Hermione opens and shuts her mouth a few times as she stares at Millicent with wide eyes. She feels as if Millicent has somehow managed to Stupefy her with her words alone, and she's not entirely sure if she'd be able to put together a full sentence right now.
Luckily, Pansy has regained the ability to speak.
"What do you mean, doesn't everybody?" Pansy asks, her voice somehow impossibly higher. "No, everybody doesn't know! What do you…I mean, how do you…" she trails off, then shakes her head almost wildly. "How?"
Millicent's brow furrows a bit. "I dunno. Potions, I suppose."
Pansy makes a strange, strangled noise beside her, and Hermione closes her eyes as she remembers that yes, Millicent sits directly behind them in Potions. And even though their tables are separated by a fair margin, and even though Pansy and Hermione have been careful to keep their voices low, it's still not entirely unheard of that someone might have noticed the change between them. But then something else occurs to her, and she looks up quickly.
"Wait…does Parvati know?"
Parvati is Millicent's Potions partner, and if Millicent knows, chances are Parvati knows. And if Parvati knows, then the entire bloody school will know—she's one of the biggest gossips at Hogwarts.
But Millicent shakes her head. "No." A small smile flickers to her face. "She's scared of me," she says with pride as the smile shifts into a tooth-bearing grin. "She doesn't really notice anything."
And for the first time in seven years, Hermione finds herself absurdly grateful for Millicent's ominous persona. Because she has a feeling Millicent is right: if Parvati suspected anything, she would have changed the way she interacted with Hermione over the past few days. And what's more, Lavender would know, too. But both girls have been the same way they've always been around Hermione—kind enough, but largely uninterested in her, and more than satisfied to spend their time gossiping together about other students.
"I'm sorry," Pansy says beside her, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. "I just…you know. You know, and…and…have you told anyone?" she asks, her leg bouncing nervously.
Millicent shakes her head. "No."
"Why?"
"I thought everybody knew," Millicent says, looking vaguely annoyed at having to repeat herself.
"Right. Right, you did say that. And…you're…you're notupset?"
"No."
"Why?"
Millicent shrugs. "You seem happy."
She delivers the words so simply that it stuns Pansy into silence for a long while, and when she finally manages to speak again, it's in a whisper. "I…I…" she shakes her head, her gaze on the table. "I don't understand. Why is that…I mean, even if I'm happy, how are you just okay with this?"
An almost imperceptible furrow comes to Millicent's brow, like she's puzzled by the question. "Because you're my friend," she says, once again delivering the words simply and with little emotion.
Pansy reels just a bit beside Hermione. "I am?" she asks, her voice strangled and surprised. But when Hermione very subtly elbows her, Pansy quickly coughs, then says, "I mean…I am. Yes. That's…okay. I am. …Good." She frowns for a moment, then she slowly says, "just to be sure I've got this right…because you're my friend and you want me to be happy, you're just…okay with this?"
Millicent's eyes flick back toward Hermione, then back to Pansy. "I don't like her," she says, nodding toward Hermione. "She talks too much. But other than that…yeah. 'Spose so."
Hermione remembers the Ebublio that Millicent had cast on her back in fourth year, and she exhales sharply.
Honestly. She doesn't talk that much.
But she decides to not press her luck right now. Instead, she waits as a strange silence descends upon the room, and after a long moment, Millicent shifts on her feet and says, "so, will you be much longer?"
Hermione quickly shakes her head, relieved for the escape route Millicent's provided. "No, I…no. We were just going." She gets down from the table, but the movement makes her notice just how uncomfortably wet she is. She winces a bit and tries to surreptitiously adjust her knickers the best she can, but when she glances at Pansy and sees her watching the movement with blazing cheeks, she immediately drops her hand and instead, stoops to pick up Pansy's discarded robes. "Here you are," she says, shoving them toward her, as if finding Pansy's robes on the floor is a normal, everyday occasion.
"Oh. Right. Thanks," Pansy says with a ludicrously stiff and formal nod.
"We'll just…we'll just be going, then," Hermione says, taking hold of Pansy's arm and steering her toward the doorway.
Millicent steps aside to let them pass, and once they're outside, she turns to close the door. But just before she can, Pansy stops her. "Millie?"
Millicent pauses, her hand on the door as she waits for Pansy to continue.
"Can I ask you to keep this to yourself? It's not exactly something we're telling many people about, and I just—"
"Sure," Millicent says, sounding completely unbothered.
"Right. Right, that's…thank you," Pansy says. "Anyway…we'll just…" she nods down the hallway. "Have fun…arm wrestling," she adds lamely.
Millicent nods, then shuts the door on their faces.
Hermione and Pansy stand there staring at the door, both stunned by what had just transpired. Hermione can barely wrap her head around the fact Millicent knows, and even though everything had ended up relatively fine, she still feels sick with anxiety.
After a long while, Pansy finally turns to Hermione with a concerned furrow on her brow.
"Am I a bad prefect?"
Hermione frowns, taken aback by the strange question. "What?"
"I mean…she's out past curfew, but I didn't say anything about it."
"That's your takeaway?" Hermione splutters, bewilderment filling her voice.
Pansy shrugs helplessly. "No? I don't know. Maybe?"
"Millicent Bulstrode knows about us, saw us snogging, and that's what you decide to focus on? Unbelievable."
"I'm sorry! I just…I think I'm still in shock."
"Am I a bad prefect," Hermione mutters with a snort. "Honestly."
She starts down the hallway and Pansy falls into step beside her. "Merlin. I can't believe she knows," Pansy says. "And I can't believe she said we're friends," she adds, ridiculously managing to sound more stunned about that than the fact Millicent had walked in on them snogging. "I mean, I've never really thought about it because Millicent's…well, y'know. And she's not exactly the type to admit to friendships. Or emotions," she adds, almost as an afterthought.
But Hermione's not really listening to Pansy's dazed and confused babbling. Instead, she's thinking about how foolishly reckless they've been, and how they'll have to be much more careful from now on if they want to have any chance at keeping this secret.
Which means things need to change.
Hermione stops short and runs a hand through her hair. "Okay. So obviously, this isn't working," she says, leaning against the wall as she gathers her thoughts.
"—I mean, she's never even laughed, and I just…"
Pansy stops talking abruptly as Hermione's words sink in, and she turns to face her with stunned, wide eyes.
"What?" Pansy asks, looking completely stricken. "Hermione, I…I…"
"Not us, Pansy," Hermione says, shaking her head in disbelief. "This situation isn't working. We can't be snogging in classrooms where anyone could walk in." She fixes Pansy with a sharp look and says, "did you honestly think I meant we weren't working?"
"I—"
"Were you not present for what was happening before Bulstrode barged in? Which mind you, who forces their way into a locked room? Maybe we should have taken points," Hermione says, glancing back down the hallway with narrowed eyes, as if she's contemplating taking on the hulking girl singlehandedly.
"Wait," Pansy says, shaking her head as she tries to gather her thoughts. "Wait, I just…" She exhales slowly. "So, just to be clear…we're working…right?" she asks, nervously fiddling with her tie as she looks for confirmation.
A fond exasperation sneaks into Hermione's eyes. "Considering I was three seconds away from ripping your jumper off back there, yes. I'd say we're working just fine," she teases. "But we do need to find somewhere private. Somewhere people won't walk in on us." She thinks for a moment, trying to avoid the most obvious solution, but when nothing comes to her, she sighs. "I suppose we'll just have to use the Room of Requirement."
Pansy stares at her blankly. "The room of what?"
"The Room of Requirement. It's a secret room on the seventh floor that only appears when you're in great need. It can transform itself into whatever you want it to be. Dobby told Harry about it, and it should—"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just…" Pansy runs a hand through her hair and stares at Hermione. "Did you say that the room…transforms itself?"
"Yes. I assume it has some sort of sentience, so if we just—"
"It's sentient?" Pansy asks, cutting Hermione off to gape at her.
"Well, not in a weird way," Hermione hastily amends.
"I'm sorry, is there another way for a room to be sentient?"
Hermione tsks. "It's not like it watches what happens inside of it."
"How do you know? If it can transform itself at will, which by the way, is an absolutely insane thing I'm choosing not to think about right now, then why wouldn't it be able to know what's going on inside of it?"
"Because…because…" Hermione huffs and folds her arms across her chest, unable to come up with a good explanation. "That's not the point. The point is, if we want somewhere private where no one can barge in on us, then that's the place."
"Right. So you just want us to…what? Put on a show for this creepy room, then?"
"It's not a creepy room! It's actually quite nice. I mean, depending on what you need it to be, I suppose."
"Absolutely mad. Absolutely mad."
"Look, do you want to have privacy or don't you?"
"I mean, yes. Obviously, I do, I just…" Pansy trails off, and stares at the floor for a moment. A frown settles on her face, and she looks back at Hermione. "Hang on. If you knew about this bizarre, Peeping Tom room—"
"It's not—"
"Then why have we been snogging in classrooms for the past week?"
Hermione flushes a bit. It's a fair question, and it's not like it's never crossed her mind to make use of the room. But at the end of the day, she decided that snogging wasn't a worthy enough use of the room's talents. So she tells Pansy as much, but when Pansy immediately rolls her eyes, she knows she's in for an argument.
"So this horrifying, sentient room just sits empty all of the time, waiting for someone to use it, but when you finally had reason to, you just…didn't?"
"Because it should only be used for important things! Not for something as silly as snogging," Hermione reasons.
Pansy snorts. "What's more important than snogging?"
Hermione raises an unamused eyebrow. "Health, family, friendship, learning, love—"
"Yes! Love. Which snogging is a part of," Pansy says triumphantly.
Hermione scoffs, but doesn't disagree. Instead, she simply says, "so does this mean you want to use it?"
Pansy bites her still-swollen lip for a moment, then heaves a long-suffering sigh. "I still think it's creepy, but if it means getting to kiss you in peace and quiet, then…fine. Fine, we can use it and I suppose dirty old Tom can watch."
"Pansy. You can't name the Room of Requirement."
"I can, and I did," Pansy says with a small grin.
Hermione bites back her own smile as she shakes her head and pushes off from the wall. "I'll show you how to use it tomorrow," she says. "But for now…walk me back to my room?" she asks, holding out her hand.
Pansy's eyes soften and she takes Hermione's hand and threads their fingers together. "My pleasure."
They make their way through the deserted hallways, and when they near the Gryffindor common room, Hermione slows down and glances up and down the corridor quickly. Once she's sure no one is around, she pulls Pansy into a shadowed alcove to kiss her good night.
Pansy smiles into the simple kiss, and when she leans back, she lifts a hand to push tumbling, brown waves behind Hermione's ear. "Tonight was lovely," Pansy murmurs, her thumb idly tracing over a cheekbone. "Minus the interruption."
Hermione hums, her skin tingling pleasantly where Pansy's caressing her. "It was. But from here on out, no one else is going to find out unless we want them to find out."
"I can agree to that," Pansy says. Then she frowns and adds, "though I'm still not thrilled that dirty old Tom is going to know…"
Hermione exhales in amused frustration. "You can't name the Room of—"
Her protestations are swiftly cut off by Pansy's lips, and even though she huffs a bit at first, she eventually ends up leaning into the kiss and tuning out all the thoughts and worries still lingering in her mind in favor of enjoying the feeling of soft lips against hers.
After a moment, Pansy pulls back, and Hermione's eyes flutter open. "Sneaky," she murmurs, lifting a hand to brush Pansy's hair back.
"What do you mean?" Pansy asks, her face the picture of innocence.
"Kissing me to get out of a conversation? How very Slytherin of you."
Pansy grins, looking far too pleased with herself. "Oh. That."
"Yes, that."
"I'd say I'm sorry, but honestly, you knew what you were getting yourself into," Pansy says with a smirk. "Though I suppose if it's too much for you, you could always find yourself a nice, dull Hufflepuff girl," she adds with sparkling eyes.
"Hufflepuffs aren't dull," Hermione says, dropping her hand to play absently with Pansy's tie. "But I don't want a Hufflepuff," she adds, arching a suggestive brow.
"No? Maybe a know-it-all Ravenclaw, then? You could stay up all night in the library researching together and call it foreplay?"
"I don't want a Ravenclaw, either," Hermione says, winding Pansy's tie around her hand for the second time that night and using her grip to tug Pansy impossibly closer.
"Please tell me you don't want a Gryffindor," Pansy murmurs. Her body is flush against Hermione's and her hands are busy making tantalizing trails up and down Hermione's back.
"Mm. Not my type," Hermione replies, winding her arms around Pansy and tilting their foreheads together.
"Then what is?" Pansy asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Kiss me again and find out," Hermione breathes, her words ghosting over Pansy's lips and pulling a small shiver from the other girl.
And in the dim light of the empty hallway, tucked away in a shadowy, private alcove, Pansy does just that.
***
Hermione's lying in the grass with her face toward the sun, letting the warmth pleasantly lick over her skin. It's her free period post-potions, and now that classes are beginning to wind down, she doesn't feel the need to spend it hunched over a book in the library. Instead, she's been taking the time to enjoy the fresh air and to bask in the beauty of the Scottish countryside surrounding her.
And at this particular moment, she's completely at peace.
…Well, not completely. There's still the small fact that she and Ron haven't spoken in over a week. She knows it's been driving Harry insane, but she also knows she doesn't want to be the one to break the icy silence that's descended between them.
But other than that, everything is fine.
…Okay, there's also the small matter of what had happened yesterday while Hermione was waiting for Pansy to finish in the bathroom before patrols.
She flushes as she replays the moment in her mind.
She had been leaning on the wall outside of the prefect's bathroom, waiting for Pansy to finish her ridiculously unnecessary bath. The other girl absolutely insisted on bathing after her evening Herbology class, saying that she couldn't possibly patrol with dirt under her nails, and she refused to hear Hermione's suggestion that she just use a cleaning charm. So Hermione had stood there, checking her watch every few minutes and heaving increasingly gusty sighs. And after what felt like an eternity, the door had finally opened.
"Finally. I was beginning to think you'd drowned," Hermione had said, raising an eyebrow.
Pansy had chuckled as she closed the door behind her. "No. But if it would have meant missing the inevitable cleaning charms lecture that I know you're dying to give, maybe I should have."
"I'm not dying to give any lecture," Hermione said grumpily. She bit her lip for a moment, then said, "but honestly, I just don't understand why—"
"And there it is," Pansy muttered.
"— why you need to take a bath when cleaning charms are every bit as good!" Hermione said, refusing to acknowledge Pansy's comment.
Pansy scoffed. "Please. They're nowhere near as good. A bath is a luxury. A cleaning charm makes me feel like I'm a dirty dinner plate . "
Hermione tsked at the comment, then checked her watch. "Well, you went seven minutes over, so your luxury just made us late for patrols. I hope it was worth it."
"It was, thank you. And anyway, I—"
But whatever Pansy was about to say was lost. She cut herself off abruptly, cocking her head as Hermione's words registered. "Hang on…were you actually timing my bath?"
Hermione flushed a bit. "I…might have been," she admitted.
"Hermione!"
"Sorry! Sorry, it's…old habits," she said with a sheepish shrug.
Pansy's eyes sparkled and she opened her mouth to say something, but when a small group of Gryffindor fourth years passed by and eyed them curiously, she quickly schooled her expression into something cold and aloof. "Merlin, you're impossible. It takes time to sanitize the tub, Granger. Which I have to do because one of the Gryffindors who uses it just so happens to have a terrible case of anal warts."
Hermione, having also noticed the Gryffindors, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, trying to match Pansy's expression. "Oh, grow up, Parkinson," she muttered in as scathing a tone as she could manage. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip about Ron's medical issues?"
Pansy's lips twitched at the unexpected reply and her nostrils flared dangerously, and as the Gryffindor group left the hallway, tittering loudly over what they had just heard, Pansy finally let the laugh out. "Merlin, that was cruel!" she said with delight. "I almost feel sorry for Weasley."
"Don't," Hermione muttered as she started toward the storage room to drop off their bags. "After the things he said, he deserves a fictitious case of anal warts."
"Mm, slandering Weasley?" Pansy said with a smirk. She leaned closer and murmured, "is it wrong to say that I've never been more attracted to you?" Hermione felt a wave of warmth at the words, but before she could reply, Pansy frowned, then quickly shook her head. "Hang on…nope. I've changed my mind. Not attracted to you anymore."
"What? Why?"
"Because I've just remembered you were timing my bath again."
Hermione laughed, entirely unsurprised that Pansy had circled back to her unfortunate slip of the tongue. "Well, for what it's worth, it wasn't to report you this time," she said.
"Glad to know we're past the days of threatening to tattle to McGonagall." But then, Pansy hummed and a dangerous glimmer entered her eyes. "Actually…do you remember what you threatened that night? During our detention?"
Hermione frowned as she came to a stop in front of the storage room. "Not really, no," she said, her hand resting on the door handle.
"You threatened to Bombarda the door down if I went over time." A slow, suggestive smile stole across Pansy's face as she cocked an eyebrow. "You know, if you were that desperate to see me naked, all you had to do was ask."
Heat immediately flooded Hermione's face at the implication, and before she could deny it, she was hit with the very clear and very tempting mental image of Pansy, glistening and bare in the massive, soaking tub, surrounded by thick bubbles and intoxicatingly fragrant steam. Green, heavy-lidded eyes were locked on hers, and she lifted a finger to beckon to Hermione, inviting her to join her in the hot water with a slow and sultry smile.
"Hermione?"
Pansy's voice pulled her out of the vivid fantasy, and Hermione swallowed heavily as the image faded. She dragged her gaze back to Pansy, who was watching her with amusement. "Sorry, what?" Hermione asked, her voice coming out breathless.
"Maybe you need to take a bath, too," Pansy said with a smirk. "Y'know, to deal with all those dirty, dirty thoughts?"
Hermione flushed darker. "I wasn't—"
"Oh, you absolutely were, darling."
The little term of endearment made Hermione's heart glow, but she still managed to huff in exasperation as she unlocked the door. "Well, alright. Maybe I was."
Pansy hummed at the admission, then moved just a bit closer to Hermione. "Do you know the best part about fantasies?"
Hermione's hand hesitated on the door handle. "What?"
"Making them realities," Pansy said, lifting a suggestive eyebrow.
Hermione swallowed once more as she realized that yes, they could one day share a bath together, but before she could let her imagination run rampant once more, Pansy moved on. "And anyway, I guess all things considered, it's nice to know that if we ever get tired of letting dirty old Tom watch, we've got another option."
Hermione rolled her eyes as she tossed her bag inside, the spell momentarily broken. "For the last time, you can't name the room," she said, waiting for Pansy to deposit her bag. "But…I suppose that is good to know. Even if I'd probably have to report both of us to McGonagall for time violations," she added, closing and locking the door once more.
"So? She already knows. She wouldn't be surprised. If anything, she'd probably be proud."
"She wouldn't be—"
"Twenty points to Slytherin and Gryffindor, for extraordinary stamina," Pansy said, overemphasizing her words and exaggerating her vowels in some sort of tragic attempt at a Scottish accent.
"Is that supposed to be McGonagall?" Hermione asked dryly.
"And another thirty in the spirit of house unity," Pansy said, keeping the accent and refusing to reply to Hermione's remark.
"House unity?" Hermione asked against her better judgment, completely confused by the addition.
"Mm," Pansy hummed, a sly look on her face. "Y'know, for… coming …together?"
Hermione shook her head at the ludicrous joke. "You're impossible," she said, but she could still feel a tell-tale heat spreading down her neck at both the thought of them actually having sex, and how her body had immediately reacted to the idea with a low, unmistakable wave of desire.
"I wasn't the one implying we'd go over the forty-five minute time limit, now, was I?"
Hermione's lips parted in surprise. "I only meant—"
But before she could say anything else, Pansy took a step closer. "Would you like to know why I was seven minutes over time?" she murmured. She glanced around the hallway, checking to make sure the coast was clear, and once she was satisfied, she leaned in and whispered in Hermione's ear, "it's because I was thinking about you. I was thinking about what you said the other night…about how you've thought about me when you're alone."
Hermione shivered at both the words and Pansy's warm breath, ghosting across her ear. "Oh?"
"Mm. I was thinking about how good you felt underneath me that night," Pansy said as she placed a warm hand on Hermione's hip. "Thinking about how if we hadn't been interrupted, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from touching you."
Hermione exhaled shakily, shutting her eyes and clenching her fist in an attempt to control herself. Because everything Pansy had said made her want to forget about their stupid promise to be careful and kiss her right then and there.
"I was seven minutes late," Pansy murmured, her lips brushing against Hermione's ear, "because I was letting myself imagine everything that would have happened."
Hermione pulled back to find Pansy's blazing eyes, and she felt a familiar heat coil in her stomach. "And what were you doing?" she asked in a low voice, never taking her gaze off of Pansy's. "While you were imagining…what were you doing?" She was strangely desperate to hear the confirmation of what she already knew.
"I…I was—"
"Hello, Hermione. Hello, Pansy."
Even though there was a bit of space between them, Hermione still jumped backward from Pansy. She whirled around to find Luna, wearing oversized pink glasses and a necklace featuring a large, used quill. There were paint spatters covering her hands, robes, and hair, making her look like some sort of brilliant, colorful tapestry, and she was watching Pansy and Hermione with a soft, dreamy smile.
"Luna! I…I didn't…" Hermione ran a flustered hand through her hair as her heart pounded in her chest. She stole a quick glance at Pansy to find the other girl staring at Luna with wide eyes and red cheeks, then looked back to Luna."Where did you come from?"
"Just in there," Luna said, nodding toward a room a few doors down. "I like to paint after dinner. It helps me sort out my emotions. And it's good for digestion, did you know?"
"I—I've never heard that before," Hermione said diplomatically as her heart rate slowly began to return to where it had been before the interruption.
Luna nodded pleasantly. "I'm only a few dinners away from finishing my Blibbering Humdinger painting. Daddy says if it's good enough, he'll print it in next month's Quibbler. Would you like to see it?"
Hermione managed to shake her head, pleased that Luna didn't seem to be suspicious at all. "Maybe some other time, Luna. We're meant to be patrolling."
"Oh, well. It's probably for the best. I don't think I've managed to get the wings just right yet."
"Well, once you do, I'd be happy to take a look," Hermione said. Then, in an half-hearted attempt to take interest in her friend's hobbies, she added, "do you always paint creatures?"
"Oh, no! I paint all sorts of things. Creatures, tea cups, lost socks, artichokes…"
"Artichokes?" Pansy muttered beside Hermione in disbelief, inhaling in surprise when Hermione subtly elbowed her.
"And once I finish my Blibbering Humdinger, I'm moving onto auras," Luna said.
"I'm sorry…did you say auras?" Hermione asked with a puzzled frown.
Luna hummed, then tilted her head to survey Hermione. "I think I'll start with yours. It's rather lovely today."
"I…thank you?"
Luna nodded, then very calmly said, "I suppose that lovely color means you two have figured things out, then?"
Hermione's eyes widened a bit, and she risked a glance toward Pansy, who was staring at Luna with bewilderment.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said. "What do you mean we've 'figured things out'?"
"Oh, you know," Luna said pleasantly. "Before, your auras were so tangled up and sad. Every time you'd be near each other, it was just pale blues and greys, like the sky just before a storm. But now, you're both the most lovely shade of pink."
At that, Pansy seemed to come back to herself, and she snorted from beside Hermione. "And would that shade of pink look anything like your glasses?" she asked dryly, gazing pointedly at the very pink glasses perched on Luna's face.
"Oh, no. You're pink even without the glasses," Luna said easily. "They just make it easier to see it."
Hermione slowly shook her head, trying to figure out the best way to approach this unexpected situation. After a moment, she said, "Luna…I'm not sure what you think you know, but—"
"It's a unique shade of pink, you know, but not terribly so. Harry and Ginny have a similar one. And Neville and Hannah seem to have one, too. Though theirs is a bit like a carnation," Luna added with a thoughtful tilt of her head. "The one you two have is darker than that. Like a beautiful, dusty rose."
The implications behind her words were clear, and Hermione once again glanced to Pansy, who shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps we should have just made an announcement at breakfast," she said, referencing the farcical plan they had made to announce their relationship and sounding bizarrely resigned to yet another person knowing that something more than friendship was happening between them.
"Luna…" Hermione started, rubbing at her forehead in distress.
"You've certainly been through more shades than most people," Luna said lightly. "You used to be such an angry, crackly red. I didn't like that one very much. Then came all those muted blues…that was yearning, I think," she said with a thoughtful nod. "And now, pink. Pink is my favorite one by far." She tapped her finger against her chin. "Though perhaps I'll paint all of them on one canvas."
Hermione sighed as the same resignation that Pansy had already embraced slowly began to fill her body.
It wasn't ideal, but at the very least, Luna was better than Millicent.
"Luna, could you do me a favor?" Hermione asked. When Luna nodded brightly, Hermione said, "could you not tell anyone about our…our auras? It's just…we'd like to keep them private."
Luna nodded once more with a gentle smile. "Of course. I can see why…they are quite special."
"Thank you," Hermione said, completely unsure how to reply to the strange remark. She was still thinking of what to add when two more Gryffindors passed by on their way back to the common room and Hermione remembered what they were meant to be doing. "I'm sorry, Luna, but we really do need to get to our patrols."
"I'd watch out for the end of this hallway," Luna said, her gaze turning serious. "I've seen signs of a particularly large infestation of heliopaths and I wouldn't want either of you to get burned."
Hermione fought back against her overwhelmingly strong first instinct to argue that heliopaths were absolutely not real, and instead managed to say, "thank you. We'll be careful."
"Good. But if you do run into any, remember, heliopaths have a natural aversion to water, polka music, and cabbages."
Hermione exhaled noisily at the ludicrous advice, then glanced toward Pansy, who was looking more bewildered than she'd ever looked before. It almost was enough to make Hermione laugh, but somehow, she managed to control herself. Instead, she looked back to Luna and gave a nod. "We'll be sure to have a cabbage or two handy."
Luna smiled once again and said, "right, then. I'll see you later. Bye, Hermione. Bye, Pansy." She walked past them on her way to the Ravenclaw common room, but after a few steps, she paused and turned back. "Oh, and Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"I do hope you and Ron fix your auras, soon. I miss your old color."
Hermione opened her mouth, but Luna simply gave a little wave, then walked away.
Pansy and Hermione stood there, staring after her in silence. And after a long moment, Pansy finally murmured, "Merlin…is she secretly a genius?"
"She's…she's certainly something," Hermione replied, feeling a bit off-kilter from Luna's last remark.
"I mean…she can read auras? Can Trelawney even do that?"
"Sybil Trelawney is a fraud," Hermione grumbled as her old grievance flared up and shook her from her surprised state."She wouldn't be able to read our auras even if we painted ourselves up to look like flamingos and snogged in front of her."
Pansy laughed, and Hermione wilted a bit and gave a small, resigned shrug. "You know, all things considered, it makes sense that Luna and Bulstrode figured it out."
"It does?"
Hermione hummed. "Think about it. They're both solitary, internal sorts, whether by choice or necessity. But they've both managed to find ways to be content in the quiet spaces of life. And it's often in those quiet spaces where the most keen observations occur."
"Are you telling me you think Lovegood and Millicent would get along?"
"Oh, yes. Famously," Hermione said with a wry grin. "I mean, at the very least, I doubt Luna would be afraid of Bulstrode. She'd probably even call her Millicent."
"She did call my by my first name," Pansy said with a confused shake of her head. "Merlin…whoever would have thought I'd end this year actually being impressed by Lovegood?"
"Is that the most surprising thing that's happened this year, then?" Hermione asked dryly.
Pansy tilted her head in thought, then shrugged. "Nothing else comes to mind."
Hermione chuckled and started walking. As soon as Pansy fell into step beside her, she gently nudged against her shoulder. "So what is that? Three people who know?"
"Millicent, Lovegood, McGonagall, Daph…"
"Four, then."
"Not to mention half of the Auror Department."
"Oh my god…"
"And quite possibly Arthur Weasley."
Hermione took a deep breath, then slowly released it. "Okay. Okay, that's…" She trailed off and shook her head. "How is that possible? It's been a week ."
Pansy shrugged. "At least we're efficient." Then, she tilted her head with interest. "Do you think Lovegood would give us that aura painting once she's done with it?"
Hermione came to a stop and blinked at Pansy. "I don't…I mean…would you want it?"
"Why not? I've never inspired a painting before."
Hermione shook her head fondly at the glimmer of interest in Pansy's eyes. "I'll be sure to ask her once she's done." She folded her arms over her chest and said, "you know, you're taking this awfully well."
Pansy nodded. "I suppose I am. It's just…I'm not really upset about it. I mean, in an ideal world, everyone would know already. I wouldn't have to hide the way I feel about you for a second. So if a few people know and they're all okay with it, then…I mean, that's a good thing, right? That's what we want?"
"It is," Hermione murmured. "It is, and it's a very good thing."
"I just hope everyone else will be as understanding as Lovegood."
"And Bulstrode."
"Merlin, don't remind me. I'm not sure which one is worse, Millie or McGonagall."
Hermione smiles as she opens her eyes, remembering the heated debate that had ensued. But after a moment, her mind jumps back and she finds herself thinking about what Luna had said once more…
I hope you and Ron fix your auras soon.
She sighs and brings a hand up to rub her eyes in frustration. Because as much as she misses Ron, and as much as she really needs to tell both Ron and Harry about her relationship with Pansy, she still very stubbornly doesn't want to be the first one to cave in and break the icy silence that's existed between them for the past week. Honestly, she's still quite mad at him. And it's not that she even minds that he's cautious and concerned about the change in her relationship with Pansy. She'd be every bit as concerned if the roles were reversed. It's the constant second guessing that still makes sharp, powerful irritation flare in her chest and makes her want to see this strange, bitter war through to the end. She hates that Ron feels like he has some sort of ownership over her life, and she hates that in their seven years of friendship, he's almost never once accepted that she might just be able to take care of herself without his input. And what's more—
"D'you reckon her morning tea foretold us skipping her class?"
Hermione's eyes open in surprise as a very familiar voice carries toward her.
She cranes her head back, and perhaps her thoughts had been strong enough to conjure Ron, because sure enough, there he is, making his way across the gentle slope of the hill with Harry by his side. Neither boy has noticed her yet, and she feels something painful twist in the pit of her stomach at the sight of her two best friends together, having a lovely time without her.
But then, the knot in her gut twists impossibly tighter as something dawns on her—she could technically take this opportunity to finally get everything she needs to say out in the open.
Of course, it's not perfect timing; in an ideal world, Ron would have apologized by now, and she wouldn't have to add even more confusion and anger to his already very full plate. But the end of the year is quickly approaching, and she has a feeling that if she and Ron go into summer holidays nursing massive grudges toward each other, they might never manage to mend the rift. And Hermione is sensible enough to realize that even though she's still quite upset, she doesn't want to lose him completely. Because she loves Ron. Even though he's a massive prat, she loves him and she misses him. She misses his sense of humor, his infectious laugh, his easy, lopsided grin. And she thinks he deserves to know the full story before he makes whatever decision he wants to make. He deserves the opportunity to have a decent reaction for once in their friendship. And if he doesn't, well…she won't beg for his acceptance. She'll be disappointed, but she won't let it change the way she feels about Pansy, nor about herself. She's already let go of the residual shame and guilt she had felt around liking women, and she won't be forced to feel it ever again, no matter what anyone might say to her.
And what's more, she's seen the effect their fight is having on both Harry and Ginny, and it makes her feel horrible. To be fair, they've both been absolutely wonderful about spending equal amounts of time with both Hermione and Ron, but she's tired of the guilt slithering through her veins every time Harry and Ginny are forced to split their time.
All things considered, now is as good a time as any.
Harry and Ron are closer to her, and she sits up to watch their approach. It only takes a few more seconds for them to notice her, and when they do, they both come to an abrupt stop. Harry immediately glances between the two of them, his eyes wide with worry, and Ron quickly averts his gaze to stare down at the grass, the tips of his ears turning bright red.
"Hermione," Harry says. "I…I thought you'd be in the library?"
She shakes her head and ignores the pang she feels, knowing that they didn't even think to look for her. "Not today, no. I thought I'd enjoy the sunshine." She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be in class?"
Harry grins sheepishly. "Couldn't take another day of making fake predictions. There's only so many times I can find myself in a dire situation before it feels like I'm just tempting fate." He lifts a hand to rub his neck and says, "I suppose you're disappointed in us for skipping?"
"On the contrary. I'm proud of you," Hermione says. "And I'd be prouder still if you finally dropped that ridiculous class…if you can even call it a class," she adds darkly.
Harry grins, and Hermione notices the corners of Ron's mouth twitch up just a bit.
Maybe he was more open to airing things out than she suspected.
Before she can say anything, Harry's gaze jumps from Hermione to Ron and back again. And perhaps Hermione is better at Divination than she thought she was, because she somehow knows exactly what Harry's about to say the moment he opens his mouth.
"Y'know, since we're all out here…do you think that maybe…it might be a good time to…" Harry trails off and shifts on his feet uncomfortably. "What I mean to say is, do you think you might…or, that you could—"
"Harry?" Hermione says, neatly cutting off his awkward rambling.
"Yeah?"
He looks at her expectantly, and in that moment, Hermione makes a decision. Because there's never going to be a perfect time to tell them. And considering the amount of people who already know, she'd much rather they hear this from her than through the Hogwarts rumor mill.
She surreptitiously wipes clammy, nervous hands against her skirt and takes a deep breath. "I'd like to talk to you about something. To both of you," she amends, looking at Ron.
Ron glances up at her in surprise, but when he sees her eyes on him, he immediately looks back down, studying the grass as if he's never seen it before.
"Oh. Oh, okay. I mean, yeah. Yeah, that's…yeah," Harry says quickly and somewhat eagerly. He clearly hadn't been expecting her to actually want to talk, and he's not about to miss out on the opportunity to fix things between his best friends. Immediately, he drops down to the grass and crosses his legs, then he glances up at Ron and nods at the space next to him expectantly. Ron frowns just a bit, but he slowly sinks down to sit beside Harry, all the while studiously avoiding Hermione's gaze.
Once they're both seated, Harry claps his hands on his knees and looks to Hermione. "Right, then. What do you want to talk to us about?"
Hermione's heart is beating quickly, and as she takes a second to gather her courage, she looks between Harry and Ron, these two, ridiculous, immature, brave, caring, kind, silly, sometimes-infuriating, amazing boys that she loves with her entire heart and soul. Just in case things go poorly, she wants to one day be able to remember them both like this. As simply her two best friends who would do anything in the world for her. The two people who had somehow and against all the odds, decided to befriend the swotty, obnoxious try-hard, way back in first year. The two people who saved her from her constant homesickness and sleepless nights spent crying into her pillow, wishing McGonagall had never showed up at her front door in the first place. The two people who showed her for the first time what it was like to have friends. To feel valued.
To belong.
Shakily, Hermione releases the breath she's been holding, twists her hands in her lap, and desperately hopes they'll still make her feel like she belongs once everything is out in the open.
"There's something I should have told you about weeks ago," she starts, choosing her words carefully. "But I…I was scared. Scared and ashamed, I suppose."
"Ashamed?" Harry asks curiously. "Ashamed of what?"
Hermione looks up at the cloudless sky and collects her thoughts, then looks back down to meet Harry's concerned eyes. "Do you remember the day you lost to Hufflepuff?"
"Kind of hard to forget," Harry says with a small wince. "But yeah. What about it?"
"I…I…"
"Oh, no. No, Hermione…don't tell me you were secretly rooting for Hufflepuff?" Harry interrupts with a grin.
Hermione manages a strained smile. "No. No, nothing quite as unforgivable as that. It's…" She runs a hand through her hair and sets her shoulders. "That was the day I told you about my parchment pal. Do you remember? I told you that…that she was a woman?"
Harry nods, seeming a bit surprised. "Right. I remember."
"Good," Hermione says with a nod. "Good."
When Hermione trails off into silence, Harry prompts her. "What about it?"
"I wanted to tell you that, because…well, obviously because you'd find out at the end of the year, anyway," Hermione says. "But that wasn't the only reason. I wanted to tell you because there was more to it than just that, and I knew I'd have to eventually tell you all of it, so I figured that would be good practice, but…but…"
Harry frowns, clearly confused by her rambling . "But…?"
"But I didn't expect your reactions," Hermione says with a small wince as she remembers the revolted look on Ron's face.
Harry's frown deepens and he shakes his head. "What reactions? I don't…" he trails off and studies the grass for a moment. After a moment, he says, "I remember being surprised, and I remember Ron being pleased, but I don't…"
Hermione shakes her head swiftly. "No, not to that…I mean, I don't…" She takes a deep breath and tries again. "Do you remember what we were discussing just before Jimmy interrupted us and asked you to go to the Hospital Wing?"
Harry shrugs a bit helplessly. "I can't say I do."
Hermione's heart is pounding in her chest, and all she wants to do is change the subject. But instead, she moves her hands to her knees and grips tightly, centering herself as best she can for what's still to come.
"We were…or rather, you were talking about…about blokes who fancy blokes. And…and women who fancy women," Hermione says, her knee bouncing against the grass. "And Ron brought up how it was weird and…and wrong. But I…I…"
Harry's eyebrows raise in surprise, the frown that's been present on Ron's face for the duration of the conversation deepens ever-so-slightly, and Hermione's heart leaps into her throat. Because even though they might not be quiteas smart as she is, they're certainly not dumb, and they're more than capable of connecting the dots and reading between the lines.
"Right," Harry says, sounding completely stunned. "Right, we…I remember that now. But I mean, why are you…" he trails off and shakes his head, like he's trying to clear a fog. "Hermione, what are you trying to say?"
"I told you my parchment pal was a woman, because I knew that one day…I'd have to tell you the whole truth."
"And the whole truth is…?" Harry asks.
Hermione takes a deep breath.
Now or never.
"That I'm in love with her."
The confession sits heavily between them. Hermione's heart continues to hammer in her chest and she grips at her knees, looking between Harry and Ron and waiting for one of them to break the unnatural, awful silence. But it seems as if she's stricken them both completely mute—Harry's eyes are wide with shock and Ron's face has turned a strange shade of red. The silence lingers, growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing second, and just when Hermione thinks she'll have to say something, Harry raises a hand and runs it roughly through his hair.
"So…hang on. Hang on. If you're…if you're in love with her, then that means…you like…women?" he asks slowly, lifting an eyebrow as he waits for her to confirm his question.
"I…yes," Hermione manages. "I do."
"Oh," Harry murmurs. He frowns, then says, "and is that an exclusively kind of thing, or…?"
Hermione nods. "It is."
And it really is. She's content with who she is, and it doesn't scare her to admit to it anymore. She and Pansy had actually already discussed how she identifies: Pansy had asked if she thought she might like both men and women, and when Hermione had told her that she was fairly confident she only fancied women, Pansy had shaken her head in disbelief and said, "took me years to be brave enough to admit it to myself, and you come along and do it in a few months. Do you ever get tired of being such a bloody overachiever?"
Hermione smiles slightly at the memory, then pulls her eyes back to Harry's. "It is, and I was so scared when I realized it, but…but not just because of what it might mean for my future. I was scared because I was so afraid of losing you. Of losing both of you," she adds, once again glancing toward Ron, who's staring somewhere far-off, his eyes strangely hard to read.
Harry shakes his head immediately. "What? Hermione, I…how could you even think that? You could never lose us," he says, sounding a bit bewildered. "I mean, I won't lie…I'm surprised, but I don't…I mean, you're still you. You're still the same person, and that doesn't change. That'll never change. I still love you, it's just…it's just a surprise," he finishes. But then he quickly adds, "but I'm glad you told us. I'm sure it wasn't easy."
Hermione manages a weak laugh. "It wasn't, no." Then, she very timidly asks, "but you're not…I mean, you don't…you don't think there's something wrong with me?"
Harry raises his eyebrows. "I mean, I'd be a pretty massive hypocrite if I thought there was something wrong with fancying girls," he says with a small grin.
Harry's words draw an actual laugh from Hermione, and his eyes soften just a bit. "But no. I don't think there's anything wrong with you. I mean, I guess I've just never really thought about…about gay people?" Harry says, looking nervously at Hermione to confirm he hasn't said something wrong. When she nods encouragingly at him, he continues. "So it's not something I'm familiar with outside of y'know, what other people have said about it. But that's all just secondhand stuff and I mean…I know you. And like I said, you're still you. Fancying women isn't going to change who you are, is it?"
Hermione exhales quickly as relief fills her body, making her feel wonderfully warm, as if she's just had a full mug of butterbeer. Harry's still looking at her nervously, but it's not because he's upset, or thinks there's something wrong with her—it's because he loves her. He loves her and he needs to make sure she knows it. She should have known better to doubt him, this wonderful, kind man who is, for all intents and purposes, her family. She should have known he'd be in her corner, no matter what.
"And anyway, you can't really help who you fall in love with, right?" Harry adds, pulling her from her thoughts.
"No. No, you really can't," Hermione says, giving Harry a soft, appreciative smile.
Steeling herself, she risks a glance at Ron, who's remained silent throughout the entire conversation. "And what about you?" she asks, her voice a good deal more guarded than it had been when she was talking to Harry.
Ron shakes his head and raises his eyes to Hermione. "I…I don't understand."
"Don't understand what?" Hermione asks, feeling something sink in the pit of her stomach when she realizes that Ron isn't like Harry. He's once again going to make things harder than they need to be.
"I just…how can you be sure?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you didn't want to date me. And that's fine! That's fine, but there are other blokes at this school, and I just…how do you know that you won't like dating one of them? Or even someone outside of Hogwarts? I mean, I just think it's a pretty massive leap to just suddenly give up on men and decide you're a…a…"
Hermione arches an eyebrow. "A lesbian?"
Ron flushes. "You're not that," he mutters uncomfortably.
Familiar frustration thrums underneath her skin at Ron's words, at his insistence that she doesn't know her own feelings, and Hermione exhales in irritation. "Are you actually going to do this again? After everything we've been through?"
"No! No, but I just…c'mon, Hermione! You of all people are not a…a…"
"A lesbian, Ron," Hermione repeats coolly. "You can say it, it's not a dirty word. And yes. I am," she adds. "And I didn't just suddenly decide it. I may have recently realized it, but that doesn't mean there weren't signs all along. The clearest sign being that I've never fancied boys."
Which is only a mild lie. Because the clearest sign was probably the state of her soaking knickers after every interaction with Pansy, but she's not about to bring that up.
"But there are other men out there!"
"Which wouldn't make any difference—"
"And I mean…you don't look like one—"
Harry winces. "Ron…"
"No, but she doesn't!" Ron says, turning to face Harry a bit wildly. "I mean, look at her," he says, gesturing at Hermione. "And…and fine. Fine, so you have feelings for your parchment pal, or whatever. Fine. But that's all up here," he says, tapping his head. "That doesn't mean it's going to translate to anything physical. You'll probably just wind up as best mates or something. I mean, once you meet her, you'll see."
Hermione shakes her head in complete disbelief as anger seeps through her body. "Unbelievable," she says. "Unbelievable," she seethes. "Do you know, I actually thought you might prove me wrong? I thought for once, you might decide to be supportive and to actually act like a friend, but no. No, of course you couldn't do that. You couldn't support me if your life depended on it, could you?"
"I could! And I will, but I just think that you're not thinking clearly! You shouldn't make any decisions until you meet her! It's not—"
"I've met her."
Hermione's coldly delivered words stop Ron in his tracks, and he opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a fish out of water.
"You've met her?" Harry repeats, his voice high with surprise.
Hermione drags her furious gaze away from Ron and back to Harry. "I have," she confirms. "Last Sunday." Then she glares back at Ron and says, "and you'll be pleased to know that it did translate into something physical."
It's only after the words have left her mouth that she realizes how it sounds. She had only meant to imply that she's incredibly attracted to Pansy, not that they had done anything physical, but both boys have clearly taken it in the latter context. Ron's eyes grow ridiculously wide and he makes a strange stuttering sound at the admission, and even Harry looks completely thrown.
Strangely, though, Hermione doesn't care. They might as well know. And what's more, it's not like it's a lie.
"Hang on," Harry says, sounding dazed. "Hang on. You've…you've met her, and you're…I mean…" He trails off for a moment, then shakes his head and cuts right to the chase. "Are you together?"
Hermione hesitates for just a moment, then nods. "We are."
Ron makes another noise, this one sounding a bit like a whimper, but Hermione refuses to look to him, instead keeping her eyes trained on Harry. "I know it's surprising," she says gently, as if she's speaking to an easily spooked horse. "Believe me, I know. And I'll answer any questions you have, but I just—"
"Do we know her?"
Hermione stops speaking at Harry's immediate first question. Her heart rate picks up and she swallows around a sudden lump in her throat.
It's finally here. The last of her secrets.
If she's being honest, she's a tiny bit surprised that neither of them have managed to put it together yet, but she assumes that the absolute shock of her confession was enough to make them both temporarily forget about her friendship with Pansy.
And now, it's time to tell them that it's so much more than a friendship.
That it's one of the best things that's ever happened to her.
That she's so, so in love.
One more push. One final burst of Gryffindor courage.
For herself.
For Pansy.
For their future together.
"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, you know her. It's…it's Pansy."
It's almost cartoonish the way they both react. Harry's mouth drops wide open and Ron, who has up until now been varying shades of red, turns completely white, as if he's about to pass out. He opens his mouth and Hermione can hear the way his breath comes out in strange little gasps, almost as if her confession had sucked the air straight out of his lungs.
A small eternity ticks by before Harry finally says, "Pansy." He's sitting deathly still and his green eyes are filled with shock and something that looks a bit like horror, and Hermione squirms uncomfortably on the grass. "Pansy as in…Pansy Parkinson?"
Hermione nods.
"You're…in love…with…with Pansy Parkinson?" Harry asks. He's speaking slowly, as if his brain is no longer communicating with his mouth and he has to manually force each word to fall from his uncooperative tongue.
Hermione worries her lower lip for just a moment before she nods once more. "I am."
There's another long moment of silence, in which the only thing Hermione can hear is the sound of her blood rushing past her ears. But then, the silence is splintered by a furious, low voice.
"Are…you…absolutely…mental?" Ron hisses. The color has flooded back into his face, and his cheeks are now splotchy and red. His blue eyes are blazing with fury, and a prominent vein stands out on the side of his neck. Hermione's never seen him look quite so enraged, and while normally, it might make her feel guilty that she's responsible for that rage, now, after everything they've been through, it just fuels her own fire.
She pulls back her shoulders and meets Ron's furious glare with an icy one of her own. "Of course. I've made a choice Ronald doesn't understand, so of course I must be mental."
"No, don't do that," Ron says, pointing a finger at Hermione. "Don't pretend this makes any sense. Don't pretend there's any normal fucking universe in which you falling in love with Parkinson is something I should be supportive of. A woman, I can wrap my head around. But Parkinson?"
"Maybe if you ever bothered to listen to what I have to say—"
"Nothing you say will make this okay!" Ron explodes. "I mean, unless she's been Imperiused for the past seven years, or…or…a Polyjuiced imposter, or—" he breaks off and thrusts both his hands wildly through his hair. "Why?" he asks, looking at Hermione desperately.
"Because there's so much more to her than you know, and if you'd just listen to me, then—"
"How do you even know it's Parkinson?" Ron interrupts, once again refusing to let her finish.
"What?"
"I mean, how do you know she didn't just figure out who your real parchment pal was and pretend to be them?"
"Why on earth would she do that?"
"I don't know! But I know that you can't be in love with Parkinson, so…so maybe this is all a scheme," Ron says, his wide eye boring into Hermione's desperately. "Get you to fall in love with her so she can hurt you later. Something like that."
Hermione bristles at the implication and folds her arms tightly over her chest. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
"What? No, obviously not! But I just—"
"So why are you treating me like I'm a complete imbecile?"
"I—"
"She's not bloody tricking me! She's in love with me, and whether or not you choose to believe it's true, I'm in love with her."
Ron shakes his head wildly. "You're not," he says, practically begging her. "You're not! You can pick any other girl at this bloody school for all I care, but you're not in love with Parkinson!"
Hermione can feel her feeble grasp on her temper slipping away. "I don't want any other girl," she says. "I want her."
"You don't—"
"And if that's a problem," Hermione says, her trembling voice rising as she refuses to let Ron cut in, "if you can't handle that, then you are more than welcome to take your opinions—your opinions which I've never asked for, mind you—and get the hell out of my life."
The words leave her lips, sharp and biting, and in the deathly silence that follows, Hermione feels some of her rage slip away. She hadn't meant to sound so cruel, and she immediately wishes she could reel the words back.
But it's too late. Ron's staring at Hermione as if she's slapped him. His lips are parted in stunned surprise and his eyes are wide, and she has just a moment to start formulating a hasty, guilty apology before Ron's face settles into something absolutely thunderous. "Right. Right, because you don't need me anymore," he whispers, his voice shaking with rage and an angry flush traveling up his neck. "You don't need me and you don't need Harry. Not now that you're shagging the biggest bitch in the entire bloody school."
Whatever guilt Hermione was feeling evaporates immediately as the rage comes rushing back to her, potent and dangerous. "Don't you dare," she whispers in a low voice, her fists tightening at her side.
"She must really be something," Ron spits out. "I mean, how good does someone have to be in bed to make you turn a blind eye to the fact they're a pure-blood supremacist?"
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione seethes. "And if you're going to keep insulting Pansy, I'd suggest you leave."
"Yeah, you made that pretty clear with the whole, get the hell out of your life thing," Ron says, his nostrils flaring as he repeats her words. He eyes Hermione coldly and says, "so, what? That's it then? She tortures you for seven bloody years, but the moment I say one thing about her—one true thing about her, mind you—I'm bang out of order?" Ron shakes his head incredulously. "Seven years of being your best friend and you're picking her over me?"
"I'm not picking anyone, and I've never said you weren't within your rights to be worried," Hermione says, frustration coloring her words. "You can be as worried as you bloody well please! What I'm upset about is you constantly second-guessing my judgment, telling me I don't know who I am, refusing to listen to any of my explanations—"
"I—"
"And insulting Pansy for no reason."
Ron's eyes flash. "No reason?" He barks out an angry, cold laugh that's so unlike him, it makes Hermione's hair stand on end. "Sure. Sure, Hermione. Whatever you have to tell yourself."
"I don't have to tell myself anything," Hermione says. "I know who she was, and you don't need to remind me. But I also know who she is now and the guilt she feels over everything that happened, and if you think for a second that I'm going to sit here and let you insult her, let you invalidate everything she's done," she says, her voice growing louder when Ron scoffs, "all the bravery and hard work and trauma she's gone through to get to this place and be a better person, then you don't know me at all."
Ron stares at her for a long, silent moment. The air around them is thick and oppressive, and Hermione feels like she's two seconds away from either screaming or crying.
Suddenly, Ron stands up. He stares down at Hermione with completely guarded eyes and in a strangely flat voice, says, "you're right. I guess I don't know you at all." Then he turns from her and without another word, strides away, back toward the castle.
Hermione watches him go until he disappears from her line of sight. She takes a deep, shaky breath, desperately willing herself not to cry, and after a moment, she manages to turn to Harry. "Well? Are you going to go after him?"
Harry's watching her with concerned eyes. "No, I—"
"Why not? You think I'm mad, too, don't you?" Hermione asks with a wet, humorless laugh. "I saw the way you reacted. You think I'm mad and stupid. You probably don't want anything more to do with me, and, and…"
A traitorous tear falls down her face, and she hastily reaches up to brush it away, but when it's quickly followed by another and then another, she realizes she's fighting a losing battle. She lets them fall as she buries her head in her hands, her body shaking with massive, awful sobs that claw their way out of her throat in choked, strangled gasps.
But before she can let her thoughts turn bleak and fall prey to self-loathing, she feels warm, strong arms wrap around her, cradling her close. "It's alright," Harry murmurs into her hair. "It's going to be alright. I'm here. It's alright."