Homework had been light that week, with even the teachers in a celebratory Halloween spirit, so Hermione went up to Ravenclaw tower to read her new book.
The others looked up as she came in, but she was met with nods and small smiles. She'd come up to study with Terry Boot a few times now, and with the "password" being merely a riddle, it seemed that the Ravenclaw common room was welcome to anyone who wanted to join in in academic pursuits.
Curling up on a window seat with perfectly-positioned blue pillows, Hermione began to read.
The book wasn't exactly what Hermione expected, and her eyes grew large as she continued. Just the introduction was a tirade against the dumbing down of magic, of the Old Ways being forgotten, and how ritual magic was a wizard's heritage and the way to access True Power, and how rituals should not be forgotten. There were casual references to the power of blood and sacrifice that gave Hermione the impression that such things were normal components of rituals. The names of some of the rituals, such as The Dark Way and Misery to All Ye Who Oppose Me, gave her pause. The introduction concluded with a plea for wizards to return to the way of rituals for all meaningful magic, and to leave the small, non-important magic to the wand.
The next part dealt with the types of rituals and different components. Hermione was fascinated to read about the different structures – if she learned the different parts, it seemed that she would be able to create her own rituals, if she truly understood it all. She happily dissected the ritual they'd done in the dormitory – the "stone" was the witch who began the ceremony and directed the power toward its end purpose, and the "seam" was the witch who had the justification to do the ritual (in her case, Ron's bullying) and whose power would unite them all in purpose and mind.
Hermione was a bit flattered to realize that Daphne had meant her compliment about Hermione being the most powerful witch in their year. The stone and seam were serious responsibilities. Knowing what she knew now, Hermione would have expected her hand to be placed second-to-last, with Daphne directing Pansy to put her hand on the top – Pansy's hatred of the Weasleys was common knowledge and would have been enough to fuel the spell as the one who 'needed' the ritual. Instead, Daphne had directed her to be the seam, and even Pansy had acquiesced with only a snarky remark but no real objection.
Maybe her efforts were finally beginning to pay off. Their last Charms class had been impressive, and Potions was good too. It was her defeat of the troll, though, that Hermione suspected had been the catalyst for this change. She doubted any of the others would have had the strength to set the troll on fire – Incendio was in the last third of their spell book, and they probably wouldn't learn it until March at the earliest. And all the others probably would have frozen in fear, not been compelled to escape and move.
Hermione spent an enjoyable afternoon reading about other ritual configurations – the pentagram, the seven-star, the triangle of totality, and so on. She only realized how late it was in the day when Anthony Goldstein interrupted her, putting a hand on her knee.
"I'm not sure you're aware of this," he said, with a small smile, "but everyone else is leaving for dinner."
"Ah!" Hermione sat up abruptly, flushing. She hurriedly tucked her book into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry – I didn't realize."
"No matter – I certainly know what it's like to get caught up in a good book." He grinned at her, and Hermione found herself grinning back. Anthony paused, before awkwardly holding his arm out, his elbow pointy. "May I escort you to dinner?"
Hermione blinked at him, trying to hide her astonishment at his offer as her mind raced through the social implications. An escort to dinner was an indication of respect for a witch and fondness, generally only done with witches of high class, and could indicate an intent to court her or that she was being courted – Anthony was a Goldstein, halfblood due to a Muggleborn grandfather, still of admirable status in magical society by virtue of his family name, and apparently educated in pureblood etiquette-
Anthony stood there awkwardly with his elbow extended, a strained smile on his face. He looked awfully cute, Hermione reflected, blond hair hanging ever just-too-long over his ears, and he was trying not to bite his lip.
Decision made, Hermione flounced to her feet and took his arm. "I would love if you would escort me to dinner," she told him, rewarding him with a dazzling smile.
Anthony looked surprised and a little dazed, but he regrouped admirably enough, and it was with great purpose and pride he escorted her out of Ravenclaw tower and down the stairs, making idle conversation about levitation charms. He confessed that he was still having more difficulty with them than he wanted, despite the seeming simplicity of the charm. Hermione offered that if she focused on the bottom of the object specifically, of supporting it on a wave of wind or power when trying to lift it, levitating objects felt easier than when she just focused on the object as a whole, trying to overcome its weight with sheer will. She admitted she didn't know if that was how the spell was supposed to be done, but it worked just as well, had the same wand movements, and the same results, so he might as well try it next time?
As he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, Anthony looked at her like she'd just handed him a bag of gold.
"Thank you," he told her, his eyes earnest. He paused. "You know you're smart, of course, but you really are brilliant. You think of things in ways no one else does like it's effortless." He smiled and bowed over her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "It's been my pleasure speaking with you, Hermione. Thank you for the conversation."
His compliment was delivered with such sincerity and admiration that Hermione flushed, which only deepened at his kiss to her hand. Minding her (much-studied) manners, Hermione inclined her head and gave him a small curtsy (which was terribly difficult to pull off in such a short skirt). Anthony seemed amused but pleased at her efforts and smiled to her as they parted ways, him heading to the Ravenclaw table, her to the Slytherin one.
It was only when she saw her entire year at Slytherin staring at her, mouths agog, that she realized something might be amiss.
A quick glance around the room confirmed that not many people were at dinner yet, and the majority of those who were seemed occupied with eating. A few of the Ravenclaws were giving Anthony appraising looks as he walked toward them, and Ernie Macmillan over at Hufflepuff looked furious for some reason. No one at Gryffindor was batting an eye, and no one at the Head Table seemed to be paying any attention to them.
Hermione took her seat at the Slytherin with as much grace and decorum as she could, acting as if nothing at all had just happened.
"Sorry," she said, nodding to the others. "I got carried away reading before dinner and didn't realize the time."
There were reflexive murmurings of acceptance and forgiveness, and slowly, the other witches turned away from her to resume their conversation – something about Sleekeazy's latest creation, it seemed. They glanced back at her periodically, but Hermione was doing nothing interesting – only eating her food, now.
The boys, however, seemed considerably more interested in her; three of them, at least – Crabbe and Goyle certainly weren't, given they were thumb wrestling in between bites. But Draco was giving her a dark look, one that would fill most people with dread. Blaise looked highly amused, his eyes dancing with mischief, and Theo looked incredulous, though he was trying to hide it.
They all ate their dinners in silence for a long time, the noise of silverware tinging and plates being scraped filling the air.
"That Anthony Goldstein?" Theo said finally.
Ha! They broke first. Hermione smiled to herself, while outwardly, she nodded. "He offered to escort me to dinner," she said, cutting her roast.
"Like when I was playing bodyguard and you made me take you everywhere?"
Hermione's lips curled up at the sides, into a sort of amused half-smile.
"Yes, sort of like that," she mused. "Only, not really like that at all."
Theo sat back in his seat, eyebrows raised, and if it was possible, Draco's face darkened even further.
"Goldstein's certainly not hesitating, then," Blaise said, smirking. "No one's been escorted to dinner yet this year – no one under 4th year, at least."
His matter-of-fact assessment gave Hermione pause. "…You keep track?" she asked carefully.
"Of course," he shrugged. "Need to know the current situation of who is after who, don't I? If I'm going to be stepping on another wizard's toes, I need to know who that wizard is."
He shot her a grin, and Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned back.
"He didn't give you anything, did he?" Draco demanded abruptly.
The conversations amongst any of the first years ceased. Hermione felt all their eyes slowly turn to stare at her.
"A compliment?" Hermione offered, trying to hide her unease. "He walked me to dinner. That was all."
The others slowly turned away to refocus on their own plates, Hermione included, as she tried to conceal her confusion. Draco seemed satisfied and less angry at her answer, but Pansy was looking at Draco as if he'd grown a third head – a mixture of anger, shock, and betrayal, that didn't seem to fit on her face, given the situation.
Daphne seemed to realize the uncomfortable situation.
"Meeting tomorrow night at eight, in the corner of the common room by the lake," Daphne reminded them all, her social graces smoothing over the situation.
"Quidditch tomorrow," Greg grunted, and Draco gave him an annoyed look.
"It's not likely to go all day," he told him. "If we win, there will be a party, and we can talk in the corner with no one knowing any better. If we lose, there will be sulking and angry talk, and no one will pay attention to us anyway."
"If we lose?" Blaise looked at Draco with horror. "Surely you don't think we're going to lose to Gryffindor, do you?"
That started them bickering about Quidditch, something decidedly more normal to hear about at the dinner table, and Hermione managed to finish eating her dinner in relative peace.