Loose Lips Sink Ships

"Time," Hermione said hopelessly, "I need more time. I've worked out my schedule to an inch of its life." She pointed at some papers that were scattered across the room like she'd thrown them. "Even with McGonagall's extra support, I simply can't do everything unless I give up sleep. And I've tried that before. It did not end well." She got a dark look on her face.

Harry had a mental image of her pacing a room with her hair on end. There was writing all over the walls and lots of red string connecting things. It felt very real.

"What kind of support is McGonagall giving you?"

"It's private." And she didn't elaborate any further.

"All right, then. Let me see your school timetable. With great effort, Hermione picked herself up off the floor and retrieved the timetables, handing her school one to him.

"Hermione," he said slowly, turning it sideways, "this doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense," she said stubbornly but she looked at uneasy.

"No it doesn't," Harry insisted. "You've got classes scheduled on top of each other. Literally at the same time. On different floors."

Hermione gave a very tight smile. "That's because I'm efficient."

Harry pointed at one spot. "You've got three subjects in the same hour. I'm pretty sure one of them is in a tower. Are you planning to sprint? Or just teleport now?"

"I have a system," she said crisply," Everything is accounted for."

"Accounted for?" Harry echoed. "Hermione, you've scheduled yourself a five-minute lunch. It says 'chew quickly' in the margins."

"Chewing is a luxury," she said. "Focus is a necessity."

Harry looked back down at the timetable like it might suddenly reveal a joke. "And what is this mysterious block just labelled '??'. Is that a class?"

"It's... flexible academic enrichment."

"That sounds made up."

"You play Quidditch for hours, and I'm not questioning your life choices," she snapped. Hermione snatched her timetable back as Harry wondered how she knew about him loving Quidditch, the whole school watches the Quidditch matches she probably knew from there.

"And besides," Hermione continued. "I've already sorted it out with Professor McGonagall."

"How the hell would she-"

"Drop it, Harry, I have another schedule anyways "

"Alright, Alright, let's see the other schedule you wrote up yourself. There's definitely somewhere you can cut back."

Harry scanned her schedule. "Okay, what about- for someone judging me for playing Quidditch, what's flying practice for?"

"No, I can't quit that."

"Why not? Do you even like flying?"

"You just wouldn't understand," Hermione says sharply. Harry could sense this was a sore subject for her.

"Do you have to practice for two and a half hours a day though?"

"Yes."

"Two hours? Come on, isn't, say, ninety minutes plenty?"

"Some studies show that two hours is the point of diminishing returns but I have it carefully planned, splitting time between carefully planned, splitting time between learning how to stay balanced, steering, strengthening my core and legs, and working on the landing and I wouldn't call that research empirical, you know?"

It sounded that she knew that theory of flying more than she actually liked flying. But he guessed the flying was not something she was going to budge on.

"What about these sessions here, what are they?"

There was a yellow-coded ninety-minute block on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Her face darkened. "Yoga, my mum makes me. She says I need to relax."

"If she wants you to relax, maybe you should schedule some relaxation."

"If I schedule relaxation, all I'll do is think about all the things I need to do. Which is not relaxing."

"Well, you must be super flexible at least."

"I can barely touch my toes," Hermione grumbled. "The book she gave me is useless, it  says I won't be able to be 'flexible in body until I am flexible in mind.' That is simply not how hamstrings work."

"How long have you been doing it?"

"Since first year after the exams when all my eyelashes fell out."

Harry blinked. "Huh . . . and you can't touch your toes yet?"

Hermione demonstrated. She was almost there, but she did look exceptionally awkward.

"The book might have a point, don't you think?"

"Mum won't let me quit yoga," She said, and pursed her lips.

If Harry ever lived long enough to have children and their eyelashes had fallen out because of an exam, he'd probably be crushing medication into their cereal every morning and book as many vacations as possible, Hogwarts be damned!

"That's the slot when I revise content," Hermione continued, pointing to the schedule. "That's current affairs. What? I have to read about what's going on if I'm going to be in politics. That's showering."

"Your showers are scheduled?"

She shrugged. "I'm busy. That's kind of the problem."

"I know, but it's only third year. It's doesn't really count for anything."

There was a particular look that settled into sicth year’s eyes whenever someone mentioned OWLs—the kind of haunted, faraway stare that made you think they'd seen things. So he decided ,wisely, that he'd enjoy his third year while he still could. Dementors and escaped convicts aside, according to most students it was nothing compared to the horrors of standardized testing. He’d just do his homework and start on top of studying or else he’d end up like Hermione.

"Third year is an excellent opportunity to round out my skill set and get a head start on OWLs and NEWTs."

Her lip wobbled and then tears filled her eyes. She pressed her fists into her eye sockets and pushed hard.

"All right, all right, that's probably how you lost your eyelashes," Harry said, pulling her fists away from her eyes by grabbing her wrists. Now he was a bit worried about her.

"There are two options." He stroked his chin. "We can destroy your wrist or your ankle."

Harry waited for her to scoff. She didn't so, he continued. "If you ask me, your wrist will free up way more time. It would be exceptionally hard to write with a quill or you can't do yoga!"

She stopped crying. "You're right."

"Huh?"

"I mean, not about the wrist thing, that's ridiculous. I can't break my wrist."

"Oh good. I was really worried you'd completely lost it there for a sec-"

"But my ankle definitely. I'd be able to stop yoga, that's two doubles a week, and I wouldn't be able to take Divination due to the ladder and it'd give me time to get back on my schedule..." She wasn't really talking to him anymore. Probably daydreaming about the free time she could fill with more work.

"Er. . . I was joking, you know?" Harry said quickly. He could see she was deadly serious and he was a little alarmed.

He wasn't sure if it was because he was concerned for her or because he didn't want to end up in trouble and having to explain how yes, it was all his idea but he didn't mean it.

She rounded on him. "No, you're brilliant. It's the only solution."

"You could talk to your parents," He said half-heartedly. If he had parents he probably wouldn't talk to his parents either, and he was stupidly flattered by being called brilliant by Hermione Granger. Her words had real weight. Had anyone ever called him brilliant before? He would remember it if they had.

"How though?" she mumbled. "That's the question."

She began pacing the room and then walked out the door into the main hall. He rushed to follow her.

"We could get a hammer from Hagrid's hut." He shut his mouth. She'd probably do it if she had the chance "I mean, no. Hermione. Seriously."

She looked around, ignoring him. Then she ran up the stairs and stood at the top. He stayed at the bottom.

"One, two, three . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen."

"Hermione, stop, no."

"That's going to really bother me," she said. "Nineteen. Why nineteen? What kind of self-respecting architect puts an odd number of steps in a staircase?"

"Don't you can't jump down the stairs!"

She clasped her hands together like she was going to dive into a pool, then took a few steps back and did a sort of mock run toward the stairs. She even turned around with her back to him and teetered precariously on the top step.

"Hermione, you'll crack your head open like that. You cannot do this."

"I can't do this," she agreed. "My brain is rejecting it. You know how you can't drown yourself either? Your body's instincts won't let you deliberately inhale water or stay submerged once the hypercapnia becomes overwhelming."

"How do you know that?" He was amazed that even as she contemplated injuring herself, she still found time to explain that.

"I know everything," she said absently.

"Come downstairs and we'll think of something else." Harry pleaded. He couldn't believe he was begging Hermione granger to not hurt herself.

"You come upstairs."

"You come downstairs."

"You come upstairs."

"No."

"Yes."

"You are so-," Harry rolled his eyes, giving up. It didn't seem wise to bicker with someone who was literally on the edge.

"Listen to me, the most logical thing to do is tell McGonagall to first fix your school timetable, I'm sure she'd be."

"Oh no. That won't work. She can't know I'm struggling. No one can know. No. I'm going to need you to push me." She said it casually, as though it was the obvious solution. He guessed he counted as 'no one.'

He tried to reason with her, "As if breaking your leg would get you out of your subjects, are you forgetting that Madam Pomfrey can fix bones in less than a minute."

She wriggled in front him me and braced herself as though she thought Harry was really going to just shove her down the stairs. Briefly he considered calling Pansy over, what Hermione really needed Pansy for this. Hermione was mildly annoying to him, sure, but he didn't have the edge it would take to maim her. She didn't deserve that. Pansy was spiteful, she'd take great delight in shoving Hermione down the staircase.

Although Pansy wouldn't push her archnemesis down a flight of stairs if she had any inkling that it would benefit Hermione.

"I am not going to do this. Get out of my way."

"Nope." She blocked the stairwell with both arms.

"This isn't going to work," Harry said, "You can't stay there forever. Unlike you, I have no issues in skiving class, Professor McGonagall is going to come looking for her star pupil any minute now."

For a second it seemed as though she was going to fight back. And then her whole body just collapsed. Her shoulders drooped, her head flopped forward, and her knees buckled. Silent tears sprang out of her eyes. How could one person cry so much?

"Please," she said. She grabbed the front of his jumper and pulled him close. Too close. His jumper felt abnormally hot. He could smell her breath. It was still pepperminty from brushing her teeth that morning. No pre-class coffee for Hermione. She probably thought coffee was a gateway drug to cocaine.

"I know you think I'm losing my mind, but this is the only way I can get what I need. I'll owe you one. Anything you want. I will tutor you for the rest of the year!"

He frowned. That didn't sound like a reward.

This wasn't normal-person behaviour. She was obviously way too hard on herself. If he
inspected her timetable closer, he'd probably find three minutes for peeing twice a day. Hermione may irritate him, but the girl had once rubbed all her own eyelashes out, for goodness's sake. If he doesn't help her, she would keep trying to do everything on that timetable and all of those extra activities on top of it, she'd work herself to an early death wand Harry would have to live with the fact that he could of done something about it.

Something absolutely bizarre and possibly illegal? Were you allowed to injure someone if they asked you to?

"This plan is never going to work, as I said, Madam Pompfrey can fix a bone in ten seconds or at worst an overnight visit."

"Don't worry I have a plan, you think I didn't think that through."

"Fine."

Her whole body perked up. "Really?"

"Yes," Harry said, not quite believing he was saying it. "I guess I can push you down the stairs. But don't hold it against me if your 'plan' doesn't go as followed or if you regret it and injure something you don't want to injure. I cannot be held responsible if your brains leak out your head or something."

They both heard the bang of a door and they jumped apart, just noticing how close they were and exchanged a look. Hermione quickly ran downstairs and when she reappeared she shook her head.

"No one there."

She returned to her position standing on the edge of the steps, elbows bent so her forearms protected her face but her hands would be spared from the impact. Harry stood behind her, raised his hands to around shoulder-blade level, and took a deep breath. Harry was a lot of things but he was not naturally a violent person. He closed his eyes. They stayed closed for a long time and he didn't move.

"JUST PUSH ME," she shouted finally.

He backed away from her. "I can't."

"You can."

"I can't."

"Yes you can, Harry James Potter, just pu-"

Hermione shrieked.

He pushed.

There was a clatter and a thump and a thwack thwack thwack and one more screech of pain. When his eyes sprang open, he saw Hermione in a ball at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you okay?" He called.

"No! I definitely did something to my ankle," she groaned, but she sounded pleased.

"Help me up."

Nothing like a please or thank you? Harry wondered if she'll now have time to schedule a session where she could learn manners. He ran down the stairs but before he could reach her, he heard something that made his blood chill.

"Here, let me help." A small girl with wide blue eyes crouched down beside Hermione and in one move scooped her into her arms.

Harry was screwed.