You're a Girl, Hermione

You're a Girl, Hermione

The girls toilets, as every girl who's past primary school age knows, are the centre of everything stereotypically female. We gather here to shine our hair and powder our noses. We meet here when we can't possibly wait until later to discuss the look our crushes gave us across the greenhouse in Herbology. We lock ourselves in here when it's that time of month and our emotions take over and the only way we can possibly deal with the current crisis is to cry until the world starts to make sense again.

I should mention that with the possible exception of that last example, when I say we, I really mean them. If you're not one of them you're smiling with me at this point, because you know exactly who and what I'm talking about. If you're getting confused, cheer up, take a deep breath, and don't worry about it. You're one of them, and that's okay, because at least you're in the majority.

There is one function of the toilets, however, that even I can't avoid, which was how I found myself in this situation to begin with. I didn't have time for drama - the break between Potions and Arithmancy is only so long - but setting a reasonable limit on the amount of time spent in the toilets is another thing that they seem to have trouble with.

I was hidden out of sight in a cubicle when they began their conversation, naturally. Actually, so were they. It's a sign of true friendship between girls when we're comfortable enough to hold a conversation while peeing on either side of a thin partition wall.

"So are you honestly going to go after Harry Potter? I mean, he's only a fifth year."

"But he's not just a normal fifth year - look at everything he's been through. That sort of thing matures a bloke. I'll bet he has a much more serious outlook on life then most of the boys in our year. Besides that, he's sweet, and so cute. Did I tell you about when I saw him on the train?"

At this point, I put a hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. Ginny had told me about that incident. She was going on about that? She must really have it bad. The toilets flushed in unison at this point (how exactly they worked that out I really don't want to know), and for a few moments the conversation was drowned out by the sounds of ancient plumbing. When the clangs and gushes of the pipes abated, I was able to hear the conversation, which had moved in front of the mirrors now.

"I couldn't believe it when he asked me to the Yule Ball last year. He looked like he'd never asked a girl out before."

"That is just precious."

"If it wasn't for Cedric - "

I heard a click as some primping product or gizmo was set down on the counter, and assumed a hug was shared between the two friends.

"You have to move on, you know. You're young. You can't dwell on him forever."

"I know, and I really think that Harry could help, you know what I'm saying? He should understand. We can talk about it, get over it together."

At this point, I flushed the toilet to hide my snort of laughter at that comment. She was obviously at the point of the crush where delusion was setting in. I remember that stage, which hit me back in second year. I chose to take Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, even though I knew I couldn't fit them in, because I thought if I could continue to be in all his classes, Ron would really notice me. It takes more than a simple crush to get past that early stage of fanciful daydreaming.

I waited a moment before opening the cubicle door. Originally, I'd hoped that they'd move on without my ever having to reveal that I overheard the conversation. However, as they were now discussing Harry's prodigy-like ability as a seeker, and how the matching positions somehow spoke of their destined love, I realized that I could be sitting here until lunch if I waited. So, mustering up some of the Gryffindor courage I was supposed to possess, I opened the door. The reaction was pretty much what I expected.

"Oh my goodness, I can't believe it! Did you hear everything we just said? I'm so embarrassed..." The words rushed out faster than the blood rushed to her face.

"Err..." I wasn't quite sure what to say to that. No. I went temporarily deaf for five minutes.

"Oh, you did hear, but you won't tell him, will you?"

That question was easier to answer. "No, I won't." There was a smile on my face as I washed my hands. It looked like Harry was finally going to develop a love life. Two years after Ginny had hoped he would, but all together, a quite respectable first venture.

"I'll bet she could answer your question," her curly haired friend spoke up. "She's practically his best friend after all."

Practically? My mind repeated that word in bewilderment. Was it the fact that we've never shared a conversation between cubicles in the girl's toilets that made you draw that distinction, because love, I hate to tell you this, but been there, done that. I held back my sarcastic comments, however, and turned towards them, dreading this question.

"I couldn't ask..."

"Well, I can. What does Harry really think of her?"

I could have given them the answer they wanted at this point - and it would have even been true. I could have blown out Arithmancy, which I was already on the verge of being late for, and told all. I probably could have even worked in a bonus round of hair and make-up tips if I'd played my cards right. I could have done what a girl is expected to do, what they expected me to do.

However, I didn't. I'm afraid I was too busy laughing in their faces. Never mind the fact that she needed to ask the question at all; the irony of it was too much. No sooner had they sworn me to secrecy over her crush than they were asking me to reveal his. Later, I was able to recognize that this had been the turning point. If they thought I had loyalty to the unwritten rules of my gender (which were so often broken anyway), they hadn't seen anything compared to the loyalty I'd show a friend. I'd teach them to underestimate how close a friendship existed between Harry and I. I could make or break any chance of a relationship between them, and she needed to realize that.

As I said though, I realized all of this later, when I began to question whether or not she was even good enough for Harry if she was playing these sorts of games. Harry, after all, needed someone who would help him deal with his stress, not add to it. My astonished laughter quickly became mocking. When I stopped, they were still standing there, one face red with embarrassment, the other expectant.

"Well?" she asked again. "Don't tell me you don't know." Oh so now I am his friend?

"He's a boy. Do you think he actually talks about these things?" I've often wondered if he and Ron do. It seems highly unlikely since neither of them ever mentions anything to me, but I'll admit, I've thought up hypothetical conversations between the two of them...

"And you're a girl, you shouldn't need words." There was a definite air of annoyance in her voice. The underlying demand, nevertheless, only caused me to rebel further.

"Then neither should you, yet you're still asking because...?"

"Because I'm a good friend who wants to help out." She was playing her role of Best Friend in the game, and now I was expected to do the same.

"Maybe I'm not telling you because Harry and I are such good friends," I said, hearing the way the emphasis fell at the same time they did. What had I just said?

"That's the answer then?" she spoke for the first time since her friend asked the question, then bit her lip and looked away before continuing. "Now I'm really embarrassed, I--"

"I can't believe it," her good friend cut her off. "You? I thought you and that redhead were all over--"

"No!" I said quickly. My mind must have been reeling, however, because I'm pretty sure I didn't mean to answer with, "Ron and I aren't together. I know everyone assumes that..." Probably because it's what we both want and have been heading towards forever now... "but we're not."

"But you and Harry?" I could tell she didn't want to ask the question. She looked at me for a moment; her tear-smudged mascara surprised me. Suddenly, it was all over. Whatever game I'd been playing was finished. She really likes him, and I just broke her heart. I just went off like I was jealous. He likes her, and she likes him, they'll make each other happy. It's perfect. Why would I be jealous, unless--

"No," I tried again to explain, determined not to listen to the foreign thoughts still clouding my judgement. "Harry and I aren't together. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply..." I trailed off, unable to say anything else, but apparently that was enough as the tears in her eyes made way for a glimmer of hope.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was still doubtful. I opened my mouth in attempt to reassure her, but was interrupted again. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or relieved.

"So what's the answer then? What does Harry think of her?" I could see the glint in her eye, and I knew what she was after. In some perverse way, she wouldn't think I was telling her the truth unless I told the answer she wanted to hear. Even then, I couldn't say it. Yet somehow I had to make peace, for Harry's sake.

"Come to the Hog's Head this weekend when we go to Hogsmeade. Harry will be happy to see you there." And he would be happy to see her there, I tried to convince myself. She can prove herself worthy of him.

That was met with confused questions, and for the next minute or so I explained everything to them, until she exclaimed that she was late for Charms, and had to run. I watched them rush out of the room. Finally, it was over. I could go back to my life of being not one of them. Or so I tried to convince myself, but I hadn't actually moved yet. I was staring at my reflection in the mirror on the wall.

There was a stark contrast between what I saw reflected in those mirrors now, and what I'd seen in them when they were in front of them. When they were there, the mirrors might as well have been portraits, placed there to show prepubescent girls what they might one day hope to aspire to. What I saw was a gangly girl with spots, frizzy hair, and no discernable body shape beneath her robes. I pinched at the back of my robes then, tried to see if there was a way to gather it in the back for a better look. If I could find something liked, there were charms and spells that would hold it...

Suddenly disgusted with myself I let go of the material in my hand. It quickly settled back exactly where it had been before. I picked up my bag, ready to run to Arithmancy, so that life could go back to exactly what it had been before. I made it halfway to the door before I stopped. I was obviously already at least five minutes late to class. There was nothing left to do, then, but to turn around, lock myself in a cubicle, and cry until things made sense again.

There is a logical reason and purpose behind everything, including love. It was time I worked it out, and what better place to start?