Flowerpot

The Conversations

I was quite happy that no one knew we hung out.

See, Hermione and I led highly different lives and had done so for the entirety of our Hogwarts careers. It wasn’t as if there was a point of divergence that would allow for an easy explanation as to why one of Neville Longbottom’s best friends, and thereby one of the most respected figures in the school, chose to spend some of her free time with me. It wasn’t as if I was originally part of the cool kids club, then suffered a blow to the head and turned into the loser I was now.

I mean it wasn’t as if I was some degenerate lunatic. I hadn’t killed anyone or anything. I just didn’t stand out. People like Neville had that hero thing where they always managed to be in the right place at the right time. People like Ron Weasley made you laugh. And, people like Hermione were just brilliant.

It really began in our fourth year, though we had been passing acquaintances for our entire time at school together, which was a rarity in itself for me. It was during the time between Neville’s fall into exile for being in the Triwizard Tournament and his rise back to the top of the social mountain after he outflew a dragon. Ron and Neville had fallen out, as Hermione had told me, and she didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

She came across me in my usual place, hiding behind the greenhouses, smoking. I wasn’t sure what the Hogwarts rules about smoking were, I still don’t to be honest. I mean, Gandalf smoked a pipe, so they can’t be too against the concept, could they?

“That’s bad for your lungs, you know,” said Hermione, though her voice wasn’t quite as bossy as I’d grown accustomed to hearing inside our lessons over the past three years.

“Well, I think that’s entirely my choice, but okay. I think I’m far more likely to die in either a ball of nuclear light or at the hands of an insane wizard than my body falling apart. I think the fact that cancer can literally be vanished our bodies would indicate that this isn’t something I should be all that worried about.”

I still got rid of my cigarette. It’s just rude to smoke in front of people that don’t want you to.

“Still, you shouldn’t do it. There’s no point in causing unnecessary damage to yourself. It’s daft.”

“But where’s the fun in life if you’re not under mild threat at all times?” I asked. “Your friend Longbottom would seem to agree with me.”

“I don’t want to talk about him or about any aspect of my social life currently. I’d quite like to just avoid all of that for a little while.”

“So you’re running from your problems?” I asked.

“No! I’m simply avoiding a potential calamity, something you clearly have no idea about.”

“Hey, that’s not true. I’m very good at damage limitation. I don’t go to Snape’s lessons for that very reason.”

“Professor,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t know you liked roleplay, Granger. Though I rather enjoy you showing me such respect.” I replied, sending Hermione’s skin into a red hue.

“Just shut up, would you? It’s bad enough I have to deal with Ron and Neville’s bickering, I don’t need the advances of a pervert added to my list of issues.”

“So what do you want, then?” I ran a hand through my hair. “Because if I can’t be morally dubious then what else have I got?”

“I don’t know, just think of something. Distract me for a while.”

“Well, I know of one way we could use our time,” I said, winking at her.

“I thought I told you to stop with that?” she replied, huffing.

“Okay fine, we’ll talk. It’s not every day I’m talking with the brightest mind of our generation, so let’s put that brain to good use.” I said, attempting to be droll. “People really need to stop calling you that, by the way. It’s disingenuous. There’s like a billion people in China. You surely can’t be smarter than all of them.”

She attempted to look offended. “If I wanted to be poorly insulted I’d go and sit with the Slytherins at lunch.”

I smiled at that. She gave up trying to be offended and smiled back, her warm, brown eyes lit up as she did so.

“You ever wonder how the universe chooses whom to bestow magical ability to?”

“A little bit. I mean, it’s such a big part of my life, isn’t it? It’s not like I have a magic gene like purebloods probably do. Nature just decided to give magic to me, a person of entirely mundane ancestry. Had that not happened, I’d be at some comprehensive school, no doubt being accosted by some bully. Now I’m at some boarding school, no doubt about to be accosted by Malfoy.”

I laughed. Hermione was witty when she wanted to be. “I have a theory, though you’ll hate it,” I said. I could see she wanted to scold me for my language but didn’t. “I think muggleborns are all subject to prophecy, that’s why they get magic. Fate needs another character for its play of life and just throws magic at someone. I mean, look at you. You’re clearly destined for great things. It can’t just be chance that causes that.”

“That is single-handedly the most half-baked theory I’ve ever heard. You think the tides of fate draw muggle-born people in?” She asked, the wheels of her indignation beginning to turn. “Prophecy, and divination for that matter, are subjects of guesswork and evangelicalism and just outright lying. I refuse to believe that my entire life is any small part linked to anything quite so insubstantial.”

“Okay, so what’s your theory?” I asked, quite annoyed.

“I, erm, don’t actually know,” she replied, her hands playing with her sleeve nervously. “I suppose at some point one of my ancestors will have to have been magical, it’s statistically impossible for them not to have been. Magical ability could just be a latent gene that once in a while activates. I’m unsure.”

“I do abhor your need for science. I like to imagine that there’s some magic involved in your abilities,” I said, in attempted rebuttal, but deep down I knew she was probably, annoyingly, right. “You’ve gotta have some awe and mysticism involved or it all becomes too mundane. The most powerful magic a lot of people do is accidental magic when they don’t know anything about magic. Look at Dumbledore. The bloke’s the most powerful wizard ever and he’s mad. You really think with that guy being the best of all of us that real success comes from breaking down everything into scientific theory?”

She glanced skyward for a moment. “Well, Headmaster Dumbledore actually was responsible for most of the breakthroughs in research in the last century. He’s actually rather rigorous in his work you kn-”

I cut her off. “-Well that might be the case, but you can’t tell me you can look at someone like that and see Albert fucking Einstein, can you?”

She gave me a quizzical look, but didn’t ask. “It’s just not probable that magic was given to me because someone like Trelawney proclaimed so. Apart from all else, it’d make it hard for me to sleep at night knowing I owe all of my proudest accomplishments to someone like that.”

I laughed once again, then looked into her eyes. “Why did you come and talk to me of all people?”

“Well to tell you the truth I wasn’t looking for you,” she replied. “You just happened to be here.”

“Well, that was a clear and thoughtful answer that really helped to clear up any confusion.”

She looked at the ground bashfully. “Well, if you must know, I truly intended upon going on a walk around the grounds to gather my thoughts after talking with Neville.”

“And what did this conversation with Neville entail if it caused you to meander into my den of hedonism?”

Her eyes remained firmly planted upon the ground, though something quite strange appeared within them. “It’s what it didn’t entail was the issue.”

All of a sudden, it clicked. “You like him, don’t you?” I asked somewhat rhetorically given she continued to stare at the floor, but she nodded jerkily nonetheless. “And I take it he doesn’t quite share your feelings?”

Again, she nodded.

“It’s...It’s just that he was the first person to be nice to me, is all,” she said after a brief silence, a catch in her throat. “It’s just a harmless fantasy. A schoolgirl crush.”

“Still hurts though, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she responded, tears then falling from her eyes. I averted my eyes.

“Longbottom’s a moron then, isn’t he?” I said. “He’s probably going to end up marrying the youngest Weasley or Abbot from Hufflepuff. People like them are ten-a-penny. You’re fucking Hermione Granger, brightest witch of our age. He’s not gonna find another one of you.”

She sniffled. “I t-thought y-you s-said that was di-disingenuous?” asked Hermione, her watery eyes brightening as she looked up toward me.

“It might be disingenuous, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I barely turn up to half of our lessons and I still know that,” I said, though I felt rather awkward just watching her cry. I had no idea what to do and given that this was the first proper conversation we’d had, I don’t think she’d really appreciate my haphazard attempts at consolation.

“T-thank you, Harry,” said Hermione.

.........................

“Why do you dress like that?” asked Hermione, rather out of the blue. We hadn’t spoken for a month or so, and since then Longbottom had become the King of Gryffindor once more, so Hermione was again back atop the social mountain. Why on Earth she’d come to find me at the back of greenhouses I have no idea.

I looked down at the huge flannel shirt that the Dursleys had given me after Dudley had grown out of it. I could hardly tell her the truth. She’s Hermione Granger, she’d probably start a charity to buy me adequate attire. “I’m really into Grunge.”

“Grunge?”

“Grunge. Like Nirvana and stuff. It’s the style.” I said, which was probably on the list of the top ten worst excuses ever. Who the fuck liked Nirvana?

“I know what Grunge is. I’m a bookworm, not deaf,” she said, turning up her nose. “You’re still smoking, I see.”

“It keeps the Dementors away. They think the smoke’s a Patronus,” I said, stubbing out the cigarette. “Is that what you came here for? To berate me for my choices?”

“No actually, I came here to inform you of the fact that McGonagall wants to see you tomorrow evening,” she said, looking rather smug about it. That was annoying.

“And how did I manage to earn that particular distinction?”

“Well, today there was a mandatory meeting for the whole of Gryffindor from fourth year and up. You’d know that if you actually attended lessons, by the way.”

I shrugged. “Huh, that’s interesting,” I said, leaning against the greenhouse wall. “I mean, I’m not gonna go and see her, but that is certainly interesting.”

“Oh Harry, you really ought to. Now that I think about it, you should care more about your education. You spend all of your time here behind the greenhouses, not going to lessons and wasting your life away. What are you going to do when you finish Hogwarts with no qualifications? What then?” Asked Hermione, her voice irate.

“I don’t really know, but I doubt it matters. I don’t want to worry about the future because anything could happen at any time. Nothing is certain and it’d be daft if I frittered away my youth worrying, only to go to sleep one evening and not wake up because I’ve had a heart attack.” I said.

“Ah yes, because the life you’re living right now is so much more fulfilling,” she said, uncharacteristically snide.

“I’ll have you know I happen to enjoy spending my days with only the solace of my own company,” I said. “I’m not so sure why it matters to you, though.”

“I don’t like to see potential wasted. You’re actually rather intelligent and I’m sure quite talented at magic when you turn up to lessons,” she said, a quizzical look overtaking her face. “Aren’t you bored? What do you do?”

“I entertain myself. Look, I’ve never been an academic and Hogwarts certainly hasn’t helped that. I just hate going into every lesson and seeing the disappointed look teachers give me because I’m not my parents, or in Snape’s case, because I’m apparently my father reincarnate. I still read the books and practice and stuff, it’s just that I don’t need that expectation.”

“Look, you don’t owe me anything and we barely know one another, but I think you should start attending more lessons,” she said. “It’d give me peace of mind, is all.”

“I’ll think about it,” I responded. “What did this meeting entail, anyway?”

“There’s going to be a Ball at Christmas and we were taught how to formally dance,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “It was all dreadfully dull.”

“Sounds horrendous.”

“Oh, it was. I don’t know how to dance, but all the purebloods did, and it was just awful,” she explained, her nose scrunching in discomfort as she did. “I’ll probably not end up going.”

“Join the club, Hermione.”

She laughed for all of a moment before her eyes grew focused upon me. “I’m curious, Harry. What would there have to be in order for you to go to this Ball?”

I pondered for a moment, taping my chin, adopting a pose like the Thinker. “I don’t think there is anything in the world that could convince me to go to this ball and spend several hours in front of everyone else.”

Hermione hummed. “For once, Harry, I agree with you.”

I could feel my eyebrows push together. “See, that surprises me. This strikes me as the sort of thing that The Golden Trio, as Malfoy so aptly coined, would love. All that coming together and happiness and unity. I thought you’d be lapping it up.”

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, her cheeks pinkening. “Condescending though that may be, you are essentially correct,” she said. She paused for a moment. “Really I’m just worried that no one will ask me, and I’ll have to go alone.”

I looked at Hermione then. She was smaller than I had thought she was, nearly a head and a half shorter than me and I wasn’t the tallest in our year. I really didn’t understand why she was quite so worried that no one would ask her to the Ball. She certainly had that bookworm, cute-girl-across-you-look-at-across-the-library-at-and-wonder aesthetic and I’m sure some lucky sod would see that and make her day. Even though it was not during lesson time, she still wore her uniform. She was also somehow 50% hair. It was almost ridiculous how big her hair was.

She caught me staring, her big eyes peering up at me. They were really quite arresting. “I don’t think you should worry too much about that. Aren’t we supposed to be repulsed by our family? Well, with how prevalent inbreeding is among wizards, you’re guaranteed a date.”

“Thank you Harry for the thinnest silver lining I have ever heard.”

....................

“Stop smoking, Harry,” said Hermione, by way of greeting. I would rebuke what she said, but as I looked up from the muddy ground I could see that she was practically steaming with rage and thought better of it.

“Hello to you too.”

“Shut up and let me vent,” she said, leaving me rather shocked. “So, it was Neville and Ron and I sat together and the subject of a date for the ball came up. Ron asked Neville if he had anyone to go with and I was sure Neville was about to ask me but Ron just had to stick his nose in and say that’d I’d be going alone and that I should go with him. Well, I couldn’t very well let him win so I said I have a date and now I have no idea what to do. Why do these things keep happening to me? It’s just not fair!”

This was yet another example of why I don’t talk to people. This situation seemed like rather a lot of hassle and to be quite honest, much ado about nothing.

“You could always just ask Neville out yourself.” I said though it was as much to occupy the silence rather than give a solution. She’d never do that. You could tell she’d read far too much Jane Austen to have anything but an entirely romanticised view of how things like this should occur. “Aren’t you all supposed to be inseparable? I’m sure if you just explained your point of view they’ll understand.”

“But then I’d just be proving Ron right. He was incredibly rude and he shouldn’t get that satisfaction just because he might actually be correct this time.”.

“So you want the moral high ground, but you also want a date to this Ball. You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Granger. Pick one.” I said. She huffed, not unlike a child.

“You’re probably right. By now Ron’s probably told everyone that I’ve got a date and so no one will even ask me.” She said, pouting. “You’re definitely still against going, aren’t you?”

“Attractive though you are, it’d be a cold day in hell before I went to that fucking affair,” I said. She blushed at that, weirdly.

“You know, it occurred to me that I know absolutely nothing about you, Harry. You’re quite the enigma,” said Hermione. “Even now I hardly know the first thing about you.”

“That’s by design rather than accident, Granger. Can’t let people know shit or they’ll use it against you. Look at your beau. People find out he speaks Parseltongue, and all of a sudden he’s public enemy number one. Don’t give people fuel. They’ll burn your house down.”

“That definitely wasn’t sad or paranoid in any way.” Said Hermione sarcastically. “Well, you’re gonna start now. We’re playing the question game.”

“The question game, Granger?”

“It’s that world-renowned game where I ask you questions and you answer them without complaint.”

“You see, I call that interrogation.”

“Eh, Semantics.” Said Hermione. “So, let us begin. what’s your favourite colour?”

Brown. “The black that is the void that shall one day consume us all.”

“Favourite book?”

Great Expectations. “How to lose friends and alienate people.”

“For goodness sake, Harry! Please answer these properly.” Said Hermione, her arms thrown up in irritation. “I’m trying to be your friend here and you’re making it very difficult.”

“Funnily enough, Granger, that was sort of the point,” I said. Okay, so maybe I did want her to be my friend but she wasn’t allowed to know that. If I actually acquiesced I’d be brought into the fold with the Weasleys and I’d be part of It - capital I - and that’s the last thing I want. It was something I had readily avoided. I rather liked the arrangement we had and I’d rather it stayed this way.

Apparently, that wasn’t what she was after, so she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out petulantly. “Could you just do it? For me, please?”

As it would turn out, saying no to Hermione was quite difficult.

“Fine,” I said. “But I get to ask you questions too. It’s only fair.”

She grinned up at me, her big eyes shining in such a way that made me quite strange. “Great!” she said. “So, what is your family like?”

Wonderful. She picked the last thing I wanted. “Well, 100% of my family is dead, so, dead. I live with my relatives who exist,” I said, purposefully vague. I cut her off before she could further question me. “My turn. Why do you like Longbottom so much?”

She took a while before answering, her forehead scrunching in thought, the strange feeling inside me still there. “I’m not entirely sure. There’s the obvious fact that he’s brave and kind and handsome. But I think it’s because he was my first friend. He was the first person to ever care about me and that’s always meant something to me.”

“Well, bravery and kindness get you killed. Looks fade, and novel experiences only matter for as long as they remain novel.” I said, more bitterly than I had hoped.

“Thank you, oh wise master of relationships, for sharing your knowledge. That’s what everyone’s always saying. ‘There goes that famous Don Juan, Harry Potter.’ Truly your reputation precedes you.”

“Really?”

“No, Harry. They don’t say anything about you because you’ve never given them a reason to.” Said Hermione. “It’s almost weird how little people care about you. You’ve somehow managed to remain anonymous in a year group of 40 people. Extraordinary, really.”

“Excellent.”

“So, next question. It’s really to satisfy my curiosity more than anything,” Hermione said. “How good are you at magic? Because you never really go to lessons but you seem smart enough.”

At this, I got my wand from my pocket. I let my mind go to the only thing it could go to in these circumstances, and then I whispered, “Expecto Patronum” and a brilliant Stag appeared, as it always did.

I heard Hermione gasp. “Beautiful,” she whispered. The stag ran to her through the air, floating around her and nuzzling at her neck. I’d never seen my Patronus act in such a way.

I watched the sight for a while. Hermione’s face was alight with an innocent wonder as she allowed the protective spell to cuddle into her. The sight felt...special.

“I didn’t know that anyone our age other than Neville could perform that Patronus Charm,” she said, breaking the silence. She was still smiling. It only belatedly occurred to me that so was I.

“Well, now you know. I hope that answers your question. My turn,” I said. I thought of asking her more about her and Ron and Neville, but I didn’t want to take away the smile from her face. “What makes you happy?”

Hermione replied almost instantly. “Reading. Growing up I didn’t have many friends and I was bullied quite a lot but it didn’t really matter because I could always go to my room and immerse myself in these other worlds.” She looked around at the grounds that surrounded us, the Forbidden Forest in the distance. “I just wish the person I was then could know that the real world is even more amazing than anything in the books she read.”

I looked across to Hermione who was lost in her thoughts. I too stared out looking into the distance. Winter had recently begun, with snow tipping the trees, making Hogwarts look somehow even more magical.

I thought back to when I was younger. The years I was bullied by Dudley. For a long time, I didn’t even think I was a real person. Everyone else had their parents that loved them and my life just wasn’t the same as theirs. Even now, I couldn’t really empathise with anyone else at Hogwarts. They were all living these happy little lives. They had no idea of the life I had led and quite frankly I’d never want them to.

I felt Hermione’s eyes look at me, pulling me from my thoughts. She smiled at me. I smiled back.

“Are we friends, Harry?”

“I do suppose we are.”

......................................................................................

The next time Hermione and I spent any time together, November had been and gone, and the castle had been transformed into a child’s Christmas fantasy. Snow covered the fields and hills that surrounded Hogwarts and it looked incredible. Even my cynic’s heart could not contest that; it almost made you feel sorry for muggles, really, that they never got to see this.

So yeah, it was a wonderland, but it was a fucking cold wonderland this time of year, especially given the part of Scotland where the castle was. Made smoking a pain in the arse - I could barely feel my fingers, let alone use my lighter.

“I would’ve thought that the fact that the world is literally telling you that you can’t smoke would’ve been a big enough sign for you,” said Hermione from behind me. “But here you are, being an idiot, as usual.”

“Nice to see you too, Granger,” I said. I would’ve used my wand to light up, but it didn’t feel right to me, though I know that doesn’t make any sense. “It really brightens my day to hear you moan to me.”

Granger blushed. I threw away any hope of actually getting to smoke today, both literally and figuratively, as I set the whole fag alight with my wand. “You still don’t come to lessons, Harry.”

“I didn’t take you for a person that needed to be told things twice, Granger,” I said, leaning against the greenhouse behind us. “I do not want to be there and I sure as fuck am not wanted there.”

Hermione’s brow creased, but she did not chide me. “But how would you know? You don’t go to lessons enough to even tell,” she said. “I just don’t understand. How does Headmaster Dumbledore allow you to continue to miss classes?”

“Dumbledore and I have a special accord, really,” I said.

“But why, Harry?” asked Granger, her voice dripping with concern. Misplaced concern. “The Headmaster shouldn’t just allow his students to miss out on their education.”

“Yeah, well the Headmaster shouldn’t allow former terrorists to teach Potions, or frauds to teach Defence and that hasn’t fucking stopped him doing it, now has it?” I exclaimed. I really needed Granger to leave me be. “He lets me do what I want, end of story.”

Granger bristled once more, she wanted to chastise - to nurture was her nature, even to those who so clearly did not want it - but to my everloving relief she did not. Even more mercifully, she dropped the subject - I liked to imagine that it was with me she learned the art of tact.

And it wasn’t as if I could tell her the truth; that the Headmaster, with all his experience, was still terrified of orphan boys left unattended and so chose to give me a long leash that I was, probably by her opinion, doing a fairly good job of strangling myself with. The truth would break her obedient little heart.

And I couldn’t tell her the other, more significant truth; that he left me to rot with my relatives for eleven years without a care, and I doubted that he’d all of a sudden start to care now. It’d be out of character, after all.

Neither of us spoke for a while, allowing the silence to bleed the air of tension. I stole glances at her as her chest heaved in the cold, highland air. It was strange; half a year ago, the sight of Granger would’ve brought nothing forward. Yet now, I could tell in the rhythms of her breath and the stillness of her posture more than I could of nearly anyone else in the world.

Satisfied that I wasn’t about to bite her head off, Hermione turned to me, her huge brown eyes peering up at me. The sight was as baffling as ever. “So,” she began anew, a nervous laugh below her breath. “I have a date for the Yule Ball.”

“Really?” I asked, feigning disinterest. I shouldn’t care for the nonsense that filled her mind; like the ball and Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, but I did, and it irked me. I think it irked me because it irked her, even though it shouldn’t. She was far too brilliant to have been caught in the mires of teenage dating, yet here she was. Caught. “And who’s the lucky man - no wait - has Longbottom finally grown a pair?”

She shook her head, sending her curls this way and that, her entire head nearly moving under the weight of her hair. “Unfortunately, not,” she said, though a shy smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “It was Viktor Krum!”

Wow.

Now that was not the name I expected to hear, and I suspect my face showed it. “Congratulations, I suppose,” I replied after a moment, once more careful to show I didn’t care, though it was very difficult. It was one of those moments where the reality of being friends with a near-celebrity caught up with me. “How did he do it? Write your name in the sky with his broom? Draw a picture of the pair of you together on his cave wall? Grunt at you until you said yes? Truly, I’m all ears.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, actually. He reached out to me in the library, and he learned English for me,” she said. “It was all very romantic.”

“Sounds it,” I said, more so because I was more irritated than anything else. “What did Longbottom say? Was he jealous?”

Hermione’s eyes fell to the floor. “I haven’t exactly told him yet,” she told me. “I just don’t want him to think I’m rubbing it in his face or anything, especially considering he hasn’t got a date yet.”

“But you are rubbing it in his face, aren’t you?” I asked of her. “Isn’t that the whole point of the ‘date someone else to make the other jealous’ gambit?”

“Well of course it is!” exclaimed Hermione. “But I can’t very well do it, now can I? I’d look a fool.”

“You already look a fool as it is, worrying so much over a dance of all things. In for a penny…” I said, rubbing my hands together to get the circulation going. “And what do you mean Longbottom hasn’t gotten a date?”

“Longbottom hasn’t got a date,” Hermione repeated. “I didn’t take you for the sort of person that needed to be told twice.”

“But how?” I asked, incredulous. “Have you seen how famous he is? He does realise they could make palm leaves out of the girl’s knickers he made wet and line the path for him, doesn’t he?”

“Well, that’s the worst use of the Bible I’ve ever heard,” said Hermione. “And no, I suspect he doesn’t. He’s never been any good at talking to girls, and he’s quite shy really.”

“It’s not as if he has to talk to them anyway. I’m fairly sure a curt nod would get Lavender Brown’s underwear off,” I said. I imagine I sounded jealous.

“Quite,” said Hermione, demurely. “Are you going, Harry?”

I laughed in her face. “No, Granger, no I’m not,” I told her. “Life’s already shit enough without having to see my peers grope one another.”

“Jealous that you’re not the one doing the groping?” Asked Hermione, all too innocently, her big brown eyes batting themselves at me.

I spluttered. “N-no!” I told her. I took a moment to get over hearing a rare demonstration of Hermione’s sense of humour. “There’s no one here worth groping.”

“No one?” Asked Hermione. If it were anyone else, it’d sound like they were fishing for a compliment, but not her. “Not even Fleur Delacour?”

“The Veela? Oh God no,” I said. “Any person that needs an allure to attract people is something you avoid at all costs. There’s a reason you polish turds, and not diamonds.”

“I’m not sure where to start with that. I think I’m just going to leave it alone,” said Hermione. “So what’s your type then? You seem to spout virtues left, right and centre. I’m curious to know where you lay.”

“I don’t have a type, Granger,” I said, which was a lie in truth. My type was girls smarter than me. A short list. “As you have already said, my reputation as a lady killer is not noteworthy.”

“So on what grounds do you tell other people what they should do?”

“You don’t have to be a chef to tell if something tastes bad,” I said. “And, similarly, you don’t have to be a socially acceptable person to know which tree is the wrong one to bark up. Viktor Krum is the wrong tree, by the way.”

“You’re unbelievable,” said Hermione. I’d have preferred to hear her say that in a different tone. “And why is that the case?”

“Because think about it,” I said. “What would you talk about? Last time I checked you weren’t Oliver fucking Wood, and he wasn’t Lord George Byron. What are you going to talk about? Where are your common interests?”

“Well he asked,” said Hermione with a huff, turning her back and preparing to leave.

“Hermione! Wait!” I said, and I’ve no idea why. By rights, the solitude her absence would’ve given me should have been appreciated. I could finally smoke, for one. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

Hermione turned around, but I could see in her eyes, and the angle of her face, that she was still annoyed.

“Look, Hermione,” I said, attempting to be placating. It seemed there was a first time for everything. “Just because someone asked doesn’t mean you have to say yes. It’s better to say no to the wrong guy and miss out on this shitty teenage experience than say yes and get yourself hurt.”

“But I don’t think he’s going to be the wrong person,” said Hermione, indignant. “He was kind and courteous, and he seemed to really want to go with me.”

“But Hermione, you and him have nothing in common,” I said. “And he’s 18, and you’re 15. I know you’ve been told you’re mature for your age, but what on earth is a grown man doing asking out a child?”

Hermione stopped in her tracks there; I had clearly posed a question that she hadn’t thought of.

“You’re right,” she said, a hint of defeat in her voice. “Maybe if I told him I want to go as friends?”

“Or, better yet,” I said. “You don’t go at all.”

“But I want to,” said Hermione, and she was all of a sudden rendered the petulant teenager she really was. “I’ve bought a dress and I can finally waltz.”

“Then ask someone else,” I told her. “Or, more specifically, ask Longbottom; seems that’d kill two birds with one stone.”

“I can’t just ask him. It’s not right,” Hermione told me. Seems she cared a little too much about what’s right and proper. Though, the fact that she wasn’t going to ask him made me happier than it probably should’ve.

“Aren’t you a forward-thinking woman?” I asked her, to which she nodded. “Isn’t it about time you buck societal norms and do what you want?”

“What I want is for him to ask me, and that’s not happening,” she told me.

“Well, seems to me you’re fucked.”

“If it were you I fancied, it’d be far easier,” she bemoaned, offering him a half-smile as she did. “I’d buy you a pack of Marlborough Red and you’d buy me obscure books and we’d all be very happy. But it isn’t you, is it? It’s Neville, and he’s being a pain.”

In my mind’s eye, I could briefly see the future that she had painted. It was far nicer than it had any right to be.

“Just fucking ask Longbottom,” I told her. “You’ll be far happier when you do it. And leave me be; I wanna smoke, and you need to leave for that.”

Hermione left, but I didn’t smoke. No, instead I had to worry myself with thoughts of Hermione; like the fact that someone else taking her to the ball made me quite so agitated. I also had to confront the realisation that what I had said before wasn’t true. There was one reason I’d go to the Yule Ball, and it was a tiny bookworm that was a perpetual pain in my arse.

...............................................................................................................

“Harry, if you’re going to smoke, at least smoke cigarettes,” said Hermione, acknowledging the pipe I was smoking. “Smoking a pipe is a bit too middle earth for you.”

“Would you prefer if I smoked a cigar like an oil tycoon?” I asked, putting the pipe away.

“I’d actually prefer if you never smoked again, but cigars are definitely worse,” Hermione told me. “Smoking a cigar would make you look like you’re trying to get your father’s approval.”

“Whereas clearly the reason I smoke is to complete the lonely orphan vibe I’ve got,” I told her. “I’m going for Bender from The Breakfast Club. Am I close?”

“No, he had parents who hated him, you have parents who loved you,” Hermione told me. I would’ve corrected her, but she was right; they had. “Why do you actually smoke?”

“Something to do with my hands,” I told her, and she rolled her eyes. “That and it makes me feel calm.”

“Being a good person calms me down, have you tried that?”

“When the fags stop working, it’ll be the first thing on my list,” I told her. “So, why’re you here Granger?”

“I wanted your input on something,” Hermione said, looking up at me through her lashes.

“Well I want to input you with something, so at least there’s an equality to it,” I teased her, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “What is it?”

“I want to get Neville a present and I can’t decide what,” Hermione told me. Oddly, the mention of Neville irritated me. “What would you want?”

“Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division,” I told her.

“That’s not much use, considering Neville’s a Pureblood. I imagine he’d be very confused as to why someone would want to divide joy,” said Hermione, smirking at her own joke. Nerd.

“What do you usually get him?” I asked.

“A book on Quidditch,” she admitted. “But this year’s different.”

“Because you want to ride his broomstick?”

“No!” she argued, her cheeks reddening. “I want him to like me, and this is important.”

Inwardly, I realised I was irritated that she cared about him quite so much, that she wanted a second opinion about a Christmas present of all things.

“Why does it matter anyway?” I asked her. “Aren’t Christmas presents supposed to be a little shit anyway?”

“Erm, no?” She questioned. “I don’t know what your Christmases are like, but mine are usually wonderful. My mum would always bake, and my Dad would take me Ice-skating. It was amazing.”

“That explains it then,” I told her, realising. “See, Christmas for me was all about watching my cousin get those sorts of things. Tends to put a dampener on things.”

“So, you never even got presents?” Asked Hermione, and she was so fucking concerned it was incredible. Sometimes I forgot how good she was, but then I was reminded.

“Eh, it’s alright,” I told her, waving it away. “Dudley was too distracted to beat me up, so it’s not all bad. A happy time, really.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, closing the distance and giving me a hug. It was odd; I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that. I even forgot to reciprocate, letting my arms hang by my sides awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I told her, a little gruffly. It was hardly comfortable talking about the Dursleys, was it?

“No, Harry, it isn’t,” Hermione said, swiping at her eyes. “No wonder you’re so…you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No wonder you’re like this,” she said, gesturing to my whole body. “Your relatives were arseholes.”

“Hey, I take full responsibility for the end product that is me. My relatives had nothing to do with it,” I told her. “And honestly, it’s not all bad. I grew up quick, and I’m glad for it.”

“Yeah, but you never even got to enjoy Christmas,” said Hermione, very offended on my behalf. “Did you at least go carolling?”

“Oh God no, they wouldn’t be seen with me like that,” I told her. It was actually quite nice to tell someone, though I imagine it was only nice because it was Hermione.

“So have you ever gotten a Christmas present?” Hermione asked me.

“Erm, no,” I told her. “Oh wait! One year - first year of Hogwarts, actually - they gave me a pack of matches and a piece of wood. You know, because I was a witch?”

“Your relatives are arseholes, Harry,” repeated Hermione. I was oddly touched; if this raised such language from Hermione, she meant business.

“It’s water under the bridge now,” I told her. “I’m over it.”

A spark of an idea formed in Hermione, right before my eyes. It was incredible to witness; it was as obvious as a lightbulb above a cartoon character’s head.

“So,” I said, changing the topic. “What were your ideas for Neville?”

“I was thinking I could make him a sweater with his family crest; he’s very proud of his heritage,” Hermione told me.

“Isn’t that a bit worrying for you?” I asked her. “I mean, Malfoy’s ‘proud of his heritage’.”

“Oh, no!” Hermione insisted. “The Longbottoms have been pro-Muggle-borns for as long as their name was recorded.”

“If you’re sure, that sounds perfect,” I told her. “Aren’t you worried that you’re putting a little too much effort in though? Do you think Neville is going to do the same?”

“I’m sure he will,” said Hermione. “Well, this would be the first year he’s gotten me anything, but that’s okay! Because in our first year we weren’t that close, in the second year he had enough on his plate, and in the third year, we were arguing at this time of year. It’s okay, really!”

“Are you sure you’re not just making excuses for him?”

“No, I’m sure he’ll do the same for me,” Hermione told me. And, for some reason, I couldn’t shake the concern I felt for her. Which shouldn’t be happening: one, because I shouldn’t worry about her in the first place and two, because what I was really thinking was I want her to care about me like that.

.................................................................................................................

“Harry Potter, you enormous prick,” said Hermione, by way of greeting. She didn’t even admonish me for smoking.

“No, it’s Harry Potter, you have an enormous prick. Subtle difference, I’m sure you understand,” I said.

“I’m not in the mood for it today,” said Hermione. “You’ve ruined my life.”

“And how did I manage that from all the way over here?” I said, gesturing to my little home.

“I did what you said, and I told Viktor that I wouldn’t go with him,” Hermione said.

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” I asked. “Seems to me you’ve saved yourself from a boring night.”

“That wasn’t the end of it,” Hermione said, bristling. “I asked Longbottom to the ball.”

“Brilliant,” I said, but I didn’t think it. It was very not brilliant.

“No, not brilliant. Very not brilliant,” said Hermione. Funny that. “He said yes, and now we’re going as friends. Apparently, he had wanted to ask out Hannah, but he was too shy, and by the time he did, Finch-Finley had already asked her. So now he still thinks of me as a friend, and the ball’s going to be thoroughly terrible for me. So, thank you so very much.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault Longbottom has horrid taste in women,” I said. “Aren’t you better off now anyway? I mean, now you know how he feels, you don’t have to waste your time with someone who doesn’t reciprocate how you feel.”

“Well I suppose, but it still feels horrible to be told he has no interest,” said Hermione, quite jerkily. “And what now? He’s going to spend the entire time pining for Hannah, and I’ll have a terrible time. I was supposed to enjoy this.”

“You could probably change his mind, you know,” I said, and I had no idea why. And then, for some reason, I continued. “He probably doesn’t know anything about her other than how she looks, and you have her beat there. You’ve just gotta make him see that.”

“No I don’t,” said Hermione, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Hermione, when have you ever known me to be nice?” I asked her.

“Almost never,” said Hermione, not yet getting it.

I looked at her then. Truly looked at her. Her massive hair, and her immaculate uniform that she was wearing on a Saturday. Her slightly-too-big teeth, but the way she grinned so huge sometimes. The way her enormous brown eyes looked up at you; was so clear, and so very mesmerising that it reminded you that there were just some things that you would never know.

“Hermione, you’re beautiful,” I told her. “That is the truth of it. Hannah might show her beauty more brightly, but yours is all the deeper. You just have to show Neville that.”

Hermione looked up at me then; an odd look that she’d never given me before. Inquisitive and ponderous.

“Then how do I do that?” she asked me, her voice soft.

“Simple,” I told her. “You show yourself in a new light. You show him in a position that he’s never seen you in.” Hermione tilted her head, curious. “If you’re so set on him, you need to show yourself in a way that he’s going to recognise. If he likes girls dolled up, then we’re making you a Matryoshka.”

Privately, I thought that my advice was terrible. If Neville required such a thing, he neither deserved Hermione nor was Hermione right for him. But if Hermione wanted Neville to notice her, that was probably the way to go. Even if I didn’t like the thought of it.

We were friends, and if Neville made her happy, then she’d get Neville.

“Okay,” she said, beginning to smile. It was a lovely sight to see, even if the cause of it wasn’t quite so nice. “Let’s do it.”

“Then I suggest you start making friends with your roommates, because if it’s a material world you want to live in, those are your material girls.”

“Madonna?” Hermione asked, incredulously. “You like Madonna?”

“That song is an incredible attack on late-stage capitalism, and I’ll not hear a word against it.”

Hermione laughed at me then. “Are you saying that when you hear my voice, it’s like an angel sighing? And that it makes you feel like flying?”

I actually thought that when I hear her call my name, it makes me feel like home.

“No, I’m saying that I want you to be like a virgin, touched for the very first time,” I teased. “Though, in your case, it won’t be like a virgin, will it?”

Hermione blushed bright red, and it looked so impossibly adorable that I feared I might ruin everything by kissing her then.

“S-shut up!” She told me. “Let’s re-focus our efforts now, rather than you being crass.”

“I thought it was my crassness you came here for?”

“Well, it’s actually for the sparkling conversation, but you’re ruining that.”

“If it wasn’t for me, there wouldn’t be sparkling conversation,” I told her. “I bring my wit, and you bring the credibility.”

Hermione smiled at me - I liked when she did that. “Anyway,” I said. “So, what? When he sees me, all dolled up, he’s going to fall head over heels?”

“That’s your goal,” I told her. “Failing that, you looking like that and dancing with another bloke would certainly help.”

“But who though?” asked Hermione, her index finger tapping her chin. “Who?”

“Ron?”

“Oh God no.”

“Viktor?”

“My rejection burned that bridge,” Hermione told me, ducking her head in embarrassment.

“How? What did you say?”

“It wasn’t complimentary,” said Hermione. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“Oh, now I need to know,” I said, leaning into her a little. “How bad was it?”

“I’m not proud of it,” Hermione told me. “But I basically said that he was far too dull and that I wouldn’t enjoy his company.”

I laughed, almost proudly.

“That’s my girl,” I told her. “So, who else? Surely your list of friends extends beyond three people. You’re you.”

“Part of being me is that I stick by Neville when others don’t, and that makes a great many people undesirable,” Hermione lectured. “Plus, I’m just Neville’s nerdy friend. Not that many people noticed me.”

“Well you never can credit Wizards with logic,” I told her, and she smiled. “But that leaves us at a quandary. An impasse. A conundrum. A crossroads.”

“Yes, all of those,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at my antics. “There is one solution, though.”

“And what would that be then?” I asked her.

“I could dance with you.”

“Oh no,” I told her. “Absolutely not. Do you not see me? Have I taught you nothing? This is a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s not!” Hermione insisted. “It won’t be that bad! All you have to do is dance with me for a few songs, then you can leave and go back to dwelling around here for the rest of your days.”

“I don’t even own dress robes!”

“Just transfigure yourself a suit or something,” she told me. “You’re always talking a big game, you should be able to do that.”

“And I can’t dance!”

“And I don’t care!” Hermione exclaimed. “No one will notice. If your idea works, and it should, then all eyes will be on me. Problem solved.”

“Alright, fine,” I said. “But if I do this, what’s in this for me?”

“Well, if I get Neville to like me, then I’ll be out of your life,” she said, and that was hardly a bonus.

“What else?”

“You’ll be making me happy?”

That was enough for me to do it, but Hermione didn’t need to know that. “I already do that every time you come and visit me,” I said, smiling winningly, and she grinned despite it. “I need something substantial.”

“I’ll do all of the research on your end of year potions coursework.”

“Deal,” I told her.

That was the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.

And all of a sudden, I realised I was going to the Yule Ball.

“Fuck,” I let out, realisation dawning on me.

Hermione laughed at me. “I’ll make a real boy out of you yet.”