A/N: Chapter updated to reflect accurate information and correct a mistaken fact. Homosexuality was illegal on the Isle of Man until 1994, not in all of Britain.

The butterfly on her shoulders refused to go back in the box. With Tracey's help, they coaxed it into sitting on a hair clip, which she clipped part of her hair back with. It still occasionally leapt free and fluttered around her, but at least it was more subdued and subtle this way.

Annoyed at the obvious intention behind the gift (pureblood tradition or not, her menstrual cycle was her business), Hermione defiantly wore the rose she'd received in her hair next to it. At least that gift had been given honestly and directly with forthright intention, not a hidden secondary meaning behind the gift.

At dinner, the decorations had been taken down. Lockhart looked mournful while McGonagall and Snape both looked extremely pleased. Hermione wondered if they had competed to see who could destroy the most.

Despite the lack of decorations, Valentine's day gossip still continued. Harry Potter had gotten an embarrassing singing valentine in the hall as well, something about 'his eyes as green as a fresh-pickled toad'. Hermione wondered if whomever had sent it had written bad poetry on purpose as a joke, or if it was a genuine admirer with absolutely no skill for romantic verse.

Blaise kept nagging her through dinner, prodding.

"You know who sent you the rose," he said. "Who was it? C'mon, tell."

"It's not your business," Hermione told him, giving him a look. "It's just a rose."

Tracey and Millie were looking amused, both of them knowing who had sent the rose but sworn to secrecy. Theo looked mildly intrigued, and Draco was very clearly eavesdropping while trying not to be obvious about it.

"A rose those colors is not 'just a rose'," Blaise told her, raising an eyebrow. "That's a very clear declaration of intent. Do you know what it means?"

"Of course I know what it means," Hermione said coolly.

"And you're still wearing it anyway?"

Hermione raised her chin and gave him a haughty look. "Why wouldn't I? It's quite the compliment."

Blaise looked surprised and taken aback, and Tracey laughed.

"How many of those have you gotten now?" she teased. "There was one at Christmas, then this one, so that's two…"

There was a grunt. "Three."

Hermione looked up in surprise at Goyle, who had joined the conversation. He looked at Blaise and Tracey who were staring at him, and he shrugged.

"Three," he grunted again. "I was with her when she got one of those one evening."

Hermione glared daggers at him, and Goyle flinched.

"Who gave it to her?" Blaise pressed, but Goyle shook his head.

"She swore me to secrecy," Goyle said. "It was a big deal, getting rid of it so no one in Slytherin would see. Didn't want to cause a fuss."

"Some things are supposed to be made a fuss over," Blaise said, emphatic, but Goyle continued to refuse.

"Not my story to share."

Blaise looked annoyed now, while Draco looked downright murderous.

"Tell me, Goyle," he pressed. "Who gave it to her?"

Goyle looked to Hermione for help, but she merely regarded him with raised eyebrows. Goyle swallowed hard before looking away.

"Can't tell," he said. "She swore me to secrecy. I can't tell."

"She swore you to secrecy?" Blaise said. "So you literally can't tell us, then, if there was a secrecy bond."

"Clever," Draco said grudgingly, and a flash of relief flitted over Goyle's face.

Hermione was surprised. She hadn't sworn Goyle to secrecy formally, with magic, but Goyle had been clever to imply that she had. His gaze had almost been terrified of her for a moment, there; as if he feared Hermione's wrath more than that of Draco.

"How do you know who gave her one?" Blaise was demanding of Tracey, who was having far too much fun denying him the information he wanted.

"Girl talk," she said, smirking. "Privileged information. No boys allowed."

"Millie?" Blaise pleaded, but Millie sat like a stone, unmoved.

"Not your business," she said, folding her arms. "If Hermione doesn't want to share, that's her business."

"Someone declaring intent is supposed to be known," Blaise argued.

"Aha, but that's not declared intent, is it?" Tracey challenged, her eyes glinting. "I see a flower – a romantic message, sure, but a flower. It's not clothing. It's not jewelry. So there's not a formal intent declared."

Hermione wondered at the distinction. Cedric had openly told her he liked her and wanted to date her, which was definitely an intent. It wasn't a formal declaration of courting intent with the end goal of betrothal, though, which Hermione suspected was the difference. Taking someone out on dates was one thing, apparently; formally courting them was another.

...did Slytherins even do just 'dating'?

Hermione was infinitely glad he'd only done the former. She had enough trouble dealing with the stupid gestures Anthony made; she wouldn't want to have to deal with another - though she might, now that this stupid butterfly wouldn't leave her alone, obnoxiously indicating to everyone that she'd come 'of an age'.

"That reminds me…" Hermione murmured to herself.

"Reminds you of what?" Blaise wanted to know, but Hermione shook her head and stood up.

"I need to take care of something," she said, excusing herself. "I'll see you soon."

She went over to the Ravenclaw table, where Luna looked up at her with a serene smile.

"Hermione," she said. "Congratulations on your successful chrysalization. You're a woman now, you know."

Hermione's face flamed.

"Thank you, Luna," she grit out through her teeth. As much as she didn't want to think about everyone knowing she'd gotten her period, Luna's words made her wonder what horror an unsuccessful chrysalization might look like – endometriosis, perhaps? "Anthony, might I have a word?"

Anthony rose with a grin. "Of course."

His grin was confident and charming, and Hermione led him to an alcove just outside the Great Hall. That was the hard part, she reflected; Anthony, as pushy as his gestures had always been, was actually charming and fun to be around.

"How can I help you, Hermione?" Anthony asked her.

Hermione sighed.

"Anthony, you sent me marriage sheets," she said. "These over-the-top gestures have got to stop."

Anthony adopted a hurt expression. "Hermione, I just—"

"Anthony, I'm not blind, and I'm not an idiot," she told him, interrupting. "I know why you make such big gestures towards me."

Anthony paused. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do." Hermione looked up at him. "Everyone knows your family would be in a better position if you married me, so your surface-level intent is obvious to everyone. People know you're making courting-not-courting gestures towards me, which is your goal."

"You're so suspicious, Hermione. I'm hurt. If I'm making courting offers toward you," Anthony argued, "it's because I want to court you."

"Do you really want to court me?" Hermione challenged. "Or do you want to court Michael Corner?"

The air between them froze. A heavy silence hung in the air.

Anthony stood very still.

"What," he said quietly, his eyes not meeting hers, "did you just say?"

Hermione was silent for a moment. She knew she had to navigate this carefully.

"I see how you look at him," Hermione said quietly. "I see how you light up when he pays attention to you, how you glance at him for approval. I know that that sort of thing is forbidden among purebloods – only done in secret arrangements, behind closed doors. And I know that he doesn't know."

Anthony stood stock-still, looking at her with shaded eyes.

"What would you have done," Hermione wanted to know, "if I had accepted one of your gifts?"

"Courted you," Anthony said immediately. "Hermione, I do like you. You have to believe—"

"I believe you," Hermione said. "But I also believe you leaned heavily into that so people would believe you fancied me, and no one would see or notice that you fancied Michael Corner more."

Anthony was silent. Hermione bit her lip.

"You can continue to make gestures towards me," she told him quietly. "Clothing, preferably. Jewelry that I would have to turn down might cause too much of a stir. But Anthony, believe me, the Slytherins pay attention to who is giving gifts of intent to whom. You don't need to send marriage sheets for people to know you're vying for my affections. I had to open them in the middle of the classroom, Anthony – it was practically lewd."

At this, Anthony flushed.

"I didn't know Lockhart was going to pull this nonsense," he muttered. "I thought you'd open them at the breakfast table, exclaim over them with your girlfriends, and hide them away."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Anthony blew out a breath.

"Alright, fine," he said. "I'll tone it down. But you're okay with… with knowing? And not telling anyone?"

He looked anxious, nervousness written in the creases of his face. Hermione considered for a moment, regarding him.

"My mother has a sister," she said finally. "Margaret. She's two years younger than my mum."

Anthony looked at her curiously.

"Aunt Margaret never married," Hermione said. "In university, she moved in with one of her best friends, Blair. They're still roommates, even to this day, twenty-some years later. Once, we went to visit them at their house. I was young and went exploring; I found they only had one bed."

Anthony's eyes widened in comprehension.

"This sort of thing is still illegal in some places muggle Britain, and it's not looked on kindly in most others," she told him quietly. "So people are very careful about what they say and what they share. My aunt has a roommate, not a girlfriend. But when people are among safe people, there's a sort of knowing twinkle in their eye as they say it. But it's still not safe to be said."

"So you're… fine, with knowing?" Anthony said. He looked around furtively. "Knowing that… I fancy both guys and girls?" he got out all in a rush.

Hermione shrugged.

"My mum explained it as 'we love who we love'," she said simply. "Some of us just have a bit of a more complicated road than others." She offered him a tentative smile. "You've got a harder road, I'm afraid. But I'm not going to tell anyone. It's not my news to share."

An expression came over Anthony's face. It wasn't quite relief, which Hermione would have expected; it was something more akin to relief mixed with awe and wonder.

"You're really something else, Hermione," Anthony said finally. He gave her a soft smile, vulnerable. "Thank you."

Hermione smiled back. "Of course."

He moved forward and kissed her forehead, affectionate.

"I'm still going to send you courting gestures," he told her, his eyes regaining their glimmer of mischief. "And you can even accept one - I would like to court you, Hermione." He grinned. "But... I'll tone it down with the sheets and jewelry."

"That's all I ask," Hermione said, laughing. "Thank you, Anthony."

"No," Anthony said. His eyes held hers. "Thank you."