Chapter 11 - ch 7 part 1

Chapter 7Notes:Hope this chapter update finds everyone well :) This is another long one. Hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextHermione can't remember the last time they've had a day as perfect as this one. The sun is gently warming her skin, the breeze is caressing her cheeks like a lover, and the Black Lake is sparkling in the sunshine, as if diamonds have been scattered across its smooth, dark surface. By all accounts, it should be the best Saturday any of them have had all year.

It's not.

"I just…Hufflepuff," Ron says, looking vaguely ill. "Of all the teams to lose to, Hufflepuff."

Harry nods weakly and Ginny angrily pulls a clump of grass from the lawn. "We were all there, Ron," she says as she tosses the clump away from her with frustration. "We don't need a recap."

Hermione glances between the three of them with concern. They had all been in high spirits this morning as they cracked jokes about the Hufflepuff Quidditch team over the breakfast table, completely convinced that they were about to pull off the easiest win of the season. Ron had even said he felt as though Hufflepuff should be given some sort of advantage. "Maybe I should sit on the bench for the first half. They might have a shot if there's no Keeper," he'd said with a sly grin.

But now, after what Hermione can only describe as a thorough and complete trouncing, the atmosphere is decidedly different. Harry is staring despondently at the lake with his head propped up in his hands, Ginny has a face like thunder, and Ron looks completely shell-shocked.

Hermione hates seeing them like this, so in an effort to make them feel better, she very tentatively says, "it wasn't that bad."

Three pairs of eyes turn to glare at her at once and Hermione recoils a bit. "Don't look at me like that! It wasn't! You had a few good moments."

"Name one," Ron says.

"I…" Hermione trails off as she desperately tries to think of a single saving grace from today's game. After an embarrassingly long pause, she turns to Ginny and says, "you were quick to duck that Bludger?"

Ginny snorts. "Only after the rest of our Chasers and our Beaters were walloped by the first four."

"Well, that's something!" Hermione says, trying to sound enthusiastic. "How many teams can say they've finished a game with just one Chaser left? And with no Beaters! Surely that's a first!"

Ginny pulls out another clump of grass and flings it as hard as she can toward the lake. "We deserve to be expelled for that performance," she mutters darkly.

"Hufflepuff," Ron says again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Every team has an off day," Hermione says, this time trying to sound soothing instead of enthusiastic. "You'll beat them next time."

Harry shakes his head morosely. "We're not playing them again. And even if we were, it wouldn't matter. Our chances at winning the Quidditch Cup just imploded."

"Kind of like half our team," Ginny grumbles, pulling up another handful of grass and squeezing it in her fist.

"Hufflepuff," Ron groans, louder than before.

Without any warning, the clump of earth flies from Ginny's hand and whacks Ron in the side of the head. He turns to Ginny with angry eyes. "Oi! What was that for?"

"To get you to say something other than Hufflepuff," Ginny replies with a matching glare.

"I'm sorry, but it just doesn't make sense!" Ron says, brushing a few stray blades of grass from his hair. "Gran flies better than their entire team and she's blind in one eye!" He shakes his head. "It doesn't make sense," he repeats, sounding dazed.

"Then we'll make it make sense. We'll go over the entire match," Harry says with a resigned sigh. "We'll see what went wrong, play by play. Starting with that Hawkshead Attacking Formation."

Ron and Ginny both sigh, then dutifully lean forward to begin their post-game debrief. But before Harry can say anything, Hermione interrupts.

"You don't need to go over the entire match right now."

All three of them look up at Hermione with surprise.

"Uh…we do, actually," Harry says, glancing uncertainly at Ron, who gives a small shrug. "Reviewing the match is the only way we'll get better."

"And there will be plenty of time for that later. But you're all done wallowing for today. What's done is done and there's no use making yourselves miserable over it," Hermione says calmly. "Besides, I've barely seen any of you all week! I don't want to spend one of my only free days talking about Quidditch," she finishes, wrinkling her nose with distaste.

Ron shakes his head a bit. "But Huffle—"

"If you finish that sentence, I'm throwing you into the lake," Ginny says, her voice low and dangerous.

"I don't care that Hufflepuff beat you," Hermione says. "Frankly, I wouldn't care if a particularly talented gaggle of geese beat you. You three can moan about this later, but for now, we're going to talk about something other than Quidditch. It's a beautiful day and I won't have it ruined by a silly sport."

Ron looks like he still wants to argue, but Harry sighs. "I suppose you're right," he says, running a hand absently through his messy hair. "After all, there's no use going around in circles."

"Tell that to Ron. He seemed to think that was a solid defensive strategy today," Ginny mutters, flopping back on the grass and glaring up at the sky.

Ron turns bright red, but before he can answer, Hermione holds up a hand. "No. No more. We're going to discuss something else, understood?"

"Like what?" Ginny grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Like…what have you three been up to in the past week?" Hermione asks.

"What have we been up to?" Ron asks, seeming to forget about Ginny's dig for the moment. "What about you? You've practically been living in the library."

"Yes, but I've already told you, I'm preparing for the N.E.W.T.s," Hermione says smoothly, pleased when her body doesn't betray her by blushing.

"By staying in the library all night?" Ron asks. "We've hardly seen you since Tuesday!"

Hermione repositions herself on the grass as she thinks about how to reply. It's true, she hasn't seen much of Harry and Ron over the past week. Instead, she's been spending almost all of her free time with Pansy. They've been meeting in the library after hours to try and find a way to ensnare Pansy's father, pouring over mountains of books and taking pages and pages of notes. And while Hermione had been concerned at first that they might find it tricky to spend so much one-on-one time together, so far, things between them have been…different.

Extremely different.

Gone are the days when Hermione regarded Pansy with suspicion. Gone are the doubts that clouded her mind about Pansy's intentions. Gone are the worries, the sidelong glances, the little voice in her head telling her to tread carefully. All of those things feel like relics of some strange, not-so-distant past. Because ever since Pansy cleared the air between them and provided Hermione with the answers she needed to hear, it's like they've started over with a clean slate. Pansy is continuing to make good on her promise to be a better person, Hermione is continuing to make good on showing forgiveness, and as the days pass by, both things seem to come easier and easier. And now, as bizarre as it seems, Hermione finds herself actually enjoying the time she spends with Pansy in the library.

It hadn't been immediate, of course. The first few days had found Pansy hesitant, almost verging on shy. She had seemed nervous about overstepping her boundaries with Hermione, she would occasionally get flustered when she'd speak, and there were times when Hermione would ask her a question and Pansy would just stare at her for a moment, almost as if she hadn't heard a word she'd said. But as time went on, Pansy had slowly grown more comfortable with Hermione, and now, she feels like she's finally seeing Pansy for who she is. And surprisingly enough, she quite likes who she's found.

Pansy is smart as a whip. She's disciplined, driven, and resourceful, and Hermione can see why the Sorting Hat was quick to put her in Slytherin. What's more, they work well together. Hermione never feels like she's doing the heavy lifting (as she so often does when she's in the library with Harry and Ron), and they've fallen into an easy, comfortable groove. And even though they're working hard, it's never quiet or dull between them. Pansy's smarts lend themselves well to her sense of humor—she's full of cutting remarks, quick comebacks, and quips that catch Hermione so off-guard that sometimes, her laughter bubbles over involuntarily, filling the library and making Pansy's eyes shine in the process.

But there's something else there, something lurking deep under her sharp-edges and carefully crafted bravado. Sometimes she'll see it in the way Pansy holds the door open for her or hesitantly slips her a pear drop or two to sweeten their late nights spent in the library. Sometimes she'll hear it in the questions Pansy asks about her family and her life outside of Hogwarts, tentatively whispered across stacks of books, seeped in curiosity and yearning. And sometimes, Hermione catches a glimpse of it when she looks up from a book and finds Pansy's eyes already trained on her, soft and surprisingly fond. It's moments like these that make Hermione want to continue to dig, to excavate whatever person is lurking behind the dark lips and guarded eyes and get to know her better. As a matter of fact, she's so intrigued by Pansy that she's had to periodically remind herself that they're not in the library to unravel the mystery of Pansy Parkinson; they're there to put a criminal behind bars.

Thinking about Pansy's father still makes Hermione's blood run cold and her vision cloud over with red. She can scarcely believe that a man like that exists in the world, and more so, that a child was raised under his cruel thumb. The story Pansy had told her that night on patrols has stayed with her, echoing in her head and filling her with both a righteous, burning fury, and a deep sorrow for everything Pansy has had to endure in her life. And while she hasn't been brave enough to bring it up with Pansy again, she desperately wants to talk to someone about it. Normally, she'd tell Harry and Ron to see if they could provide any guidance, but as much as she'd like to loop the boys in, she had made a promise that she wouldn't tell anyone what she was up to. Which is why Harry, Ron, and Ginny all believe she's simply been studying in the quiet of the library, all by herself. Because if there's one thing Hermione prides herself on, it's being a woman of her word. And since she had promised Pansy her silence, she would deliver.

She tucks her legs under herself on the grass and glances up at Ron. "I know I've been busy," she says gently. "But you know as well as I do that it's impossible to study in the common room. And anyway, what's the use of having special access to the library if I never utilize it?"

"Yeah, but you had patrols Tuesday and Thursday!" Ron says.

"I…did," Hermione says slowly, confused at Ron's seemingly unrelated reply.

"And then you studied Wednesday and Friday."

"Quick, someone owl mum. Ron's finally mastered the days of the week," Ginny mutters.

Ron shoots a glare toward Ginny, then looks back to Hermione with a concerned frown. "I'm just worried about you. That's too many thing for one person. You'll burn out if you're not careful."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll be alright," Hermione says with a small smile. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know that, but I just think that—"

"Oh, leave her alone," Ginny says crossly. "If she wants to live in the library, then that's her choice. Maybe you could join her there. Check out a book on how to play Quidditch while you're at it," she adds.

Before Ron can open his mouth, Hermione reaches out and flicks Ginny's leg gently. "No more Quidditch talk, remember?"

Ginny sighs. "You're right. Sorry." She sits up and rubs her eyes. "I've never been very good at shaking off a loss. Especially not one like that. But I promise, no more. From here on out, I'll be on my best behavior." She crosses her legs, leans forward, and stage-whispers, "but if you want to check out a book on Quidditch for beginners and slip it into Ron's bag, I won't stop you."

Ron turns bright red as he turns to Ginny. "You know, I didn't see you scoring any goals for us today!"

"Gee, maybe that's because I was our entire bloody offense?" Ginny retorts hotly.

"I'm always our entire defense and you don't hear me complaining, do you?"

Ginny laughs wildly and her eyes flash. "Oh, that's rich!"

"What's rich?"

"All I ever hear you do is complain! It's the only thing you know how to do!"

"That's not true! Harry, tell her that I don't complain!"

"Don't you dare take his side, Harry."

Harry glances warily between the siblings. "I…I wouldn't say he always complains…"

"Hah! See?" Ron says, flushed with victory.

"Are you joking?" Ginny explodes. "What about practice, two days ago? He refused to start on time because his arm guards were too tight," she says, raising her voice in a whiny approximation of Ron's.

"It was a valid complaint!" Ron seethes.

"I—"

Hermione sighs as the three of them immediately launch into another Quidditch-centric debate. Clearly, getting them to talk about anything else is a losing battle right now, so instead, she tunes out their conversation, reaches into her bag, and pulls out her parchment, wincing when she sees a message already waiting for her.

Truth be told, she's felt a bit guilty over her parchment this week. Her long nights spent with Pansy have forced her to put her parchment pal on the back burner, and anytime she sees her pal's customary nightly message waiting for her, she feels a trickle of shame over her negligence. And what's more, she usually only manages a few short messages before exhaustion completely overwhelms her. She feels absolutely awful about it, and though her pal has been incredibly kind about her lack of messages, Hermione still can't help but worry that deep down, she's feeling neglected. Which is why she's decided that this weekend, she's going to take the time to make sure her parchment pal knows how much she still means to her.

She glances down at today's silver message.

Robin, 

I was sitting outside earlier today and lo and behold, I saw a robin. She was nesting high up in a tree, singing to her heart's content, and it made me think of you. I'm sure I looked like a complete fool, smiling up at a tree without a care in the world, but I've found it's hard to do anything other than smile when my thoughts turn to you. 

I hope that wherever you are today, you're just as content and carefree as that robin.

Your bard ♥

Hermione smiles at the heart (which is now a staple in their messages) and gently traces it, sighing softly as the now-familiar butterflies flutter into her stomach. But unlike last week, she doesn't immediately push them away or try to rationalize them. She simply lets them float there, filling her with a soft and dreamy sort of lightness. It's a lightness that still scares her down to her bones, but it's a lightness she's very tentatively started to really think about.

And it's all thanks to Pansy Parkinson.

Of all the people at Hogwarts to give her practical and helpful advice, Pansy would have been close to last on Hermione's list. But standing there in the cold outside of Zonko's last Saturday, Pansy had somehow managed to say exactly what Hermione needed to hear. And even after her date with Ron was over, she had found herself thinking about Pansy's words, replaying them over and over again, like a well-loved VHS tape.

She thinks about them now as she idly trails her finger up and down her parchment.

I know it'd be far easier to stop…but I'm a firm believer that worthwhile things are rarely easy. So even though I hardly recognize my own thoughts and even though the consequences of my questions are terrifying, I know I can't stop. Because it's worth it.

She remembers what she had said to Pansy that day, too.

For what it's worth…I think it is worth it.

What she had meant at the time was she thought Pansy's journey toward self-discovery was a long overdue and worthwhile pursuit. But Pansy's swift reply and serious eyes had taken her off guard.

For me, or for you?

Hermione had been put on the spot as she was forced to consider the question as it pertained to her.

Were the feelings she was having and the doubts swirling in her mind actually worth unpacking? Should she stop shoving them into dark and dusty corners of her mind and instead, expose them to the light and really examine them? Should she reconsider everything she thought she knew about herself, even if it scared her to her core? Should she stop hiding like a coward from what was starting to look more and more like the truth? And would accepting the truth actually make her happier in the long run?

Was it worth it?

At the time, she had told Pansy maybe. But as the days stretched on and she continued to be inundated with foreign feelings and sensations, she had continued to make weak excuses and flimsy rationalizations. As much as she wanted to be brave, she was still far too afraid to face facts, so she had let Ron walk her to class and forced herself to accept his hand in hers and his clumsy and over-eager kisses to her cheek with a tight smile. She had told herself that everything was fine and that she just needed some time to settle into their new dynamic. She had tried to convince herself that her feelings for Ron just needed a bit of extra time to develop. And she probably would have continued to tell herself just that and to keep hiding from the truth if it wasn't for patrols last Tuesday.

In her quest to get Pansy to take on her father, she had told Pansy that while it would be easier to go on pretending that she was the same person she had always been, it wouldn't be worth it. "You'd be miserable," she had said, gazing earnestly at Pansy in the dimly lit hallway. "And honestly, wouldn't you rather be happy? Wouldn't you rather live authentically?"

The moment the word slipped from her lips, she had realized how hypocritically she was acting. Who was she to tell Pansy to be brave, to live authentically, when she couldn't even sit with a few simple questions? And why was she reminding Pansy that worthwhile things rarely came easily when she herself was so bloody content to take the easy way out? Her own behavior had rattled her in a way that made her both deeply uncomfortable and incredibly ashamed. So that night after patrols, she had decided to finally tap into her Gryffindor courage, stubbornly telling herself that if Pansy Parkinson could do it, so could she.

And she had. She laid in bed and let herself ask all the questions that had been slithering into her mind over the past few weeks. But this time, instead of brushing them off or making feeble excuses, she had made herself answer them as honestly as she could manage, thinking each one through to its logical conclusion. And even when the answers had frightened her or made her flush and squirm with discomfort, she had forced herself to keep going. To keep digging, even if everything in her was screaming at her to stop. And at the end of the whole exhausting process, she had realized a few things.

One—she didn't have any feelings for Ron, and she never would. And the longer she continued to string him along, the more she was risking their friendship. Because somehow, in yet another surprising twist, Pansy had been right about that, too—she was using Ron without any regard for his feelings. She had just been too blinded by her own fear to notice it. But that night, she realized that she'd have to end things with him, no matter how hard it might be.

Two—she had feelings for her parchment pal. Real, strong feelings that weren't going away, not even with the knowledge that her pal was a woman. She still checked her parchment for new messages obsessively, she still thought about her dear friend morning, noon, and night, and perhaps most tellingly of all, she still found herself desperately longing to make their secret, shared dream of Paris a reality.

Three—there was no denying that she felt something when it came to women. Something strong and overwhelming and something that she certainly didn't feel for men. It had been the hardest thing to come to terms with, but she had forced herself to do it. In the dark of the night, she had closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to be with a woman, refusing to back down even when she felt the first terrifying flush of arousal. She had pushed forward, imagining soft curves and even softer lips. She had imagined tangling her hands in long hair and seeking out hot, exposed skin with her mouth. She had imagined smooth, warm legs wrapped around hers under cool bedsheets. She had imagined until she felt like she was on fire and the ache between her legs had become impossible to ignore. And while she still hadn't been brave enough to take care of the ache that night, so to speak, she had managed to finally admit to herself the scariest thing of all…

Four—she wasn't straight. Not even a little bit.

Her feelings for her parchment pal weren't some curious one-off anomaly. They were real, they were overwhelming, and they had ignited something deep down inside of her. Something she hadn't even realized existed.

Looking back now of course, she can see the signs. Perhaps she should have realized when she found herself both confused and annoyed by how ridiculously pretty Fleur was in fourth year. Perhaps she should have realized when she hadn't been able to string a single coherent sentence together under Tonks' warm, amused gaze. Perhaps she should have realized when the thought of Viktor's lips anywhere near hers had made her stomach turn, or when Lavender and Parvati's discussions about boys had made her eyes glaze over.

Perhaps she should have realized. But she hadn't. She had simply assumed she was a slow bloomer but that finding the right man would change all that. She had never given a single thought to her own sexuality. It had taken the equivalent of a neon sign flashing in front of her face for Hermione to actually start to question things.

And now that she's finally let herself think through everything, now that she's finally come to the tentative conclusion that she's not straight, she's…she's…

She's fucking terrified, to put it bluntly.

But she's doing a damn good job hiding it.

She's been putting up an excellent facade and going about her day as if everything is still the same, acting as if she hadn't just discovered something monumental and life changing. To the outside observer, nothing has changed in the life of Hermione Granger. And to be honest, it's helped that she's barely had a moment of free time since Tuesday to really think about things. But in those rare instances when she does find herself alone and left to her own thoughts, they inevitably stray to this newly discovered piece of herself and what it'll mean for her in the long run.

And those thoughts are perhaps the hardest of all.

She won't get married. Her silly little dream of wearing a pretty white dress and walking down an aisle will never come true, and as stupid as it is, it breaks her heart.

She won't ever be a mum. She's always had a soft-spot for children and had treasured the idea of having her own someday, of teaching them to read and tying tiny shoes and holding tiny hands.

She'll need to reconsider her career path. She had always assumed she'd find a job at the Ministry after graduation and work her way up the political ladder slowly but surely. But now, that seems like a pipe dream. Because while the Wizarding world and the Muggle world don't have many similarities, they do tend to line up fairly well when it comes to their views on same-sex relationships. And even if she stays single for her entire life, she'd still be pushing it. She can't imagine that an unwed woman would make it very far in the court of public opinion.

She might lose her friends and family. Her parents are the kindest, most loving people in the world, but they're also fairly traditional. And while they had accepted Hermione's magical abilities (albeit with no shortage of confusion), she's not sure if they'd be able to accept this. As for Harry and Ron, she's almost positive they'd understand, but the part of her that remains uncertain is enough to make her want to never voice this particular tidbit about herself to anyone.

It's all overwhelming in the worst way possible, and when the thoughts become too much for her, she's tempted to just shove them back into that dusty, unused corner of her mind and let them molder there for the rest of her life. It would certainly be easier to pretend that nothing has changed rather than having to rethink her entire future and everything she's ever wanted out of life.

But then, she'll think about her parchment pal and her heart will beat faster and the butterflies will swarm and she'll realize that what Pansy had said in Hogsmeade was true—it doesn't matter that it's scary or that it would be far easier to be the same person. Because if she did that, she'd spend the rest of her life miserably living out a lie. And to be honest, she can't imagine spending the rest of her life never feeling the way she feels when she thinks about her parchment pal. So even when things get overwhelming, she forces herself to keep those thoughts out in the open in the hopes that one day, they won't scare her at all. That one day, she won't even remember what she was so worried about in the first place.

And speaking of her parchment pal…

Hermione hasn't mentioned this recent development to her dear friend, and she doubts she will before the year is up. Because to be honest, she's barely wrapped her head around any of it herself. She's still too afraid of what it all means and the changes she'll have to make to ensure a safe and relatively happy future. She doesn't want to add even more confusion to her already overflowing plate by tossing in a potential relationship. Of course, that's not to say she won't mention it at some point. Perhaps when they meet in person for the first time, she'll find a way to awkwardly bring it up. But as of right now, she's perfectly content to keep this little piece of herself under wraps until she's fully come to grips with it and figured out how she feels, once and for all.

But that doesn't mean that she hasn't been letting the smallest hint of flirtation creep back into her letters.

Perhaps that's an understatement—she's essentially let herself revert back to the Robin she was before her parchment pal had revealed her gender.

The change has been gradual at first—it had started in the aftermath of the night Hermione was almost attacked on patrols. Her bard had poured her heart out and let herself express the same sorts of feelings she had conveyed before, clearly shaken by the close call. But this time, instead of insisting they remain on strictly friendly terms, Hermione had leaned into it. And now, they're more or less back to where they were, and quite frankly, Hermione couldn't be happier.

She reaches for her quill to reply to her pal's newest message, but before she starts writing, she glances up to make sure Harry, Ron, and Ginny are all still sufficiently distracted.

"And that's another thing!" Ginny says, her face bright red. "If you hadn't been so bloody confident at breakfast this morning, we wouldn't have gone into the match thinking we were invincible! We were sloppy and careless because you made us all underestimate them!"

"I made you underestimate them?" Ron says, looking flabbergasted. "You're the one who said we should make Neville our Chaser to even the playing field!"

Hermione doesn't bother to listen to Ginny's retort. She just shakes her head in irritation and tunes them out once more, then begins to write.

Dear bard, 

It must be lovely to be reminded of me so easily. And don't worry, I don't say that out of narcissism. I say it out of jealousy. Because truth be told, I'd love to be reminded of you at every turn. But alas, wandering bards aren't as commonplace as robins during the springtime. Though I suppose all things considered, it doesn't really matter. My thoughts seem to inevitably turn to you, with or without a reminder.

I'm sorry to report that I'm not quite as content and carefree as the robin you spotted, though. You see, today is one of my only free days and I was so excited to spend it with my friends. Little did I know they'd spend the entire day talking about Quidditch. Perhaps it's sacrilege to say this, but I've never understood the appeal. The whole thing is illogical and incredibly dangerous. The Snitch is worth one-hundred and fifty points which doesn't make a lick of sense to me, and the very existence of Bludgers in a sport is somehow both absurd and inhumane. But I'd never mention any of that to them. They'd probably use me as target practice for our Beaters if I voiced that particular opinion.

…Perhaps I should have asked if you like Quidditch before I told you one of my deepest, darkest secrets. I hope I haven't offended you so much that you'll never speak to me again. If you do like Quidditch, then I suppose you'll just have to try and convince me. I have a feeling that if anyone could do it, it would be you. 

But I'm being just as bad as they are now, so no more. I've heard more than enough about Quidditch today, and I won't let it sully our conversation. Tell me about your day, bard. Anything and everything. 

Yours,

Robin ♥

Hermione taps the message with her wand, then looks up to see if Harry, Ron, and Ginny are done discussing Quidditch.

She raises her eyebrows as she takes in the sight before her. It would appear that Harry has enchanted fourteen of Ron's Wizarding Chess pieces to act as the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor Quidditch teams, and he's using his wand to manipulate them through the air as he replays the entire match. With a quick flick of his wrist, he makes one of the Hufflepuff pieces slam into a Gryffindor piece, knocking it out of the air. Ron and Ginny both wince as it tumbles to the ground, as if it was a real player.

Hermione rolls her eyes and is about to forcibly remind them that they had promised her no more Quidditch talk when she's distracted by a single silver line appearing on her parchment.

I suppose now would be a bad time to tell you that I've always dreamt of playing for the Holyhead Harpies…

Hermione stares at the message and worries her lower lip. She reaches for her quill hesitantly, preparing to apologize for sticking her foot in her mouth, but before she can pick it up another line appears below the first.

I'm kidding. I couldn't agree more. Whoever came up with the rules to Quidditch clearly did so whilst under the influence of a firewhisky or two.

Hermione heaves a sigh of relief as she picks up her quill, pleased that no matter what happens between her and her parchment pal, she'll never have to pretend to like Quidditch in her presence.

She twirls her quill, but before she can lean forward to pen her reply, a chess piece comes careening her way and lands with a heavy thump dangerously close to her leg. She picks it up and shakes her head, then glances up to find Harry, Ron, and Ginny, all staring at her nervously.

"I…sorry," Harry says, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "It got away from me. Suppose I was a bit too enthusiastic."

Hermione scoffs. "That's what you're sorry for?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

"No, I'm…" Harry sighs heavily. "We promised you no more Quidditch talk. I'm sorry. I guess it's hard for all of us to brush off a loss," he adds with a small wince.

Hermione tosses the chess piece toward Harry, who smoothly catches it and hands it to Ron. "Well, don't let me stop you from replaying the same game you just played, rather than spending time with your friend who you haven't seen all week," she says airily. "I've got plenty of company right here," she says, nodding toward her parchment.

Ron's eyes drop down to the parchment and he scowls a bit. "You're talking to him?" he asks with the faintest hint of jealousy sneaking into his tone.

Hermione eyes the red flush creeping up Ron's neck and shrugs. "They're not ignoring me," she says simply. She hasn't yet admitted that she knows her parchment pal is a woman, but she's decided to take the next available opportunity to clue them all in. Until then, she's been using purposefully vague pronouns.

Harry winces and says, "and neither are we. At least, not anymore. No more Quidditch talk. Agreed?" he asks, glancing at Ron and Ginny, who both nod quickly. With a wave of his wand, Harry gathers all the Wizarding Chess pieces and slots them back into their designated spaces in Ron's chess set. Then, he tucks his wand away, sits down, and scoots closer toward Hermione. "All done," he says with a sheepish smile.

Hermione hums. "You're being rather presumptuous, aren't you? What if I'd rather talk to my parchment pal?"

"Then you'd be mad," Ron says seriously, sitting back down. "Because you don't need him. Not when you're already sitting with the most interesting people in the entire school."

Ginny sits and hums in agreement, then says, "oh, and look, Ron's here, too." She gives Ron a cheeky grin when he throws her a dark look, then she adds, "but he's right. With company like this, who needs parchment pals?"

Hermione rolls her eyes fondly, but decides to redirect her focus for the time being. She tucks her parchment away in her bag and says, "fine. But if I hear even the slightest mention of Quidditch…"

Harry shakes his head quickly and zips his lips for good measure, and Hermione smiles. "Well, then. I suppose I can prioritize you lot for the time being," she says.

Ron glances at Hermione's bag. "I didn't even think you were still talking to him," he says, absently skimming his palm over the grass. He's trying hard to both look and sound casual, but Hermione can tell by the flush on his cheeks that he's desperate to dig for more information. "I mean, I haven't seen you hunched over that thing for ages."

"I suppose I've been a bit more preoccupied as of late, but no, we still talk," Hermione says. "Every night, actually. Just before bed."

Ron's flush darkens and his eyes grow wide. "You talk before bed?" he asks, looking as if Hermione's just announced some dark, sordid secret. "Every night?"

Hermione nods. "We do. It's our nightly ritual. We send messages back and forth until one of us falls asleep," she adds glancing at her bag with a small, secret smile.

When she looks back up at Ron though, she notices that he looks completely stricken by her statement. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling guilt trickle through her at the sight.

The thing is, Ron's jealousy isn't exactly unwarranted. It would only be unwarranted had she actually managed to break things off with him. But she hasn't. At least, not yet. It's not because she wants to lead him on; more than anything, she wants to be honest and give Ron the respect he deserves, no matter how difficult the conversation might be. But she's been so bloody busy since Tuesday night that she hasn't been able to find the right moment to have the conversation at all. She's only seen Ron in group settings, and there's no way she's going to let him down with all of their friends watching. So instead, she's been doing her best to dodge his attempts to initiate physical contact and evade all his efforts to plan their second date. While it's not an ideal solution, it'll have to do for now.

"You fall asleep with this bloke? From your bed?" Ron finally manages to sputter, more or less repeating what he's already asked.

"That's generally where people fall asleep, yes," Ginny says.

"Yes, but…every night?" Ron asks.

"I…" Hermione flushes and trails off. "Yes?" she finally says, the reply coming out more like a question than a statement. She shakes her head and huffs impatiently at herself. "Yes," she says, this time with more force behind it. "I do. Which quite frankly, shouldn't come as a surprise to you. You know I enjoy their company, and I am allowed to have other…other friends," Hermione finishes a bit lamely, stumbling over the word friends. It's become a wholly inadequate word for the way she feels about her parchment pal.

"Of course you are, but you…you don't even know him!"

"I do," Hermione says. "Quite well, actually. Which is what tends to happen when you talk to someone every night."

"But from your bed. That's…that's…" Ron repeats, seeming stunned.

Ginny rolls her eyes and tsks in frustration. "That's what people do when they like someone."

"I know that! But I just thought that—"

"You talk to Harry from your bed, don't you?" Ginny asks, cutting Ron off.

"I…" Ron shakes his head, flustered. "Of course I do, but our beds are next to each other. I don't sit up by candlelight penning letters to him!"

"No, but I'd be honored if you did," Harry says, throwing a lopsided grin toward Ron.

"That's not…I mean, that's…" Ron runs a hand through his hair a bit wildly. "Why?" he finally asks, looking at Hermione.

"Why what?" she asks.

"Why do you send letters to each other every night? What is it about him that's so bloody intriguing?" Ron asks, unable to hide the jealousy and desperation in his voice. "I thought that I…that we…" he shakes his head again and looks at Hermione. "Why?"

Hermione worries her lip and glances at Ginny, desperately hoping she'll intervene. But Ginny simply shrugs and says, "sorry, but I'm on Ron's side this time."

"You are?" Ron asks with surprise.

"You are?" Harry echoes, staring at Ginny as if he doesn't recognize her.

Ginny nods, then pauses and says, "well, no. I think he's being ridiculous and that Hermione can talk to whoever she wants, whenever she wants. You're acting like the next logical step after sending letters back and forth is a marriage proposal," Ginny says with a massive eye roll. "And anyway, I don't know why you're so upset. She's already gone on a date with you and she didn't transfer schools the next day, so she's clearly interested." Hermione flushes at the casually delivered statement, but Ginny doesn't seem to notice, because she says, "Merlin knows why, though, considering how ludicrously you're acting over the idea of Hermione having another male friend. But putting aside all of that, if I'm being honest…I've been dying to know more about this bloke for ages. And getting information out of you is like pulling teeth," she adds, giving Hermione a stern look. "I barely know anything about him and mind you, that's not for lack of trying. So if this is the only way we can get you to spill the beans, then I will very, very reluctantly take Ron's side."

Hermione looks between the three of them with distress. She can feel her heart rate picking up and her whole body feels warm, as if she's under a spotlight. "I…perhaps you'd like to go back to discussing that Hawks…head…thingy?" she asks weakly.

"Oh, no. You're the one who wanted to talk about something other than Quidditch," Ginny says with a grin. "There's no getting out of this now."

Hermione looks to Harry, who simply shrugs. "Sorry, but I'm with them."

"Harry!" Hermione says, feeling betrayed.

"Sorry!" he says again, this time with a small laugh. "I just…I'd like to know more, too! That's not a crime, is it? All we really know about this bloke is that he exists and he's managed to capture your attention in a way that nothing else has before. Not even classwork," Harry adds, looking impressed.

"Well, then, that's three for and one against. And I may not be great at maths, but I'm fairly sure that means we've won. So no more deflecting what you should have told us ages ago." Ginny rests her chin on top of her fists and leans forward with interest. "What's he like?"

Hermione glances between them once more. Ginny's face is bright with anticipation, Harry looks intrigued, and Ron is still flushed with jealousy. Anxiety bubbles in Hermione's gut at the looks on their faces, and she digs her fingers into her thigh as she considers what to say. Because somehow, the moment she's been waiting for has come at last—she can finally tell them that her parchment pal is a woman.

But for some reason, the words seem to be curiously stuck in her throat. It should be the easiest thing in the world to admit, but she's convinced herself that if she tells them the truth, they'll all immediately put two and two together and realize the bigger truth. The one that she herself hasn't even fully come to term with. And if they do realize the bigger truth, there's no telling how any of them will react.

But as she glances up at Harry, Ron, and Ginny again, something in her seems to settle with resignation. These are her best friends in the entire world. They're the people she'd give her life for, no questions asked, and they're the people who love her, faults and all. And if she can't tell them the smallest piece of the puzzle, if she can't let them in on her parchment pal's gender of all things, then how on earth does she ever expect to let them in on the rest? It's all well and good to be frightened of the bigger picture, but this is just a drop in the bucket. And quite frankly, telling them about this will be good practice. Because if she can get through this, then perhaps one day in the not-so-distant future, she can tell them everything.

And all that aside, she can't keep her parchment pal's identity a secret forever. Eventually the experiment will end and they'll all find out anyway, so it makes sense to do it now. Hermione takes a deep breath as she makes up her mind that even though she's not ready to trust them with the whole truth just yet, she can at least trust them with part of it.

Steeling herself the best she can, she casually says, "well for one thing…I've never said my parchment pal is a man."

All three of them look completely baffled by Hermione's words, and if there wasn't so much apprehension buzzing about her body, Hermione would laugh at their identical reactions. Instead, she glances between them, waiting to see who will be the first to really realize what she's said.

After a painfully long moment, Ron's eyes slowly widen and his mouth drops. "You…I mean…what?" he asks, staring at Hermione as if she's just sprouted an extra head.

Hermione manages a small shrug. "My parchment pal is a woman. I found out a few weeks ago. It was…surprising," she says carefully. "But it's…it's not like it changed anything," she murmurs, almost as an after thought.

It's technically true. She had had feelings for her parchment pal before she knew her gender. And now that she knows her gender, she still has feelings for her.

"I'm sorry, I just need to…have I got this right? Your parchment pal…is a woman?" Ron asks, staring at Hermione.

Hermione nods, but before she can say anything else, a slow smile starts to stretch over Ron's face, lighting up his features and making his eyes sparkle. "A woman!" he says, looking positively delighted. "Well, that's…I mean that's…" he laughs and claps his hands down upon his knees with elation. "Blimey! A woman!"

"How'd you find out?" Harry asks, leaning forward with interest.

Hermione can't exactly say that her parchment pal had come out to her in the middle of professing romantic feelings for her, so instead, she says, "she mentioned something about her monthlies," hoping Harry doesn't notice the small flush on her cheeks caused by her lie of omission.

"Her monthlies!" Ron echoes with glee, as if monthlies are his favorite topic in the world.

"That must have been an awkward conversation," Harry says with a small grimace. "But better to find out now than at the end of the experiment, eh?" he adds lightly.

"Can you imagine?" Ron asks, turning to Harry with shining eyes. "You'd show up expecting some tall, dark, and handsome bloke and then…a woman," he repeats with pure joy. He turns back to Hermione with the smile still plastered on his face. "Why didn't you tell us all sooner?"

Hermione flushes. "I—"

"What's she like?" Ron asks, plowing ahead without waiting for a reply. "Have you figured out who she is? I mean…blimey! To think this whole time, we all thought it was a man! But it's not!"

She fidgets a bit uncomfortably at Ron's overwhelming exuberance. "No, but—"

"It'll be nice to have another female friend, I'd imagine," Harry says encouragingly, not realizing he's cut Hermione off. "I mean, I know you've got Ginny and Luna, obviously, but seems like this one is something special." Harry's eyes widen at his own words. "Not that you're not, of course," he amends quickly, turning to Ginny with a panicked and apologetic glance.

Hermione's eyes flick toward Ginny, expecting her to be giving Harry some kind of wry, exasperated look. But instead, her brown eyes are trained on Hermione, and there's a small, questioning frown etched between her brows. Before Hermione can puzzle out what the look on Ginny's face means though, Ron's voice steals her attention.

"I just can't believe we never worked it out," he says, grinning at Harry as if he's just single-handedly won the House Cup. "The whole time, we were all so bloody sure it was a man! I mean, even you thought so," Ron adds, gesturing toward Hermione who manages a small, weak nod.

"Was it weird?" Harry asks. "After you found out, I mean? Did she think she was talking to a man, too?"

"Merlin, she must have," Ron puts in. "I mean, the lengthof those letters alone! You don't send letters that long unless you're interested in someone, right?"

Hermione desperately rubs a hand against her hot cheek as she tries to stay in control of her emotions. She glances at Ginny again to find brown eyes still trained on her. But this time, there's something different in her gaze. She doesn't look puzzled anymore. She looks almost like…

"I dunno," Harry says, interrupting Hermione's train of thought. "There are some people who are into that kind of thing, you know."

Every muscle in Hermione's body tenses at the statement.

"What kind of thing?" Ron asks.

Harry rubs his neck embarrassedly. "You know…blokes with blokes, women with women…that sort of thing?" he asks, wincing with discomfort.

"Oh," Ron says. There's a small frown on his face and Hermione finds herself holding her breath as she waits for him to piece it all together. But instead of his eyes clearing and his mouth dropping open in realization, he gives a small shiver. "I suppose so, but that's…I mean, that's just nasty, isn't it?" he asks with revulsion, and Harry nods in absentminded agreement. "Merlin…imagine if she knew and she was just into it. That'd be all sorts of wrong."

Hermione feels her stomach plummet.

Harry shrugs. "Did she seem into it?" he asks, turning to Hermione with genuine curiosity in his eyes.

Panic rises in her chest at the question and all thoughts of living authentically are pushed from her head as she scrambles to maintain her cover. She quickly shakes her head and says, "no, I…she didn't seem…I mean, she…she didn't know," hoping that even though she's rambling, she's still managed to sound convincing.

She must sound believable enough, because Ron nods. "Well, that's good, at least. But even so, it's all so weird. Knowing that you were talking to another woman about…well, whatever you were talking about. I mean, had Ibeen flirting over parchment with a bloke, making plans to go to Paris…" he trails off and shakes his head. "I mean, honestly, I think I'd be sick. That's just…" he grimaces, as if he's never had to entertain such a horrible thought before in his life. "It's not right. I think there's something genuinely wrong with those people. Not that you could have known," Ron adds quickly, looking at Hermione with what she thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile.

But the reassurance is completely lost on her. Hermione's face is still flaming with embarrassment over Ron's comments, and she's never felt smaller or more miserable in her life. His palpable disgust feels like it's clinging to her skin, and if she wasn't so petrified about saying the wrong thing or reacting in the wrong way, she's sure she'd be crying.

Her eyes inadvertently flick toward Ginny, but this time, Ginny's gaze isn't trained on Hermione. Instead, she's giving Ron a sidelong glare and her jaw is tightly clenched. But she must feel Hermione's eyes on her because she quickly tears her gaze away from Ron's face, and the moment her eyes meet Hermione's, her expression changes. There's something in her eyes, some curious mix of confusion, concern, and distress, and Hermione has no idea what to make of it.

All she knows is at this moment, she wants to sink into the ground and never resurface.

"Blimey," Ron murmurs. "A woman."

Harry stretches his legs out in the grass and says, "you should have told him sooner, Hermione. Would've saved us all from weeks of his massive jealous streak."

"Oi! I'm not jealous!"

"And I'm the Queen of England," Harry says lightly. Then, he glances up at Hermione. "So how did she react? I mean, it must have been a strange transition to make, right?"

Hermione swallows around the painful lump in her throat and pushes a hand through her hair, trying desperately not to cry. "I…I—"

"Oi! You three!"

Hermione glances over her shoulder and sags in relief when she sees Gryffindor's Beater, Jimmy Peakes, heading toward them. Even from a distance, Hermione can tell that he's sporting a black eye and his lip is swollen where it made direct contact with Hufflepuff's Bludger. Once he's close enough to speak without shouting, he says, "I've been looking for you lot everywhere. Pomfrey's given the all-clear for visitors, if you want to drop in on everyone," he says, coming to a stop before them. "Might help morale if you do. They're all…" he grimaces, then says, "let's just say I've been to cheerier funerals. Reckon it'd do them a spot of good to have a pep-talk from our fearless captain."

Harry nods and sits up straighter. "I was going to drop by before dinner. Is everyone…"

"In one piece? Yeah. Well…more or less," Jimmy says with a small wince. "Ritchie and Rose took the biggest beatings. Broken arm for her and a bashed in nose for him. But they'll live."

Harry grimaces, then he turns to look at Hermione with an apology lurking in his eyes. "I know I promised no more Quidditch talk, but…"

"Visiting your teammates isn't Quidditch talk. It's just being a good leader," Hermione says quickly. Quite frankly, she's not upset by Jimmy's interruption at all. She's actually thrilled for the distraction. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it through a whole conversation about her parchment pal without accidentally admitting the truth of her own sexuality in the process, and after Ron's vehement reaction, that's the last thing she wants to do right now.

"Yeah, but I know we said we'd spend the day together, and I just…"

Hermione shakes her head firmly. "There's always tonight. So go on, then," she says, tapping Harry smartly on the knee. Then she looks at Ron and Ginny and says, "that goes for the lot of you. Go visit your fallen comrades."

Ron frowns. "I don't want to leave you alone out here. I can always pop round later," he says uncertainly.

"You'll do no such thing. You're a team, so you'll go together. And besides, it's not like you're going off to war. It's almost dinnertime. I'll see you again in an hour."

Ron sighs. "I suppose you're right." He stands up and brushes the grass from his pants, then turns to Ginny. "You coming?"

Hermione looks at Ginny to find brown eyes still trained on her face. "I…yeah," Ginny says, looking away from Hermione's gaze quickly. "Yeah, let me just…"

She slips her discarded shoes and socks back on, stands up, and swings her bag onto her shoulder. "Alright," she says. "Let's go."

Jimmy, Harry, Ginny, and Ron all say their goodbyes to Hermione, then start back toward the castle. But after a few steps, Ginny pauses. She turns around and glances down at Hermione, biting her lower lip.

Fear creeps into Hermione's heart at the conflicted look on Ginny's face, but she still manages to lightly ask, "forget something?"

"No, I just…I wanted to say that if you want to talk later…about…about anything," she says slowly, scrutinizing Hermione carefully.

"What's there to talk about?" Hermione asks, trying to keep her tone upbeat and casual, but even she can hear how miserably she's failing. Ron's disgust is still echoing in her ears and she feels dirty and ashamed.

Ginny eyes her closely. "You tell me," she murmurs.

Hermione sits up straighter and lifts her chin proudly. "I don't—"

"Or don't," Ginny adds quickly. "Whatever you want to do, I just thought that…" she trails off, then thrusts a hand through her windswept red hair. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything. You doknow that, right?" she asks, staring earnestly at Hermione.

"Of course I do," Hermione says. "But there's nothing to talk about."

"Hermione…"

"You should go. They're all waiting for you," Hermione says, gesturing toward the castle.

"I know, but…"

"You'll give Ritchie and Rose my best wishes, won't you?" Hermione asks.

"Yes, but—"

Before Ginny can continue, Ron yells her name from the castle doors. She glances toward him with irritation and throws up her index finger, then she looks back to Hermione. "I just…I…" she runs a hand through her hair again, then she exhales sharply. "I meant what I said. You can tell me anything. And that's a standing offer, okay?"

"Thank you. And the same goes for you, obviously," Hermione says, digging her fingers into her thigh as she struggles to keep her tone calm and even. "But I'm afraid I'm as deadly dull as I've always been, so there's nothing to tell."

Ginny shakes her head and frowns, but after a long moment, she finally nods, seemingly willing to drop the subject for the time being. "Right. If you're sure, you don't want to talk, then I suppose I'll just…see you at dinner?"

Hermione nods. "See you then," she says, dropping her gaze to the grass. She can feel her eyes dangerously burning, and the last thing she wants to do is risk crying in front of Ginny.

She hears Ginny's quiet sigh from above and her murmured goodbye, and once she hears Ginny's footsteps departing, Hermione glances up and watches as she jogs toward the doors where her teammates are waiting.

It isn't until they've all disappeared into the castle that Hermione lets herself exhale shakily, wincing in frustration as the tears immediately gather in her eyes.

Of course Ron was disgusted. Of course Harry had agreed. Of course. Why had she expected anything different?

Hermione flops down on the grass and even though she's still valiantly fighting against it, a few hot tears escape and slowly slide down her cheeks. She brushes them away and rubs at her eyes furiously, all the while replaying Ron's words in her head.

That's just nasty, isn't it? 

I think I'd be sick.

There's something genuinely wrong with those people.

She thinks about Harry's quick nod of agreement and another traitorous tear slides down her cheek, falling into the grass below.

God, how could she be so stupid? She was naive to think either of them would understand. Because this isn'tsomething that people understand. Not ever. This is something that people will be quick to judge Hermione on for the rest of her life. It's something that will constantly weigh her down and make people look at her with suspicion and disgust. It's something that will haunt her at every turn and destroy the rest of her life.

But perhaps more than anything, it's something that's not worth telling anyone about.

But the butterflies…

Bugger the butterflies, Hermione thinks bitterly, closing her tired, stinging eyes. If the way she feels right now is the price of living authentically, than she wants no part of it. She can live a lie if it means never having to see those particular looks on Harry and Ron's faces again. She can go her entire lifetime never really knowing love if it means never being judged. She can convince Ginny that whatever she thinks she knows, she's wrong. She can keep this piece of herself a secret for the rest of her life. Because what Hermione's beginning to realize is at the end of the day, it doesn't really matter whether she chooses to live authentically or not.

She'll be miserable either way.

***

Monday evening finds Hermione in the library, waiting for Pansy. She's running a bit later than usual and Hermione knows that she should be using this time to pull books from the shelves so they can get started as soon as she arrives. Instead, she's bent over her parchment, feverishly trying to finish her message before Pansy arrives.

She's almost at the end of her reply when she hears three sharp raps on the library door, followed by two long ones. She smiles a bit at the sound—it's Pansy's secret knock.

Hermione puts down her quill and stands from her chair, quickly crossing to the main doors. When she gets there, she points her wand at the door and murmurs the tricky incantation to open it from the inside. The heavy, ancient locks embedded in the door slowly spin and after a few moments, they unlock with a familiar pop. She grasps one of the iron door handles and with a grunt, pulls the heavy door open, leaving just enough space for Pansy to slip through. Once she's safely inside, Hermione closes the door again, points her wand, and the locks spin once more. She releases a small sigh, relieved that they've once again managed to sneak Pansy into the library without being caught.

Hermione tucks her wand away. "You're late," she says, turning to face Pansy, who's slumped against the door and fighting to control her ragged breathing.

"Sorry," Pansy gasps. She rubs a hand against her chest and says, "Snape…saw me…had to…double back to…dungeons. Thought…coast was clear." She shakes her head weakly. "Mrs…Norris."

"Mrs. Norris?" Hermione echoes, confusion coloring her tone. But before she can ask for any clarification, she stops and peers at Pansy with concern. "Are you alright?" she asks cautiously as Pansy wheezes. "Do you need water?"

Pansy shakes her head. "No…I'm in…spectacular shape…can't you tell?" she gasps, tilting her head against the door and closing her eyes. "Athletes wish they…could be in this…kind of shape," she adds, before immediately bending over and devolving into a coughing fit.

Hermione snorts and crosses her arms, surveying Pansy with a raised eyebrow. "I see. And is the coughing part of it?"

Once Pansy's managed to control herself, she nods. "Abdominal workout," she says. Her hands are on her knees as she gazes up at Hermione seriously. "It's all the rage with professional Quidditch players."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Well, then, if you're not too tired from showing off your astonishing athleticism, do you think you can make it to the table?"

Pansy smiles and says, "I think I'll manage." She weakly pushes herself from the door and starts toward the table, then says, "and you jest, but have you ever tried to outrun a cat? Only someone in peak physical condition could manage it."

Hermione's steps falter for a moment at the bizarre information Pansy's just casually provided. "You were running from Mrs. Norris?"

"Bloody cat saw me sneaking back from the dungeons. She gave chase all the way up the stairs. I had to run up to the fourth floor and hide behind a statue before I could double back down to the third."

"You were running…from a cat," Hermione repeats, her lips twitching dangerously.

"Say what you will, but that cat could be the Head of the Auror office. No dark wizard could run from her." Pansy drops her bag beside the table and pulls out a chair. "Honestly, I think Filch is holding her back from a very lucrative Ministry career."

Hermione hums. "If that's true, perhaps we should let herhave a go at your father."

Pansy's halfway in her seat, but she pauses and looks up at Hermione, stricken. "Merlin…that's it! Sod the research! We'll put the cat on the case."

Hermione shakes her head fondly, then sits back in her own seat. "Well, if Head Auror Mrs. Norris can't do it, then who can?"

Pansy chuckles as she sinks down into her chair and once she's made herself comfortable, she glances down at the parchment in front of Hermione. At the sight, her eyes immediately grow wide and she raises her eyebrows. "Is that…is that your parchment?" she asks, sounding surprised.

Hermione trails her finger over it lightly and nods. "I was trying to finish replying before you arrived. But it can wait," she adds, feeling a little twist of guilt over the fact she's prioritizing Pansy again.

"I…no, I…" Pansy trails off and looks as if she's considering something. Then, she stands up abruptly. "I can gather the books we need, if you'd like to finish?"

Hermione glances up from her parchment in surprise. "What? No, it's…honestly, it can wait."

Pansy shakes her head. "It looks like you're almost done there," she says, gesturing to it. "I mean…Merlin, you've written a novel already. It'll take your pal forever to reply to that…" she adds, almost to herself.

Hermione looks down at her message with a small frown. "I am almost done," she says hesitantly. "But it really can wait," she adds, looking back at Pansy. "I don't mind."

She shakes her head firmly. "Finish your novel. I'll get what we need. Just promise me you won't start in on a sequel before I've returned." With that, she leaves the table and heads toward the shelves, leaving Hermione alone with her parchment.

It only takes Hermione a few more minutes to finish her letter, but this time, when she signs Robin to the final product, she forgoes adding the tiny heart.

After the debacle on Saturday, she's decided that the heart will simply be a relic of the past. Because the heart represents something she can't give into, no matter how much she wants to. So even though it hurts, she's told herself that the best thing to do is to practice keeping her parchment pal at arm's length. No more flirting, no more dreams of Paris, and certainly no more hearts.

She feels awful about it, of course. More than anything, she wants to add the heart. But if she's going to make good on her promise to live a calm, normal life, she knows she can't give into the temptation that the tiny heart represents.

Before she can tuck her parchment away, Pansy comes back into view, levitating a massive stack of books in front of her. Once she's close enough, she uses her wand to guide them down onto the table, and they land with a gentle thump.

"Right. I think this is everything," she says, nodding at the mountain of books. "I mean, I hope it's everything, considering it's half the bloody library. Though I couldn't find that book you were reading from on Friday. The history of Wizarding…legal…papers, or whatever it was," Pansy says, taking her seat across from Hermione.

"Oh!" Hermione says, surprised she had forgotten about the book until this very moment. She quickly reaches for her bag and pulls out a ridiculously thick book, then she plops it down on the table. "Collected Papers on the English Wizarding Legal History, Volume Two. I checked it out last Friday for a bit of light reading over the weekend."

Pansy stares at the book, then looks back at Hermione with wide eyes. "Light reading?" she echoes, sounding horrified.

"Well, I didn't read all of it," Hermione amends quickly. "But some of the essays were fascinating."

"I see. That's…I mean, that's…" Pansy shakes her head, seeming unable to come up with something that sounds even remotely positive about Hermione's choice in literature. Instead, she asks, "did you learn anything?"

"Oh, loads!" Hermione replies brightly. "Do you know why members of the Wizengamot wear plum robes? I'd assumed it was because of some ridiculous legal thing, but it actually has to do with—"

"Hermione," Pansy interrupts gently, amusement coloring her tone. "I meant did you learn anything we can use against my father."

Hermione flushes at Pansy's reply, partly because she's embarrassed by her overenthusiastic response, and partly because hearing her name fall from Pansy's lips is still an unexpected and altogether surreal experience. "No, there was nothing we could use."

"Ah, well. Dare to dream," Pansy says with a small shrug. Then she glances up at Hermione with a smile and a raised eyebrow. "Well?" she asks, tilting her head curiously.

Hermione frowns, confused. "Well what?"

"Why are their robes plum?"

"Oh," Hermione says, surprised Pansy had bothered to circle back to what she had been saying. "I…I mean, it's not that interesting," she says, tugging self-consciously on one of her loose curls.

"I'll be the judge of that. Besides, you've piqued my curiosity. So go on, then."

Hermione blinks a few times uncertainly before she slowly says, "it…it originated with Ulick Gamp in 1707." She's not used to anyone wanting to hear her fun facts, so she starts cautiously, waiting for the moment where Pansy will inevitably tune her out. But when her green eyes stay focused and attentive, Hermione takes a deep breath and continues. "He was both the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the first Minister for Magic."

Pansy snorts lightly. "Bloody overachiever."

Hermione nods, feeling bolstered by Pansy's reaction. "Yes, but he was a bloody overachiever with a very particular wardrobe—he only wore plum colored robes. He'd throw a fit if he had to dress in anything else," she says, leaning forward. She can feel herself getting excited in the way she always does when she's sharing some obscure bit of information, and it makes her words come faster and her gestures broader. "There's a rumor that he once spent an entire month neglecting his duties as the Chief Warlock while he tried to find a way to make plum robes the standard. It's why most historians agree that his dedication to his wardrobe was the entire reason he abolished the Wizard's Council, created the Ministry of Magic, and declared himself the first Minister for Magic."

Pansy stares at her, looking baffled. "The entire Ministry of Magic exists because some nutter wanted to wear plum robes?" she asks slowly. "Merlin…that's absurd."

"It is, but it's the truth."

Pansy shakes her head, stunned. "No. I mean, it can't be! No one would be so ludicrously obsessed by a color that they'd create an entire governing body just to enforce it. I mean…"

Before she can say anything else, Pansy cuts herself off abruptly and frowns at the table for a moment. Then, she looks up and sighs wearily. "No, I take that back. That is absolutely something Daphne would do."

Hermione laughs but before she can reply, Pansy asks, "so was that his first decree, then? The plum robes?"

"Mm. At first, he just insisted the Minister for Magic would wear plum and everyone else in the Wizengamot would wear black. But after a while, Gamp thought the colors clashed, so he demanded the whole Wizengamot wear plum. Have you ever heard the quote "so long as we permit darkness to draw breath, devilry shall endure?" Hermione asks.

Pansy looks a bit surprised by the unexpected question, but she nods. "It's one of Gamp's most famous quotes, isn't it? It's on his statue at the Ministry. And I think I've seen it before on his Chocolate Frog card."

"You probably have, but do you know its origin?"

"I…think so?" Pansy says uncertainly. "I know he said it in some famous Wizengamot case. It just means that if good people let evil exist unchecked in the world, bad things will never stop, right? Some sort of call for justice to prevail?"

Hermione shakes her head with shining eyes. "I thought the same thing, but no. That's just what it means now. It's not the original meaning. Most people think Gamp said it while he was delivering a passionate plea in some ruling or another, but he wasn't in court at all. He said it while he was talking to his fellow Wizengamot members outside of court. The darkness he's referring to has nothing to do with wickedness—he's talking about their robes."

"What?" Pansy asks, sounding baffled.

"He meant that he couldn't deliver any verdicts or try any cases if he had to look at their black robes for another second. The quote has nothing to do with evil existing in the world—it was just his way of saying that if the dress code didn't change, he'd wouldn't be able to do his job."

"You're joking," Pansy says, staring at Hermione with wide eyes.

"I'm not! He insisted he'd shut down the entire Wizengamot if the dress code didn't change, so they had to scramble and make plum robes for everyone. It's been the standard ever since. All this time, I thought it would have some legal precedence, but really, it was just a man with a very particular sense of fashion."

A broad smile slowly steals over Pansy's face, and she looks at Hermione with sparkling eyes. "Well, that story alone was worth your light reading. Merlin. What a wanker."

Hermione smiles back and lets herself bask in the very foreign sensation of someone actually being interested in her obscure and arcane factoids. Anytime she attempts to share her knowledge with Harry, Ron, or Ginny, they'll roll their eyes and mockingly call her Professor Binns. But with Pansy's warm, interested gaze trained on her and a smile lighting up her face, Hermione finds herself curiously wanting to tell her every fact she's ever collected. She wants to spill them out, one after the other, just to see if she can make Pansy's smile even brighter than it already is. Because surprisingly enough, Pansy has a wonderful smile, and Hermione's starting to realize that she quite likes being on the receiving end of it.

But instead of leaning forward to regale Pansy with more facts from Collected Papers on the English Wizarding Legal History, Volume Two, she reminds herself of the task at hand and forces herself to look away from Pansy's strangely hypnotic smile and toward the stack of books before her. Before she picks one from the pile, she puts aside the heavy tome on legal history, then picks up her parchment and tucks it away into her bag for safekeeping.

"I take it you finished your novel?" Pansy asks, nodding toward Hermione's bag.

Hermione nods. "I did. Thank you."

Pansy hums lightly, then after a brief hesitation, she very tentatively says, "they must really be something."

"What do you mean?"

Pansy shrugs as she pulls a book toward her. "Oh, I don't know. Just that I can think of very, very few people I'd ever want to write that much to. I could probably count them on one finger, if I'm being honest," she adds with a small smile.

"Oh," Hermione says, glancing at her bag. "I suppose you're right. Our messages do tend to run a bit long."

"A bit long?" Pansy says with a surprised laugh. "I hate to break it to you, but I've seen enough parchments to know that you just singlehandedly wrote more than all of the people participating in this little experiment, combined."

Hermione scoffs. "All of the people participating? I sincerely doubt that." She tilts her head thoughtfully, then says, "perhaps half of the people participating, though."

"All or half, it's still a ludicrous amount," Pansy says, rolling her eyes at Hermione's correction as she reaches into her bag for a quill.

"I guess it is, but…I don't know. I suppose we've never been at a loss for words. Our letters have just come naturally, right from the start. There's never been any hesitation or awkwardness. It's as if…as if we've always known each other," Hermione murmurs, smiling softly at the table. "As if we were just…meant to be."

It's only after the words have left her lips that she realizes what she's just said. Meant to be? Is she even trying to keep her feelings for her parchment pal at bay? Hermione could kick herself for sounding like a lovesick fool, and she clenches her fist in frustration under the table at her blunder.

She looks up, desperately hoping Pansy hasn't noticed the slip-up, to find green eyes already trained on her. There's a surprising intensity behind her gaze, but it's only there for a moment before it quickly fades into something that looks purposefully casual. "Meant to be, hm?" Pansy asks, her tone strangely light. "Merlin…I'm beginning to understand why the big date with Weasley was doomed to fail from the start."

"It wasn't doomed to fail," Hermione says, feeling defensive. "And it didn't fail. Ron was lovely and we had a nice time together, it just…it wasn't right. It wasn't what I wanted," she adds quietly.

There's a brief pause in which Hermione thinks that Pansy is going to leave it at that. But then she says, "because you have feelings for your parchment pal?"

"I…what?" Hermione asks, looking up at Pansy with wide eyes.

Pansy shrugs as she idly studies the dark red polish on her fingernails. "I don't know many people who use the phrase meant to be in a friendly way, do you?"

"I…no, I suppose I don't," Hermione says dumbly, the truth slipping easily from her mouth. She's so surprised by how casually Pansy's delivered the question that it doesn't even cross her mind that she should be lying.

Pansy tilts her head and surveys Hermione. "You know, I've heard my fair share of improbable romances over the years, but I have to say, falling in love over parchment is a new one. They must be quite the writer," she adds, cocking a curious eyebrow.

"I never said I was falling in love," Hermione manages. She's finally thinking enough to mount a defense against Pansy's questions, but even she can hear that it's not a very good one. And if the dismissive hand Pansy waves at her reply is any indication, it's more than likely a pathetically weak one.

"Falling in love, have feelings for…semantics," Pansy says.

"It's not semantics!" Hermione says. "There's quite a big distinction between falling in love and having feelings for someone!"

"Not really," Pansy says. "After all, one thing usually leads to the other."

"It can, but not always," Hermione says, trying desperately to gather her thoughts so she doesn't say something she'll regret.

"Fine, fine," Pansy says immediately, leaving Hermione no room to think about how to shut down this line of questioning. "So you just have feelings for them."

"I—"

"And do they have feelings for you?"

Hermione blinks stupidly a few times, feeling completely off-kilter. "Yes, but…" she starts, once again not thinking quickly enough to lie.

"Well, that's good," Pansy interrupts, picking up her quill and giving it a quick twirl. "I mean, it makes things easier."

Hermione scoffs and immediately mutters, "I wouldn't say that."

It's only once the words are out that she realizes she's once again managed to say too much. She could kick herself for being so stupid three times in one conversation.

Pansy arches a brow with interest. "Oh? Why? Did you find out who you're talking to?" She pulls a sympathetic face and says, "Is it Crabbe?"

Hermione's mouth drops open. "It's…no," she says, completely horrified by the idea. "You think I'd be stupid enough to fall in love with Crabbe?"

"Aha! Fall in love," Pansy says, pointing a victorious finger at Hermione, who immediately glares darkly at Pansy's triumphant smile. "Told you it was semantics," she adds with an infuriating wink that makes Hermione flush down to her toes.

She's going to cast Langlock on herself. Anything to stop herself from saying all the colossally stupid things that are currently flying out of her mouth at record speed.

Somehow, she controls the urge to turn her wand on herself. Instead, she thrusts a hand through her hair and huffs impatiently. "It's not semantics, and it's certainlynot Crabbe!"

"Fine," Pansy says. "Goyle, then?"

"I—"

"Honestly, that makes sense. I've always suspected that there was more to him than meets the eye. And it's really beautiful that you managed to find the soul of a poet that's been lurking beneath the monosyllabic grunts and appalling hygiene."

"Pansy!" Hermione says with a surprised, exasperated laugh that makes Pansy's eyes shine. "It's not Goyle, either!"

"Oh? How can you be so sure? You know, most people don't know this, but Gregory Goyle is actually a person of rare intelligence." Pansy pauses, then says, "by which I mean it's rare of him to show any intelligence."

Hermione laughs again, then says, "you are absolutely impossible" with a surprising amount of affection leaking into her tone.

"I'm not!" Pansy says, lifting a hand to her heart in mock-surprise. "I'm just trying to be supportive of your new relationship! And I really do think you'll be happy together, provided you only use small words words around him. Anything with more than two syllables tends to send him into a tailspin. He's still completely mystified by his own first name…"

"I'm going to start researching," Hermione says, choosing to disregard Pansy's latest quip. She figures that one of them should be actually doing what they're here to do. "Feel free to join me whenever you're done with whatever this performance is," she says, gesturing to Pansy, who's leaning back in her chair with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Oh, but I suppose Hermione will also be too long for him to wrap his tiny mind around," Pansy says, ignoring Hermione's interjection completely. Instead, she looks at Hermione seriously and says, "would you consider changing your name?"

Hermione scoffs as she reaches for a book. "No."

"A nickname, then?"

Hermione's nose immediately wrinkles in distaste. "No."

"Come now, you haven't even heard your options yet! What if you'd like them?"

"I wouldn't."

Pansy tsks, then says, "I have to say, you're not being very open-minded, Herms."

It takes a moment for the abbreviated name to register, but once it does, Hermione looks up swiftly and glares at Pansy. "Absolutely not," she says darkly. "Never say that again."

"Fine, fine," Pansy says. Then, she gives a theatrical sigh and shakes her head mournfully. "I have to ask…are you sure you have feelings for your parchment pal? Because honestly, I'm not sure it's going to work out. Things aren't looking good for you."

"Considering it's not Goyle, I'd say things are looking okay," Hermione replies, reaching for a blank piece of parchment and her quill.

"You can't be sure of that," Pansy says.

"I can, actually," Hermione says, opening her book.

"Oh? How?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm fairly sure Goyle's illiterate."

"Yes, but—"

"And my parchment pal just so happens to be the best writer in the entire school."

"The…the entire school? You really think so?" Pansy echoes, raising her eyebrows with surprise and sounding genuinely stunned.

Hermione doesn't bother to wonder why the information has surprised Pansy so deeply. Instead, she nods as she absently skims the table of contents to Investigating Murder: An Auror's Response to Criminal Homicide, noting the chapters she wants to pay particular attention to.

"Would you say they're better than Dumbledore? Or McGonagall?" Pansy asks lightly, but with a thread of curiosity running through her words.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she flicks through the pages, finally landing on a chapter about interrogation law. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never read any of their writing," she says as she begins to skim the introductory paragraph, looking for anything that might help them.

"Merlin…you really think they're better than a professor?" Pansy asks, sounding dazed.

Hermione shrugs as she jots down a quick note. "I don't know. She could be," she says, distractedly. "She's brilliant."

She finishes writing the note in silence, and it's only when she glances up at Pansy, confused by the sudden lack of running commentary, that she realizes what she's just said.

She's brilliant.

She.

Panic immediately rises in Hermione's chest, and she drops her quill as if it's scalding. "I…I didn't mean…" she says. Her heart is pounding and her body feels curiously cold, as if someone's replaced the blood in her veins with ice.

Pansy's brow furrows a bit at Hermione's immediate alarm, and she shakes her head quickly. "No, Hermione, it's—"

"I shouldn't have said…I mean, I didn't…" Hermione thrusts a hand wildly through her hair and looks at Pansy with wide, frightened eyes. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I…I…"

She stands up immediately, adrenaline suddenly coursing through her body. How could she be so bloody stupid? How could she divulge the one thing she's sworn to keep secret for the rest of her life in less than a week's time? Surely, she's just set some sort of record for the fastest anyone's ever blown their own cover so spectacularly. And the worst part is, it's all her fault. She shouldn't have indulged in Pansy's light teasing; she should have shut down the conversation the very moment it turned to her parchment pal. And when she didn't, she should have been smart enough to give the discussion her complete and undivided attention. But instead she had tried to multitask, and in the process, she had managed to confide her deepest, darkest secret. And to Pansy, of all people! If Ron and Harry were quick to be judgmental of same-sex relationships, there's no telling how horrified and revolted Pansy will be. After all, she's just barely wrapped her mind around Muggle-borns being decent people. There's no way she'll find it in her heart to understand this, which is why Hermione knows that she has to get out of the library as fast as she possibly can. She can't handle whatever scathing remarks might be brewing in Pansy's mind at this very moment.

With a shaky hand, she grabs her bag and shoves her quill and parchment inside.