Hall. Ginny was right – she did feel like she'd been receiving particularly blatant gazes from her male peers. Even a few of the other girls looked at her strangely. But to her relief, she didn't feel differently when she actually interacted with them.

It wasn't until lunch time that Hermione grew suspicious that perhaps there was something to the potion. Notably, she saw that Luna was on her Slytherin rotation. But instead of sitting happily with kids from different years, Luna sat with her back to Hermione, facing Theodore Nott. And he looked… smitten.

She'd realized in the weeks since they'd returned that he had a friendlier face than the other Slytherins. Yet the way he was looking at Luna… he seemed, different somehow? Hermione thought she might be reading into the whole thing. She was known to do that.

Luna sat between Zabini and Malfoy, who of course also had their backs to her. She was surprised, and honestly, impressed that they appeared to be tolerating Luna. Malfoy turned his head slightly towards the Ravenclaw as she spoke, and from his side profile, Hermione could tell he was… unimpressed. But he didn't look mean. She tapped Ginny's arm.

"Ginny, look at the Slytherins."

"Why, my brilliant friend, would I ever do something like that?" Ginny replied easily while taking a bite of her apple.

"Because Malfoy looks like he's being… kind to Luna!"

Ginny looked in the direction Hermione was staring. She moved her head closer to Hermione's, tilting it slightly to better mimic her friend's position.

"Hermione…" Thank gods! Ginny was noticing it, too!

"Is Nott about to shit himself?" She finished. Hermione choked out a laugh. He did look a bit uncomfortable now as Luna turned to converse with Blaise.

"He might be, but what about Malfoy? Have you ever seen him look less like a prat?"

"He looks the same as he always does to me, Hermione. Like a pointy-nosed ferret that believes the sun shines out his own arse." Hermione giggled. Ginny simply had a way of describing people. A gift, really.

And then, mid-giggle, Hermione dropped the piece of fruit in her own hand. She tore her eyes from Malfoy as she fought the rising panic in her throat.

Why would she ever think Malfoy looked less pratty than usual? She blinked her eyes, trying to clear her vision.

When she looked back up a minute later, she saw only the empty space next to Luna that he'd been in before. Thank Godric, he was gone!

But then, her heart sank. Because Malfoy was gone. And she thought she almost felt… disappointed about it.

As the day wore on, to Hermione's great relief, she had finally managed to figure out why she felt a stinging sense of loss over Malfoy's departure from lunch.

She hadn't been done working out what it was about him that looked less pratty. Surely, there was something – but by the time she looked back up, he'd gone. In the middle of her observation! The nerve.

She felt much better as she made her way down towards her meeting place for patrol with Pansy. She'd solved the mystery behind the Malfoy matter, and she was looking forward to drilling Parkinson about how she'd been feeling since taking the potion. While they usually only spoke a few times, Hermione felt tonight would be a breakthrough in their… friendship. She and Pansy Parkinson were about to gossip to the heavens.

As she passed the library, she heard footsteps rushing behind her. Instinctively, her hand flinched towards the wand in her robes.

"Hermione! A word?" She turned to see Anthony Goldstein hurrying towards her. Strange. They weren't really friends. She only spoke to the Head Boy during prefect meetings.

"Sure, is everything alright, Anthony?" She made note of the fact that she was pretty sure he also could be crossed off her list of possible soulmates. No fireworks went off upon making eye contact.

"It's fine but – there seems to be a bit of a stomach bug going around. You might already know – in fact, I heard you might have already had it. But I wanted to let you know Pansy Parkinson is in the infirmary – she won't be doing rounds with you tonight."

"Oh?" Hermione tried to hide her disappointment, but sensed Anthony wasn't finished.

"Someone else will fill in for her – Professor McGonagall is coordinating a schedule change. She wanted me to let you know to start your rounds at the usual time, but to meet outside her office. Whoever fills in for Parkinson will also be instructed to meet you there."

"Oh, alright. I was actually just heading to my usual meeting point with Pansy. I'll head up there now." Anthony nodded and turned, headed back in the direction of the library.

As she made her way towards McGonagall's office, Hermione began making a mental note of all the questions she'd planned on asking Pansy. Maybe she'd be feeling better on Thursday. Hermione could interrogate her then.

As she rounded the corner towards the Headmistress' office, she heard McGonagall's voice.

"I do appreciate your flexibility, Mr. Malfoy. As I said, Miss Parkinson has quite the case of- Miss Granger!" The professor smiled tightly at Hermione as the back of the boy she was addressing stiffened.

Of course, this would be Pansy's replacement. Draco sodding Malfoy.