The rest of the break passed relatively uneventfully for Hermione. She spent most of her time reading the new books she'd been given and trying to wade her way through the medical papers, and except for a visit to a department store for new bras and undergarments with her mother, her parents largely left her to her own entertainments the rest of the break. Her parents had some questions for her prompted by Blaise's comments, asking about ghosts and the like (they were shocked to realize the Professor Binns she complained about so often in her letters was a ghost), but the argument about obtaining a sword to protect herself from a monster seemed largely dropped. Hermione wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she was happy to let her parents content themselves with their preoccupation, carefully not bringing up the sword or heir or monster again the rest of the break.

She also didn't mention Luna had sent her an antique decorated sword sheath three days after Christmas, citing 'owl delays' and 'unclear chronology' for why it was late.

(The muggle pentagram charm for Luna's bracelet Hermione had sent was far less functionally practical than a sword sheath, but Hermione hoped Luna had liked it anyway.)

Hermione spent a fair part of her vacation wading through the medical papers her father had given her for Christmas. Apparently, Irlen Syndrome was a "perceptual processing disorder," meaning it was a problem with the brain's ability to process visual information, not a problem with the eyes. As far as Hermione could make out, the brain misinterpreted light signals, which meant that the wrong parts of the brain got lit up and became overactive, which could cause weird distortions or pain. Because words would warp and move, reading was difficult, and Irlen Syndrome often looked a lot like dyslexia, though it was a different type of disability.

There was no 'cure' for the condition, only treatment that involved changing the wavelength of light before it entered the person's eye. This was currently done by wearing tinted glasses. By personalizing glasses tints for each individual patient, Helen Irlen had been able to bring her patients some relief of their symptoms. Hermione went over this last paper skeptically - there weren't any scientific studies backing that assertion up, only anecdotal evidence.

The technical jargon and dense medical text was difficult to read, and it was boring. Hermione tried her best to get through it all, but her mind often wandered, frequently wondering if Crabbe and Goyle had dyslexia, and if the wizarding world had any concept of learning disabilities at all.


Though the end of her break was uneventful, the ride back was not.

Hermione, in tradition with the other Slytherin girls, wore her nicest non-uniform clothes to the train, and Tracey had fairly squealed when she saw Hermione, dragging her onto the train and into a compartment with Millie and Daphne.

"Where's Blaise?" Hermione asked, looking around.

"Somewhere else," Tracey dismissed. "This is time for girl talk, Hermione! Who gave you that cloak?"

"Anthony Goldstein," she admitted, and the other girls shrieked.

"Again?" Millie said. "Didn't he get you that cape last year?"

"He did; she made a scene with it at the snow fight," Daphne said, smirking. She looked to Hermione. "Getting wearing it out of the way first?"

"I can hardly wear something blue in the castle without causing a stir, can I?" Hermione challenged, and the others laughed. "Anyone else get anything interesting?"

"Crabbe sent me gloves," Millie said, making a face. "Goyle sent me a scarf last year, though, and they're best friends, so I don't know what's going on there."

"Clearly, Crabbe won the duel this year for your affections," Tracey teased. "How wonderful, to have boys fighting over you so early."

"Duel?" Hermione commented. "More likely he won the arm-wrestling match or was the only one to remember how to spell Millicent Bullstrode correctly on the envelope."

The others snickered, Millie rolling her eyes but smirking along with them.

"Cassius sent me a gown," Daphne told them, glowing with pride. "I think he's going to petition my father for my hand as soon as I'm of an age."

"Of age, or of an age?" Millie asked, looking sideways at Hermione.

"Of an age," Daphne emphasized. Her eyes went wide. "I can't imagine anyone waiting until a witch was seventeen before attempting to petition for her hand—!"

"You aren't yet, then?" Tracey frowned. "Am I the only one?"

"No, me too," Millie told her. "In October."

"My mother says it can happen anytime while you're in Hogwarts, though it happens to most before the end of third year," Daphne said, shrugging. "My mother was fourteen herself, so I'm not particularly worried."

They were talking about periods, Hermione realized. That was the marker of when it was appropriate to begin formally courting a woman?

"Hermione has a question," Tracey sang. She started to laugh, and Hermione's head jerked up, startled.

"I was just thinking," she defended, but Tracey shook her head.

"You always get that look when you are puzzling over something particularly hard and are about to ask me and Millie about a million questions," she teased. "So – out with it. What is it now?"

Hermione gave Daphne a slow, evaluating look. She didn't mind admitting her ignorance of traditional wizarding ways in front of her closest friends, not anymore, but Daphne was another story. Daphne regarded her back, tilting her head, before her eyes lit in understanding.

"I will not hold your heritage against you," Daphne told her firmly. "I understand that Magic chose you from where there was none, and all that that implies. We all begin learning the traditions somewhere, after all."

That was… unexpected.

"That's very kind of you," Hermione said, surprised. "Thank you."

Daphne smiled. "Of course."

"So! What's got you all in a tizzy?" prompted Tracey.

"It's – I don't know how to say this without some crudeness, so forgive me – but you're all talking about getting your period, aren't you?" Hermione asked. "That's the indicator of when you 'come of an age'?"

"Your what?" Millie said. "Your period?"

"Yeah," Tracey said. "Only you call it your 'cycle' or 'menses', here."

"Ohh," Daphne said. She looked intrigued. "The muggles call it 'a period'? Why?"

"I—err, I have no idea. Maybe because it lasts for a period, or because it comes periodically?" Hermione shrugged. "Anyway – if guys aren't supposed to formally court you before you start your cycle, Daphne, does that mean they know when you do?"

"Of course not!" Daphne looked horrified. "They only know when you've chrysalized."

"When you've crystallized?" Hermione repeated.

"No, when you've chrysalized," Daphne said. "As in, emerged from your chrysalis?"

"What?"

"You need to take a step back," Millie told Daphne. "You need to start at the very beginning. Presume you are teaching someone who knows nothing."

"I did," Daphne said. "How can one argue anything but your chrysalization is the beginning?"

"A chrysalis?" Hermione looked horrified. "Like a cocoon for a moth?"

"Like for a butterfly," Tracey said. "It's a symbol – a girl who wears a butterfly into society for the first time indicates that she's chrysalized from a girl into a woman – that she's gotten her womanly cycle and can bear children, now."

"You wear a butterfly?" Hermione repeated. "Like, a dead one?"

Millie winced. "No, Hermione. Like jewelry."

She fished around in her robes, tugging out a small necklace with a beautiful monarch butterfly pendant.

"I wore this to all the holiday parties this season," Millie said. "Anyone who's anyone will have seen it and noticed, which lets them know I've come of an age."

"Mine was a pink lady hairclip," Tracey said. "I think I wore it all summer, whenever we went out."

"My mother's family has a beautiful purple swallowtail brooch that's been passed down for generations," Daphne said, her eyes far off in fantasy. "My mother's saving it for me."

Hermione fought to restrain from visibly recoiling.

"So you wear these accessories," she said, "that basically announce to the world that you've gotten your period?"

"That you've started your cycle, Hermione," Tracey corrected, frowning. "And it's not like that. With muggles it's just bleeding – my father didn't understand why my mother was so excited for me. It's a symbol of coming of age, of growing into your magical power, of becoming a woman in your own right, not just the daughter of your parents anymore."

"Butterflies start out as bugs, go through chrysalization, and come out beautiful and mature on the other side," Daphne said. "Just like us."

"The body of a butterfly dissolves entirely during its metamorphosis from pupa to adult," Hermione shot back. "It is most definitely not like us."

"Well, the lining of your womb is dissolving itself every month now, isn't it?" Tracey pointed out. "So it's not too far off."

They all paused at that.

"Let's just stick with 'it's symbolic', shall we?" Millie said, looking severely grossed out. "The point is, there's a signal to society to let you know you've come of an age."

"Most people don't start making offers until you formally debut at a ball," Daphne said. "It's just – with my name – people will be making offers a little earlier for me to make sure they don't get left out or don't end up being too late."

"Sacred 28 bullshit," Millie said gloomily. "I wore the damn butterfly all break; my father's going to get swarmed with letters over the next few months, I bet, feeling him out over an arrangement."

"That's… not a good thing?" Daphne questioned, blinking. "You don't want to be betrothed?"

"Not all of us are pretty like you, Daphne," Millie commented, bitter. "You get the handsome Cassius Warringtons and Peter Selwyns of the world. The rest of us get to choose from the leftovers, the Averys and Yaxleys."

"Still," Daphne pressed. "I'd rather be betrothed sooner than later; that way I have longer to get to know my intended before I come of age to marry."

"Is that age seventeen?" Hermione asked. "The age to marry?"

"Of course," Daphne said, as if it were obvious. "You can't enter into a binding magical contract until your magic's fully matured."

"Of course," Hermione said dully. "I don't know how I didn't realize that."

"Anyway, Daphne got a gown, Millie got gloves, Hermione got a cloak," Tracey said. "And I got a scarf!"

"You did?" Daphne sat up, excited. "From who?"

"From Adrian Pucey," she said smugly.

"The one you were snogging before break?" Daphne said, surprised.

"What colors are on the scarf?" Millie asked, eyes narrowing.

"Does everyone know we were snogging?" Tracey complained. "And yes, it's silver and green, Millie. But still!"

"Doesn't count, if it's house colors," Millie dismissed. "He just wants to flatter you so you'll keep snogging him."

"Maybe I want to keep snogging him," Tracey said hotly. "I don't need to have a special gift to give a damn about that, do I?"

"Snog whomever you like," Hermione told her firmly. "Witches can snog for fun just as much as men can. More power to you."

"Thank you," Tracey said primly. "I'm quite happy with what I've got. Not all of us are obsessed with courting gifts."

"I'm not obsessed, I'm annoyed," Hermione complained. "I wish Anthony would stop making such big gestures. It makes things awkward. And now I've got this rose from Cedric, too, who I barely even know, so who knows what that's supposed to mean?"

"You got a rose?" Tracey squealed, her previous ire immediately forgotten. "From Cedric Diggory? He's fit, Hermione!"

"How do you even know who he is?" demanded Hermione. "I only just met him. Have you snogged him, too?"

"He's on the Quidditch team," Tracey said, waving her concerns off. "Now: rose! What color, Hermione? Tell us!"

"I… it's hard to describe," Hermione said. "Hang on…"

She got down her trunk and rummaged inside of it for the flower.

"Here," she said, handing it to Tracey. "You tell me what it means. It's like a cross between pink and light purple."

"Light pink and lavender," Daphne said automatically, looking at the rose. "Pale pink represents grace, admiration, and elegance. But lavender represents love at first sight and enchantment."

Hermione blinked. "Those are very different things," she said. "So which one is it?"

"It's both, Hermione," Tracey sighed in a very over-exasperated manner. "When you can buy a rose of any color, you only get precisely the color you mean to send."

Hermione stared at her.

"I absolutely, point-blank refuse to believe that Cedric Diggory has fallen in love with me at first sight," Hermione said flatly, folding her arms. "I know what I look like most days; I know I'm no beauty. And all I did when I met him the first time was argue with him about Hufflepuffs."

"Well, unless he's color-blind, that's what he's telling you," Tracey told her.

"Or that's what he wants me to think, for whatever reason," Hermione muttered, "whether or not it's true."

"Hufflepuffs aren't particularly good at telling lies or planting implications, so I'd doubt it," Millie commented, her eyes alight. "But it'll sure be interesting to see Anthony and Draco get into a pissing contest over you with someone older than them now in the game, too."

Hermione's face flamed as the other girls laughed, teasing her, and the four of them gossiped and chatted happily the rest of the way back to school.