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When Hermione got back to her dormitory, she was overcome with emotions. Particularly one emotion: anger.

Anger and frustration really. Because Hermione did not understand why everything went so wrong. Why everyone had to be so cruel. Why no matter how hard she tried nothing she ever did seemed good enough.

All of it simply did not make sense.

Fred Weasley was one of her best friend’s brothers, and she liked to think, one of her close friends too. For Merlin’s sake Harry and Ron were her closest friends, and yet somehow all of them had disappointed her. When Harry and Theo first got together, Hermione had been ecstatic. Sure, she’d also felt rather awkward having witnessed the entire affaire take place, but Hermione had been happy. She hugged Harry tightly, confidently congratulated him, and really, she’d not felt even the slightest bit surprised at her best friend’s success.

Why could that same happiness not run both ways? Ron was a prat, yes, but Ron was generally a prat to begin with. Hermione had come to expect disappointing behaviour from the ginger anyway. Harry, however, did not generally disappoint her. Harry was usually there for her whenever she needed it. Whether it be to listen or support, or anything really.

But he had not this time. None of them had. No, this time they had all been the orchestrators of the whole situation and Hermione could not fathom what she’d done to deserve their ire.

So, Hermione was done. She was so done. With Ron. With Harry. With Fred. With all men in general perhaps.

Hermione huffed loudly as she pulled her sopping wet jumper over her head and held it in front of her. The wool that had been so soft in her hands only a few hours ago was soggy and a rather accurate picture of how she felt the day had gone.

“For fuck’s sake.” Hermione muttered when it began dripping over the wood floors. She made her way into the shared washroom, not even taking the time to look up before she reached the sink basin and began wringing the fabric out.  “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.”

“I hope you’re not referring to yourself.”

Hermione jumped at the voice behind her. Lavender Brown was standing in the doorway, her face locked in a grimace. Hermione hadn’t even realized the other girl was in the room.

“Pardon?”

“I said, I hope you’re not referring to yourself.” Lavender stepped into the room and leaned against one of the mirrors in front of her. She wasn’t sure what to say to the other witch, so Hermione may have stared blankly. 

“It would make sense for you to be using the word ‘stupid’ to describe Harry and Ron, I think. Especially after rude they were to you at lunch today.”

“They weren’t—” The familiar urge to defend her friends reared its head.

“They were.” Lavender stopped her.

“Harry didn’t actually—”

“Potter didn’t anything. That’s rude. I mean Weasley basically called you desperate and unlikable and your supposed best friend let him. He didn’t even try to stop him, and the other kid, the Durmstrang one did it too! It was embarrassing. I mean, we’re not even friends and I knew they were awful.”

Hermione fell silent. What was she to say to that? There was nothing she could say. And hadn’t she been thinking the same thing just before Lavender came in? She would do anything for Harry, that she would gladly support him no matter what. What kind of friendship was that if he wouldn’t do the same?

“Right.” Hermione’s gulp was audible in the quite room as each of Lavender’s words hit their mark.

“Oh.” Lavender stared down at her. “Was that rude? That was probably rude. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just—Parvati and I saw you come in here all, you know,” she waved a hand in gesture, “And I just thought, you might want to talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, talk. It’s a thing. People do it all the time. We’re doing it right now, believe it or not.” Her tone snapped and Hermione stiffened even further. Suddenly, she was reminded why it was that she and her roommates were not friends, despite their three and a half years of living together.

“Yes. I’m aware what talking is, Lavender. I just was wondering why on earth you would want to talk to me. I think I’ve figured it out though, and I’m good. Thank you.” She turned back to the sink, picking up the wet jumper and walking away, leaving Lavender alone in the loo.

“Hey!” Apparently, the witch was following her.

“You can let your guilt relax.” She muttered, crossing towards her trunk. “Really, it’s fine. I’m well versed in other people’s embarrassment on my behalf. I promise not to cry or something stupid.” Well, at least not right now. Or at least not anywhere her ‘thoughtful’ roommates could be bothered by it. She lifted the lid and reached for her clothes when it slammed back down. “HEY!” The arse had nearly caught her hands in the process.

“No! I’m saying hey!” Lavender stomped her foot. She was practically looming over Hermione where she stood, but the effect was really more of a petulant child than intimidation. “I didn’t call you stupid.”

“No, you called me embarrassing.” Hermione glared.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“I said Potter was embarrassing!” Lavender spat.

“You said Ron and Harry were rude to me and the display was so embarrassing you could feel it from across the hall!” Hermione’s face was turning red with frustration. Why was she arguing this? It was bloody humiliating when it actually happened, she didn’t need to dissect which part of the whole thing had been the worst!

“NO, YOU’RE TWISTING MY WORDS. I SAID WEASLEY AND POTTER’S RUDENESS WAS EMBARRASSING IT WAS LIKE THEY—”

Hermione was on her feet in a second, her hand flying to cover the witch’s mouth as she shouted. “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! What is wrong with you!?!” She hissed. Her eyes were starting to prick at Lavender’s volume. And her heart was more than racing with exasperation and nerves. “Do you want the whole tower to hear?!”

Lavender glared when she removed her hand. “That’s why there’s silencing shit Einstein. We’re magic. Or have you forgotten?”

“You have to bloody cast that! Did you cast that?!”

“NO! I THOUGHT IT WAS NATURALLY THERE OR SOMETHING!”

Hermione balled her fists in frustration as she gaped. “I’m going to kill you! The common room is full!”

“You—me?! I’m trying to be nice! And who cares about the common room? It’s just a bunch of sixth years.”

“I care about the common room! And how the fuck do you think any of this is you trying to be nice?”

“I wanted to talk!”

“Talk about humiliating me?” Hermione glared.

“No! Of course not! I just—Godric! You’re impossible! Always! Every time! All I wanted was to come into that stupid bathroom and say I’m sorry because Potter and Weasley are idiots. And I don’t care how fit Ronald may be, the way he treats you is not okay!”

“Ew—” Hermione grimaced at the thought of her best friend.

“Oh, shut up! Granger. Everyone knows Ron’s starting to mature,” Hermione’s retching noises were ignored in favour of a sharp glare. “This is why we’re not friends! I mean come on! You can’t even take me seriously for five bloody minutes! You’re the one who comes in acting all dramatic, huffing and throwing and slamming things! I was just trying to be a good person and make sure you were okay and weren’t about to light us all on fire or burn down the tower with some of your pent-up stress or shit!”

“Oh, well that makes me feel better. I’m so glad you were feeling thoughtful.” Hermione glared. “And so sorry for expressing emotions in my own room.”

“Oh. My. Godric. You’re impossible! All you do is apologize and be obnoxious! I can’t bloody stand it!” When Hermione opened her mouth to inform the girl that her apology had clearly been sarcastic, Lavender held up a firm hand. “No. Shut up and listen to me. I’ve been wanting to say this for months. Stop apologizing. Stop staring. And stop letting everyone walk all bloody over you! It’s annoying, and frankly exhausting watching you try and excuse everyone’s shitty behaviour all the time. Potter was an arse this morning. Full on. There’s nothing else to it. And fit as he may be, Weasley’s so self-obsessed he makes me look charitable.” Hermione’s reflex into more retching noises were met with a sneer. “Don’t try to correct me. It makes you look sad. Fuck. No—Sorry. Whatever. That doesn’t matter. I mean…The point is, your friends suck. Everyone can see it, and today they were awful. Even we could tell. But if you want to yell about it, Parvati and I are here.”

Hermione was more than a little embarrassed when her eyes widened with shock, and she looked over to realize they had an audience. Parvati was sitting at the end of her bed watching them. It looked like she’d been there quite a while. Hermione’s face heated to a bright red as she processed both Lavender’s harsh words, and the fact that apparently her opinions were shared.

“Oh—”

“You do that a lot.” Parvati scoffed loudly. Apparently, Hermione’s thoughts were written plainly on her face. She very nearly apologized, but then Lavender’s lips moved up in the slighted smirk and Hermione’s couldn’t help but feel thoroughly chastened.  

“I didn’t realize you both had noticed.” She said lamely.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to notice people when you’re hell-bent on ignoring them.” The line of resentment in Parvati’s voice was unmistakable.

“I’m not trying to ignore you. I just—didn’t think either of you ever wanted to talk to me.”

“We didn’t.”

“P.” Lavender hissed and pulled Hermione’s shoulder, so she faced her instead. “What she means is,” Lavender’s side eye towards her friend was ruthless. “That clearly, we have our differences. And they’ve been rather strict these last three or so years. Obviously, P and I are aware of what you think of us.”

“I’ll say.” Parvati scoffed and Hermione cringed, feeling slightly guilty. When they had all first met years ago, Hermione knew she had made several attempts to befriend the witches. She had been so excited to finally make some girl-friends. But then every time she tried to start a conversation with either of them, they’d either ignored her, or switched it to something she knew nothing about. After that…well, Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever tried to get to know them since.

“I’m sorry, that’s my fault. I—”

“No. Stop it.” Lavender stooped her again. This time stomping her foot in frustration in a manner that was very nearly childish, but not quite. “If you try to apologize one more time, I swear to Godric Gryffindor that I will hex you and your cat dead.”

“What—”

“Parvati, shut up! Godric, it’s like you’re trying to make this harder. See! This is what we’ve talked about! You can’t expect her to talk about something other than books when every time she does you act like a fucking bitch!”

“Wait what—” Hermione gasped in shock.

Lavender’s glare was threatening. “Hermione don’t even fucking try me right now.”

“Hang on—”

“No. You shut up and you shut up. I wanted to do this the nice way, but apparently, we can’t have nice things in this room, so here it goes. Hermione, we’re tired of you treating us like idiots. We’re not idiots. I’m sorry we’re not all determined to become the next bloody Margaret Thatcher, but that doesn’t make us stupid. I’ll have you know that if you combine ours, Parvati and I had top marks in every single class last year. And we both had higher marks than you in Divination before you dropped it, and that was without combining them.

“Additionally, you need to get over yourself. You’re not better than us. Okay? Maybe if you become Minister for Magic one day, you can say you are. But right now, muggleborn” she pointed a finger at Hermione, then at herself. “Muggleborn. Okay? And we’re supposed to fucking stick together at this school! It’s supposed to be you, me, Dean, Michael, and Hannah against the rest of them!”

“Hey!”

“P, shut up.” She snapped, not even breaking eye contact with Hermione. “I’m not joking. Do you think you’re the only one? The only one they hex? The only one they mock? Do you honestly think you’re the only one Parkinson calls a mudblood on a regular basis?”

“Lav—”

This time Lavender didn’t even try to correct Parvati, but when she lowered her voice, it gave Hermione chills. “Look you got blessed with the wonder-twins, and it’s bloody nice that Harry and Ron are occasionally willing to challenge anyone who insults you or whatever, but we’re supposed to be able to understand. Or at the very least we’re supposed to be friends who can talk. It’s a small school, Hermione, and we’ve got three years left after this. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the only two people you ever hang out with are kind of shit and don’t get it.

“Ron’s blood is basically as pure as it comes, despite the traitor shit or whatever Pansy’s on. None of it fucking makes sense. And Harry, he’s a half-blood, yeah, but he’s the chosen one and he’s dating that Nott guy or whatever. Which apparently if Neville’s to be believed is some royalty shit or whatever—I so do not care. But it means that on top of defeating the bad guy and all, Harry’s just immune to everything now by proxy. But either way we both know his aunt and uncle don’t count for shit. I live less than a mile from him in Little Whinging, but Potter gets off of all the ‘polluting’ or whatever they do for being normal muggles. And we get shit. We get called actual shit and he gets none of it.”

Hermione swallowed back a lump in her throat, not really sure what a response to that would be. She had never heard so many words come out of the other girl’s mouth at once, and she didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m just saying, it’s easy for the two of them to change their minds. I mean for fuck’s sake they ignored you for like two months last year because you took Harry’s broom to a professor for safety reasons! Let’s not pretend you didn’t get new teeth because Pansy hit you in the face and no one was there to stop her because of that. They have back-ups, we don’t.”

The worst part about it was that Lavender was right, and that hurt. She was alone, but she could have been alone with all of these people, and instead she’d chosen to be by herself. Hermione had never really considered how the other muggle-borns at school were treated. She supposed somewhere in her mind she knew it must be similar, but she had never really comprehended that it might be the same.

Immediately, Hermione wanted to apologize. She wanted to ask her roommate for forgiveness, and maybe a second chance. It could have been nice, she thought, if during last year she had had someone to talk to. If she might not have had to go to Madam Pomfrey alone after Pansy elongated her teeth almost a foot.

“And you,” Lavender though, had already seemed to move on, now focussing entirely on Parvati. “What the fuck is your problem? We’ve talked about this. It was literally your idea! Why is it that you have to always be a bitch? This is why she doesn’t like us, and you know it! Every time she’s in the same bloody room you have to make a fuss! I mean can’t you both just get over yourselves for one minute and listen?!”

Hermione and Parvati were both silent as they nodded in acceptance. Lavender watched them both pointedly for their reactions before sighing.  “See? Fine. There. Good.  Now, everyone here is friends, and no one gets to complain. See aren’t we glad I did that? This is why you should always listen to me. I told you I have the best ideas.”

At that, Hermione’s scoff couldn’t be contained. Lavender’s eyes immediately were up again.

“Oh, what now?”

“Nothing.” Hermione gritted, trying not to entirely erase the empathy she had just created with her roommate, but failing to hold in all of her frustration.  “I’m glad it worked out for you, though personally, I might recommend not barging in and insulting someone the moment you try and attempt a reconciliation. Particularly when they’re in the bathroom crying by themselves.”

When she finished, Lavender was silent. Hermione had half expected her to refute the idea with more indignation, but instead the girl quieted.  “You were crying?” She asked after several moments had passed.

“No.” Hermione immediately regretted her honesty, increasingly feeling more and more vulnerable. She wondered if avoiding eye contact with her roommate was a giveaway or a sign of strength (probably a giveaway). But it was technically true. She hadn’t been crying exactly when she’d run into the bathroom. She’d simply been on the verge of it.

“Oh, dammit. Well, I wanted to try. I was going to try, I just—”

And this was where the disconnect had always landed between them, Hermione supposed. For two years, Hermione had tried at every opportunity to appeal to her roommates however she could. But never, over the time they had been living in that room together, had any sort of bonding occurred. Hermione had always been well aware of what her roommates thought of her. Neither of them was particularly subtle with how they looked at her. They had always just been, different.

It wasn’t as though Hermione liked being friends with only boys. Her mum had always said the strongest women are those who support other women. But Hermione had never really gotten…women? No, that sounded wrong.

She wasn’t that kind of person. Hermione wasn’t. She refused to be. Saying she didn’t “understand women” was as if she was talking about an animal. Some mysterious creature with different customs or brain connections than her own. Hermione was a girl, and she was proud of it. She loved being a girl. There were serious perks to it sometimes. Her mum’s girlfriends were wonderful. And whenever they came over to their house for wine nights, Hermione loved it. Martha was a dentist, just like Hermione’s parents, and she worked at their office in Woodbury; Sarah was a barrister, working on bills that sometimes went to parliament—Hermione loved to badger Sarah with questions; Kate was an accountant—she tutored Hermione during the summers so she wouldn’t fall behind on maths while at Hogwarts; and Amelia was a mum with twins who Hermione adored. She would never admit it out loud, but Amelia was her favourite of her mum’s friends by far. Amelia always asked Hermione questions and made her answers feel important, plus she worked for MI5 for a decade before she got pregnant and wanted to retire. Hermione thought Amelia was bloody bad arse.  

Women were brilliant. Hermione loved being around women. It was just…girls. She had never really…mastered the art of making female friends. Or friends really—if it weren’t for the whole troll thing you wouldn’t have the boys either. She bit her lip pensively. She wanted to try. She had always wanted to try with her roommates. When Hermione had learned she was a witch, she’d been so excited that there wasn’t something wrong with her. That there was a reason she always felt so different, so out of place.

No one had ever really wanted to be Hermione’s friend in primary. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on her end, more like, none of the girls she’d gone to school with had ever tried back. When she’d come to Hogwarts, Hermione had hoped everything would be different, but it had gotten worse.

Lavender and Parvati were known by their peers for being two of the prettiest girls in school. They were funny and cool and couldn’t care less about classes. And despite the existence of Parvati’s identical twin sister in Ravenclaw, it was a running joke that there must be something special in the water of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory that made them prettier than the rest in their year. The part where this magic only extended to the two best friends of the tower was never explicitly said to her face, but it was muttered more than once when boys in her year thought Hermione couldn’t hear.  

Which was fine. As an eleven-year-old, maybe, yes, their words had stung. No one fancies being singled out as the ugly duckling who really is just ugly. And maybe if Hermione wanted to, she could connect this pattern as driving the division between the girls.

Hermione rubbed her temples, staring at Lavender as silence settled between them. Lavender was still blocking her way to her bed, the girl’s posture awkward but somehow resolute. Hermione could feel her emotions churning—anger, frustration, and a deep, unrelenting weariness after the last few weeks. But alongside them was something else, a quiet yearning for something she couldn’t quite name.

Maybe she had taken their differences too personally. Maybe she’d let her insecurities dictate her actions, pushing people away in her attempts to shield herself. Maybe Lavender wasn’t the only one who was capable of trying.

Hermione exhaled, the tension draining from her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, surprising even herself.

Lavender blinked. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated, meeting her roommate’s eyes. “I think... I think I haven’t been fair to you. Or to Parvati. I’ve been defensive and... difficult, I guess. I just assumed you wouldn’t want to be friends with me, so I stopped trying. But maybe I never really gave you a proper chance. It wasn’t fair of me.”

Lavender stared at her for a moment, as though trying to process the words. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, the witch’s lips quirked into a small, sheepish smile.

“Well,” Lavender said, her voice softer than usual. “I guess that makes two of us who should apologize.”

Hermione tilted her head, her brow furrowed.

“I haven’t exactly been kind either,” Lavender admitted, crossing her arms and shrugging her shoulders. “You’re not wrong to think I’ve treated you like a nuisance sometimes…maybe more than sometimes.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, sceptical.

“Okay, it was definitely more than sometimes.” Lavender added with a self-deprecating laugh. “But it’s just... you’re so bloody smart, and you always seem to have everything together. It’s intimidating, you know?”

“Intimidating?” Hermione repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, intimidating!” Lavender shot back. “I mean every time I’m around you I just feel silly and awful. I mean it’s like if I don’t want to spend my hours doing nothing but reading, I’m therefore an idiot and less.”

“I don’t think you’re less than me.” Hermione told the girl. In fact, it had always been quite the opposite.

Lavender’s expression was unimpressed, but Parvati spoke first. “Don’t be ridiculous. We all know you do. You’re Hermione Granger. The brightest bloody witch in our year. You can’t do anything wrong, and I have to hate you for it.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s your choice.” Hermione glared.

“No, but she’s right. It is our bloody choice but it’s not. It’s this whole school. This world. Agh.” Lavender groaned loudly and Hermione was a little surprised by her hysterics. “It’s fucking Parkinson! But it’s not. It’s just sexism.”

“Is it though?”

“Yes! Cedric Diggory is the second top student in his year, but he’s basically a celebrity at this whole school because he’s a boy.”

“I think it has more to do with his position on the quidditch team.”

 “That’s the whole fucking point! Alright. Why is it that wizards can talk about quidditch, and new kit designs all they want and contemplate buying tickets to matches or posters, but when I say I liked Pretty Women or but a Whitney Houston’s poster, then I’m silly and not smart anymore?! I like music! It’s bloody ridiculous and we shouldn’t all have to like the same things to be friends. Just because you want to be a swot means you can’t be around the rest of us. And just because I don’t want to live my life inside of a homework assignment doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of doing so if I wanted to. I just like other things! Alright?”

“Alright.” Parvati mumbled.  

“And I’m sorry, but it has to be said before I can move on. I cannot possibly be expected to listen to only Nirvana all the time. It’s not realistic or tolerable and if anyone else tries to tell me The Wyrd Sisters even compare to Madonna, I will hex them, just ask Terry Boot.” Lavender’s expression left nothing to be guessed as to what she meant. Hermione nodded quietly in agreement. Partly out of fear, but also because she did like Whitney Houston, though she hadn’t gotten Madonna’s last album yet.

The energy in the room was tense after their argument. Like the emotional magic between the girls was vibrating through the air. Each of them though, slowly walked away, Lavender allowed Hermione to finally get into her trunk. And it wasn’t until all three had changed their clothes and climbed into their respective beds that anyone talked again.

“Thank you.” Hermione said softly when the lights had been dimmed. “For talking to me. For, following me. It was kind of horrible, but—but also really nice.” She gave the Lavender a half smile from her bed so she would know Hermione was teasing.

“Anytime.” Lavender said. Hermione thought after that they were done for the night. But after a few minutes later the other witch spoke again.

“Would you—” Lavender started, then stopped, sighing like the words were physically painful to say. “Would you want to try again? To be... friends?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. It was a simple question. There really shouldn’t have been all that much to it. But Hermione couldn’t help the way her mind filled with nerves as she heard it. She supposed this was what she’d hoped for all along when they told her she was going to a new school all those years ago. Before she could stop herself, a small but hopeful grin spread across her face. “Yeah. Yes, actually. I—I would.”

Lavender smiled back, this time fully, the awkward tension in her shoulders easing.

“Good,” she said, her tone light but sincere. “Because honestly, Granger, I’m brilliant at being a friend. You won’t regret it.”

Hermione laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and for the first time in what felt like months, the weight pressing down on her chest lifted ever so slightly.

*~*~*~*

Draco wasn’t feeling well that night. No, that was an understatement. His stomach churned with a nauseating concoction of anger, jealousy, and hopelessness. He took the scenic route back to the Durmstrang ship, hoping the cool night air would help clear his head. It didn’t.

Despite the hours he’d spent at Hermione’s side earlier that day, his thoughts were still in chaos.

Victor Krum.

Draco’s fists clenched involuntarily as he crossed the Hogwarts grounds. He hated Krum. He hated his smug confidence, the way the world revered him, and the way he seemed to get everything Draco wanted. But then again, Krum also didn’t have a father looming over every minute of his life reminding him of his duty and the suffocating failures which marked his attempts before. Krum wasn’t burdened by centuries worth of expectations. He’d never had to stress over embarrassing his family and hurting his mother. But he did have Hermione—or at least, her hand as his date to the Yule Ball.

Draco felt bile rise in his throat at the thought.

The weight of his own uselessness pressed down on him as he approached the ship. He hadn’t had a choice. He still did not have a choice. And yet he felt like everything was his own fault. Draco wanted to shout. He wanted to hex something. He wanted to tell his father that if he would just listen, everything could be better. It would be better. If Lucius just gave Draco a moment to explain himself, or to—to express his intention they might not even be in this terrible situation. Hermione might not even be entertaining other wizards.

But he had not even gotten the chance. And now Hermione was attached to someone else, however loosely.

The familiar creak of the Durmstrang ship greeted him as Draco climbed aboard. The sharp scent of brine and damp wood filled his nose in a way that prickled. By the time he reached his and Theo’s dormitory, a wave of nausea had taken full hold of him.

The room was dark, empty. Theo was still off somewhere, likely snogging Potter, if Draco had to guess. It seemed to be a habit the two had picked up fairly quickly. Draco couldn’t begrudge Theo finding happiness, ever. But that night he couldn’t help feeling a little jealous.

It was as he crossed the threshold to their room that it began. A sharp pain which stabbed through Draco’s gut, so sudden and fierce it left him gasping. “What the fuck?” he breathed out, clutching at his stomach as the sensation spread like wildfire.

It was seconds before it reached his head and Draco’s knees buckled out from under him. He barely made it to the bin before the contents of his stomach forced themselves up. Not that there was much. He hadn’t eaten in hours—he rarely ate much ever, if he was honest—but his abdomen churned violently as if it was trying to expel something far more intangible.

Minutes passed in a haze of retching and trembling. When the spasms finally subsided, Draco slumped against the edge of his bed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His entire body ached, and his head spun with the remnants of pain and confusion.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The thought barely registered through the fog in his mind. Clearly, Draco was sick. But it was more than just the physical. As he reached for his wand, there was a significant crack in his magic he couldn’t explain. The way it twisted and strained was reminiscent of how it revolted during his childhood, but this was different. It wasn’t the same anxiety. The rip he felt couldn’t have been from just stress—it was its own form of agony and Draco felt like it was consuming him.

Forty minutes—though perhaps more, Draco wasn’t sure he could tell—passed before he found even enough strength to haul himself upright. His knuckles were white as they grabbed his desk for support. Draco stumbled across the room, collapsing onto his bed as soon as he was within reach. His limbs felt weak and unresponsive.

But he couldn’t give in. Draco tried to resist. Whatever was happening, he couldn’t collapse. He needed this night. Draco needed to be awake. He needed to talk to Theo whenever he got back. It was too important to forget. To move on from.

He needed to ask the wizard if he’d known. If Theo knew about Krum’s proposal. If there was any real connection between the two. He didn’t have time to rest. Draco needed to speak to him about Hermione.

Hermione.

The thought of her name brought a fresh wave of nausea through him. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Draco clenched his eyes shut, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to push the image of her and Krum from his mind. The jealousy clawed at him, a sickening, unrelenting force.

He couldn’t do anything about it. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Time dragged on as he was left to his mind. The pain worsened, sharp and pulsing like a second heartbeat in his chest. Draco tried to focus on his breathing, to push past the wisps of magic and nausua clouded his senses.

Finally, his vision blurred as exhaustion pulled at him, dragging him down. The pain became too much. Whatever it was, was too strong. And before Theo could return, Draco’s body gave in, and darkness claimed him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When Draco woke, the first thing he noticed was the stillness.

The aching nausea from the night before was gone, replaced by a startling clarity. His limbs felt light, his chest no longer constricted, and even his head felt sharper than usual. He blinked against the faint morning light filtering through the window, momentarily disoriented.

It didn’t make sense. He’d been certain, as he lay on the edge of consciousness last night, that whatever had come over him was something serious. The pain had been all-consuming. Yet now, Draco felt... fine.

Slowly, Draco propped himself up on his elbows and scanned the room. From his bed, he could see Theo, asleep, his form barely visible under the blankets. Draco relaxed slightly at the sight of his brother safe and resting. It wasn’t usual that Draco woke up to the sun already risen. He found the change of pace oddly calming.

Swinging his legs off the bed, Draco stood, his movements deliberate in an attempt to avoid waking Theo. His bare feet padded softly against the cold wooden floor as he made his way to their adjoining washroom. The soft splash of water as he turned on the shower grounded him.

For the most part, Draco felt normal—better than normal, even. The weariness from stress that had covered him especially over the last few months felt…less. But something about the way his body moved seemed... off. Draco couldn’t figure out what it was exactly, there was a subtle dissonance in him, as though even his limbs weren’t entirely his own. When he first walked into the shower, his balance had felt slightly skewed, and when his arms moved to wash his hair, Draco had the strangest feeling that they were lagging just a moment behind what he intended them to.

He shook the thought away. Perhaps it was food poisoning? That would explain the sickness. Or stress. His father had written him again this week, informing him of his displeasure for one thing or another, and reminding Draco not to mess it all up again.

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t have time to dwell on that now.

After drying off, Draco dressed quickly, tugging on his uniform with practiced precision. His hands moved on autopilot until he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco froze.

His hair.

What in Merlin’s name—?

Draco’s curls were normal for him to see in the morning. Despite his attempts at longevity, charms never lasted. It wasn’t their unruly display that shocked him. It was their disturbing length. The loose coils he’d known for years, always kept carefully trimmed with utmost control, were now the opposite. A lump settled in Draco’s stomach as he stared at the lengthy twists that fell all the way to his ears.

He swallowed hard, reaching for his wand. With expert precision, Draco began casting a trimming spell. The incantation was easy, one he had been doing for years. But it still required total concentration in order to not accidentally cut one’s head. Draco worked carefully, chipping away at the offending strands again and again until their length was passable.

It wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But it would have to do.

Next came the straightening. Normally, the routine was tedious, but today, something about it felt suffocating to him. It was unnerving. This was a spell with which he had far more familiarity though. Draco hardly thought twice before his wand was waving again, pulling his white locks into the tight rigid perfection everyone who’d met him was so accustomed to.

When it was done, Draco exhaled shakily, staring at his reflection. His hair was smooth again, the way it was supposed to be. But the sight didn’t bring him relief.

His father’s words echoed louder. “Slovenly. Pathetic. Can you honestly pretend to consider yourself a…”

Draco closed his eyes, forcing the thoughts away. He didn’t have time for that. There wasn’t any to spare for wallowing in his emotions. There was too much to do, and Draco had already overslept, skipping his usual morning workout. That alone was enough to disrupt his morning, but there was still another task he needed to see to. He needed to talk to Theo.

The events of the previous day clawed at Draco’s mind, relentless and unforgiving. Hermione was going to the Yule Ball with Krum.

Draco turned from the mirror, pulling on the last of his robes with practiced efficiency. The tightness in his chest hadn’t eased, but he ignored it.

Draco opened the door to find Theo already awake, fastening the last buttons on his shirt. Theo looked up, and his eyes seemed to bulge immediately before a frown marred his expression.

Draco couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the wizard’s harsh gaze. “What?”

“No—no, nothing,” Theo stammered, his tone unconvincing. Draco watched him do at least two separate double takes before he stopped. “Did you... did you do something to your hair?”

Draco’s hands shot up instinctively. Instead of the flattened strands he had placed only moments before, Draco’s fingers were met by loose springy ringlets. His stomach dropped.

Quickly he spun around and strode back into the bathroom without answering. Draco reflection greeted him with unwelcome confirmation: his hair was curly. And long. Again.

Despite the fact that Draco knew he had already done something to fix it earlier. It was back.

Draco ran a hand through the curls, pulling at them as though that might restore the order he so desperately needed. For a moment Draco considered two possibilities, though he wasn’t sure what was worse: Perhaps his charm hadn’t stuck, or perhaps he was losing his grip on reality. Draco knew his spells—knew them. And he couldn’t recall a single instance when a charm of his had failed like this ever before.

“It’s long,” Theo observed from behind him, startling Draco.

Draco whipped around to see Theo leaning casually against the doorframe to the bathroom. His expression was more curious than concerned.

“What—” Draco cut himself off, his voice tight. “It’s embarrassing,” he muttered, turning back to the mirror.

He fumbled for his wand, refusing to meet Theo’s eyes. The scrutiny from his best friend was unbearable. He didn’t want to hear whatever Theo was going to say. Draco waved his wand again, casting the charm with more precision this time. He flattened the curls back into their proper place and trimmed the length with practiced though less delicate movements.

“There,” he said firmly when he was done. He was sure this time. Each charm had to have worked.

Theo didn’t move from the doorway, but his eyes lingered on Draco’s reflection curiously. Draco ignored him. He couldn’t deal with whatever questions were forming behind Theo’s pensive stare. He brushed past him to leave the bathroom.

“Draco,” His tone was softer now as he followed him.

“It’s fine,” Draco interrupted. “I must have slept wrong last night. I don’t know what’s going on with me. But I’m fine.”

“Fine,” Theo echoed, though his tone suggested he very much believed otherwise.

The two of them grabbed their bags in silence. Draco busied himself checking his notes for the day, the familiar routine helping his mind. But as he slung his bag over his shoulder, Theo’s voice broke the quiet.

“By the way, mate, I need to talk to you. I meant to last night, but—”

Theo stopped abruptly, his voice faltering. Draco turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“What is it? Are you alright?”

Theo frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor before flicking back up to Draco. “Your—” He gestured vaguely, nodding toward Draco’s head.

Draco froze. His hand flew to his hair again, and his stomach churned when his fingers met soft, loose curls. Not again.

Without a word, Draco turned and marched back to the bathroom for the third time that morning. The mirror reflected the same image as before: unruly blond curls that were decidedly not supposed to be there.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered, yanking his wand out again.

Before he could cast another charm, Theo appeared in the doorway and grabbed his arm.

“What now?” Draco snapped, wrenching his arm back.

“Have you checked the time?” Theo asked, his voice unnervingly calm.

“No,” Draco said, frowning. “Why?”

“It’s eight fifteen.”

Draco froze, turning to stare at Theo in disbelief.

“That’s not possible,” he said. “I know I woke up later than usual, but not that late.”

“Except it is possible. We slept in,” Theo said with a grimace. “If we don’t leave now, we won’t have time to grab breakfast before class.”

Draco’s eyes darted to the mirror again. His hair, still defiantly curly, taunted him. “Just give me a second. I have to—”

“Fix it later, Draco.”

The suggestion was so absurd that Draco couldn’t even process it at first. Leave his room like this? It was impossible.

Draco’s throat tightened the idea. His mind echoing his father’s cold and cutting words. He could even picture the man’s sneer as he looked down at Draco’s imperfection. “Pathetic. What have I told you a thousand times and you still fail. I will not have my son walking around like a fucking animal.”

“Theo...” Draco’s voice was more pleading than he would ever admit.

“He’s not here,”

Draco’s stomach churned at the implication. “But he could—”

“How the hell would he know?” Theo asked, his voice firm with a confidence Draco didn’t feel. “Draco, it’s fine. No one’s going to notice.”

He threw Theo a disbelieving look, but his best friend didn’t flinch. Instead, he grabbed his own bag and started walking toward the door.

“And we need to talk,” Theo added over his shoulder. “Preferably before we get to the Great Hall. So, if we’re going to we need to leave.”

Draco hesitated, glancing one last time at his reflection with anxiety. The messy curls stared back at him, mocking his inability to control even this small aspect of his life. Why the hell couldn’t they just stay put?

Theo’s footsteps echoed as he left the room. “Coming?”

Draco swallowed hard, the fear that all of his other glamours might too decide to fail soon overwhelming him. He tried to convince himself that Theo was right. His father wasn’t here. And no matter how much Draco’s instincts screamed at him to fix this, to make it perfect, there really wasn’t time. In the end, the only thing that pushed him out the door was his determination to get answers from Theo about Hermione.

“Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his bag and following Theo. His hands were fidgeting slightly as he adjusted the strap over his shoulder, and he took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

The corridor was quiet, the low hum of voices from other students distant and muffled. Theo walked a few paces ahead, his posture relaxed, but Draco could tell he was waiting for the right moment to start the conversation.

“What do you need to talk about?” Draco asked finally, breaking the silence. He was fairly confident he knew, but he did not want to accidentally be wrong.  

Theo glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. “What do you think?” he said simply.

Draco frowned, the knot in his stomach tightening. “No idea.”

“Right.” Theo sighed, his gaze flicking briefly to Draco’s hair before returning to the hallway ahead. “Okay, let’s just get outside first. You’ll want some air for this.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was seven thirty in the morning when Hermione was woken with a pillow to her face. She opened her eyes to see her roommate once again looming over her, but this time with a grin.

“Come on Granger! Let’s go! We’re going to be late.”

“Late?!” Hermione immediately sat up. The grogginess of the morning entirely forgotten as she looked around for her wand. “Tempus” She cast, and the numbers popped up in front of her. “Late?! Breakfast has barely started! Why are we awake?”

“We have things to do!”

“Things?”

“Granger, this is what we talked about!” Lavender cheered. “We’re starting over. Okay? No more drama. No more fighting. We’re going to class today, and we’re going together.”

“Together,” Hermione repeated numbly. Her mind was still trying to connect what was going on the with words being said.

“Yes! Together. And the first step to bringing us together is to actually do something. So, we’re doing. Breakfast. Now. In the Great Hall.”

“We don’t have class till nine.” Hermione grumbled.

“Look, do you want to be together or not?”

“NOT!” Parvati shouted from across the room. Hermione didn’t hear the spell Lavender shot at her, but from the jolt the witch made in her bed, she could probably guess. “AGH! Fine. Fine. Whatever. Yeah, together, Lav. We’re going together.”

“YAY!”

“Fuck you.”

“Hush P. You both have three minutes to get dressed.”

“THREE MINUTES?!?!”

“No one’s going to be there! It’s only just begun!”

“If you think I’m walking back up the stairs to here after we eat, you’ve got another thing coming babe.”

“Okay, so you better hurry up. Because in ten minutes, we’re leaving!”

The rest of Hermione’s groggy protests were quickly drowned out by Lavender apparent determination. By 7:45 sharp, the bouncy witch had dragged both her and Parvati down to the Great Hall. To Hermione’s surprise, the usually bustling Gryffindor table was hardly full at all. Only a few of the older students were positioned towards the back with nursed cups of tea or picked at toast, still waking up themselves.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Lavender chirped as she pulled Hermione towards the bench beside her and began piling scrambled eggs onto her plate. Parvati joined them, stretching luxuriously before reaching for a slice of bread.

Hermione hesitated. She felt exposed for some reason. Like at any moment someone was going to jump out and tell her she didn’t belong. But when she sat down and glanced around, Hermione was pleasantly relieved to realize no one was paying attention to her at all.

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, her book propped open in front of her. Breakfast was nearly over, and the hall was a flurry of activity as students ate, laughed, and prepared for the day ahead. Hermione, however, was lost in thought, her fingers idly flipping through pages as she searched for a specific note on a transfiguration law Parvati had asked about.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Hermione found herself enjoying her roommates' company. Lavender and Parvati were chatting animatedly beside her, their voices bright and lively. It was... nice.

“Well, if we fail our Divination final, at least we’ll know it’s coming,” Parvati said with a dramatic sigh.

Lavender scoffed. “You say that every term I’m pretty sure Trelawney doesn’t even read our essays.”

Hermione grinned to herself, her focus still on the text in front of her. The conversation was casual, light, honestly, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Hermione was even starting to feel more comfortable joining in with them.

“You know,” Lavender said suddenly, her tone teasing as she leaned over her plate, “Hermione, that wasn’t a test earlier. Parvati wasn’t asking about the transfiguration law to see if you actually knew the answer. You don’t have to find it for her. She can do it herself.”

Hermione looked up quickly, her face heating. “I—I know. I just thought—well, I thought it might help if—”

“Relax,” Lavender interrupted with a wave of her hand, laughing. “It was a joke. You can give P all the notes you want. I’m just taking the piss.”

“Oh.” Hermione blinked, then gave a nervous smile. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Parvati said, shaking her head with annoyance. Hermione thought the witch was definitely still warming up to her. The feeling was very much mutual.

“Oh, sorry—wait, no. I mean, right. Okay.” Hermione’s words tumbled over themselves, but her roommate just rolled her eyes.

For a moment, the three of them sat in comfortable silence. Lavender and Parvati resumed their conversation, diving into an animated recount of whatever nonsense Professor Trelawney had spun during yesterday’s class. Hermione turned back to her book, her mind a little lighter than before.

Then she felt it.

It was subtle at first, a faint tingling sensation at the nape of her neck, but it was enough to make her pause. She looked up from her book, her gaze flicking across the room.

Lavender and Parvati had stopped talking. In fact, as Hermione looked around, it seemed that half the room had gone quiet. Everyone’s attentions seemed to be locked in a certain direction, their expressions unreadable. It was like somehow, all of them were caught in a trance. Hermione followed the collective gaze of her peers, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the shift of energy in the hall. It took less than a second once she had looked for her eyes to find where they were all staring, and for a moment Hermione could understand why.  

Draco Malfoy had just entered the room walking alongside Theo. Hermione looked at the two wizards, only growing increasingly more confused. Draco looked brilliant from across the room, but Hermione generally thought that about him always. She tried to figure out what had captivated her peers’ attention but couldn’t make sense of what might have changed. The two wizards were talking, their heads turned to one another in conversation. And yet something about them must have been important. Draco and Theo’s movements were actively commanding the room in a way that could only be described as unnatural.

Hermione wasn’t sure what had made him look, but she practically felt it again in her bones when Draco’s eyes found hers. They were all the way across the room from one another, and yet, when Draco nodded ever so slightly at her, Hermione couldn’t help grin. It felt like he’d caught her for a second, like she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Something about Draco that morning was... different.

“Merlin’s beard,” Lavender breathed beside her. Abruptly, it was like her voice had broken a spell. The witch shot up from her seat, practically bouncing on her toes. “He’s looking at me! He’s looking at me! Can’t you see he’s looking at me?!”

Hermione blinked, startled. “What?”

“No, he’s not,” Parvati said sharply, her tone defensive as she glared at Lavender from across the table. “He’s looking at me.”

Hermione was horrified when she watched the two witches stand. Both of them began bickering, their voices rising in pitch and intensity. She could only stare at them, not understanding what was happening and desperately wanting it to stop. “Who are you—what are you talking about?” she asked, but neither of them seemed to hear her.

She worried that her roommates were going to cause a scene, drawing unnecessary attention to themselves. But as Hermione looked around, it seemed everyone else was too busy to notice. Hermione’s confusion only deepened then as she looked again towards Draco. He was still walking with Theo, but something strange was happening.

Several students stood abruptly as Draco passed their tables, their movements careful and deliberate. Like someone who was following a mouse into its trap. A group of Hufflepuff girls scrambled over one another to get closer to him, their faces flushed and their eyes wide. Hermione didn’t understand when a few then rose from their seats, their expressions equally dazed as they tried to shove the group of witches out of the way.

“What in the world...” Hermione whispered, her stomach twisting. Chaos was unfolding and it appeared half the hall was simply willing to join it.

Draco, however, she was somewhat relieved appeared to be terribly unwilling. The wizard’s posture was decidedly unsettled as he noticed his apparent followers. His brows were furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to manoeuvre through the crowd that was rapidly forming around him. Theo, looking increasingly alarmed, placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder and steered him toward the Slytherin table. Before they could make it however, their path was blocked by more female students approaching.

Every second the Great Hall grew louder. The commotion was building as students jostled one another and more than a few fights like her roommates broke out. Hermione watched in horror as two Ravenclaw girls pushed one another onto the ground, their faces contorted with desperation as they tried to reach where Draco Malfoy stood.

Draco himself looked utterly horrified, his usual composure slipping as a witch made to grab his robes. His eyes were frantic as he glanced around, clearly searching for an escape from the growing crowd. Hermione’s chest tightened as she saw him reach for his wand, only to lower it again when another student stepped into his path.

“What on earth is happening?” Hermione whispered, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. She wanted to get up herself to help him if she wasn’t equally concerned that her presence would only add to the chaos of the room.

As every second passed, the noise in the hall was growing towards fever pitch, and then—

CRACK.

A sharp, resounding noise echoed through the room, silencing the hall instantly, and stilling their advances.

Everyone froze, their heads turning toward the source of the sound. At the head of the hall, Hermione watched Professor Snape stand, his dark robes billowing as he descended from the teacher’s table. His expression was thunderous, his eyes narrowed into slits as he approached the scene. If Hermione had known him better, she might have said the man looked alarmed, though clearly, he hid it well under his anger.

“Enough!” Professor Snape barked; his voice cut through the tension like a blade.

The students surrounding Draco stepped back reluctantly, many of their faces filling with indignation and disappointment Hermione couldn’t understand. Snape’s gaze swept over each them furiously before he seemed to lock onto Draco. The wizard looked equal parts frustrated and relieved.

“Mr. Malfoy,” The professor said coldly, his tone left no room for argument. “Come with me. Now.”

Before Draco could respond, Snape grabbed him by the arm and began dragging him towards the hall’s great exit. Hermione watched as Theo made a move to follow, but Snape shot him a warning look that froze him in place.

The hall was silent.

Hermione’s heart was practically racing from the shock of it all as her eyes followed Draco’s retreating form. Just before he disappeared through the doors, his gaze flicked toward her.

Their eyes met again, and for the briefest moment, Hermione thought she saw something flicker across his face—confusion, annoyance, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

Then the door slammed behind them, and he was gone, leaving Hermione with far more questions than anyone could possibly have answers for.