Hermione sat in the shared common room of the Head dormitory, her body sprawled across the couch, a comfortable mess of limbs and soft cushions. A crackling fire danced in the hearth, its warmth pushing back the chill that threatened to creep into the tower that housed her. Above her head, her Arithmancy textbook floated lazily, its pages turning with an effortless flick of her wand. The only sound, aside from the fire, was the gentle rustle of paper. Her focus remained unbroken until the soft creak of a door opening called her attention.
She assumed it was Malfoy, ready to reconvene before escorting their guests to the Great Hall for dinner. But the footsteps that followed were light, slow, almost hesitant. She raised herself on her elbows, peering over the couch's edge. Edward was pacing around the room, his eyes scanning the bookshelves, his movements casual yet deliberate. He lingered at her personal collection, gingerly lifting her battered copy of Hogwarts: A History. His fingers turned the pages with a kind of reverence, pausing to read the notes she'd left in the margins.
Hermione cleared her throat. He didn't immediately acknowledge her, instead carefully returning the book to its spot on the shelf, nudging it into place with a delicate touch. When he finally turned, she was half-visible over the couch, a mess of curls, inquisitive eyes, and raised brows, her expression a silent question.
"Did you need something?" she asked, her voice airy.
"I was just taking a look around," he explained. "None of my family are interested in a round of chess at the moment."
"Have you ever played Wizard's Chess?" Hermione asked, sitting up with a fluid motion, her fingers reaching to straighten her tie.
Edward glanced at her, and his eyes inadvertently lingered on the top two undone buttons of her shirt as she adjusted her uniform. It was a subtle movement, but it caught his attention, a reminder of the personal space he was intruding upon. He pushed the thought aside.
"I haven't," he replied. "Considering I only learned that Magical Folk were real just two months ago."
Hermione conjured a chess set with a flick of her wrist. The pieces clicked into place, a familiar, comforting sound. She gestured toward the empty seat across from her. "Care to learn? It's essentially the same but you need to call out your moves verbally. If you're any good the pieces shouldn't give you any trouble," she explained with a wave of her hand.
Edward took the seat and watched Hermione call out the opening move of The Ruy Lopez, directing her pawn forward. He raised an eyebrow at her which she returned, expecting him to call out his responding move in turn. Edward gave her the opportunity to play out her opening as she'd expect him to, calling out the corresponding squares for the classic Berlin Defense, but what he wasn't anticipating was her castling her pieces before any pieces had been exchanged. He let out an amused chuckle. "I haven't played a fair game of chess in probably 90 years," he said.
Hermione looked up from the chess board gazing at him through thick lashes. She quirked a brow before asking, "What do you mean by that?"
"Let's just say I have an unfair advantage," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "most of the time."
She called out her next move, directing her knight to overtake his pawn. Edward's eyes widened in surprise as Hermione's knight came to life, swinging its mace high and smashing the head of his pawn on e5 before banishing it from the board. He let out a startled laugh, clapping his hands in admiration. "I was not expecting that," he admitted, shaking his head in amusement. He called out his response watching his piece move to its newly assigned square. Hermione felt the timber of his laugh reverberate deep in her belly. He showed a dazzling set of teeth when he laughed and she found she quite like the noise and the certain musicality it held.
He took in the witch before him as she contemplated her next move. Edward's voice was calm when he next spoke, though his tone seemed to carry an undercurrent of curiosity. "So, is telepathy common among magical folk, or is that sort of communication something that requires a special bond?"
Hermione's eyes widened slightly, abandoning her turn. "What do you mean?"
"You and Malfoy, you were having a conversation in your heads, weren't you?"
Her brow furrowed. "And what makes you think that?"
"I was watching you two communicate the whole time we were with Professor Slughorn," he explained, his tone casual, almost teasing. "It was either that or you were engaged in some very… questionable behavior in front of an audience. Don't be embarrassed though; you should've heard what Slughorn was thinking about my father." Hermione's eyebrows nearly reached her forehead as she came to the obvious conclusion. He's a mind reader.
Hermione flushed, the color spreading across her cheeks. She'd always assumed her practice with Draco was subtle enough to go unnoticed, but now, with Edward's perception cutting through, she wasn't so sure. He seemed to have pieced it all together without knowing the first thing about Legilimency.
"It's mind magic," she said, narrowing her eyes as she spoke, her voice adopting a more guarded edge. "Some are better at it than others."
"Explain," Edward urged, clearly intrigued.
Hermione took a breath, collecting her thoughts. "There are different types of mind magic, but two of the most... useful are Occlumency and Legilimency. Legilimency is the 'offensive' side. Essentially just mind reading if a mind reader could sift through every thought you've ever had," she said, rolling her eyes slightly. "Occlumency is the defensive side. It's all about protecting your thoughts. Sealing your mind from any influence or intrusion. Does any of this sound familiar?"
Edward shook his head, clearly unfamiliar with the terms. He'd skimmed through the tome on legilimency that was on the shelf in the sitting room but the information within proved useless without a wand. Or magic.
"Right, well, Dra-Malfoy is naturally very gifted at mind magic. Some are more adept at mind magic than others and he is unfortunately one of those people, as if he needed anything to inflate his ego any more," she said with a huff. "Obviously anyone can wave their wand and say the incantation but having a gift for it is what makes the difference between a legilimens making you feel like your mind is being torn apart or being brushed and caressed. It's really quite intimate and he's very good at it. Naturally, he's been helping me practice and since I've always been more of an organized thinker, occlumency comes a bit easier to me. That's probably why you couldn't hear me-either of us actually." Hermione gave him a knowing look. "As for the silent communication, I'm admittedly a rubbish legilimens and we've been using mind speak to practice."
"Can you teach me?" Edward asked, his grin widening. "If I had to guess, and I'm not a wizard, but if I were, I'd probably be a natural Legilimens." He leaned back, his tone mischievous. "I'd imagine being able to shield my mind would keep not just my thoughts from escaping, but also prevent others from getting in. It can get rather... noisy."
Hermione paused, mulling over his request. She thought about Harry's struggles with Occlumency, how his vulnerability had allowed Voldemort to plant visions in his mind and how utterly exhausting it must be to be subjected to every thought of every person you encountered.
"Sure," she said with a shrug, her tone nonchalant. "At its core, it's not really magic, just... really exhausting Muggle meditation, mixed with a hefty dose of compartmentalization, not that you'd ever get any witch or wizard to ever admit that." She smirked. "But I've got some questions for you too. How does your mind reading work? Is it voices or images? Can you tune into specific people? What about distance? Do-"
"Slow down, little witch," Edward interrupted, his eyes gleaming. "I'd say it's more like an old-fashioned TV, the kind with rabbit ears. The clearer the person's 'signal,' the clearer the picture. Could also be like tuning a radio. Everyone's constantly putting out a frequency and my mind is always turning the tuning knob hoping to keep it static but inevitably someone filters through. If someone's mind is more visual, I see clearer images; if it's more auditory, I hear it instead. This is the first time I haven't heard anything from one person though, let alone two. As for distance, like radio, if youre too far away from the tower, you won't pick up the signal."
Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation. "Alright, well, let's test it. I'll lower my shields for a second, and you tell me what you hear or see, if anything." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
In her mind's eye, she stood before the familiar double doors of the Hogwarts library, her palm pressing against the cool wood as the doors swung open. Inside, the scent of aged paper and the weight of countless memories surrounded her. She moved through the aisles, her fingers trailing lightly over the leather-bound books, each one a repository of memories. She made her way to the card catalog, opening a drawer, flipping through the cards until one caught her attention-695.87 CRO. Crookshanks. She pulled it free, glancing briefly over her shoulder to ensure the doors hadn't closed.
The memory inside unfolded: the first day she'd brought Crookshanks home. The squashed orange face of the kneazle, his disdainful stare, the sharp hiss as he rejected her touch. But she'd coaxed him with a treat, and eventually, he'd rubbed his head against her hand, a sign of reluctant acceptance.
Hermione smiled at the memory, warmth spreading through her chest as she returned the card to its place and closed the drawer. She walked back toward the library doors, locking them behind her as she stepped out.
The vision faded as Hermione came back to herself, her eyes meeting Edward's.
"So?" she asked, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips.
"I saw you enter a library," Edward said, still looking at her in awe. "You pulled a card from the catalog, and then I watched what I assume was you feeding your cat a treat?" He sounded incredulous, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had witnessed.
Hermione nodded. "The library's my mental visualization tool. It started as a way to keep information protected, but after the war, it became a bit of a coping mechanism." She gave him a small, rueful smile. "After losing so many people, it was easier to store the painful stuff away, bring it up when I wanted to deal with it, rather than let it rattle around constantly."
Edward leaned forward, his attention unwavering. "You don't have to explain. I'm not judging you for that."
"I know," Hermione said, her voice soft. "I just... I didn't want you to think I was some kind of emotional hoarder or something."
He gave her a thoughtful look. "I'm not here to judge you," he repeated, his voice gentle. "You wouldn't have let me in your head if you thought I would."
She nodded. "Alright. If you want, I can walk you through it. Like a guided meditation, if you've ever done one of those."
Edward shook his head. "I haven't, but sure. I'm game."
Hermione smiled and motioned for him to follow. "Okay, then. Follow me."