Hermione slipped into Ginny's room and closed the door behind her. She checked the dormitory carefully before she was satisfied it was empty.
Ginny set her freshly polished broomstick down. "Are you all right?"
"I'm thinking of asking your brother to Slughorn's Christmas party," Hermione whispered, letting out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
Ginny's eyes went wide, and a slow grin spread across her face. "Really? You're actually going to ask Ron?"
"No, I'm going to ask Fred." Hermione locked the door and walked over. "Yes, Ron!"
Ginny laughed. "Ironically, I do think you'd be better suited with Fred in the long run." She shook her head fondly. "I'm glad you've come around."
"I wouldn't say come around. I need a date, and it's obvious Ron's been put out about not being included in Slughorn's parties."
Ginny stared at her. "You've got to be joking."
Hermione shrugged. "I just don't want to ruin things between us."
"You're asking him to be your date! Grow a spine, Hermione!"
"Harry would never forgive me if it changed the dynamic between us."
Ginny sighed. "Let me worry about Harry. Now go get your man."
---
Harry was explaining the details of his latest lesson with Dumbledore as the three of them dressed for Herbology.
"I just don't see why Dumbledore's showing you all of this," Ron said as they took their places.
"I think it's fascinating," Hermione said, unable to suppress her interest. "To understand who Voldemort was before he was Voldemort?"
Harry and Ron both looked at her.
"How else do you uncover a Dark wizard's weaknesses? Besides, it answers the oldest question, doesn't it." She pushed her hair back from her face.
Ron frowned. "What question?"
Hermione glanced at him. "Whether monsters are born or made."
"So, how was Slughorn's latest party?" Harry asked, steering them off the topic.
"Quite good, actually." Hermione put on her dragon-hide gloves. "He does rather go on, and he fawns over McLaggen dreadfully — but Zabini is genuinely funny."
"Brooding Zabini?" Ron asked.
She nodded. "Slughorn also introduced us to Gwenog Jones."
"The Gwenog Jones?" Ron turned to stare at her. "Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?"
"The very same."
They bent to their Snargaluff pods after a sharp word from Professor Sprout to stop dawdling.
"Anyway," Hermione continued as they worked, "Slughorn's planning a Christmas party, Harry — there's no wriggling out of this one, because he's already asked me to find a free evening for you."
Harry groaned.
Ron's eyes dropped to his pod as he muttered, "Another one of these exclusive little gatherings, is it?"
Hermione pressed her lips together. "Just for the Slug Club, yes."
Ron lost his grip on his pod. Harry scrambled after it before it rolled off the bench.
"What a stupid name," Ron muttered.
"Sorry?" Hermione asked.
Ron swiped at his hands with his robe. "Slug Club. It's ridiculous. Some exclusive little group for people Slughorn thinks are worth his time."
"It's not only that, Ron. Slughorn has connections — real ones. Knowing the right people isn't nothing."
"Right, knowing the right people," Ron said, his tone sharpening. "Like McLaggen and Zabini. And you seem to be spending plenty of time with both of them, I've noticed."
"I don't particularly like either of them any more than you do—"
"Could've fooled me," Ron said flatly. "'Zabini's actually quite funny.' Since when?"
"That is not what I—"
"'Just me and my friends at the Slug Club.'"
"I did not say that!"
"'Slug Club,'" Ron repeated, and for just a moment his sneer bore an uncanny resemblance to Malfoy's. "It's pathetic. I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you get off with McLaggen while you're there — then Slughorn can crown you King and Queen Slug—"
Harry had made his way back.
Hermione's face was flushed. "We're allowed to bring guests, and I was going to ask you! But if you think it's that stupid, I won't bother!"
"You were going to ask me?" Ron said, in an entirely different voice.
"Yes," Hermione said, still angry. "But obviously if you'd rather I got off with McLaggen instead…"
Silence.
"No," said Ron, very quietly. "I wouldn't."
Harry missed the pod entirely, hit the bowl, and it shattered on the greenhouse floor.
"Reparo," he said quickly, nudging the pieces back together with his wand. The bowl sprang whole again. The sharp crack of it appeared to return both Ron and Hermione to the awareness that Harry existed.
Hermione looked briefly flustered and immediately turned to her copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World to find the correct method for juicing Snargaluff pods. Ron, on the other hand, looked sheepish — but decidedly pleased with himself.
"Pass that over, Harry," Hermione said hurriedly. "It says we're meant to puncture them with something sharp first…"
---
Hermione skipped breakfast the next morning. Ron had gone back to acting perfectly normal, as if the entire exchange in the greenhouse had never happened. Harry, meanwhile, couldn't stop watching the two of them with the taut watchfulness of someone bracing for a disaster he'd have to manage.
Hermione didn't particularly want to talk to Ginny either — it wasn't Ginny's fault, but something about the fact that she was Ron's sister, and that she'd been the one to push Hermione in this direction over the summer, made the whole thing feel tangled.
So she sat alone in the library, her breakfast skipped and her book entirely unread, wishing she had more friends. More female friends in particular. She had no interest in talking Neville through this.
She hadn't read a single word.
With a sigh she shelved the book, checked her watch, and her eyes went wide.
"Merlin!" She grabbed her bag and ran.
She burst through the classroom door, all composure lost, and immediately felt the eyes of Professor Babbling and the entire class land on her. She mumbled an apology and slid into her seat beside Theo, who raised an eyebrow at her dishevelled state but said nothing.
Professor Babbling resumed the lesson. Hermione tried to pull out her materials without creating further disturbance.
Theo stretched his arms lazily above his head. "So I've got a question for you," he murmured.
"I was in the library and lost track of time," Hermione whispered back.
"Not my question." He sounded amused. "Did you ask Weasley to Slughorn's party?"
Hermione's quill snapped cleanly in her hand. She turned to Theo. "How on earth do you know that?" she hissed.
Malfoy glanced up from behind them.
"I heard it from Pansy, who heard it from Daphne, who heard it from Warren, who heard it from Longbottom, who heard it from — well. Your conversation with Weasley," Theo said.
"You asked Weasley out?" Malfoy asked, at a volume Hermione would very much have preferred he not use.
"I did not ask him out," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Asking him out would imply a date. It was not a date."
Theo frowned. "Right. Just an evening at Slughorn's party. Candlelight, Butterbeer, a little Firewhisky. Very un-date-like."
Hermione huffed.
"Sounds like a date to me."
"Weasley?" Malfoy repeated, as though the word had genuinely offended him.
Hermione clenched her jaw. "I didn't ask him out, date or otherwise. Not that it is any of your business."
"But you were going to," Theo pointed out.
"Why not Potter?" Malfoy asked.
Hermione turned to look at him sharply. "Harry? Why would I ask Harry to Slughorn's party?"
Malfoy's expression was not one of mockery — it was one of genuine, mild bafflement. "I don't know. Why would you ask Weasley?"
Hermione stared at him. "You're not making fun of me. You actually don't understand."
"I mean — between Weasley and Potter." Malfoy held both hands out like a scale. "They're both horrible choices, honestly."
"Excuse me?"
"Weasley has no filter and Potter is — well, Potter. Neither of them are exactly ideal company. So why him? Why Weasley specifically?"
Theo watched the exchange with silent interest.
Hermione opened her mouth and found she had absolutely no idea what to say.
"I wouldn't call him attractive, either," Malfoy said, turning back to the page in front of him.
Hermione blinked. "And Harry is?"
Malfoy looked caught for a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed, a reluctant smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't say that either. But if we're comparing — at least Potter has a bit more… presence."
"Presence," Hermione repeated. "That's your criterion?"
Theo leaned back in his chair, looking quietly delighted. "I think what Draco is trying to say, in his characteristically charming way, is that Weasley is… how do I put this."
"Ginger," Malfoy said flatly.
"And you're blonde," Hermione whispered back.
Theo glanced between them, eyes bright with amusement. "It's almost as though he cares who you ask to the party."
Malfoy shot Theo a sharp look. "I don't care. I'm simply observing."
"I wasn't aware my choices required your approval," Hermione said coolly.
"Merlin's beard, Granger, it's an observation." He shrugged, though something unreadable moved briefly through his expression. "You could at least choose someone with a bit more ambition."
"Like who? You?"
Theo dropped his chin into his hand to cover his smile.
Malfoy looked surprised for a moment — genuinely — before settling into a slow, smug grin. "I do have a certain charm, don't I?"
Hermione shook her head. "The day I ask you to a party is the day the Black Lake freezes solid."
"I'd pay to see that," Theo murmured.
Hermione glanced at him. "You're not helping."
She sighed and let the sharpness go from her voice. "Look — I don't entirely know why I was going to ask him. He's just… always been there. Hasn't he?"
Theo glanced at Malfoy.
Both of them were quiet for a moment.
Hermione frowned at the sudden silence.
Malfoy resumed his work. "Well," he said, "I hope it goes well for you, Granger."
"He didn't say yes," Hermione muttered, turning back around. "So this entire conversation was completely pointless."
Malfoy looked up.
---
Later that day, Draco walked into the Great Hall for dinner and sat down beside Blaise.
Across the table, Daphne stood up.
"Daphne, sit down," Draco said tiredly.
"No."
"I already said I'm sorry — about what I said about your sister."
"No, you're sorry I haven't forgotten it yet," Daphne said.
Draco held her gaze. He knew she wasn't entirely wrong, but the whole thing had been blown out of proportion. He'd had a terrible night. He'd said something awful. He had apologised.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, looking down at his goblet. "I was in a foul mood. It had been a long night. I won't bring Astoria into it again." He tapped the table with his fingertips. "You did slap me, you know."
Blaise made a noise of interest. "You actually slapped him?"
Daphne bit back a smile. "Yes."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Please just sit down. I'm hungry."
Slowly, Daphne sat. "I'm only staying because I haven't finished eating and Pansy's just walked in."
Pansy made her way over, visibly brightening when she saw Daphne and Draco at the same table. "You've made up."
"Somewhat," Daphne said.
Draco looked at Blaise. "Are you going to Slughorn's Christmas party?"
"I am."
"Have you got a date?"
"I'm not taking you, if that's what this is about," Blaise said, smiling.
"No." Draco glanced at Daphne. "What about you? You're in the Slug Club — have you asked anyone?"
Daphne's mouth opened and closed twice.
"I haven't asked anyone in particular yet," she finally said.
Pansy snickered, watching the blush climb up Daphne's neck.
"But you've decided," Draco said, amused.
"Oh, she decided long ago," Pansy whispered.
Daphne's eyes went wide. "Pansy!"
Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Who is it?"
Daphne sat very still under the weight of three pairs of expectant eyes, then gave in. "Fine. I was going to ask Theo."
Draco looked at Pansy.
"Theo?" Blaise repeated. "Our Theo?"
"Stop making it a spectacle," Daphne said, face colouring further. "It's not like that. I'm asking him as a friend."
Pansy somehow managed not to roll her eyes.
Draco exhaled. "If one more person asks someone to a party 'as a friend' I am going to blow up this school."
"What d'you mean?" Blaise asked.
"Granger was going to ask Weasley to the party. 'Just as friends,' apparently." He shook his head. "What is it with everyone?"
Pansy poured herself some water. "Granger wasn't asking Weasley as friends, Draco. It's just a fall-back position in case he said no. Which he won't."
Draco glanced toward the Gryffindor table. "He did."
"What are we talking about?" Theo asked, sitting down beside Daphne.
Pansy nodded toward the Gryffindors. "Weasley."
Theo looked at Draco. "Still? Really?"
---
The early December night was cold and clear, the castle grounds frosted and still. The last of dinner had finished, and Draco walked alongside Weasley through the entrance hall, the two of them beginning their prefect rounds in mutually agreed-upon silence.
Weasley was scowling at the middle distance.
"We should split up," Weasley said — perhaps the first sensible thing Draco had heard from him all term. "We'll cover more ground."
Draco slid him a dry look. "An almost coherent idea. I'm impressed."
Weasley's jaw tightened. "I'm serious, Malfoy. The castle's too large for us to be doubling back over the same ground all night."
"And here I thought you enjoyed being inefficient."
"Boys." Professor Flitwick appeared from the corridor behind them.
They both turned.
"The rules state you are to patrol together," the Charms professor said with the pleasant but firm finality that meant the matter was closed.
Weasley's jaw went tight again. Draco exhaled through his nose.
They continued in silence, moving from corridor to corridor and staircase to staircase, checking for students out of bed after curfew.
As they passed the grand staircase, Draco glanced at the portraits on the walls — most of their occupants asleep at this hour, canvases rocking gently with the castle's slow, ancient breathing.
"So," Draco said eventually, "how's your romantic drama coming along?"
Weasley stiffened visibly. "What the hell are you going on about?"
"Granger." Draco kept his voice conversational.
Nothing.
"Word of advice, Weasley," he continued. "When a girl asks you out, the sensible thing is to say yes. When Granger asks you out — well. That's practically a once-in-a-generation opportunity, and you said no. Which was spectacularly stupid, even for you."
Weasley's ears turned the colour of raw Flobberworm. "It wasn't like that," he snapped. "Hermione didn't ask me out. It's not — it's not that kind of thing."
Draco shrugged. "Whatever you say."
---
"I'm telling you, Harry, he was acting like he knew something I didn't." Ron was still going on about it the following day after Quidditch practice, pulling his kit off and stuffing it back into his bag. "It was bad enough I had to patrol with him at all, and then he starts talking about Hermione."
Harry draped his robes over the bench. "Malfoy knows nothing, Ron. Especially not about Hermione and what she does or doesn't mean."
Ron dropped onto the bench beside him. "It's not just that he was talking about her. It's the way he was talking — like he's got something on me." His brow creased. "He called her pretty."
Harry laughed.
"It's not funny."
"Draco blood-supremacy Malfoy called our friend Hermione, actual Muggle-born, pretty?"
"Yes." Ron crossed his arms and went a deeper shade of red. "Like it was nothing. Like it was just a fact everyone already knew."
Harry shook his head, still chuckling. "He's winding you up, Ron. That's it. I promise you, Malfoy doesn't actually think Hermione's pretty. Come on."
They headed back up to the castle, Ron still muttering. Harry agreed that Malfoy had been behaving strangely all year — but this wasn't one of the things that worried him.
Harry pushed aside the tapestry to their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, and they walked straight into Dean and Ginny, locked in a thorough kiss.
Ron went rigid.
Dean and Ginny didn't notice immediately, too absorbed to register they had an audience.
"Oi!" Ron bellowed.
They broke apart.
"What?" Ginny asked, as though this were perfectly routine.
Ron looked as though his head might come off. "I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public corridors!"
"This was a deserted corridor until you lot came barging in!" she shot back, looking at Harry, who hadn't yet said anything.
Dean was thoroughly mortified, offering Harry an awkward grin.
"Er — come on, Ginny," Dean murmured. "Let's just go back—"
Ginny pulled her arm free. "You go. I want a word with my dear brother."
Dean escaped.
Ginny drew herself up and turned to face Ron, eyes blazing. "Let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them—"
"Yeah, it is!" Ron snapped. "D'you think I want people saying my sister is a—"
"A what?" Ginny's wand was out.
"He doesn't mean it, Ginny—" Harry stepped between them.
"He absolutely does!" She was nearly shaking with fury. "Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life — just because the closest he's come is being kissed on the cheek by our Auntie Muriel—"
"Shut your mouth!" Ron roared, going from red to a deep, livid maroon.
"I will not! I've seen you with Fleur, practically begging her to notice you — it's embarrassing, Ron. If you went out and got some actual experience of your own, you wouldn't be half so put out by everyone else getting on with theirs!"
Ron's wand was out now too, and Harry squared himself between them. "Don't—"
"Just because you don't do it in public—"
"Been practising on Pigwidgeon, have you?" Ginny asked, shoving against Harry to try to get around him. "Or have you got a photograph of Auntie Muriel under your pillow?"
A flash of orange light flew past Harry's left arm and narrowly missed Ginny.
Harry turned and pressed Ron back against the wall with both hands. "Pack it in — now."
"Harry snogged Cho!" Ginny shouted, pointing at him. "And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum! It's only you, Ron — you act like it's something disgusting, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a second-year!"
She stormed away.
Harry let go of Ron. "We need to go back," he said, spotting Mrs Norris at the far end of the corridor.
---
Hermione was in the library helping a group of third-years with their Transfiguration homework when Ginny walked in, eyes glistening.
Hermione looked up immediately. Without a word to the third-years — just a quick "I'll be back in a moment" — she crossed the room and steered Ginny gently toward the quiet stacks at the back.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
"Ron is such an arse!" Ginny's voice broke on a quiet sob as she leaned against the stone wall.
Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a Muffliato around them.
Ginny slid down to sit on the floor. Hermione sat beside her. "Tell me."
"He always has to stick his nose in," Ginny started, voice unsteady. "I was with Dean — we were just kissing — and Ron found us, and he practically called me a—"
Hermione put a hand on her shoulder. "He had absolutely no right."
"I'm not a child!" Ginny said. "And Dean is his friend. You'd think that would count for something. What if I'd been out there snogging Malfoy?"
Hermione's eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm sure there's a middle ground between Dean and Malfoy." She paused. "But it wouldn't be any of his business either way."
Ginny wiped at her eyes. "I have done nothing but be supportive of whatever it is you've got going on with him — even though you're not together yet. I'd never be rude about it. Not ever."
Hermione sighed. "Ron's an idiot. A complete and utter idiot." She squeezed Ginny's shoulder. "But he loves you. Sometimes that's the problem. You'll sort it out — you always do."
---
Hermione couldn't put her finger on what had changed. Ron had been strange for days — muttering under his breath, snapping at people, mostly at her — and she couldn't work out why.
Every time she tried to ask, he brushed her off or grew pricklier. His moods wore on her patience, and she'd stopped trying to draw him out. Harry had stepped in as mediator more than once, but no matter how many times Hermione asked what she'd done, Harry just looked away.
The morning of the Gryffindor Quidditch match, Hermione had waited in the corridor before going down to breakfast, not eager to navigate Ron's temper first thing.
"What are you doing?" Zabini asked, finding her hovering near the doors to the Great Hall.
Hermione glanced at him. "Ron's being difficult."
"Quidditch?"
"I genuinely don't know." She muttered.
Zabini raised an eyebrow, looking faintly intrigued in the way he always did — as though he found most things mildly interesting but not worth commenting on at length. "Sounds like a lovely morning."
"You have no idea."
"Maybe support Slytherin today," Zabini said with a shrug, and walked past her into the Great Hall.
Hermione waited another minute, then followed.
"How are you both feeling?" she asked, taking her seat beside Harry and Ron.
"Fine," said Harry, who was focused on carefully filling a goblet with pumpkin juice and handing it to Ron. "There you go, Ron. Drink up."
Ron had barely lifted the glass when Hermione spoke.
"Don't drink that, Ron."
Both Harry and Ron looked up.
"Why not?" Ron asked.
Hermione was staring at Harry with an expression that fell somewhere between disbelief and cold certainty. "You just put something in it. I saw you."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Harry said.
"You've got the bottle in your pocket, Harry."
He tucked his hand away. "I don't know what you're on about."
Hermione looked at Ron. "Don't drink it."
Ron met her eyes — and drained the glass. "Stop bossing me around."
Hermione looked at him, jaw tight, and said nothing more.
She had no interest in attending the after-party to celebrate Gryffindor's win. What exactly was she celebrating? That her best friend was furious with her for some reason no one would explain? Or that her other best friend clearly knew the reason and had been letting it happen?
The sounds of laughter and music drifted up through the floor, muffled by the stone but still audible enough to scrape at her concentration. She stared at the pages of her book and registered nothing.
The dormitory door burst open and Ginny appeared, face flushed, grinning. "Hermione!"
Hermione looked up. Ginny had clearly had rather more than Butterbeer.
"Why aren't you at the party?" Ginny asked.
"I didn't feel like celebrating."
Ginny came fully into the room and closed the door. "How long did it take you to come up with that excuse? Come off it."
"It's exhausting, Ginny!" Hermione snapped, setting her book down. "Ron's been impossible, and Harry just stands there knowing exactly why and says nothing—"
"—and yet here you are." Ginny produced a bottle of Firewhisky from behind her back. "Good thing I came prepared."
Hermione stared at the bottle for a moment, then sighed and took it, drinking.
Ginny cheered. "Right. What'll it take to get you downstairs?"
"I just don't want to be around Ron right now." Hermione stared at her hands. "I don't even know what I've done. He won't talk to me, and Harry won't tell me, and it feels like everyone knows something except me."
Ginny sat down on the edge of the bed. She began twisting her hair — the small, unconscious habit Hermione had learned over the summer to watch for.
"You know," Hermione said.
Ginny closed her eyes. "Take another drink, Hermione."
Hermione drank.
"Do you remember when I was crying about Ron and Dean?" Ginny asked.
Hermione nodded slowly.
"When we were arguing, I — I told him Harry'd had some experience, with Cho, and that you…" She trailed off, looking pained.
Hermione put the bottle down. "You told him about Viktor."
"I know you told me not to tell anyone." Ginny looked genuinely wretched. "It slipped out. I hadn't even thought about it until today."
Hermione sat with it for a moment. She had thought that knowing the reason would make it easier to understand. Instead, she was just angry. Ron was treating her terribly over something that had happened two years ago, and Harry had been letting him.
She stood up. "We barely did anything. It was one kiss, two years ago, and he's acting like—"
"You're obviously furious." Ginny stood as well.
"Not at you. At him. He has absolutely no right."
Ginny looked at her carefully. "If he's jealous, Hermione — it means he likes you. You do know that."
Hermione went still.
Ginny smiled at whatever passed over her face. "See? Now come downstairs. Come on." She grabbed her arm.
A beat passed.
"All right," Hermione said quietly. "Let's go."
Ginny ran out of the room laughing, and Hermione followed.
---
They made their way down through the common room, collecting another bottle as they went.
"I can't see Harry or Ron," Hermione said, scanning the crowd.
"Maybe they've gone deeper in." Ginny stretched up on her toes to look.
The common room was bright and loud, full of music and the smell of celebratory Butterbeer, students pressing in from every corner.
Then Hermione stopped.
In the middle of the room, Ron and Lavender Brown were snogging.
Not discreetly. Not carefully. Wrapped around each other, entirely oblivious.
Ginny saw it too. The grin left her face. "Oh," she said softly. "That's — well. He's an idiot, Hermione. He's a complete hypocrite and he's an idiot."
Hermione didn't answer.
"I'm so sorry. Honestly. He's—"
"I need another drink," Hermione said. She motioned to the second bottle in her hand, already half-empty, and walked away.
Ginny turned as Harry bumped into her.
"Sorry, Gin." He smiled. "Good match, wasn't it."
"We won, didn't we."
Harry looked around. "Have you seen Hermione? Or—"
"Ron?" Ginny pointed him out — Ron and Lavender, still going at it. "The filthy hypocrite." She watched them with open disgust. "Looks like he's trying to eat her face."
She shook her head and turned back. Hermione was gone from the drinks table.
"I'll be right back," Ginny said, and headed for the dormitory stairs.
Harry started forward to follow Hermione himself, but Romilda Vane stepped directly into his path and began talking at him with an intensity that made it nearly impossible to extract himself politely.
---
Hermione sat on the last step of the staircase, wand in her hand, casting small golden birds that fluttered and chirped softly in the dimly lit corridor.
She stared at them, thinking.
If Ron was jealous about Viktor — genuinely jealous — then why was he snogging Lavender Brown in the middle of the common room? She'd felt so certain going downstairs. Ready, even, to do something about it. And now she was out here again, for the second time this term, sitting alone on a cold step with tears drying on her face because of Ron Weasley. There was a particular indignity in the repetition of it.
The yellow birds looped around her in lazy circles.
Quiet footsteps on the stone. She looked up.
Pansy Parkinson stopped in front of her.
Hermione braced herself.
Pansy didn't say anything for a moment. She looked at Hermione — at the birds, at the bottle, at whatever state her face was in — with an expression that was not quite pity and not quite curiosity, but something more thoughtful than either.
"You look like you need a drink, Granger," she said, entirely without malice.
Hermione held up the bottle by way of answer.
Pansy's lips curved very slightly. "Fair enough." And she sat down on the step beside her.
The birds continued their quiet circles. Neither of them spoke.
It should have been strange. It was strange — sitting here with Pansy Parkinson of all people, the two of them sharing a corridor step in silence while the Gryffindor victory party rumbled on overhead. And yet the silence didn't press in the way Hermione expected. It just settled, uncomplicated, around them.
"Well," Pansy said after a while, "don't hog the bottle."
Hermione handed it over without comment. She watched Pansy take a pull and pass it back.
"Where are your boys?" Pansy asked.
"Ron's off snogging Lavender Brown and I've no idea where Harry's got to." Hermione paused. "I'm not desperately keen to speak with him anyway. What about yours?"
Pansy smiled faintly, eyes on the middle distance. "No idea. I was trying to follow him, but I lost him a few floors ago."
Hermione laughed despite herself — a soft, short exhale that surprised her.
"Weasley knocked you off your feet, did he?" Pansy said.
Hermione's eyes stung. "He's an arse."
A handkerchief appeared in front of her.
Hermione stared at it for a moment, then looked at Pansy. "Do you make a habit of carrying those for crying girls?"
"Usually I'm the one making them cry, actually."
Hermione took the handkerchief, felt briefly and inexplicably like laughing and crying at the same time, and dabbed at her face.
"Thanks," she said.
Pansy looked straight ahead. "I don't know what's worse — your friends, or the fact that you're sitting here sharing a drink with me."
She took the bottle back and drank.
Footsteps on the stairs above them, quick and urgent. Both of them looked up.
Harry came around the landing and stopped dead when he saw Pansy.
"Parkinson." His voice was careful.
Pansy raised an eyebrow, not moving from her step. "What's it look like, Potter? We're having a chat."
Harry's eyes moved to Hermione and back to Pansy. "Right. Well, I'm here now, so—" He gestured vaguely. "Why don't you head back down to the dungeons?"
Pansy looked up at him with polite, unhurried amusement. "I don't bite, Potter." A pause. "Well. Sometimes I bite."
Harry didn't respond to that. "Nice birds, Hermione. You weren't enjoying the party?"
Hermione looked up at the little golden flock. "Just practising a bit. Ron seems to be having a lovely time."
"Er—" Harry said. "Is he?"
Pansy rolled her eyes.
"Don't pretend you didn't see them," Hermione said.
Pansy stood, smoothing her robes. "Look, Granger — I'm not saying we're friends, or anything as dramatic as that — but if you want to get away from your lot for a bit, Daphne and Blaise are down in the common room, and Theo. Draco won't be around. Neither will Crabbe or Goyle. The offer stands."
Hermione blinked. The offer was so unexpected she needed a moment to understand it was genuine.
"She's fine," Harry said. "She doesn't need you lot making things worse."
Pansy turned to look at him with a mild, unimpressed expression. "I expect Granger can speak for herself, Scarhead."
Harry opened his mouth, but the sound of Lavender's giggling reached them first as she and Ron stumbled into the corridor, pressed together.
Ron spotted them and went quiet. "Oh," he said.
"Oops," Lavender giggled, glancing up at him. "This corridor seems taken." She tugged his sleeve and they backed out.
Ron lingered for just a second, eyes moving between Hermione and the birds. "What's with the birds?"
"Oppungo," Hermione said quietly.
The flock turned on him at once.
"What the—!" Ron yelped, spinning away down the corridor with the birds in close pursuit.
Pansy watched with genuine interest. "If you change your mind, the offer stands," she said to Hermione, and strolled away in the direction Ron had gone. "Weasley!" she called after him. "A week's detention for inappropriate conduct on school grounds."
Hermione leaned her head against Harry's shoulder and let out a quiet, exhausted sob.