Orbit

Hermione rejoiced as she found her favourite spot of the library empty. She had gathered up the courage to take her journal with her, leaving herself the possibility of not reading it yet. Her hands trembled as she broke the seal of the letter Pansy had sent her.

I am sorry. You did not deserve that. It will not happen again.

The message wasn’t signed, but it was written using a golden ink. A peace offering? Hermione didn’t know how to respond. Perhaps because Pansy had made sure to not leave room for conversation. She nevertheless took out a piece of parchment, ready to draft a response. One chance. She’d give Pansy one chance to reply, after which she’d finally accept her loss.

Thank you for your message. I know you’re going through a tough time. How are you finding advanced history? I noticed you in class.

All Pansy had to do was take the bait. If Hermione sent the owl by lunch, Pansy would be sure to receive it by supper, with the evening owls. Should Pansy not respond, Hermione would return to her own life and abandon her efforts to find a way into Pansy's.

Talking with the girl was so incredibly different from talking with Harry or Ron. Hermione had never craved female friendship before, entirely satisfied by her two best friends. But Pansy thought like her. Her way of approaching complex mathematical and transfigurational problems could only be described as elegant, and clean. Pretty to think about. The way Pansy’s eyes lit when she overcame a challenging task was all too familiar to Hermione. There was a thirst for knowledge, a mutual understanding of the beauty of the craft and adoration for the arithmancy behind every charm. Pansy spoke a language that Hermione had believed was her own unique invention.

She slipped the telegram-like message into an envelope before hiding it in her cloak, right next to Pansy’s letter. She needed to at least wait to be done with some homework before sending it in. Truly there was no harm in sympathising with Pansy, she convinced herself. Had the girl been a Ravenclaw, or a Hufflepuff (more likely a Ravenclaw), Hermione wouldn’t have hesitated for a second. Harry would never approve. But she wasn’t Harry. Ron would be outraged. But he would never have to know. This pursuit for intellectual conversations with someone who would understand her thoughts was hers, and only hers. That, if Pansy ever even answered, of course.

Hermione tried to focus on her homework, but to no avail. At this time of the day, she would have no problem blaming it on the rowdy second years who always occupied the round table tucked away in the furthest corner from Ms. Pince's desk. Hermione was quite certain they were the reason the librarian inevitably soured before the belltower tolled twelve times.

She took out her journal and opened it on the first page. Hermione made sure no one was paying attention to her. Daphne Greengass was sitting not too far, but she doubted the girl would ever look at her twice. She started from the beginning, reading pages and pages that she remembered perfectly. It was difficult for her to be confronted with her raw emotions, their existence forever undisputed by the way she had tattooed them on paper. Some of the things she had written, in fits of rage, jealousy, or sorrow were truly not meant to be read over by anyone, not even herself. Hermione forced herself to continue. She needed to know exactly when this… issue had started. Long, painful minutes passed until finally, she found it.

October 12th 1996

Katie Bell’s curse is all I’ve been thinking about. I doubt that the sight of her convulsing on the ground will ever leave my mind. Though I will say, the mirror girl did manage to distract me during our conversation. Ironically, it was nice to think about the prevalence of necromancy during the 12th century instead of my classmate. We disagreed actually, but I loved it. She knew what I was talking about. I can’t grasp this feeling enough to force it into paper, but I hope one day, with practice, I will.

Mirror girl? Who was the mirror girl? Most of Hermione’s words held true to this day. Katie Bell’s convulsions were still freshly engraved in her mind. But she had no recollection of having talked to any mirrors. Hermione interrogated the ceiling, trying her best to retrace the tragic day in her mind. The trip to hogsmeade… McGonagall’s convocation…no mirror. Had the mirror of Erised somehow found its way back into the Castle’s grounds? As pathetic as that sounded, Hermione wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had told her that her desired reflection was simply someone that listened to her without telling her to shut it. The Hollow space inside of her growled, begging to be filled. Perhaps her next entries would help her make sense of the mirror she mentioned.

October 20th

I almost met her. Her voice enchanted me. I waited for her beneath the Old Oak Tree by the Great Lake until Parkinson ruined everything. That foolish brat lingered so long that even my mirror girl was scared away. I try not to guess her identity, yet I can't help myself. Given our conversations about Parkinson, I doubt she’s a Slytherin—my money is on Ravenclaw. Perhaps it’s for the best that we didn’t meet. Her voice alone is enough for me, and mine for her. What if she sees more of me and finds that I am too much? Shaving parts of myself away to fit the mould of 'enough' has always been harder than filling its crevices with pretences.

Pansy? Why had she even written about her? Hermione ignored the knot in her throat, tied and anchored into the words on the page. Feelings she had delayed acknowledging were now fleshed out, alive, unavoidable. The Erised Mirror Hypothesis was one that lost credibility by the second, but that was nonetheless worth pursuing. Hermione sighed. Splattered in between her confessions about a mirror and a girl (or a charm?) was the heartbreak she had experienced because of Ron. It was hard to reread just how much he had hurt her. She was still reading the entries from before the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match, meaning before him and Lavender had even started dating and teardrops already adorned some pages, making the ink bleed. She still hated the idea of them being together, but the sorrow witnessed in the pages seemed to have left her entirely.

Hermione frowned. Had she liked this witch? This mirror girl? It was clear that the Hermione that had written those entries was unaware, but the vocabulary she had used for Ron in previous pages had now been granted to her conversations with the girl. She looked around the room, alarmed, looking intently at every witch who seemed to be her age. Daphne’s beauty was uncontested. Nicknamed the Slytherin Princess, her pale eyes and naturally bright smile were enough to make anyone stop in their tracks. But would Hermione see herself kiss her? Or any witch? That was an entirely different matter which she had never consciously considered. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place, answering some questions she had never thought to ask. Could the voice calling her name in her sparse dreams be the mirror girl, her mirror girl, as she had so lovingly called her countless times?

Sensing her presence, Daphne turned towards her, their eyes meeting for a brief, confusing instant. Hermione’s cheeks flushed. She got up, embarrassed. She’d be in serious trouble if she started blushing every time a pretty girl looked her way. She would never get any work done here. It was a better use of her time to just go mail her letter to Pansy now.

____________________________

Hermione had intentionally sat with her back facing the Slytherin dining table. She didn't want to accidentally stare at Pansy. She didn’t want to know whether or not the girl was even there at all. Would she answer?

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“What ended up happening to the Mirror of Erised?” She questioned, replacing one of her obsessions for the other. Her potential friendship with Pansy for her mirror girl.

“Haven't seen it since first year, why?”

“Do you think it could be back at Hogwarts?”

“No way. Dumbledore said it was way too dangerous.”

“What about a similar mirror?”

“It's one of a kind. But why?”

“How did I seem last semester? Did I act any differently?” Hermione persisted, ignoring Harry’s suspicious questions.

“Well you were very upset at times, you know why,” Harry avoided saying Lavender’s name as much as he could. “But mostly you wouldn’t hang out with us after dinner, You were always so excited to run off on your own. I figured you had found a distraction for when it got to be too much so I didn’t question it.”

“You didn’t question me? At all?”

“No?”

“Why? Why didn’t you ask me what I was up to?” Hermione spat, frustrated.

“Did someone do something to you? Hermione? Please talk to me.” Harry’s worry had grown since her last breakdown in the great hall. He watched her like a hawk, making her research harder. Luckily for her, the library, and a closed room with a Slytherin were two places Harry wouldn’t set a foot in unless forced.

“I just.” Hermione started. She didn’t know what to say. In all the books she had read, not one had words adequate enough to describe what she felt. “I feel like something was taken away from me. Something I deeply cherished. I don’t know how to find it. I didn’t use to feel like this. I used to be more. But I can’t remember what that even was like. I can’t taste it, or smell it. Sometimes in my dreams I hear it, calling for me. But I can't find her. I am failing us.”

“Do you want us to go upstairs? I’m here. I would love to hear everything that’s on your heart.” Harry rested his hand on hers.

“I can’t. If I start then I won’t stop, and I can’t afford that. I just need to know that someone else knows. Will you remember this conversation for me Harry? Just in case it happens again?”

“Just in case what happens again?”

“Can you please promise? I’ll talk more about it when I’ll be sure it won’t break me”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” Hermione sighed in relief.

___________________________

“Are you sure you don’t want to just do the round with us?” Ron asked her from the bottom of the stairs.

“It would just take so much more time and we’ve got class tomorrow. It’s fine, I'll do it on my own.”

“Alright, see you soon.”

Anthony Goldstein had joined for their prefect patrol without Hannah Abbott, announcing the girl, ill, had not been able to leave her bed for a couple of days now. Hermione enjoyed spending time with her. But in these circumstances, she enjoyed time alone more than hearing about the Chudley Cannons for hours on end.

She decided to start by going up the west wing, floor after floor, before making a turn and going down to the Great Hall through the south wing. Hermione smiled. The castle had a different whisper when it was empty. Walls murmured, paintings whispered, moving staircases harmonised. If one paid close attention, they would be able to hear the low humming of ancient magic inhabiting every corner of Hogwarts.

Hermione turned around the corner of the fourth floor and stopped right in her tracks.

“Parkinson? What are you doing here?” Pansy was frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. Her hands were buried in the pockets of her trousers. Her necktie hung low, the knot loosened down to the centre of her white blouse. Hermione wavered, disarmed.

“I’m just walking back to my common room. Don’t mind me.”

“I have to mind you! Curfew was an hour ago. You’re not supposed to be out. Plus, you’re violating dress code.

“Am I?” Pansy shrugged.

“Y-Yes! Yes you are!”
“I’ll make sure to not violate it again. It’s not a great look on me anyway.”

“I never said that.” Hermione blurted, before blushing. She couldn’t believe herself. Pansy walked past her, a satisfactory smile plastered on her face.

“Goodnight Granger.”

“Pansy wait!” She demanded. But Pansy ignored her. Hermione caught up to her, struggling to keep with the tall girl’s pace. “I’m going to have to give you a detention!”

“You don’t have to, technically. You could just let me go and no one would know.” Pansy finally stopped.

“You’re out really late past curfew!”

“I’m a prefect too, Granger.”

“Yes, but you’re not on duty. So you’re still violating the rules.”

“And you’re on duty without a partner. That’s also violating the rules.”

“It doesn't work like that!” Hermione started debating before Ron’s voice cut both of them off. Crap. The one thing Hermione didn’t need at the moment was Ron finding her nose to nose with Pansy after hours. Without a word, Hermione grabbed the girl’s arm, dragging both of them to the nearest door she could find. To her surprise, Pansy obliged.

“A broom cupboard? Really Granger?” Pansy whispered

“Shut up.” Hermione ordered. There was still no sign of Ron and Anthony, but the loudness of their voices indicated that they would appear any second now. Hermione leaned back against the wall, leaving as much space as she could between her and Pansy. They were still too close for her taste, the tip of their boots almost touching. She tried to calm her breathing. The thrill of hiding, of being so close to Pansy, it was all too much. Pansy’s white blouse reflected light onto her face in the dim lit cupboard. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, Hermione noticed. Pansy looked a bit different. She had way more freckles than she ever let appear, clustering around her nose like dandelion seeds. Her lips, full, had a slight curl to them. Hermione couldn’t look away from Pansy. The few undone buttons. The emerald tie loosened. Her short black hair tucked behind her ears. Her eyes. Her eyes stared directly into Hermione, letting her observe her.

“Okay I think they’re gone.” Hermione let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Pansy opened the cupboard’s door, letting Hermione exit first. They both refused to look at each other, walking side by side in silence. Hermione had never noticed the rich colour of the wood structure of the ceilings in this part of the castle. Everything was better than to rest her eyes on Pansy again.

“If you really wanted me to get detention you would’ve let them find me.”

“Maybe I wanted to give you detention myself!” Hermione crossed her arms.

“Really?”

“Yes! Really!” Hermione retorted. “Unless you tell me where you’ve been. If I deem it to be a reasonable excuse then I’ll let you go.”

“I can’t tell you where I was.”

“Then I have no choice but to give you detention.”

“I guess it’s settled then. It’s a shame, I really hate detention. Send me an owl and I’ll see if I can make it.” With that, Pansy had gone her way. Hermione rubbed her temple. Giving Pansy detention was not going to help their potential friendship to bloom. How had they even gotten to that point? Hermione’s insides were on fire.

They had been so close

Why hadn’t she been able to control herself in the cupboard? Pansy had noticed the way she looked at her. What was happening to her? She didn’t know what to do with herself, with her thoughts. Perhaps the best way to go was to not think at all. She didn’t try to understand herself anymore. Her feet started running towards where Pansy had disappeared. She found the girl dragging herself down the stairs at an exceptionally slow pace, her hands still buried in her pockets.

“Pansy!” Hermione demanded from the top of the stairs.

“Yes?”

“If you do my rounds with me then you won’t get detention.”

“What?”

“I said what I said.”

“You just said that you’d rather be around me than give me detention. Do you even know how crazy that sounds?”

Hermione blushed. It was crazy. Why was it that time and time again, the universe propelled her towards Pansy? At what point would blaming higher forces become impossible, forcing her to take accountability for her actions?

“It’s not crazy. I don’t have a partner at the moment, and you are a prefect. You don’t want detention yet you’re begging for it. Why don’t you help both of us out here Parkinson? Am I that horrible to be around?”

“I never said that.”

Hermione didn’t reply. The ball was in Pansy’s court now. She suppressed a smile as Pansy climbed the steps back to her. They began walking, side by side again, not uttering a word. Minutes passed during which neither of them acknowledged the situation. They were both equally guilty, having made decisions which had brought them together instead of apart.

“I’ve been really enjoying it.” Pansy finally broke the silence after long minutes.

“What are you talking about?”

“The advanced history class”

“Oh.” Hermione gulped. Pansy had gotten her letter. “Yes it’s wonderful isn’t it. I love how we started with the theoretical frameworks used for historical cataloguing before analysing real life examples of them.” She continued. Pansy let out a small chuckle.

“It’s absolutely mindblowing, is what it is. If you think about it, the Welsh economic depression and the french wizarding banks collapsing in the 16th century aren’t so different in nature. Yet the way these historical events were recorded make it so that one is much more well known than the other, and parallels are never even acknowledged!”

“Absolutely! Makes us wonder if anything we learn is even real. I mean, for all we know there is an entirely different point of view, a lost primary source, a testimony which changes everything about a major event and we will never know!” Hermione rejoiced.

Patrolling went by faster than it ever had. Pansy knew just as much as her. Hermione’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering as they jumped from one topic to the other, her expertise having never been matched before. It was intimidating just as much as it was exhilarating.

“Would you like to work in a history related field after Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, a smile refusing to leave her face.

Pansy’s eyes darkened. Could it be… Sadness?

“I don’t really have any plans for after Hogwarts. Things are a little too complicated at the moment for me to allow myself to think about that.”

“Oh come on!” Hermione grabbed her arm. “There has to be something! Does the great Pansy Parkinson not have any dreams?”

“She does, she does.” Pansy surrendered. “It’s not really realistic though.”

“And what is it? In a world where you could do whatever you wanted, and every dream was nothing but a realistic, achievable path, which way would you go?”

“I guess I’d work in restoration. Being the first person in centuries to get the luck to handle precious books filled with what could basically be considered new information. I’d never leave my office!”

Hermione hit her arm.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Pansy complained, rubbing her biceps.

“That is a realistic dream you twat! Just go for it!”

“I can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because!” Pansy started. Her lips pursed, the words she wished to say unable to come out. “Because I’d need to take muggle history.” Hermione knew something deeper lied underneath the unspoken words, but she decided to ignore it.

“Then just take muggle history.”

“I can’t, my parents would kill me.”

“Just pretend it’s a mandatory course. Say times have changed and now all wizards are forced to learn about repugnant muggles.”

“Don’t say that.” Pansy winced, uncomfortable. “Anyway the deadline to sign up for the course has passed. I won’t be able to go into History studies after Hogwarts, it’s too late.”

“Isn’t that the class taught by Professor Burbage?”

“We’re friends. I’ll talk to her. You’ll get in in no time.”

“It’s one of the hardest classes at Hogwarts. I’ve missed too much of it already.”

Hermione hit her arm again.

“Bloody hell what was that for!”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to? You think I don’t know about muggle history? Plus you’re really smart. I’ll just help you and you’ll be caught up in no time. You know, Pansy, for someone with a brain like yours you can be really stupid at times. Giving up on your dreams because you heard a class is hard? That’s embarrassing.”

“Alright, alright, Hermione, no need to hit me again” Pansy conceded. “I’ll give it a try.”

Hermione’s cheeks turned red. Pansy had never said her name before. They way it rolled off her tongue, the low hum of her voice, everything about it felt familiar.

It would take Hermione a minute, but she could get used to this.