Girl Talk

It started out very much like every morning in Hermione Granger's fifth year. The now fifteen-year-old witch awoke to the call of owls outside on her frosted window. She moved about for a few moments under the sea of red and golden sheets, searching for some reason why she should get up when her body so longed for the comfort of sleep and rest. However, her mind always seemed to get the best of her, and with a sound that was a little bit of a groan and a bit more of a curse word, she stumbled into a pair of blue slippers and headed to the Gryffindor girl's Prefect washroom.

After being thoroughly clobbered by the steaming water from the mermaid- shaped showerhead in the Prefect's bathroom, Hermione walked back into dormitories. Owing to the fact that the calendar read (quite perkily, one might add) Saturday, her outfit was far less conservative that normally, the outfit including a small silver locket given to her by Ginny Weasley over the summer.

It had not been Hermione's intent to wake up her dormitory mates (well, mate by the time Hermione was back; it seemed that Parvati had gone off somewhere by the time Hermione had come back) when she came in. However, the soft "click" of silver lock against the silver hinge triggered something in Lavender Brown's right ear. The petite brunette yawned noisily, rubbing fine white grains from around her eyes.

"Do you have to be so loud?" Lavender complained as she pulled the luxurious covers of her bed over her tousled locks. "Some of us like to take into consideration the Holy Day that is Saturday by sleeping."

"And some of us have more important things that sleeping to be doing," Hermione retorted, slipping into a pair of silver-buckled shoes. She pulled up on her black knee-high stockings, and flopped backwards on the bed. "Besides Lavender," Hermione whispered in a mischievous voice as she slipped her hair back into a long, bushy ponytail. "It doesn't seem to me that all that beauty sleep is doing much of anything for you."

"Very funny, Hermione. Seems to me that you should let at least a little bit of that... charming bit of humor out in front of Harry and Ron. They might stop acting like you're the pin in their sides." The recently woken brunette simpered at Hermione.

Hermione's hands clapped in front of her chest, oblivious to the obvious insult Lavender had thrown her way. "Thank you form reminding me, Lavender! I'm terribly late for meeting them on the Quidditch pitch." Hermione bustled over to her small dressing mirror and pulled out a pair of leather gloves. A slight smile caught on her lips. "Ron wanted to show me how to track quaffles today, and I'm terribly late."

"Don't stress too much about it," Lavender's voice breezily said. She stretched her long arms above her head, scrunching into a ball afterward. "I'm quite sure that they can make it just fine on the Quidditch pitch without you."

"I know, I know. It's just that it seemed so important to Ron. You know, he doesn't have many activities that he can show me up at, and I think that it means a lot to him to be able to help me out with things."

Lavender's high-pitched giggle filled the air. Hermione's face was a terribly shade of vermilion by the time the other brown-haired girl had ceased laughing. Her hand had found its way across one of her blue jumpers.

Lavender then threw the covers off her chest, and laid down, rag-doll armed, on the soft linen. Her mouth was still laughing as she looked pointedly at Hermione. "You actually think that..." Lavender wheezed until laughter took over. The girl rocked back and forth in between the silky sheets, hands upon knees in hysterics.

Hermione sat expectantly on her bed. Her truffle-colored eyes focused on the rolling ball that was her roommate. "Yes, Lavender? I'm quite tired of waiting."

"Do you really think... really... honestly... that you mean that much to either of them?" Lavender pressed, arm flopping down to her off-white comforter. The bottoms to her pajamas were slipping off now, hugging the sides of her bed. "And all this while I thought that you were the smartest girl in our year."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione responded through narrowing brown slits. Her fingers gripped the blue jumper that lay strewn on the bed. "Are you implying that neither of my friends care about me?"

"As I'm not in the mood to have some giant hex upon my skin when I venture off to lunch, I'm going to answer "no" to that one." Lavender's voice dripped with sarcasm and disdain. "But I am attempting give you a little realistic perspective in your... let's say, precarious situation."

"My, such big words for a girl whose ramblings make no sense whatsoever." An acrid-tasting feeling found its way to the depths of Hermione's mouth. Her throat suddenly felt quite scratchy. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get going. I'm quite late for meeting."

"Meeting your heroes?" Lavender's voice drew with disgust as she flipped open a magazine atop her pillows. The moving pictures spilled along her bedspread, figures laughing and smiling. A chuckle escaped the depths of Lavender's own throat, echoing throughout the dormitory.

A sort of growl escaped the depths of Hermione's throat. Her fists drew deeper into the blue fabric of her jumper. She propped herself up on her elbows, and let out a deep sigh. "Please do explain, Lavender, as I want a good explanation for the teacher who questions why I hexed you into next year."

The flirtatious brunette shook her long tress back and forth in laughter. "Do you listen to yourself when you speak, Hermione?" she stated, propping her head up on the flowered pillow behind her. "Your untrusting tone while speaking is one of a long list of reasons that Ron and Harry don't think too much on you."

A blank stare over took Hermione's chocolate-colored eyes. Her death grip upon the jumper loosened slightly, the blood beginning to rush back to her hands. "Harry and Ron are my very best friends. Best friends, Lavender. Of course they think on me!"

Parvati broke into the dormitory at that moment, her blue robes slipping around her shoes on the shag carpeting. She was practically pink in the face. "Sorry to barge in and all." A chortle escaped her lips. "It's just that I heard what you two were talking about."

"You understood me, didn't you Parvati?" Lavender interrupted, standing up, and throwing a lanky arm around the raven-haired girl. The girl nodded vigorously, and giggled coarsely. "Because our Miss Granger here just doesn't get it."

"And I thought that you were supposed to be the cleverest witch of your age, Hermione. That's what all the teachers have always reckoned, isn't it?" Another chuckle came from Parvati. "This'll be one to tell the children someday, shan't it Lavender? That everybody on Hogwart's teaching staff was horribly and terribly wrong?"

At this, Hermione's feet plopped to the floor and her hands cupped the flesh at her slimming waist. She could practically envision the blood rushing to her head. "Now I'm upset. Would you please tell me what in Merlin's name you're talking about?"

"Do you really want to hear it?"

Hermione gave both girls a glowering look. "Okay, let's pretend for a second that I'm throwing aside all my Merlin-given logic, and actually listening to you without humming the tune to "Mary had a little lamb" in the back of my head." She hesitated for a moment, and then let her body drop to the bed. "What in Merlin's name would make you reckon that neither Ron nor Harry have any interest in keeping our friendship in tact?"

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Lavender responded with verve. She plopped down next to Hermione on the perfectly made bed, her straight brown wisps of hair entangling with Hermione's own messy curls. Parvati took a seat near Lavender's hips, her eyes sparking with malice.

"Now, you must first promise to not to hex either one of us during this conversation," Parvati insisted, pulling off points from her fingers. "Secondly, you must remain here at all times. This isn't going to be advantageous to you if you just jump out at the last minute. And third," Parvati said, her voice dropping a decimal. "You must not get upset with either one of us. We're doing this as your friends, Hermione. Friends tell each other thing."

With a look of apprehension pasted onto her soft skin, Hermione nodded in agreement, and crossed her feet behind her on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she said "I'm ready."

"Well," began Parvati, a look of self-pleasure crossing her tinted eyes. "What you first must understand is that you can never be close with Harry or Ron."

Hermione's eyes shimmered with vehemence. "Why the hell not?"

"Dear, there's no need to curse," Lavender picked up, looking at her haphazardly painted nails. "It's not actually your fault that you can't become close with Harry or Ron. It's your genetics. You do know what genetics are, don't you?"

Hermione's usually vigorous eyes rolled languidly. "Yes, I do. I'm not ignorant."

"Yes, well, the sole fact that you have two XX chromosomes instead of an X and a Y chromosome takes this opportunity away," Lavender announced, reminding Hermione desperately of a pompous college professor.

"You're saying that because I'm a girl, there's no way that I can become good friends with Ron or Harry? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, Lavender. And, if that indeed is your strongest argument, you're sailing a rotting ship."

"Well, it's not that fact alone," Parvati interjected. "The fact that you're enamored with both of them isn't doing you any good either."

"If you're attempting to make the point that I somehow have romantic feelings for either boy, you're also horribly mistaken," Hermione rebutted. However, her face burned such a bright red that her comment was rendered completely false.

"Hermione, please don't attempt to deny it," Lavender pressed, looking at a split end of her hair and groaning lightly. "It's okay for you to like one or even both of the boys. We," she began, motioning to herself and Parvati. "Understand. We expect it. For crying out loud, Hermione, Merlin expects it!"

"I'm not that obvious!" Hermione practically shouted, digger her nails into her leather gloves. "Certainly not obtuse enough for people like you to understand my feelings toward either one of them."

Lavender interpolated at that moment. "Let's get past that, Parvati. She's not going to admit to anything now. All we can do is convince her that our point of view is definitely reality."

"I'm waiting unwearyingly," Hermione countered thickly.

"Here's the problem we have with all of this, Hermione; they don't do anything for you. Didn't you notice that last year that Ron was the thing that Harry would most sorely miss? I know that you felt horrible during their fight with one another but all the while, you knew that Harry missed Ron. He didn't want to be off with you alone when he could have been with somebody that he could have fun with."

"Harry and I have plenty of fun together!" Hermione argued, hands balling into intimidating fists. "It's just not the type of obtuse fun that most people have with one another!"

Parvati's eyes glimmered. "Face it Hermione; you know that the only times that you and Harry have fun with one another is when Ron is there. It also works in the reverse; you only have fun with Ron when Harry is present. We know it, you know it. So deny it?"

"I'm not denying anything!"

Lavender and Parvati exchanged looks. Lavender turned and caught Hermione's eye. "I can't believe that you really don't understand it."

"Understand what, exactly?"

"That Harry and Ron aren't exactly as obsessed with you as you are with them."

"I am most certainly not obsessed with either of them!" A faint pink tinge colored Hermione's already rosy cheeks. "But is it wrong to be concerned about your punctuality for meeting your friends?"

"No, certainly not. However," Parvati's voice dropped to just above a whisper as she looked around the Gryffindor dormitory. "Who do you see in the room right now, Hermione? And no counting pictures."

"Just you, Lavender, and me."

"Exactly!" Parvati's hands sprung over her head in victory. "And how late are you now for meeting them?"

Hermione's hands scanned the room until they hit the oblique, blue wall clock by Parvati's bedside. Quickly doing the math in her head, Hermione felt her face heat up once again.

"About an hour and a half," she replied, voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Ninety minutes, if you want to look at it that way."

"And where are you?" Parvati pressed. Her back was now against the room's only door, pushing suggestively against the gold-gilded handle. "And do be descriptive in your answer, Hermione. That's ever so crucial."

"In the dormitory. Right next to my bed."

"And they are...?" Lavender raised an eyebrow.

"On." Hermione began. But her voice escaped her throat, as she finally understood the skewed logic of her roommates. "On the Quidditch pitch. Without... without me."

"Exactly! If they were concerned about you, wouldn't they have already come up to check on you? Or at least sent someone, like Harry or Ron's ruddy owl to make sure that you're not lying facedown on the stairs, neck broken in about a dozen different places?" Lavender smiled triumphantly.

"They... they know that I'm not foolish. They know that if I get myself in that type of mess that I have the ability to get right back out of it. They probably figure that I'm just doing homework or someth."

Parvati put up a disciplinary hand. "Friends who don't even check on you after missing in action for ninety minutes?" She shook her head, three long black strands falling from behind her ears. "Tut tut. It sounds like somebody's friends aren't really pulling their weight."

"We just have a unique friendship, that's all!" Hermione argued, chaste hands flying to the soft material that was wrapped about her hips. The light cerulean jumper now lay strewn on the floor, long forgotten by the now enraged owner.

"Hermione, you're superfluous in this "relationship" as you so call it. You are the one they use when they need you, and let go when they don't," Lavender retorted, pulling off her flannel bottoms and throwing on a pair of wrinkled black pants. "Haven't you ever noticed it before this?"

"Because everybody in fifth year certainly does."

A flash highlighted Hermione's normally tranquil eyes. "You didn't just say that! How can everybody in our bloody year understand something that simply isn't true? I think that both of you are raving lunatics!"

Parvati shuffled forward, and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione, we're telling you this for a reason. Believe it or not, neither Lavender nor I are sadists."

Hermione's hands covered her ears. "I'm not hearing this! You two are just crazy. Batty, I'm telling you! You have no idea what it's like to be with Harry and Ron! No idea! So don't go analyzing thing that you can't understand!"

Parvati rose to her feet, the anger of being told she was wrong finally taking its toll. "Stop being so thick! Don't you get it? Nobody wants to see you so dependant upon those two! You deserve to spend time with people who actually care about you! Harry and Ron? Well, they just don't worry for you at all!" And with that, Parvati's hand fluctuated back behind her shoulder, and with a swift turn of her wrist, collided with Hermione's right cheek.

Lavender knew that Parvati had gone too far in her actions. Hermione's once brown eyes were glued to the floor now, her entire body rigid as hoarfrost. Lavender put a hand on Hermione's back, attempting to make peace with the brunette girl as well as the repulsive feeling that was lurking in the depths of her throat. However, Hermione turned away, and rolled off the bed. Her eyes were bright crimson.

"Hermione..." Lavender started, looking awkwardly at her feet. "That was... too much. I'm sorry... can we do anything for you?"

"No, no. I'm quite alright." Hermione sniffled loudly, and pulled off her leather gloves. Her hands were covered in scratches that she had given herself through the soft, satiny fabric of the inside of her gloves. "It's just... well, never mind. It doesn't exactly matter anymore."

Hermione forced a pitiful smile through her lips. "Listen, I'm going to go to see Madame Pomfrey right now. Suddenly," her eyes trailed to the framed photo of herself with the Weasley family and Harry a few years back. The faces smiled back at her, arms waving wildly. "Suddenly I don't feel well at all. I don't expect that I'll return today. If I'm not at dinner tonight, you know where I am."

With that, Hermione tossed down her cloak, and advanced toward the picture. She cradled the brassy picture frame for a moment, salty tears slipping down the length of her cheeks and onto the smiling faces. Biting down on her lips until a thin trickle of blood appeared on her lip, Hermione let out a staggered whimper, and discarded the photo frame into the metallic garbage can. The people in the photo called after her, their cries drowning through the pieces of broken glass.

Hermione did not flinch as she stepped out the door.

The room stayed quiet for the next few minutes, each of the remaining girls silently insisting that their actions had been appropriate, even de rigueur. Lavender, the first to break the culpable silence, looked at her pillow and sighed brutally. A peculiar feeling circulated the rim of her stomach. "Parvati... are you sure that we did the right thing? By telling her, I mean."

Parvati shrugged, looking down at the detritus of material from Hermione's fit strewn about the floor. "Why wouldn't it be okay? She's going to find out about it sooner or later. Why let her keep making up things when she can understand the truth?"

"I don't know, Parvati. She just seemed so depressed about it and all." Lavender's voice drifted off as she looked out the window to the fields below. "I just think it was kind of cruel. She is our friend, after all."

Parvati shrugged again, stepping towards the door. "Well, there's nothing that we can do anymore. She's already gone, and I don't know where to." She stepped over to Lavender, and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "We did this as her friends, Lavender. We even told her that before we even opened our mouths about the whole situation. She must respect that, in her own odd way."

"Maybe you're right." Lavender's voice trailed into silence. "Maybe you're right." But even as Lavender willed herself to believe the words that were flowing from her mouth, she couldn't help be see the flashing tears that fell swiftly from Hermione's face and the pain that grew into unbearable hurt in the depths of Hermione's eyes.

And, quite suddenly, Lavender Brown felt very ill.