Hermione had to nearly drag Ginny Weasley to the special lessons that had been opened to any trusted witch of Hermione’s, “any young lady she trusted to be by her side and in her entourage as she took on the games she was to lead during the coming war”. Ginny absolutely qualified for that position. But she was practically dragging her feet. “Ginny, I can’t talk unless I’m at my mentorship, come on.”
Why was Ginny so afraid of modeling and psychology and glamour spells, anyway? What with Ginny’s mother, Mrs. Weasely, having six boys just to try and finally get her one girl, Hermione would have thought that Ginny would have been simply drowned in feminine skills, would feel at home in special classes for them.
When they finally entered through Ravenclaw’s secret doors, Ginny was still trailing behind, nearly hiding behind the archway. Mrs. Zabini took one look up from where she was angling Padma’s face to “find the light”, narrowed her gaze on Ginny, and then shot a deeply disappointed look at Hermione Granger.
“Absolutely not.”
Hermione blinked. “Excuse me?”
“That is a boy,” Mrs. Zabini said. “No boys.”
There was something… something in Mrs. Zabini’s tone which suggested a sort of gentle safety, even as Hermione was sure that the only tone directed towards herself was an unyielding one.
Hermione looked back over her shoulder, and then bristled. Sure, Ginny had taken to wearing her Quidditch uniform more often than not, and she currently was a bit dirty from practice. But the year-younger witch’s eyes were big as saucers, and after a moment, she could see tears start to form in them.
Hermione rounded on Mrs. Zabini only to be met with a palm held a few centimeters from her face.
It stopped her, out of sheer surprise more than anything else.
“Young man, are you mistaken for a witch often?” Hermione just stared at Mrs. Zabini. How could such a cultured woman be so wildly insulting.
For a moment, Mrs. Zabini’s confidence made Hermione question her own reality. But… no, she had changed in the same room with Ginny dozens and dozens of times, the girl’s body might be thinner than Hermione’s, but she had all the same parts.
“Have you never heard of a tomboy”, Hermione squeaked in helpless defense of her friend.
Mrs. Zabini’s eyes hardened. “Padma,” she requested calmly, in the same tone she had been trying to teach Hermione in order to mask the girl’s easily summoned rage. “Would you please escort Hermione to her other instructors? I don’t believe I’ll be capable of working with her for the rest of the day.”
Padma took Hermione’s hand without a word and led her deeper into the Ravenclaw Keep. Hermione looked over her shoulder to get one last glimpse of the scene she was leaving, eyes looking for the friend she expected to be still cowering sullenly by the entry arch.
Instead, she saw her red haired friend run full tilt into Mrs. Zabini’s arms, a sob emitting from her throat as she buried her dirt-covered face in Mrs. Zabini’s expensive garments.
Her mentor didn’t mention the clothes’ international value. Just held Ginny as she seemed to collapse in Mrs. Zabini’s arms.
And then, with a yank, Hermione was pulled from being able to see the confusing scene anymore.