Emotions were running high for everybody, Hermione thought, not just the weird, inherent emotions of water. The Tea Story exposé had left all the purebloods feeling raw, the rumors of goblin rebellion made everyone feel vaguely on-edge, and the Second Task was looming nearer and nearer. Fleur was doing her best to assure Hermione she would be fine, but there was a desperation to her embraces, now, as if some part of her was afraid it was the last time, that she'd never get to kiss Hermione again.
It did little to reassure Hermione that everything was 'okay'.
Viktor seemed less nervous about the task.
"I have plan," he told her seriously. "I have also backup plan, though it is not as good." He gave her a crooked grin. "You are worried for me?"
"Aren't I allowed to be?" Hermione defended herself hotly, embarrassed. "Swimming in the lake at those temperatures—"
"Do not worry," Viktor told her confidently. "I have way not freeze to death."
"And a way to cast spells underwater?" she challenged. "How are you going to fight off the mermaids guarding your 'treasure'?"
Viktor's smile was sharp. "I will not need spells."
Hermione didn't push it – she was, after all, cheering primarily for Harry, and it wouldn't do to have him think she was going to sabotage him in some way or share his strategy.
When Valentine's Day came, Hermione's heart lightened at the lurid decorations strung about the Great Hall. There were drifting currents of heart confetti among the candles, somehow miraculously not catching on fire, and there were tiny pixies charmed to look like tiny fairy cupids flying around about the ceiling as well. It was an excellent time for a distraction, in her mind; everyone could do with a bit of frivolity.
"Hall is pink?" Alexei complained. "Why pink?"
"Why hearts?" Dmitri asked, looking around in disgust. "Even teacher is in hearts."
He was correct – Professor Lockhart was in resplendent robes of gold, decorated with hot pink embroidered hearts. He was standing at the front of the hall with a look of excitement on his face, the other professors behind him glaring or looking resigned.
"Happy Valentine's Day!" he called out. "Happy Valentine's Day to you all, and to our international guests! Allow me to introduce you to one of our own customs—"
And with that introduction, Lockhart launched into what he was best at: telling a story.
What followed was an extremely edited retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche from Roman mythology. Psyche was a witch, in this telling, and Cupid, though not defined as anything more than "very powerful", was distinctly faerie-coded, which made the 'romantic' ending of Psyche running off with him have a sinister edge. From the looks on the faces of her classmates (and on those of the teachers), none of them had even remotely ever heard of this version of the story before, and it was highly likely Lockhart had just made it up as a post-hoc justification for why the wizarding world had co-opted such a muggle holiday, which Hermione found very, very funny.
Once Lockhart had finished his story, he bowed to applause, his perfect smile beaming out at them all.
"Now! While we will not have card-carrying cupids this year—"
Here, Lockhart shot a dejected look back at Snape, who looked murderous.
"—we are having a Fairy Flowers event!" Lockhart clapped his hand in excitement. "A local florist has brought roses of every different color and set up in the Entrance Hall, where you can buy a rose, make a note of to whom it should be delivered, and our little cupid fairies will deliver them to your sweethearts! All proceeds from the event will go to Saint Mungo's!"
"Oh no," Hermione groaned. "I never remember all the meanings of the roses. Red is just romance, right? That one means love, yeah?"
"Surely you aren't going to send someone a rose?" Daphne said, horrified. "Hermione, you're a woman. You are to receive roses, not send them." She paused. "Only maybe a yellow rose to your close personal female friends."
"What about to my very close female friends?" Hermione shot back, over-emphasizing certain words, and Daphne's eyes went wide.
"Ah—maybe you would—"
"I must to buy roses now?" Viktor asked Pansy. "Colors have special meanings?"
Pansy's eyes widened in surprise, before she smirked.
"You don't have to," she said lazily, "but it would be a bit of a romantic faux-pas if you were interested in somebody and didn't get them one."
"I see," Viktor said, nodding seriously. "But I will not to get a rose?"
"Generally not," Pansy said her eyes glinting. "But you might get chocolates instead."
Viktor looked to Hermione. "Will I to get chocolates?"
"I don't know," Hermione shot back. "Wait and see when the owls come."
Viktor's eyes sparkled, and he turned back to Pansy. "Please to help me again: which color rose means 'you are bad at dating me'?"
Hermione shoved at him, embarrassed, and Viktor laughed.
When the owls arrived bearing chocolates and valentines, Hermione had indeed gotten Viktor chocolates – muggle Ferrero Rocher chocolates she'd charmed tiny paper wings onto to make them into tiny fluttering Golden Snitches. Viktor exclaimed in surprise upon opening them, and he grinned widely as he had to snatch one out of the air to eat it. Hermione laughed and smiled at his joy, satisfied she'd done well.
"Perhaps you are not so bad at dating me," Viktor conceded, his eyes alight at the customized chocolate gift. He turned to Pansy. "What color rose to mean 'you are okay at dating maybe'?"
Hermione gave a scandalized embarrassed shriek, pushing at him again, and Viktor laughed, pushing her back before slinging an arm around her, hugging her into his side with affection, Hermione's face blooming a bright red.
As chocolates continued being delivered about the room, Hermione wondered at her reaction. It wasn't like she should be embarrassed, with Viktor hugging her. Everyone thought they were dating – they'd been in the press at the Yule Ball together – and it wasn't like he was doing anything inappropriate. Was she just embarrassed about being human, then? About having romantic feelings at all?
That made her pause and wonder. People in love did tend to act rather embarrassingly, though they often seemed utterly unaware of how embarrassing they were being.
Hermione's thoughts were cut short by a strangled noise across the table. Daphne's eyes were wide, her pupils blown out, and Hermione could see her breathing quickly. She'd gone white.
"I—" Daphne's eyes darted around, wild, panicked. "I can't—"
Hermione's eyes caught sight of a small, opened box of chocolates in front of her. She could see Daphne start to shake, and Hermione abruptly realized what must be happening.
"Help me get her!" Hermione told Pansy and Millie immediately. "Help her get out to the Entrance Hall – we'll take her to the bathroom—"
Something in her tone must have given her authority – Pansy and Millie leapt up without question, grabbing Daphne and dragging her out on their shoulders into the Entrance Hall, mere steps behind Hermione.
"Daphne? Daphne, can you hear me?" Hermione said.
"I—" Daphne's breathing was coming too quickly, and she was clutching at her heart and her neck. "I can't—"
They got her onto a bench at the side of the Entrance Hall, and Hermione crouched down to meet Daphne's eyes, taking her hands in hers.
"Daphne? Daphne, breathe. Slow, deep breaths. You're okay. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Deep breath in – Daphne–"
Daphne was barely managing to breathe along, still on the edge of hyperventilating, and anxiety clawed at Hermione from inside her chest.
"Daphne, I need you to help me, okay?" she said, her fear and desperation leaking into her voice. "Daphne, can you tell me five things you can see?"
Daphne looked up at Hermione in surprise despite her panic. "W-What?"
"Tell me five things you can see," Hermione said, squeezing her hands. "Go."
"You," Daphne said. Her eyes were still wide and panicked, but they also looked confused now. "Pansy. Millie. Err—the rose vendor. The Great Hall."
"Good, good," Hermione encouraged. "Now: what are four things you can touch? That you can feel?"
"Your hands," Daphne said, pausing. "My hair on the back of my neck. Umm… the warm air. My robes?"
"Three things you can hear," Hermione prompted, and this time, Daphne didn't have to pause or struggle to think.
"The noise from Great Hall," she said. "My heartbeat," she said a moment later, which Hermione didn't think was very good. "And—err—the clink of the plates in the Great Hall? That's different from the people talking."
It was close enough to count. "Two things you can smell?"
"The rose vendor," Daphne said immediately. "And—err—snow? Does snow have a smell?"
"Cold has a smell," Millie said, agreeing.
"One thing you can taste."
Pansy sucked in a sharp breath, Daphne's eyes went wide, and Hermione wanted to slap herself. She should have skipped the last step – of course bringing up taste was a bad idea—
"The bacon from breakfast," Daphne said finally. She looked up at Hermione. "I didn't eat any—I just looked at the valentine, and my brain felt like it froze—"
"You had a panic attack," Hermione told her gently. "Just keep breathing slowly. You're alright. It's okay now."
"I felt like I was about to die," Daphne said. She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, god, I panicked over a box of chocolates? How weak am I?"
"You're not weak," Millie said, her voice strong. "Daphne, you're not weak. You're strong. You're strong."
"I just lost it at the sight of a chocolate," Daphne moaned, her voice laced with embarrassment. "How am I going to function in society? Am I going to panic at the sight of a closet now too?"
Millie continued to try and reassure Daphne, but Pansy and Hermione exchanged a heavy look.
"Does the wizarding world have any sort of crisis counseling?" she asked Pansy quietly. "Someone who Daphne can talk to privately about what happened and how to handle it?"
"I don't know," Pansy admitted. She glanced back at Daphne, before turning back to Hermione. "But I promise I'll find out."
Daphne was absent from classes all morning, excused and in the Hospital Wing. Hermione wasn't sure what Millie had told Madame Pomfrey that Daphne was suffering from, it whatever the story had been, it was enough to keep Daphne up there and give her time to breathe and calm down.
Daphne, therefore, was the only lucky one to escape the perils of Lockhart's Valentine's Day.
Lockhart, as it happened, had not been able to get dozens and dozens of fairies to deliver roses. This became clear when the roses began being delivered to people in the middle of class, and the students quickly realized they were being delivered not by fairies, but by doxies – doxies that had been charmed to have their black, shiny wings look white and pretty like a fairy. From a distance, the little pests looked enough like fairies, but up close, their extra arms and legs gave them away, as well as their rows of nasty, sharp venomous teeth.
And the doxies caught up with Hermione's class in the greenhouses.
What followed in the middle of Herbology was nothing short of pandemonium, with both the Slytherins and Ravenclaws quickly realizing what they were facing and hurling spells about, trying to catch the doxies in the air. High-pitched evil cackles came from the top of the greenhouse where the doxies flew around in a glittering black cloud, before they all darted down in a wave, and yelps escaped everyone who one of the doxies bit. Spells flashed all around, and singed flowers fell to the ground as their carriers burned up in tiny screams. Hermione was able to stay safe with a strong shield spell that the doxies bounced off of, and she did her best to helping out by incinerating the tiny bastards with the aid of her fire elemental.
When all was said and done, everyone was wild-eyed and panting. Many people had burnt robes or were cradling injuries, and Professor Sprout slowly emerged from underneath the table where she'd hidden.
"I've got antivenom for anyone who was bit," she said shakily. "Come with me." She turned, blowing out sharply. "Doxies. For Valentine's Day. Honestly."
Hermione met up with Harry at the practice lake to practice more after classes. From the sound of it, it had been pandemonium everywhere first period.
"People were screaming and running out of the classrooms into the corridors," Harry recounted, snickering. "Lockhart was running around in a panic, trying to get everyone to remain calm, only then he was bit by three of them at once and fell to the ground. Flitwick was panicking, trying to get everyone to calmly use the stunning charm; meanwhile the Slytherins in his NEWT class were casting some nasty curses on them that made them scream and dissolve into bits of green magic. Snape was zapping them all over, managing to hit one every time – his aim was kind of scary, to be frank."
"Snape's an excellent duelist," Hermione reminded Harry, pleased that her Head of House had acquitted himself so well. "That shouldn't come as a surprise."
"Yeah, well." Harry grinned, then hesitated. "I'm glad I didn't buy roses for anyone. I was thinking about sending them to Luna and Susan. I'm glad I didn't now – I'd have just sent more doxies at them that could mean they got hurt."
"You were?" Hermione asked curiously. "Why?"
Harry gestured out at the lake with his hand, and Hermione watched in satisfaction as the waters flowed back, forming a narrow path in the water, though Harry seemed to lose concentration a moment later, the water crashing back once more. "I dunno. I thought it'd be nice. Luna went to the ball with me, you know, and Susan…" Harry hesitated. "I just thought it'd be nice, you know? But I didn't – she's been spending so much time with Cedric lately, and I know roses are like 'his thing'—"
"Has she really?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I knew she was teaching him about coven magic, but I didn't realize…"
"Well, he sits next to her all the time at the Hufflepuff table, instead of with his friends," Harry said pointedly. He scowled, gesturing out at the lake again. "He says things that make her giggle and blush. I don't think they're 'courting' or whatever yet, but…"
He scowled again, and this time, the lake parted dramatically and quickly, like two tsunamis running away from each other, each roiling with power and water. Hermione blinked.
"Very good," she praised Harry. "Your anger seems to be helping the water, actually – it responds to strong emotion and drama."
Harry blinked, his ire fading in confusion, and his concentration lapsed, the water crashing back into place.
"It does?" he said, surprised. "Wait, really? So all I have to do is be mad?"
"It's a theory," Hermione encouraged. "Try it."
Obligingly, Harry furrowed his brow, thinking hard. Hermione watched his bright green eyes grow flinty and angry, and when he waved his hand, the waters parted before him, hanging ominously in place at the sides behind invisible dams. Hermione nodded, looking at Harry.
"Can you hold it?" she asked. "Do you want to try walking across it while you hold the water back?"
Harry's frown flickered before deepening into a scowl.
"Yeah," he said, his voice tight and hard. "Yeah, I think I can do that."
"Then try it," Hermione encouraged.
She watched as Harry walked down to the edge of the lake and into the exposed lake bed, towering walls of water at his sides. She bit her nails anxiously as he walked all the way across the lake, his concentration never lapsing, before he climbed up and out on the other side. As he turned around to face her, he let the water go, and the lake crashed down in a powerful tide and torrent, splashing him massively and leaving him sputtering like a drowned monkey in the face of his victory.
When he came back around to Hermione, she was still laughing, and she flicked her wand at Harry to dry him off.
"We'll need to practice that some more just to make sure you've really got it," she told him, but she was smiling. "It might be hard to focus on your anger and emotion if you're worried about the mermaids."
"Fair enough," Harry said, shrugging. He paused, and his eyes glinted. "Though I could just think about the tournament, probably. And being trapped in it. Whenever I think about it, I want to rage and hurt somebody. It's just so bloody unfair."
His voice was angry, hurt, and vicious, and wordlessly, Hermione turned Harry's shoulders around towards the lake and pushed him forward. Harry stumbled the first step before raising his hand and waving it, the waters parting before him once more. This time, the path he made was wider, as if his anger was stronger in motivating the lake, and Hermione watched as he made it all the way across, paused, considered, and then started on his way back.
Hermione couldn't blame him for his anger about the tournament, even as unhealthy as it probably was – she was still angry Harry was trapped in the tournament, at the gross injustice of it all. She was losing sleep over it as she stressed, and if she was stressed and angry over it when she wasn't even the one in the tournament, it was no wonder that Harry was.
At least this way he'd have a useful outlet for his anger, Hermione thought as he came back. Maybe it would end up helping him feel better after the challenge, to have used all that anger up in a constructive way.
She watched the waves violently crash back down as Harry exited the lake, with enough force of water to kill a man, and she bit her lip.
Maybe she wouldn't hold her breath on him feeling better afterwards after all.