"Go take a bath first, wash away the fatigue, then come back and read."
Only after Amanda finished the page did Hermione gently pat her shoulder.
Fresh from her bath, Hermione's hair was still damp; she kept rubbing it with a towel, and a faint, clean scent rose from her skin.
It wasn't the fragrance of soap—more like hot water had coaxed out her own natural smell.
Amanda's nose twitched. For some reason the scent made her mind tighten and a sudden heat flare in her chest.
She closed the book, nodded, and stood. "All right, I'll go bathe first."
She gathered her pajamas and toiletries and walked into the washroom.
Hermione watched her go, smiled in satisfaction, then sat back on her bed, finished drying her hair, and opened her Arithmancy textbook with single-minded focus.
Crookshanks padded over, brushed against her ankle, and Hermione bent to stroke his head; the cat settled motionless beside her, no longer disturbing her reading.
When she emerged, Amanda scrubbed her hair at lightning speed, never mind the damage such force might do.
Her only goal was to dry it in the shortest time possible.
Squeeze every second for efficiency, create more time for study—that was a student's duty.
Hermione looked up from her book, frowning at the violence Amanda was inflicting on her hair.
She snapped the book shut, slipped on her slippers, and walked over.
The towel vanished from Amanda's hands; she turned to see Hermione smiling, blinking as she began to dry Amanda's hair with slow, gentle strokes.
"You have to be gentle with your hair, or you'll hurt it."
Amanda nodded impassively. "Understood. Next time I'll be softer."
On their beds, Cho Chang and Marietta Eckmore exchanged glances, both wearing the soft grin of someone who'd just tasted sugar.
If Amanda and Hermione were already this inseparable, what would happen once they were officially a couple?
Watching the two younger girls almost merge into one silhouette, Cho rubbed her chin and glanced at Marietta Eckmore.
She'd better hurry; if her silly "best friend" ever developed a crush on some boy, it would be too late.
She narrowed her eyes and began to plan: this Valentine's, at the very least, Marietta Eckmore had to realize that Cho's feelings went beyond mere friendship.
Hermione's movements were unhurried; Amanda read on, utterly unaffected—she could even recite the lines under her breath.
Hermione could only smile in resignation; after last year, she had to admit that Amanda's habit of memorizing every book verbatim had its merits.
By the time her hair was completely dry it was nearly midnight; Cho and Marietta Eckmore had long since pulled their curtains and wished the younger girls good night.
Amanda took the towel from Hermione, hung it neatly, and then, as if executing a programmed sequence, said, "It's almost twelve. I should sleep. Good night, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, opened her arms, and hugged her. "Good night, Amanda."
Amanda stiffly returned the embrace.
Then, under Hermione's gaze, she lay down on her bed.
Hermione tucked the blanket around her, drew the bed-curtains tight to block any light, and returned to her own four-poster.
She slipped happily beneath her sheets; the mere thought of sharing a room with Amanda as they slept was enough to make her glow inside.
Amanda rolled to face the curtained outline of Hermione's bed and slowly closed her eyes; the next instant she was asleep.
Months of subtle conditioning had finally improved her sleep.
Though she still woke at the slightest noise, even in deep slumber, she could now manage six continuous hours instead of waking every hour.
When she opened her eyes again it was six the next morning.
She drew back her curtains without a sound, bare feet padding into the washroom to wash.
It was too early—Hermione, Senior Cho, and Senior Marietta were still asleep; she must not disturb them.
That was her rule: if she rose early, she imposed silence on herself.
Disturbing others was impolite, a breach of etiquette.
After washing she sat at her desk and "reviewed" the day's lesson: Arithmancy.
Of all her subjects, Arithmancy demanded the least effort.
Because it was nothing but calculations—calculations that were child's play to her.
It felt like asking a sixth-grader from her old world to sit a third-year exam: she could score full marks right now if the final were today.
Having reviewed the lesson, she slid the Arithmancy book into her bag, added Transfiguration, and stood to dress.
Shoes tied, socks pulled, bag on her back, she left the common-room.
Early-morning Hogwarts was almost empty; a nine-o'clock start let the Young Wizards enjoy a luxurious lie-in.
They were still growing; sleep was essential.
Perhaps that was why, even when Hogwarts had been founded in the war-torn Middle Ages, the four Founders had set classes for nine.
They would not sacrifice a child's rest for study.
There was no need to compress sleep in a desperate race for time.
They were raising children, not racing to make them saviors.
In the Great Hall she opened her Arithmancy book again, reciting for the thousandth time the passages she already knew by heart.
Not until eight did other students begin to trickle in.
She swallowed her last bite of bread, wiped her fingers, and kept reading.
Hermione arrived with Cho and Marietta Eckmore; she sat at the Gryffindor Table while the two seniors flanked Amanda.
"Amanda, your first class is Arithmancy?"
Cho asked after a long drink to moisten her throat.
"Yes, Senior Cho Chang."
Hearing her full name, Amanda snapped out of study-mode and nodded solemnly.
"Mm-hmm." Cho nodded in understanding.
"And your second class this afternoon is Transfiguration?"
Marietta Eckmore arched an eyebrow and looked at Amanda with interest.
"Yes, Senior Marietta."
"Oh my," Marietta Eckmore said, almost tenderly running her fingers over Amanda's smooth hair, "your timetable overlaps with Hermione's almost perfectly."
Amanda blinked woodenly. "Yes, Hermione and I chose exactly the same electives, so we'll be in a lot of classes together."
"Add the compulsory lessons we share, and we'll be together even more."
"Very clear explanation," Marietta Eckmore murmured, smoothing Amanda's hair once more before lowering her head to her breakfast.
She almost wished Amanda hadn't explained so clearly; it might mean her emotions had fully returned.
That she was no longer so rigidly mechanical.
When it was time to leave, Amanda closed her Arithmancy book, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stood up.
At the Gryffindor Table, Hermione swallowed the last bite of her toast with a gulp of pumpkin juice.
She flung her bag across her shoulder and headed for the Great Hall doors, matching Amanda's pace.
Halfway there she turned back to Harry and Ron. "Behave in class."
Then she hurried off without a backward glance.
The two boys were left staring at each other, one chewing a sausage, the other a fried egg.
"I thought... now Hermione's living with Ravenclaw she'd be too wrapped up in Amanda to bother with us," Ron mumbled around his sausage.
"Clearly not," Harry said, stuffing a whole fried egg into his mouth until his cheeks bulged. "We'd better get to class."
They swallowed, shouldered their bags, and set off.
Meanwhile, Amanda led Hermione up several spiralling staircases, heading straight for the Arithmancy classroom.
They didn't take a single wrong turn; even the moving staircases behaved.
The journey was so smooth Hermione found it hard to believe.
Was Hogwarts always like this?
Were the staircases really this obedient?
Let alone anything else—was Amanda carrying a complete map of Hogwarts in her head?
Hermione asked her outright.
Amanda nodded. "I've memorised a full-scale model of Hogwarts. I can access it whenever I need."
Back in the first week of first year, while searching for classrooms, she had used the time to read and memorise the castle's layout.
She had built a detailed model in her mind; now every step she and Hermione took was projected onto that mental map.
That way they not only avoided wrong turns but took the shortest, most direct route.
"Amazing," Hermione said, briefly wondering if she could do the same.
One thought of how enormous Hogwarts Castle was, and she decided not to push herself.
She would settle for memorising the routes to her lessons.
Amanda reached the Arithmancy classroom, sat down, and resumed reading.
Hermione took out her book and reviewed the key points she'd marked last time.
They kept at it until the Professor arrived and opened the lesson; only then did they close their books and give their full attention.
That lesson Amanda continued her proud tradition, earning Ravenclaw more than ten points.
Hermione snatched almost another ten from her in return.
The Little Eagles around them exchanged glances.
Every look said the same thing: those two are deeply in love.
When Arithmancy ended, the Professor felt positively buoyant.
Two outstanding students in one class—what teacher wouldn't be delighted?
Hermione was pleased her points had come close to Amanda's.
Even better, she had spent the whole lesson beside her.
That happiness lasted only until they stepped into the corridor and met Harry and Ron looking utterly dejected.
Hermione frowned. "Harry, Ron, what happened in Divination? Why the long faces?"
She scanned them but saw nothing physically wrong.
Because Hermione had stopped, Amanda—still linked to her arm—stopped too.
Harry sighed. "Walk with us; I'll explain."
The four of them descended the moving stairs towards the Great Hall.
Harry swallowed. "In Divination we were reading tea leaves. I saw a huge black dog in my cup."
"Professor Trelawney said it's the Grim—an omen of death," he added.
Ron nodded vigorously. "Really magical stuff. My uncle saw a big black dog and died soon after."
Hermione stared at them. "That's why you're gloomy?"
"Yes, Hermione, it's the Grim."
Harry sighed; trouble always found him, but did it have to visit every single year?
"For Merlin's sake!" Hermione burst out.
"I thought you'd know how many prophecies are made daily and how few ever come true."
"But the Professor said it," Harry muttered.
"So what?" Hermione waved an impatient hand. "Does being a Professor make her automatically right? I doubt it."
"They're only tea leaves, Harry. Don't dwell on it. Your future isn't decided by a pattern in a cup; a prophecy is just one possibility, not your destiny."
"What shapes your future is your own choices."
"Wow..." Ron's mouth hung open. "Hermione just contradicted a Professor."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Prophecies don't have to happen. Right, Amanda?"
She turned to the girl beside her.
Hearing her full name, Amanda stiffly lifted her head, abandoning her mental review of the afternoon's Transfiguration lesson.
She began rapidly analysing the conversation that had just passed between Hermione, Harry, and Ron.
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