A/N: A note on heights: I was 6'0" at twelve and a half years old when I got my period, and I haven't grown since then. I knew girls who had their growth spurts at age ten and were at their final heights at age eleven. Hermione is close to thirteen and a half at this point. Her growth spurt is perfectly within average age range and 5'8" is a reasonable height to stop at.

"You want me to what?"

Susan gave her a quizzical look, and Hermione winced.

"Look through colored lenses," she repeated. "I know it sounds crazy, but I spent all break reading about this. I think this might actually help."

Susan gave her a blank look, before shrugging.

"Alright," she said. She gestured to one of the low, squashed couches in the recessed part of the Hufflepuff common room. "Can't hurt, can it?"

Hermione made a face. "Actually, it might. Most people say they get the worst headache of their life from this."

Susan's eyebrows went up, but she didn't say anything.

"Granger is good."

Hermione turned to see Gregory Goyle nodding at Susan, emphatic.

"She's good," Greg repeated. "She's smart. She helps me and Vince at Charms all the time."

Susan gave him a flat look.

"You are in our common room for the sole reason that Hermione was not allowed to come up here alone," she told him, annoyed. "Don't presume to talk to me like I care about your opinion."

"He's not that bad, Susan," Hannah objected, moving to shield Greg from view. "I grew up with him."

"He's a bully," Susan sniffed. She turned back to Hermione, who had wisely held her tongue.

"I'm ready," she said. "How are we doing this?"

Hermione opened a box. "With these."

Hermione had gotten a pair of plain round reading glasses from the drugstore over the break, punched out the lenses, duplicated them, and charmed each one a with different tint of color. She still wasn't sure why people would wear reading glasses without a prescription, but she supposed it might be a fashion thing.

Testing for Irlen Syndrome was was similar-ish to a normal eye test. Hermione had a poster with words on it that she charmed to stick to the wall, and Susan had to hold up sets of different colored lenses to her eyes to look through, over and over again, to determine if the letters were clearer, fuzzier, moving, warped, or changing.

"What is this?" Susan said, peering through the lenses. "'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…'? That doesn't make any sense."

"It's a quote from a famous muggle book," Hermione said, flushing. "I borrowed it from my mum. It doesn't matter. Now, do the words look any different?"

The words didn't look any different through red tinted lenses, Susan determined quickly, nor pink or yellow or lime. When she got to green, she paused.

"It… It looks different," she said finally. "Not better? But… different."

Hermione made a note on her parchment. "Alright. Try the blue."

The blue made the words clearer, Susan reported, excitement growing in her voice. They were still moving, but the edges were sharper.

"The grey?"

The grey also seemed to help some, while the deep purple did not. Hermione made notes, before checking over her list of possibilities.

"Now we need to find the exact perfect shade," she said. "We're going to hold them up, two at a time, until the words are clear."

It took upwards of an hour, Hermione sitting with Susan as she held different lenses up to her eyes, adding and subtracting slight tints. The 40% blue tint was too much, but the 20% blue paired with a 10% gray seemed to help, and with a 20% turquoise as well…

"Alright," Hermione said, crossing out the last possibility. "The ones that help the most are these three. Let's try it – hang on."

She took out another duplicate pair of the glasses she'd saved. They had very round, silver frames with nose pads, and Hermione withdrew her wand, drawing a circle over each lens before tapping them.

"Colovaria."

The shade of the lenses changed to a bright teal color, and Hermione handed them to Susan, who looked at the frames for a long moment with mild distaste before looking at Hermione.

"If these work," she said, "we can charm the lenses for any set of frames, right?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Of course."

Susan put the glasses on, blinked a few times, and looked around.

"Things look different, but it's just a bit darker, really," she said. "I thought everything would look blue."

"The fact that it doesn't look blue is a good sign," Hermione said. She handed her a book. "Here; try reading. Let's see if it's different now."

Susan took a deep breath, steadying herself, and took the book. "Alright."

Hermione watched as Susan, with some trepidation, opened the book.

It was immediately apparent that something was different.

At first, Susan looked surprised, then astonished, then rapt. Hermione watched as Susan's eyes rapidly scanned the page, eyes wide, before she flipped to the middle of the book to a different page, reading rapidly again, then to another page and reading again.

"Do they help?" Hermione prodded gently.

Susan's eyes flew to her, still wide.

"I—" She seemed lost for words. "I—Hermione, I can read."

"The words are staying still?" Hermione asked, wanting confirmation. "They're not lifting off the page?"

"They're not." Susan's voice was quavering, now, as if she was torn between excitement and crying. "They're just… there. They're just sitting still. I know that must sound so stupid to you, but I didn't realize just how much they floated until now. All the letters are sitting still—!"

She threw herself at Hermione, knocking the wind out of her, and hugged her fiercely, Hermione tentatively putting her arms around Susan.

"I owe you so much," Susan said, her voice muffled in Hermione's shoulder. "I'm going to be able to read my textbooks without a headache—!"

"I'm just glad I was able to help," Hermione said, uncomfortable. "Oh – speaking of headaches…"

She rummaged in her bag, withdrawing a Headache Potion and offering it to Susan.

"I know you feel like you can see without any issue now, but you just put your eyes and your brain through the wrong colors for ages," Hermione explained. "If you don't have a migraine now, you will soon. It's better if you take this now and head it off at the pass."

Susan shrugged. "Okay."

Hermione was mildly surprised to see Susan just down the potion as if it were nothing. She didn't even pause to sniff it to make sure it was only a Headache potion. She could have noticed the label from the Hospital Wing, from where Hermione had procured it, but it would have been easy for Hermione to pour out and replace with something more devious if she had wanted.

Susan caught her surprised look and gave her a cheeky grin.

"You spent your entire break trying to help me, and you just sat here for hours helping me figure this out," Susan said, amused. "You didn't need to do any of that, Hermione. I hardly think you'd be about to poison me now."

Hermione snorted. "If I were going to poison you, I'd be more subtle than to just give it to you in a bottle."

Susan laughed as if Hermione had told an uproarious joke, and after a pause, Hermione joined in.

"I am in your debt," Susan told Hermione, taking her hand and bowing over it deeply. A necklace with a ring on it fell out of her robes, she was bowing so low. "You may not feel as though you have done much, but you have done me a boon. Know that I recognize this and will honor this, and I will repay you somehow someday."

"It's fine." Hermione felt uneasy. "Like I said, I'm just glad I could help."

Susan stayed bowed over her hand very low. "No. I am in your debt, Hermione."

"It's fine, really—"

"You have to say, 'Your debt is our bond, and may magic see to thee.'"

Hermione whirled around to see Cedric Diggory standing slightly behind her, grinning.

"The Bones family is very traditional," he told her. "The custom acknowledgement is 'your debt is our bond'. Or something like that, I think."

Hermione's mind flashed back to ancient etiquette book she'd read over a year ago, her memory flying over the traditional wording.

"Ah—Susan, your debt is our bond," Hermione said quickly. "May this bond strengthen us as sisters in magic, and may magic see to thee."

"So mote it be," Susan said firmly.

There was a swirl of magic around their hands, a ribbon of turquoise that tied a bow and then vanished, and Susan stood up, beaming.

"I can't believe these work!" she crowed, fiddling with her glasses. "I'm going to go find Hannah! I'll be right back!"

She ran off to the other side of the common room, where Hannah, Ernie, Greg and one other were playing Exploding Snap. Hermione watched Susan run over before turning back to Cedric, who was still grinning.

"I have a debt bond with Susan now?" she said faintly. "I don't even know what that is."

Cedric waved it off, sitting down across from her at the other end of the squashy couch.

"It's a minor bond," he said. "Like I said, the Bones are very traditional. Susan wouldn't not acknowledge it formally, whereas most people would just say 'thank you' and be done with it."

"What does it do?" Hermione asked.

"It helps keep her aware chances to repay you," he said with a shrug. "Once she does, you'll see the magic dissolve."

"So…" Hermione gnawed on her lip. "Magic decides what is fair turnabout?"

"I guess." Cedric looked amused by all her questions. "They're not generally used anymore. And it's nothing so serious as a Life Debt. Most people don't even know about debt bonds, really. I don't know if anyone anymore knows exactly how they work."

"I suppose that makes sense," Hermione sighed. "I just hate not knowing things."

She stood up to get her poster, carefully detaching it from the wall and rolling it up carefully. She slipped it back in the cardboard tube she had brought it in and stashed it back in her bag.

"I was surprised by your choice of reading material," Cedric said casually. "Not what I expected."

Hermione gave him a look. "What did you expect?"

Cedric hummed, considering.

"Poetry, most likely," he said. His eyes glinted with mischief. "You seem the type to have a secret love for poetry and language and prose. I didn't peg you for a Dickens lover."

"I'm not," Hermione admitted. "It's my mother's. She loves—" She cut herself off, giving Cedric a sharp look. "Wait. How do you know it's Dickens?"

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Because I've read it…?"

Before she could say anything, he was clearing his throat, then reciting:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness." His voice had taken on a deep, resonant tone as he recited, and Hermione felt herself sit up, listening more closely. "It was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity. It was the season of light, it was the season of darkness." His eyes met hers, and Hermione shivered. "It was the spring of hope… it was the winter of despair."

Hermione stared at him a moment as he finished, before starting to clap despite herself at his dramatic recitation, laughing.

"Even if you just memorized that off the poster in the last couple hours, that's still fairly impressive," Hermione said, smiling. "I don't like Dickens, generally, but that opening is known to be one of the best ever."

"You think I memorized the quote on the wall just now to impress you?" Cedric grinned. "Hermione, I'm hurt."

"I didn't say to impress me," Hermione objected, her face going red. "I just said that it was possible—"

"After all I've done to improve your opinion of me," Cedric said, taking on injured tones. "You question my intent, you doubt my love of muggle literature, you ignore me when I send you a rose—"

His eyes glinted with mischief, and Hermione couldn't contain herself.

"Why?" she asked.

Cedric blinked.

"Why what?"

"Why did you send me a rose?" she wanted to know.

Cedric looked at her, puzzled.

"Do you not know the language of flowers, Hermione?" he asked finally. "I know there are books on it—"

"No, I got all that, I asked Tracey and Daphne about it on the train," Hermione said, waving it off. "They told me what the colors meant. But why?"

Cedric looked confused.

"If you know what it means, what do you mean, why did I send it to you?" Cedric asked.

"Because it doesn't make any sense," Hermione said promptly. "Daphne said that said pale pink represents 'grace, admiration, and elegance' and that lavender represents 'love at first sight and enchantment'."

Cedric was openly staring at her now.

"How does that not make any sense?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Well… because…" Hermione faltered at the genuine confusion in his eyes, before gathering herself back up again, determined. "You have no reason to send me a rose like that. It isn't—it doesn't—"

She grasped for words, trying to explain, when she saw comprehension flare in Cedric's eyes.

"Do you get it now?" she asked, relieved. "It looks like you understand what I'm trying to get at—"

"I understand perfectly."

Cedric moved from the couch to the ottoman right next to her. He sat up very straight, his knees touching hers, and Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

He really was very fit.

"Hermione," he said. "We met a few weeks ago now, right?"

Hermione wracked her brain.

"Err—yes, I think?" she said. "Maybe a little over a month? It was a bit before the end of term."

"And how did we meet?"

Hermione looked at him blankly.

"I—I came down to give Hufflepuff a fruit basket," she said. "Because of Justin."

"You did," Cedric said. He gave her a small grin, as if pleased that she'd gotten it right, and Hermione found herself grinning back a bit. "Now: what were you like that night?"

Hermione blinked.

"I—what?"

"What were you like?" he said patiently. "Were you cheerful? Were you mean? Were you tired?"

"I…"

Truth be told, Hermione hadn't the slightest idea. She'd been determined, she knew; she'd needed to spread the rumor about Alexia Rosier amongst the Hufflepuffs. But she rather thought she'd hidden that.

"I was… sympathetic?" Hermione ventured. "Because of Justin?"

Cedric raised an eyebrow, and Hermione felt like she'd failed a test.

"Do you know what I saw that night?" he asked her, and Hermione shook her head.

Cedric leaned in a bit, his eyes holding hers.

"I saw a beautiful witch from Slytherin come to offer solace to Hufflepuff in a time of need," he said. "I saw someone we'd consider an enemy sit down to mourn with us and offer us a formal token of sympathy and grief. And then I saw that same witch gradually draw her classmates out of their fear and sadness, teasing them about Herbology until they were distracted and smiling again."

His eyes were dark, holding hers intensely, and Hermione wasn't sure if she was still breathing.

"And then…" His manner lightened, and he offered her a charming grin, one that made Hermione's heart skip. "Then I decided to talk to that witch. Not only did she compliment Hufflepuff, stating with utter faith none of us could ever be so evil as to be the Heir—"

That wasn't exactly what she'd said, but Hermione wasn't about to correct him.

"—but she then argued back with me, fierce as any badger when riled in righteous anger," he teased, eyes sparkling. "She used logic to justify her points, defended her own house when challenged, and left me fumbling for words like a jarvey as she left."

Hermione felt flushed and self-conscious. "I was just talking…"

Cedric's gaze was considering.

"I don't think you quite realize, Hermione," he said. "You left quite an impression that night."

Hermione shrugged defensively.

"I was trying to be nice," she said, uneasy. "It wasn't supposed to be some big thing."

"Nevertheless…" His eyes met hers again, and she felt her breath catch. "I haven't been able to get you out of my head since."

His gaze was open, honest, but there was something in his eyes, something in the look of them, with the dilated pupils…

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped, breaking his gaze, flushing in embarrassment. "What's your game here?"

"Are all the Slytherins really so serpent-like that nothing can be offered without an ulterior motive?" Cedric said plainly. "I'm saying I like you, Hermione. That's all."

"You—wait, you—"

"I sent you a rose," Cedric said patiently, "because I like you. You're pretty, you're clever, and you're wicked sharp. I would like to get to know you better."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh," she said faintly.

Cedric started to grin.

"'Oh?'" he repeated, teasing. "Is that all you have to say? Just 'oh'?"

Hermione's words were failing her, and she could feel the heat of her cheeks as she blushed, self-conscious.

"It—It's not quite like that in Slytherin, but it kind of is," she admitted, faltering. "Gifts are sent with hidden meanings and motives. Words and phrases are used carefully, threats laid in the subtext of the words. So it's… it's different. I've gotten gifts from boys before, but there's always been another layer there to unravel, another meaning to find."

Cedric raised an eyebrow.

"You live in a house full of pureblood traditionalists," he said. "And you're saying I'm the first person to make such a gesture towards you?"

"Well, no, but…"

All the others she'd gotten were something else, though, weren't they? Anthony's grand gestures of courting-but-not-courting gifts were just that – grand, flashy gestures, meant to communicate as much as they were meant to hide. As charming as Anthony could be when he tried, Hermione was very aware that he'd taken an interest immediately after the New Blood rumor had spread and he'd noticed her success in classes. The Goldstein family had lost some of its prestige with some relative's scandal, and all the purebloods knew that if Anthony managed to court the only New Blood of the era, his family's image would significantly rise within society, and Hermione suspected Anthony was taking full advantage of this.

Draco had given her gifts that were not gestures, but ones that were not not gestures. Hermione was fairly certain that Draco would want to court her when she came 'of an age' but she suspected that he couldn't openly declare his intentions, though, because of the situation with his father. The idea of Lucius Malfoy giving his son permission to pursue someone born to muggles, New Blood or not, was patently ludicrous. Draco's gifts each felt like he was trying to tell her something that he couldn't yet, as if he wanted her to wait for him until he'd talked his father 'round. But they were not true courting gifts, and each one he'd given her had been laden with hidden meaning.

"You're the first person to just come out and genuinely say to me that you like me," Hermione said at last. "And just flatly express romantic intent."

Cedric's eyes sparkled.

"I'm surprised," he said. "I thought I'd need to be the best contender to date you, not just the first."

"Date me?" Hermione's voice was strangled. "Cedric, I'm thirteen."

"So?" There was a smile playing around his lips. "I'm fifteen. Two years of difference isn't bad."

Hermione just kind of gaped at him, and Cedric smirked.

"If you don't want to date me, Hermione, you can just tell me," he teased her. "You don't have to make up excuses about age."

"I—I don't—"

Did she want to date him?

She'd never even considered the thought.

She'd never really considered dating, for that matter. Dating was something older people did, students in the upper classes or adults. She hadn't even realized that wizards did just 'date' each other normally – part of her had been convinced everything was either a very formal courtship or nothing at all. Though, that may have been a result of learning everything from Slytherins...

Hermione gnawed her lip. Cedric was very attractive, that was sure. He was witty and charming, and he seemed to like muggle literature. He was kind, a good conversationalist, and Hermione was fairly certain that she was attracted to him. But…

"You know," Cedric said conversationally, "when you bite your lip like that, it makes me want to kiss it better?"

Hermione blushed a vermillion red, and Cedric laughed.

"I'm—I'm flattered by your interest, truly," Hermione said, cheeks flaming. "But Cedric, I—"

"Yes?" Cedric was looking at her with gentle eyes, as if he was preparing himself for a letdown.

"Cedric, I'm—I'm not even 'of an age', yet," she said, looking away. Her face burned in embarrassment. "I don't think—I shouldn't—"

Cedric had a quick intake of breath, and Hermione winced.

"I—I didn't realize." He sounded embarrassed. "I knew you were thirteen, and you just seem so poised, I—"

He cut himself off, clearing his throat, and rubbed the back of his head, sheepish.

"I didn't realize that you'd want to—err—do the butterfly thing. But of course you would – you're in Slytherin, and where everything is done the traditional way." He gave her a small, embarrassed smile. "We'll just chalk this up to me being over-eager, yeah?"

Hermione blushed. "Alright."

Cedric relaxed slightly next to her, two spots of red blooming brightly high on his pale cheeks.

"Are you going to do the butterfly thing, though?" he asked her. "Wear one around openly when you're able to date?"

"I suppose." Hermione made a face. "It's traditional, and I can't exactly throw over pureblood traditions when I'm supposed to be learning them all and following them."

Cedric laughed.

"Glad guys don't have to do that," he told her, eyes dancing. "I'd look terrible with butterfly clips in my hair."

Hermione was startled into laughter, and Cedric grinned. He smiled as she settled down, and she smiled back at him.

"Still," he said thoughtfully. "Silly as it may be, I'm glad you will, though."

"You are?" Hermione was puzzled. "Why, though?"

Cedric withdrew his wand, twirled it in a small circle, and with a quiet, "Orchideous", a small bundle of roses blossomed out of the tip.

"Because, Hermione..."

He moved to tuck one of the pink-purple roses behind her ear, his eyes holding hers, his hand lingering on her cheek before pulling away. "It'll let me know when I should ask you again."