Later, they both laid outside, watching the stars come out.

"For what it's worth," Blaise said, lying on the grass, "I am sorry. I didn't handle all of that… I didn't handle any of it particularly well."

"You didn't," Hermione agreed, looking up at the night sky.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he continued. "I really didn't. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Hermione said. She sighed. "I know I've already said this, but I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to scare you or make you think you'd be at fault if something happened to me—"

"I know." Blaise's voice was quiet. "I read all your letters later, alone."

Hermione felt something inside of her relax at his words, and they both watched the stars for a while, not saying anything.

"Was Snape right?" Hermione asked abruptly. "It's harder to talk to me because I'm stronger magically? Or 'magically attractive'?"

Blaise groaned. "This is so awkward. Can we not?"

"No," Hermione insisted, rolling over onto her belly to look at him. "Blaise, this is important. If it's affecting you to the point you can't talk to me—"

"Snape simplified," Blaise said, reluctant. "Yeah, okay, sure, some of it probably is your natural magical magnetism or whatever. I didn't even know that was a thing until just now. I think you're just charismatic when you care, personally, but we can chalk it up to you being very strong if you like."

"Well, if it's not that," Hermione said pointedly, "than what is it?"

Blaise sighed.

"I forget, sometimes," he mused. He shifted to his side so he could look at her. "You didn't grow up like this, so I don't think you quite understand what you have."

"With magic?" Hermione said, puzzled. "I think I understand magic pretty well by now—"

"No," Blaise said, his eyes soft. "Just how beautiful you are."

Hermione was speechless.

"That's—you're very kind," she managed to get out, but Blaise ignored her.

"I've seen your childhood photos," he said. "You grew up as a bushy-headed kid with too-big front teeth—"

"Hey!"

"—and I think mentally, you still think of yourself that way," he continued. "I don't think you realize just how much you've changed."

Hermione blinked, glancing down at herself.

"I mean, I hit puberty?" she ventured. "I definitely got my growth spurt—"

"You went from a cute girl in my classes to a really fit girl that everyone wanted to get the attention of," Blaise said. "And then you cut your hair and stopped holding yourself back, and you went from hot to a knockout, Hermione."

Hermione felt her face flush. "What, was my hair that bad?"

"It's more how it affected your confidence." Blaise's eyes met hers, a smile playing on his lips. "You carry yourself differently now."

"I do?" Hermione blinked. "Really?"

"Let's try this," Blaise said, getting to his feet. "When you think of yourself, Hermione, what do you think of? Your physical body and appearance, not your personality or magic."

"Umm…" Hermione took Blaise's proffered hand to get to her feet. "Well. I'm somewhat tall. I have brown eyes and brown curly hair. I'd say I have an average frame? I'm not particularly wide, but I'm not particularly thin either. My skin is fairly good? I don't get too many spots…"

A soft smile played on Blaise's lips. "Do you want to know what I see?"

Hermione nodded, mouth dry, and Blaise led her around the side of the school to one of the lower windows. A complicated bit of Transfiguration later, Blaise stood just behind Hermione in front of a mirror, looking at her through her reflection.

There was a depth of emotion there, in his eyes, that Hermione thought she could get lost in.

"You say 'brown eyes' – I see eyes the color of warm, melted chocolate, with rich depths that seem to go on forever," Blaise murmured. "They sparkle and dance in the light, or when you're happy, you know. And 'brown hair' – your hair is brown, but red, and gold, and espresso all at once. There are even strands that glitter like gold in the sunlight. They catch my eye in class whenever you sit by the window."

Hermione had no idea Blaise had watched her so closely to notice the exact shades of her hair.

"And it's not just 'curly'," Blaise said, winding a curl around his finger as he spoke, looking at it fondly. "It's this cascade of soft, springy coils that bounce and sway with each movement you make, whenever you raise your hand or gesture when you're talking. I find myself daydreaming about what it'd be like to pull one of your curls, or to wind one around my finger."

He looked back up at her through the mirror, and Hermione felt rather breathless.

"You're tall, yes, which I've noticed – but I've mostly noticed because of your legs," Blaise admitted. "Your legs are so long and slender and go up for miles. That short dress you wore last summer when Malfoy and I visited for dinner – you danced through my dreams in that dress for months."

Hermione's eyes flew to his. "You dream about me?"

"Not the point." Blaise's hands moved from her shoulders slowly down her sides, resting lightly on her waist. "You say 'average figure', while I see a symphony of soft curves and gentle slopes that capture my eyes on a rolling journey. I'll try to keep from being crude, but… Hermione, you must understand that your figure is incredible."

"How?" Hermione pressed, a thrill in her chest. "I don't care if you're crude."

Blaise groaned from behind her, tortured.

"It's inviting," he finally managed. "Your figure… it invites touch, with its softness, and it makes you wonder what it would feel like to run your hands over it, to squeeze, to caress…"

"And—that's good?" Hermione ventured. "You don't think my bottom's too big? My hips too wide?"

Blaise snorted. "Are you kidding? No, Hermione. They're perfect. To say nothing of your breasts…"

He trailed off, looking at her in the mirror, his eyes seeming to glow.

"I think I know what it is," he said abruptly. "You – you're attracted to girls, yes?"

Hermione was startled by the abrupt change of subject. "Err – yes…?"

"But you wouldn't be attracted to you," he said pointedly. "You're attracted to people who don't look like you do, aren't you?"

"Umm. Generally? I guess so?" Hermione ventured, biting her lip.

"You are – you told me once, your type is slender, lithe-figured types. That might be it, then – maybe you don't feel attractive because you wouldn't be attracted to yourself." Blaise considered this for a moment. "I think that's it. Why you don't think you're pretty."

"Is it?" Hermione wasn't sure. "I mean, I don't think I'm not pretty…"

"You have no idea what guys think when they look at you," Blaise said. "You don't fully understand what they're thinking, what they're feeling. You've probably been mentally filtering others' emotions through your own experiences, instead of just taking them at face value."

"How do I fix that?" Hermione wondered. "How do I understand?"

"Honestly? No idea," Blaise said wryly. "I only learned what women find attractive by reading and studying romance novels geared towards women."

Hermione was startled into laughing. "Did you really?"

Blaise grinned. "I did."

"That's absurd." Hermione couldn't help her giggles. "I'm imagining you just lounging about on the beach with a bodice-ripper, taking notes, your mother coming out and being scandalized—"

"You forget who my mother is," Blaise said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "She encouraged me. She wants me to become some great Cassanova, seducing women everywhere I go." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway. It helped me understand, I think. I'm not into guys, so I had no idea what women look for in a partner."

Hermione was curious. "Did it work? Studying the novels?"

"Somewhat?" Blaise hummed. Hermione stepped aside, so Blaise was in front of the mirror now, and he let his fingers trail over his face. "I have the beginnings of a good jawline, I think. Guys get more of the physical changes later than girls, so I think those are still coming. I think my hair is good – the novels always go on about 'tall, dark, and handsome'."

He flashed a grin at her, and Hermione smiled back.

"I'm not super fit, but I like to think I have some muscle on my chest, enough to give me a shape," Blaise went on. "And my features are symmetrical, which always helps—"

Hermione was startled into laughing.

"Okay, this kind of helps," she admitted.

"It does?" Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Like, this is all abstract to you," Hermione said, amused. "You go through this catalog emotionlessly of what you think girls are looking for. But if I asked any of the other girls in our year, I don't think they'd mention any of the things you listed off."

"Really?" Blaise was surprised. "What would they mention?"

"Probably your eyes and your smile, first," Hermione said. She smiled. "Your eyes dance and they're so expressive, and such a deep, beautiful color… and you've got this wicked smile that invites confidence, that teases and tempts someone to join you in mischief." She paused. "After that, probably your arms."

"My arms?"

"Well, you've probably been reading really racy adult novels, right?" Hermione said, her face a bit red. "Adult women probably look at different things than girls do. At this age, I think most girls are daydreaming about being held and snogging, not about… more, really."

Blaise looked startled by this. "Is that so?"

"Yes?" Hermione looked at him skeptically. "Did you think otherwise?"

"Yes," Blaise said plainly. "We learned that girls get all the hormones first and hit puberty before boys. I figured they were feeling just the same things that boys were, but they were keeping it under wraps."

Hermione laughed.

"I don't think it's quite like that," she mused. "I mean. Girls certainly fantasize sometimes, and… feel things, and such, but I think it needs more of a story in our heads than boys. A boy can be quite fit, but unless there's a connection and we like him as a person, I don't think girls will really feel anything towards him other than an aesthetic appreciation."

Blaise tilted his head. "Is that so?"

"I mean, I'm guessing?" Hermione said, wincing. "This is from what I feel and what I hear from other girls. But I bet I'm not wrong. Teenage girls find different things handsome in guys than adult women do."

Blaise seemed to consider this, before his eyes met hers in the mirror.

"Do you think I'm handsome, Hermione?" he murmured. "Do you?"

Hermione felt her breath catch.

"Incredibly," she admitted. "I had to learn to compartmentalize my thoughts after second year. I couldn't look at you for weeks without daydreaming about you pulling me into alcoves and kissing me again."

Despite his obvious surprise and laughter, Blaise's responding smile was blinding.

When Hermione finally made it back to her dormitory, she went straight to Tom's diary.

Tom, do you have all of your memories up until you made a horcrux?

I'm doing well, thanks for asking, Tom wrote back. I've been having a splendid time making friends with the jaded nihilistic fraction of my older self. How have you been?

Hermione groaned, irritation building.

I need to know if you have all your memories and can show them to me, Hermione wrote quickly. You told me how you could show me memories of things if I give you permission, that you could pull me into them.

As far as I'm aware, I still have all my memories, Tom wrote back. If I didn't, I don't suppose I'd know what I was missing, would I?

Hermione bit her lip. Do you remember the attractive girls from back then?

…why are you asking, Hermione?

Hermione took a deep breath.

I need to learn how to be attractive, she wrote. I wanted to know if you remembered what was attractive, what wasn't, that sort of thing. So you could tell me and teach me.

You know, you're only the second person I've ever heard refer to learning to be attractive, Tom wrote back. Myself being the first, of course.

Does that mean you know how?

Of course I know how, Tom wrote back, almost indignant. I didn't just rely on my looks by default – there was a lot of experimentation and testing. How to style my hair, how to smile at different people, how to give certain looks, how to walk, what to imply… I was blessed with conventionally attractive features, but my entire image was a crafted display that enhanced my genetics, not relied on them flatly.

I'll be starting further back than you, then, Hermione wrote, wincing. My genetic legacy isn't bad, but it isn't good.

You're further ahead than you think, Tom mused. You might not have the cheekbones of a god like I do, but you're cute in your own way.

Hermione drew a rude image back, and there was a sudden large blot of ink and scribble on the page that made Hermione think Tom had laughed.

Nevertheless, I would be happy to give you lessons, Tom wrote back rather grandly. If learning to be a powerful seductress is what you want, Hermione, then powerful seductress lessons you shall get.