Tears in the Garden

Penelope Clearwater had every reason to be pleased with herself. She was Head Girl, beautiful tonight in her bronze dress robes, and he was there, looking bored, tired, and out of place, his red hair curly and tight and clashing with his robes. She'd dated him for more than a year... an entire year spent wishing for just a bit more attention, staring at him. Smarter than the Ravenclaws- he had to be, didn't he? After all, he was Head Boy- and living under the impression that he was so very perfect and that it didn't really matter that she couldn't spend much time with him.

And then summer had come, bringing with it love letters, and laughter, and a secret and pure hope... him Apparating to her, finding her and whispering, and lying with her under the stars. And then school had begun again, and he'd been, no, not promoted, but burdened, and now he was here. They'd never officially broken it- just stopped seeing each other, lost the time- and he hadn't looked for her. Hadn't even noticed her when she went towards him, preparing to hug him and swirl him into the dance and make him forget his work. But then he'd scanned the crowd, and his eyes had slid over her, like the tide slides over a shell, pulling at her heart but taking no notice, and she'd not known what to do, so she ran and ran and ran... with such abandon that she'd run into others and hadn't even been worried with what they thought. She noticed only one thing, and that was when she'd connected with a couple and tore them apart, and that was only because it was the tall brooding champion from Durmstrang looking down his large hooked nose at her.

And then she'd squeaked and ran faster, because she was afraid of him, and because she'd almost recognized his date, and because as she hit them, she saw a flash of red. It was his brother, so like him but younger and shorter, and not nearly as wonderfully intelligent and calm. And scowling in her direction, scowling at her, as she ran, terrified of what would happen if he went to get Percy and told him how careless she'd been. What if Percy came to her then, all wild-eyed, and shining with running and crying and rejection? She just couldn't bear it.

And so she ran into the rose garden, past all the favorite hiding spots of students, no doubt being used by couples tonight. She'd collapsed onto a little bench, concealed behind a wall, utterly defeated not from lovesickness but simply from sheer emotional output and shock. And somehow, it led her to cry, and cry until the makeup she'd been wearing slipped off her face, washed away by the salt of her tears. She sat there, alone and hurting in a way that was neither sharp nor dull, but desperate, aching. And it wasn't because of him; no, it was because of her. Because he was the best life had to offer to her, and even he couldn't stay; she couldn't relate to even him.

And then she had ended her tears, and she sat there and admired the snow, all white and blue and silver and sparkling. Not quite melting, even though it was uncommonly warm for winter: warm enough that she felt no chill, even in her dress robes.

"Penny- Penelope. Um.. are you alright?" She looked up, startled by the voice, soft and feminine as it was, but she couldn't tell who it belonged to.Â

The girl was backlit by the castle, and seemed to have almost an aura around her, like old Trelawney always said.

"Yes, I'm... fine" She was surprised at the hoarseness of her voice, though she should have expected her crying to add the harsh note to her tone. Who would be looking for her? she wondered, Who?Â

Her housemates were all in there, with their pretty dresses and pretty boys and sympathy, but she couldn't imagine they'd follow. Besides, she didn't recognize the voice. As the girl moved closer, though, stepping carefully around the bench, Penelope was able to see to whom the voice belonged.

"Hermione Granger?"

"I'm sorry- you just looked... upset; you were running, and I told Victor I had to see if I could help. He was very understanding; he and Fleur are dancing this dance." Hermione sat, and even though the bench was not made for two, she managed to fit, her leg touching Penelope's, the bronze and blue going together as lovely as Penelope had always thought they did in her uniform.

Hermione reached up to Penelope's face and traced the path of the tears with her thumb, from chin to eye, brushing the eyelash too. "Don't cry. Just... talk, if you'd like. I'll listen and help as much as I can."

Penelope looked at the younger girl. They barely knew each other- Hermione was a Gryffindor, a fourth year. But there was something about her eyes... so Penelope told her, told her about Percy, and her dreams and hopes and defeat in love, and how, even when she and Percy had been caught in the intoxicating swirl of it all, Penelope still felt wrong.  That she wasn't sure whether she was crying for Percy, or for the love that she was, then, not even sure they had ever had. That she didn't want to know.

She was vulnerable, she knew; emotions strung out twice now, spilling herself to a little girl she barely knew, even if it was a girl with hair silky-smooth for just one night, and beautiful pale skin peeking out of her deep dress. Hermione was lovely, all angles and edges, the body type of many a Ravenclaw, signifying the scholar who got so caught up she forgot to eat. Penelope wondered if all academics felt wrong tying themselves to others, or if it was just she who felt that way.

Hermione just looked at her. "Was it him? Did you not like him?"

"No- he was a nice boy, smart and wonderful. I did- I do- care about him. But I couldn't really... connect. And it hurt that we couldn't connect. And... I haven't been close to anyone since. I think there's something wrong with me." Penelope seemed to shrink a little with that, bowing down her head.

"Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with you- I haven't since I met you. Do you remember? It was my second year, back when there were all those attacks. And we figured out what was happening. Together. I would have died if you hadn't had a mirror. You're so smart, Penelope, you do your house proud. And you're beautiful, and kind, and I don't know why you'd think there's something wrong with you. If anything, you might be intimidating."

"Me?" Penelope laughed at that, the sound little and low and disbelieving. "No one's ever been intimidated by me."

"Well, I am."

"You? You're best friends with Harry Potter, dating Victor Krum, and you're intimidated by me?" Penelope was incredulous. She was so insignificant next to the people Hermione called dear- and Hermione was intimidated by her?

"Well, Harry's just a silly boy, and Victor... is himself. I don't know why he seems to care about me so much- maybe it's because I don't care about Quidditch." Hermione smiled at that, and Penelope saw, in the intellectual, a distance from sports that she, too, felt.

She felt herself drawn toward the pale, lovely younger girl, in the same was that a candle's flame seems inexorably to be drawn to the nearest wax. Hermione just smiled a bit more, her skin so like porcelain, or marble, or snow, glowing with the faint moonlight, unlike the snow, which sparkled with a thousand diamond pinpoints, but like wax, warm and fragrant. Penelope knew it was truly nothing more than glitter and sweat, but her intellect had stopped caring.

"Hermione, why are you out here? You've got a date inside- you should be dancing."

"I left him with a girl from Beauxbatons. Besides, you're much more interesting- and you can at least pronounce my name." Hermione had whispered that devilishly, leaning in as she did so, so Penelope could hear her. But even after she had finished speaking, she continued to lean forward, not stopping until her face was only a few inches from Penelope's.

"Much more interesting." And she closed the remaining space and Penelope felt lips on hers, awkward, hesitant, coiled with a nervous, frightened energy. And, not even realizing quite what was happening, Penelope felt herself responding, turning her head to find an angle that avoid collision of their noses, and opening her lips just enough to take the kiss a step away from chaste.

But then Penelope's intellect realized what her body was doing, and her body had another, less subtle reaction, hands lifting to the other girl's shoulders, lips pulling away, head back, eyes widening. And breath, short and fast and frightened. And excited.

"Hermione, what are you doing? This... isn't right. We're both girls!"

Hermione's face conveyed a sort of horror at that, and her eyes shone to a new gloss. She was breathing in the same quick way as Penelope, but when she spoke her voice was far more ragged.Â

"Why should it be wrong? Is there some sort of barrier preventing me from admiring your intelligence and spirit and wonderful personality? From seeing your beauty, and realizing that you're special?Â

"I notice you! I notice that you don't date boys; you've only ever dated just the one. Percy.  And you just said that that was awkward! Why should it matter that we're both girls, when we're both individuals? It's the individual that matters. You wouldn't date someone who was horrible to you... or stupid... just because he's a boy, would you?"

"No, but--" Hermione's eyes were pleading and there were now twin tracks glistening wetly down her face. Penelope realized she was still gripping the other girl's shoulders, and relaxed her hold. Her hands slipped down Hermione's arms, until they met the other girl's hands. And then the older girl twined their fingers together.

"Hermione... I can't just date you. We've got obligations- to marry, be respectable women!"

Hermione just looked at her, face screwed up in a rather unfamiliar grimace. "Respectable women? Marry? OBLIGATIONS? Penelope, do you hear yourself? Does any of this have anything to do with what you want, or is it all just what others have told you? You have no obligation to anyone but yourself, to your own morals, your own goals. What is it that you want?"

"I want..." Penelope trailed off. Yes, Hermione was younger, and female, but she was also bold and intelligent... a crusader for what she believed, even if it did sometimes seem silly. "I want to know what I want."

"Then let me help you."

Penelope nodded, and Hermione reached up, caressing Penelope's face with just two fingers, a light touch that was odd and wonderful and somehow a tie in away, pulling her closer, and convincing her that Hermione was truly right. And when Penelope felt the finger tracing her lips replaced by Hermione's mouth, she managed to put her objections aside, for at least as long as the dance went on. And she responded, forgetting that she'd been crying when she had sought out a hiding place.

And in the shade of the rose garden, under the light of the moon, the two girls held each other, kissing with a quiet desperation, and discovering that their bodies were not, indeed, replicas, but wonderful new mysteries. Forgetting all obligations, for they were outside, visible only in the pale yellow-white light of the moon. They were alone, where no one else could see.