Hermione put on her favorite wooly sweater. It was a gift from Lord Sirius Black for helping Harry free him back in third year. The Raven cloven wool was exquisite, so despite being rather casual, it still counted as slightly fancy, at least according to her. That it always felt warm was another bonus in her opinion.
With her ink stained fingers, she slid a jeweled hair stick into her hair to keep the curly mass at bay, and improve her acceptability. Her mirror giggled.
“Now that’s a fine lookin’ hair piece, love. From a suitor?”
“From my brother,” Hermione corrected absently.
That had been a gloriously unexpected day. Back in fourth year, while Ron was busy pouting that Harry had not helped him into the Tournament, doubting his honor (A Potter’s honor. How was he so daft?) Hermione had grabbed Harry’s hand and refused to let him go anywhere alone until his Dogfather, (very lordly, newly freed, and tremendously furious godfather) arrived. Though nothing could be done because of how tricky the enchantments on the goblet of fire were, Sirius had taken them both out for the night, promised to teach them how to become animagi, and highly suggested they become blood siblings. For Hermione, who had never had a bond, and Harry, who had lost so many, it sounded wonderful. And it was. It seemed to stabilize something in Harry, and in Sirius, too, so it was no wonder that when Voldemort tried to capture him at the Third Task, the madman and Peter Pettigrew ended up fighting not only Harry (a magically stable and powerful Harry), but Sirius, Mister Cederic Diggory, and Remus Lupin too. It hadn’t ended well for him. Harry was now the Boy Who Defeated Voldemort Twice.
“Well,” the mirror countered, “You still look lovely, but are you sure about the sweater?”
“I am,” Hermione reaffirmed.
She didn’t want to present herself as anything other than what she was. While she could dress up when necessary, she was mostly comfortable clothing, inky fingers, and messy hair. She was also stubborn, loyal, absolutely brilliant, and patient. Which was why she’d spent the last several years studying her quarry and making sure that she knew for sure who and what she wanted and why she wanted them.
Initially, her plan had been to wait until after graduation and potentially her Mastery. During that period, she planned to begin a campaign of letter writing, small conversations, slowly turning their current relationship from friendship to something that could be more. Because she wanted more, but she knew she was abysmal at showing it. Probably worse than abysmal really. But feelings could be difficult in ways arithmancy wasn’t. So waiting.
Then Ron accused her of giving her Maiden’s Kiss to Heir Viktor Krum and began to “pre-court” Miss Lavender Brown. Pre-courting, according to Mister Ron Weasley, including sending sappy looks, ‘accidentally’ happening on Lavender and Parvati and escorting them places with charming smiles, sitting as close to Lavender as socially acceptable, and offering her bits of food he took from the kitchens or snacks he brought back from Hogsmeade in the guise of ‘sharing with everyone.’
Hermione had endured it with bewilderment and good grace. However, she wasn’t a fool and she began cashing in the favors she was owed for the perfect courting gift. She was in control of her own destiny, thank you very much. But, even after it was completed, she decided to wait, hoping whatever flight of fancy this was would pass. But it didn’t. Two days ago, she’d heard him telling Seamus that if they won they next Quidditch Match, he was going to see if he could wrangle some kind of kiss, maybe even a Maiden’s kiss from Lavender, because she always laughed at his jokes and never once bugged him about homework. She came from a big family, too, so she wouldn’t mind having the Quidditch team he wanted.
He was going to try to kiss Lavender Brown so they might have a Quidditch team together. Lavender, the second daughter of a newly Attributed house. Lavender who charmed her nails every other day, who saw things in the bottom of teacups and considered Professor Trelawney her mentor. Who often forgot the difference between dicing and paring, but could list every single known source of ethically harvested Griffon pelts in order of price, coloring, and quality. In the entire world.
It was infuriating. They’d won the game half an hour ago, which meant it was time for her to get moving. He would never kiss Lavender. Not while she was the better option.
The celebration was in full swing by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. Even with the Weasley twins gone, there was still a supply of firewhiskey and butterbeer freely flowing. Even a few bottles of Elven wine were being passed around. Harry was in the corner with Katie and Neville talking excitedly. He paused and turned around, throwing her a big grin. Then his eyes widened. The sweater and the hair sticks? He knew what was about to happen. He gave her a subtle thumbs up and then worked on casually shifting around to watch the show.
It was easy to spot Ron. He hadn’t properly showered, still a bit dirty and sweaty. He gesticulated wildly from where he sat next to Lavender on the couch. Parvati was up and Hermione could see her fetching some butterbeer. Lavender was obviously making sure to keep a certain distance from him. Hermione snorted. Of course she was. She would never appreciate Ron getting sweat on her clothing.
She took a deep breath. She was Hermione Granger. Mother Magic chose her of all her family line to grant magic to. She was the Brightest Witch in over a century. She’d helped her brother stay alive long enough to destroy the abomination who was once the Heir of Slytherin, and she’d found the loophole they needed to free the Lord of a Most Ancient House. She could do anything and she intended to do so.
She stopped in front of Lavender and Ron just as Parvati returned with Lavender’s Butterbeer. She noticed Hermione first.
“Hermione! I’m glad you came down to the party! Are those the hairsticks Harry gave you?”
“Hello, Parvati. They are.”
“They’re beautiful! You should wear them more often.”
Lavender smiled, “The rubies bring out the highlights in your hair. I thought you told Harry you’d only wear them for special occasions?”
“Oh, I did. I am.” Hermione allowed herself a brief, almost predatory smile. The feel of the gift tucked underneath her arm made her nearly giddy. There was no way she could lose.
Lavender blinked, suddenly looking nervous.
“‘Mione! What are you doing?” Ron finally spoke. He sounded nearly drunk from the win and the tumblr of Firewhiskey in his hand.
“Ron,” Hermione said with a patient confidence, “I need to talk–”
“No,” He frowned, “We don’t need to talk, why don’t you go to the library and write to Vicky. He’s your betrothed, isn’t he?”
Hermione felt her eye twitch. “Ron, for the thousandth time, I am not betrothed to Viktor. We did not k–”
Ron snorted, “Not like anybody believes that, but it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve moved on to a real woman.”
“A real woman…?” Hermione echoed flatly.
“Absolutely,” he emphasized, dribbling Firewhiskey over the side of his glass. “Come on, Lavender, let’s get out of here. Spoiling my victor— ahhh!”
His scream was rather high pitched as a swarm of robin sized griffons attacked his face first and then his hair. They seemed to be pulling chunks out in order to build nests over the fireplace. He tumbled off the couch, swatting and crying for help. Hermione silenced him and tucked her wand away. She ignored most of the eyes on her and focused on a wide eyed Lavender.
She cleared her throat delicately, “As I was trying to say before I was rudely interrupted, Lavender, I need to talk to you if you might grant me a moment of your time.”
“That would… be acceptable?” Lavender responded, her eyes darting briefly in Ron’s direction.
“Thank you.”
Ron flailed and kicked her ankle. She didn’t even spare him a glance as she summoned a pile of pillows and banished him into them. Satisfied, she knelt with practiced precision and pulled out the satiny brown pillow and the silver fan from under her arm. She held the pillow, the fan delicately placed upon it, up to Lavender. Somewhere there was a crash as a very large bottle fell, the sound even louder in the sudden silence.
Lavender pressed her fingers over her mouth, her eyes even wider now. They looked golden in the firelight. “Hermione?”
“Lavender, daughter of the Loquacious House of Brown, will you do me the greatest honor of allowing me to Court you?”
Lavender looked dazed. Hermione waited. She had planned for several buffers of silence. Almost absently, Lavender ran her fingertip over the pillow. Hermione inhaled sharply, suppressing a shiver. The echo of touch on her hair…
Suddenly Lavender was no longer dazed looking as her eyes flicker between the pillow and Hermione. Deliberately, she traced around the fan on the pillow. Hermione was almost certain her knees were going to buckle.
“Hermione,” Lavender asked intently, “What is this made of?”
“The fan?” Hermione asked before bulling forward, knowing exactly what Lavender was really asking. “The handle is made of silver lime wood with silver inlay. The pivot point is made from a piece of willingly given unicorn horn. The blades are made of black swan, raven, and white peacock feathers which are sewn together with unicorn hair. It can shrink to the size of a bracelet charm and there are shielding and impervious spells built in as well as a spell that lets the fan harden into an actual blade in cases of extreme peril.”
“My wand is made of silver lime and unicorn hair,” Lavender observed, still watching Hermione as she delicately stroked the pillow.
Hermione was quickly becoming certain that she might not survive this encounter. “I did observe that. You do, in fact, wear a charm bracelet as well.”
Carefully, Lavender picked up the fan and opened it. It wasn’t a full acceptance yet. The feathers glistened, the white of the peacock feathers against the black of the swan, with the smaller raven feathers serving as an in between. Hermione had hand picked every one after calling in the favors owed to her by Heir Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape. Well, in the case of Professor Snape it was less a favor and more of swearing that she would not go a single word or inch over the assigned essay length. She’d gotten the piece of horn from Anthony Goldstein and the hair and wood from the wandmaker himself after a letter of introduction from his niece. The silver and the craftsmanship came from several favors owed by Master Daedelus Fawley, who graduated the year before. Hermione had served as a chaperone for far too many of his secret courting dates with Lady Lucinda, Goyle’s older and prettier sister, purely because they chose her prefect rounds as the ideal time to hold them.
Lavender inspected the fan thoroughly, then paused and rubbed her thumb over the two red stones on it. “And these?”
“Red crystal.”
Lavender tilted her head slightly in thought before closing the fan and placing it back on the pillow. She leaned forward until only Hermione (and perhaps Parvati) could hear her whisper.
“Hermione Granger, this pillow is made from your hair, and the stones, they’re Blood Crystals, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Hermione admitted, finally losing a touch of her nerve. It was rather daring to use those materials, dangerous even.
“You gifted me your hair and something made from your own blood and magic?”
Hermione lifted her chin, “Well, isn’t that what it’s all about? Offering yourself and your magic to be bound to your partner for the rest of your lives? What better way for you to decide whether I’m suitable or not? Or for me to see whether you’re truly trustworthy. Of course, I already find you trustworthy or I wouldn’t have asked to court you in the first place. Really, the courting period will be for you to decide if I’m acceptable. I decided ages ago and–”
Lavender’s lips were on hers in an instant. Besides the hum of their magic as two strands twined together in a promise of things to come, the only other thing Hermione was aware of was the faint sound of Harry cackling in the background.