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Hermione dearly hoped that her roommates would be asleep when she returned from Slughorn's Christmas Party. She knew, of course, that she was not blessed with such fortune.
Sure enough, Lavender and Parvati were still bright-eyed and yapping away on Lav's bed when she entered, and the interrogation began immediately.
"How was the party?" Parvati asked.
"Did you have fun with Cormac?" Lavender asked before Hermione could address the first question.
"The party was fine," Hermione answered tersely, hoping that her obvious reluctance would discourage further questions. She knew, again, that she was not blessed with such fortune.
"Was there dancing?"
"Did you dance with Cormac?"
"There was dancing, but I did not partake. And Cormac was as gentlemanly as a hyena."
"I didn't know that hyenas are gentlemanly," said Lavender.
"They aren't."
"Did you kiss him?" Parvati asked.
"No." Hermione sighed and approached her bed. "Though there was no lack of effort towards that end on his part. He made an attempt to entrap me under a sprig of mistletoe."
"How romantic!" Lavender crooned.
"Hardly."
"I wish Ron and I could find some mistletoe."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You certainly don't require mistletoe as an excuse to snog him."
"That's true." Lavender smiled to herself as she was temporarily lost in thoughts of snogging Ron. "It would be cute, though."
Hermione kept her disagreement to herself.
"What did you do, then," Parvati asked, "when Cormac tried to drag you under the mistletoe?"
"I escaped, with Harry's help."
"Harry protected you?"
"Of course he did," said Lavender, "he and Ron are true heroes."
Hermione shook her head.
"Would it be so bad if Cormac kissed you?" Parvati asked. "I mean, you could do worse for a boyfriend. At least he isn't a Slytherin."
Hermione scoffed. "He's an idiot. And he's so horribly conceited. He spent much of the evening regaling me with tales of his successes in quidditch. It's as if he's forgotten that he wasn't even worthy of making the Gryffindor team." She conveniently omitted, both to her roommates and to herself, the fact that he was, technically, worthy of making the team, and would have done if not for her intervention on Ron's behalf.
"You're the one who called him a 'really good quidditch player' earlier," Parvati pointed out.
Hermione was caught off guard by the callout. "You know why I said that." She very briefly glanced at Lavender.
Parvati giggled, drawing a confused look from Lavender. "Yes, it's because Harry was standing right there. But he missed your hint, of course."
Hermione rolled her eyes again, and didn't bother to grace that with a response. Her objective had been to punish Ron for his treatment of her in class.
"You and Harry would make such a cute couple," Lavender mused.
Hermione gave her a sour look, thinking of how Harry reprimanded her at the party for inviting Cormac. Was he correct about it? Maybe. Should he have come after her like that? No. And considering his behavior lately when it came to that bloody Potions book, he didn't have a leg to stand on when lecturing her about bad decisions.
Pulling the curtain around her bed, she began changing out of her dress. "I can do better."
"Better than the Boy-Who-Lived?"
"Better than any of these hormonal male imbeciles who don't know the first thing about civilized conversation."
"But that's all boys," Parvati pointed out dubiously.
"I don't need a boy," Hermione declared to them and to herself. "I reckon I'm better off without one."
"Suit yourself."
* * *
Her resolve hardened over the break, as she went home to see her parents. She didn't need a boy. Harry had let her down. Ron had let her down, although that wasn't an uncommon thing for him to do. Other boys were imbeciles who weren't at all worthy of her attention. She would never act with a boy the way Lavender acted with Ron, doting on him when he was around and obsessing over him when he wasn't. Lavender was a fool, and Hermione would always be the better witch and smarter person.
Would she eventually fall in love? Perhaps. Falling in love was a part of almost every story she had ever read and she knew by now that it was, unfortunately, a largely involuntary phenomenon. But she would be sure, completely certain, that the man she fell in love with—for he would be a man and not a boy—would be nothing short of perfect. If he were brave and compassionate but far too reckless for his own good, she wouldn't waste her time with him. If he were kind and loyal in one moment and then jealous and cruel in the next, she wouldn't lower herself to his level. If he were tall and conventionally handsome but also conceited and aggressive, she would stay well away.
No, until she met a man who had all of their good qualities and none of their bad ones, she wouldn't dally with any of them. It was time for her to stay true to herself and her standards.
"Hermione?" She looked up as her mum's voice accompanied a knock on the door.
"Come in." She put down the book that she hadn't really been reading as her mum opened the door. "Have a seat." She gestured to her vacant desk chair.
Her mum sat, her posture straight, which immediately put Hermione a bit on edge.
"I was hoping that we might talk," her mum said after observing her for a moment.
"About what?"
"About anything. You've been distant over this break, Hermione. And considering how infrequently your father and I get to spend time with you, we would appreciate a bit more of your attention."
Hermione lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Did something happen at school?"
"No."
"Did it involve a boy?"
She grimaced. "Nothing is happening with any boys."
"I see."
"To be clear, I'm not at all unhappy about that fact," she told her mother and herself.
"Really?"
She nodded resolutely. "I can do better than all those... teenagers."
"Your father and I have noticed that you've written much less about Harry this year than you have in past years. Are you no longer friends with him?"
"Of course I'm still friends with him." She had mentioned Harry in so many of her letters that she knew he was as much a character in her parents' imaginations as in the imaginations of all the people of Wizarding Britain. "I'll always be friends with him. It's just... we've been having some arguments."
"Well of course you have. No pair of friends can agree on everything, and the differences were bound to come up sooner or later."
Hermione scoffed. "We've always known our differences. He's just being entirely too reckless these days."
"What unusual behavior for a sixteen-year-old boy," her mum remarked dryly.
"He should be better than that."
"So you've been trying to talk sense into him?"
"Yes, not that he listens to me anymore." Saying that out loud felt like stabbing herself in the chest with a dagger.
Her mum clearly clocked her expression, and said nothing for a moment.
"It doesn't matter," Hermione decided. "I'm doing just fine on my own, focusing on my studies."
"Well, your father would certainly agree with your stance."
"Dad is smart."
"And he probably wouldn't appreciate me pointing out that if the worst thing you can say about a boy is that his behavior resembles that of other boys his age, he might be worth more of your time than you credit to him."
"I give him plenty of my time, and too much of my assistance." To say nothing of her spurned advice regarding a certain book. "And I have no interest in catering to the whims of a boy who acts his age, when I've never had the whimsy of a girl of mine."
"You've always acted old for your age, Hermione."
"Thank you." Her mum cocked her head at that, but Hermione refused to interpret her observation as anything other than a compliment. She was right to act like an adult, wasn't she?
"Just think about it," her mum said finally, "while you join your father and me for a movie night. We won't take no for an answer."
"Fine." Hermione silently resolved that she was acquiescing only to the second part of that request, not the first. "I'll be down in a moment. Just let me finish this chapter."
"Okay." Her mum stood and, with a last scrutinizing examination of Hermione's face, left the room.
Hermione sighed, and then caught herself. She wouldn't sigh over a boy, and especially not one who was as capricious and arrogant as a teenager.
Her resolve all the more firm despite her mother's words, she set aside her book and went to join her parents.
* * *
If her resolve was ironclad by the time she returned from the holiday, it was given a coating of steel when Harry pulled his stunt with the bezoar at the next Potions class. She didn't speak to him for days afterwards, although she did privately attempt to research the mysterious new concept that Dumbledore had brought to his attention, horcruxes.
And if she took to doing more of her homework in her dormitory, where he couldn't find her, it was only because she was avoiding the distractions of her foolish peers, of whom he was only one among many.
She thus whiled away much of the first weekend of the term sitting on her bed, sheltered on every side by her textbooks and by her tightly drawn curtain, and forced herself to be content in the locale. It was approaching dinnertime on Sunday evening when the door of the dormitory opened.
"I told you that Harry was in love with Hermione!" Parvati blurted, at which point Hermione dropped her rather heavy book atop her crossed shins and had to restrain a yelp. "Didn't I tell you?"
"Oh yeah? When did you say that?" Lavender challenged.
"Two years ago, after the Yule Ball, when he spent the entire time staring at her instead of me."
"Everyone was staring at her that night," Lavender replied doubtfully.
"Well, here's the proof," Parvati countered.
"This doesn't prove anything about his feelings for her two years ago, only that he's in love with her now."
Hermione tightly gripped her knees, rigidly preventing herself from bursting out from behind her curtain and demanding whatever proof her roommate meant.
"Still," Lavender continued, "it feels out of character for Harry, doesn't it? He's never one to show his emotions."
"He wasn't showing them, at least not knowingly," said Parvati. "Padma said that Anthony told her that Michael heard from Terry that Stephen overheard Harry crying in the bathroom about Hermione ignoring him, and mournfully declaring that he would never confess his love for her."
Hermione froze. It couldn't be true... could it?
"It's horrible," said Lavender. "I feel so bad for him. He could have any girl in the castle he wants, but he falls in love with the one who considers herself too good for a boy."
Hermione would have bristled at the insult were her heart not pounding away in the grip of other emotions she dared not decipher.
"I'm worried about him," Parvati admitted. "He's had such a difficult time over his years at Hogwarts, and Hermione is the only one who's always stood by his side, no matter what. Now she's deserted him when he needs her most."
"He's better off without her," Lavender countered. "She's too proud and contemptuous to match his feelings. And he's the Boy-Who-Lived, he'll get over it. I'm sure some other girl will come along shortly to heal his broken heart."
Hermione clenched her fists, unwilling to consider that possibility.
"Before the holiday, you said yourself that they would make a cute couple," Parvati pointed out.
"I did, but he would need to break through all that frigid ice around her heart first, and it's becoming clear that not even the hottest fire spell could manage that."
"She has certainly become very cold and very vain," Parvati agreed. "I still think they would make a cute couple, though, if he could break through her pride. Maybe we should tell her about this."
"No," Lavender replied immediately, "she would probably sooner scorn his affections than return them. It wouldn't do him any good. I think we should set him up with someone else, someone who can make him forget all about her."
"Do you have someone in mind?"
"I just might. Come on, let's go to dinner."
They left the dorm, leaving an absolutely reeling Hermione still concealed and unnoticed behind her curtain.
How could she have been so stupid? All of a sudden, Harry's actions during the previous term were far more explicable. He had been nervous about seeking her help too much as he normally did, perhaps concerned that his illicit crush on her might reveal itself in humiliating fashion. Or, perhaps, he had sought to prove himself worthy of her by succeeding in class without her assistance, or been driven by his own pride to assure himself that he was her equal. It was these reasons, instead of or at least in addition to his recklessness, that drove him to rely on the advice of the uncouth, pseudonymous individual who had so flagrantly vandalized a textbook.
And she, instead of deducing his motives and assuring him that he had no need to worry or prove himself in such a manner, had chalked his behavior up to adolescent recklessness and rebuked him, unwittingly breaking his heart in the process.
Remorse flooded her. She could admit to herself by now that she cherished her role as the person Harry relied on, because he was so good and brave and far more worthy of her assistance than anyone else she knew. She had thus been shamefully jealous when he began turning to the faceless Half-Blood Prince instead, and that horrid jealousy had caused her to lash out with her own destructive abandon.
And now, as a result of her actions, Harry was crying in a bathroom, the very same pitiful state in which he found her when he first came to her rescue all those years ago on the night a troll invaded the castle.
She was so stupid.
And alongside her remorse for this stupidity, recognition of another error niggled its way into her awareness. She had, after all, spent years ruthlessly suppressing and ignoring her own crush on him, one that had perhaps existed since the very same night of the troll. These illicit feelings, despite her cold suppression, explained in hindsight many of her own choices over the years, and provided further rationale for her jealousy of the Prince.
It was no boon to her vanity that she now acknowledged that, had she and Harry each heeded the suppressed truths in their hearts, their friendship might have blossomed into something truly beautiful.
That he was worthy of her was no great stretch, for he was courageous and compassionate and loyal and handsome and certainly had a measure of intelligence that might have been far more recognized had it not developed in the shadow of her own immoderate intellect. Moreover, the recklessness that she had scorned, and which her mother had wisely classified as very characteristic of boys of his age, was almost always given sway over his actions only when his intentions were good and true and brave.
That she requited his love was even less of a stretch.
It occurred to her that she was surely due for some teasing at the hands of Lavender and Parvati, to whom she had declared, with every bit as much vanity as they alleged, that she didn't need a boy. But that was a couple whole weeks ago, wasn't it? She had grown since then, and even since the discussion with her mum during the intervening holiday. Indeed, she had grown in the mere minutes since overhearing their gossip, thanks to her realization and private acknowledgement of long-suppressed feelings. So, she would maintain her humor in the face of their good-natured teasing and bask in the knowledge that she was in love with a worthy boy who loved her back.
First, however, she had to tell said boy and relieve him of the oppressive belief that she didn't requite his feelings. Never again would she hear of him crying in a bathroom over her.
Emerging from behind her books and curtain, she hastened down to the Great Hall and scanned the length of the Gryffindor table, which was presently crowded with her housemates. Her heart, newly unburdened by her private admission, sank anew at the realization that Harry was nowhere to be seen.
Shoulders hunched, she sat down well away from Lavender and Parvati and the other sixth-years, wondering what to do. She didn't know which bathroom Harry had occupied in his grief and she couldn't just go barging into every boys' bathroom in the castle to search for him.
Instead, she ate quietly, her mind alight with concern and anticipation of confessing her feelings to him.
"Hermione?"
His sudden voice beside her made her jump, and she placed her hand over her suddenly racing heart. "Harry!"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." The compassion in his eyes was as conspicuous as ever, and she silently reprimanded herself again for all but ignoring that compassion over the past few months. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she answered quickly, eager to avoid compounding his anguish in any way. At least she didn't see any lingering signs of tears on his face.
He searched her face, as though concerned that she wasn't telling the truth. "Could I talk to you?"
"Of course." She immediately stood, far more eager for this conversation than he could realize. Her heart began to pound away again with anticipation.
Neither of them following the other, they were nonetheless in perfect sync as they exited the Great Hall, turned to the right, and entered the nearest unused classroom, of which there were many in a vast school that offered fewer than a score of different courses.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked as soon as the classroom door was shut behind them.
"Yes, Harry, I'm fine," she responded in her most assuring tone.
He again searched her face, as though convinced that all was not well with her. She realized that this must be because she had avoided him for most of the past week, ever since the Potions class.
"Look, I'm sorry," she blurted.
He blinked. "For what?"
She blinked back at him. How could he not know for what?
"It's alright, Hermione," he said compassionately before she answered. "Look, I know about..." He trailed off.
"You know about what?" she asked, now very much on the back foot.
He sighed, opened his mouth, closed it again, and then made another attempt. "I overheard Lavender and Parvati talking about... They heard you crying."
She narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. They didn't know that I was there, and I didn't want to... Anyway, I overheard them saying that you were crying in the dorm and that you said that you..."
She had a feeling she knew where this was going. "I overheard them saying that Padma heard from Anthony that Michael heard from Terry that Steve overheard you crying in the bathroom."
"What?" He matched her narrowed eyes. "I've never cried in a bathroom before, not about anything."
Frustration roared through her as her roommates' scheme became manifest.
"So you're not in love with me?" he asked.
Her face hardened as she realized that it was all a lie. He didn't love her, Lavender and Parvati had simply made it up to make a fool of her. Of course they had known that she was there, behind her curtain. And they must have likewise known that Harry was there wherever he overheard them. "No, of course not. You're my best friend, Harry, but that's it. And you're not in love with me?"
His face hardened to match hers. "No," he answered in a corresponding tone.
Furiously ignoring the pain this expected response caused within, she forcibly turned her thoughts to revenge against her roommates. She would concoct a retribution that would make even Fred and George balk. Skeeter and Edgecombe had made a fool of her and paid dearly for it, and Lavender and Parvati would suffer similar fates.
Harry turned away from her and went to the nearest window, glaring into the courtyard. She briefly wondered if she should apologize on her roommates' behalf, but it was no fault of hers that they had done this.
But, perhaps, she could still say something to make him feel better. "Look, Harry, if you ever need help with anything, you know that you can ask me, right? I'm always willing to help."
He turned back to her, still scowling. "Is this about the Prince's book?"
It was, in part, but she still scowled anew at the mention. "You really should stop following the notes in that book. They can't be trusted."
He scoffed. "Oh please, Hermione, it's not as if I don't know what this is really about. You just don't like someone doing better than you in a class."
"I would be completely fine with it if you achieved the success honestly," she countered.
"This is no different from past years, only it's someone else helping me instead of you."
"Someone who can't be trusted!" she insisted. "You don't even know his real name!"
"Well, the Prince hasn't steered me wrong yet."
"That doesn't mean he won't at some point! Please, Harry, if you need help, I'll always give it."
"What I need is for you to stop worrying."
She bristled at this. "I'll always worry about you!"
"Why?"
"Because I love you!" It burst out of her before she could stop it, and she blamed her prior anticipation. She clapped her hands over her mouth, humiliated and furious with herself.
He stared at her. "What?"
She lowered her hands and dropped her gaze to the floor, wondering if she could put the cat back in the bag. At the same time, part of her felt relieved that her feelings were finally in the open.
"I love you," she repeated, partially against her own will.
"Lavender and Parvati were telling the truth?"
She shook her head, gaze still glued to the stone beneath her shoes. "I wasn't crying about it, they made that up. Just like they made up that you were..." She gestured vaguely towards the nearest bathroom.
"I love you too," he blurted.
Her eyes snapped back up to his. "What?"
"I didn't realize it until after I overheard them, but I... I have for a long time, I think, I just never let myself acknowledge it."
Her heart sang as her own feelings were echoed back at her. "Really?"
"Yes."
And then she was throwing herself at him, hurtling into his arms. Their lips met with a furious longing and passion, and the kiss was everything she had dared to dream it could be.
When they broke apart, she stayed on her tiptoes, resting her head against his cheek and smiling to herself. "We are so getting back at them for this."
"Yes, we are, but not just yet." And then he was kissing her again.
* * *
Dinner had long since ended when they finally emerged from the classroom, and they detoured down to the kitchen, hand-in-hand and still sharing scattered kisses as they walked. Afterwards, they finally returned to Gryffindor Tower, and found Lavender and Parvati in the common room.
Her roommates' faces both split into wide grins on seeing them, and Hermione couldn't help matching the expression even as she tried to frown instead.
"Is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Parvati asked, glancing pointedly at the new couple's joined hands. Everyone else in the common room was also looking at the hands and whispering among themselves.
Hermione realized with more than a little reluctance that she had no heart for revenge. She couldn't muster anything other than gratitude on seeing her roommates' delight at the fruition of their scheme. "Not at the moment," she replied.
Parvati and Lavender exchanged fresh grins and a high-five, and Hermione shook her head and turned to her new boyfriend. "I reckon I have an interrogation pending. I'll see you in the morning." She also wanted to write to her mum, although she knew that the response would include an 'I told you so.'
And then she kissed him, and ignored the catcalls that filled the room. They would have to get used to this.
It was going to be a very interesting term.