The first bit of business Hermione Granger set to work on upon returning home for holiday was to set her loo in order. After excusing herself from tea with her mum and promising to nab her trunk later, she scampered up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. She fought the irritating urge to detour to her bedroom, where, not for the first time, she wished to simply bury her head in the pillows and have a good cry. For now, she was on a mission.

Her feet carried her briskly past the door that was still, after all of these years, decorated with eight ornate wooden letters spelling out her obscure and unusual name. Each tiny letter was a kind reminder that some things never change.

Once in her small bathroom, Hermione mutely flicked her wand in the general direction of the door, causing it to slam and lock in a matter of seconds. She had never intentionally used magic in her childhood home, nor had she ever planned to, but she was of-age now. She'd be damned if this wasn't her one allowance.

Avoiding looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione yanked all of the cabinet doors open and grabbed up the bin. With clamorous rapidity, she tossed multiple bottles away, her breath increasing in speed with each one. At last, she chucked a final miniature bar of soap into the garbage and whispered a strangled 'Reducto!' The contents of the bin were obliterated to specks of dust. She shut the door to the medicine cabinet and was momentarily frozen, staring straight into her own morose eyes. There was an ostensible level of frenzy in them, but deep down she knew that look for what it really was—defeat.

Hermione tore her eyes away from her reflection, unsure if she could stand it a moment instead to the can of unrecognizable powder in her hands, she shook her head.

"You've finally gone round the twist, Hermione," she spoke to herself ruefully.

Hugging the bin to her chest like a buoy, she backed into the wall and slid slowly down its tiled surface. She yelped in pain when her bum met resistance in the form of a fairly large jar of bath salts. Hermione let out another painful groan at the sight of the label.

The label read in bold letters:

MADAME PASITHEA'S BATH CREATIONS

Lavender-Scented Bath Salts

Her expression soured as her eyes flitted past that word. Lavender. No longer could Hermione enjoy the intentioned, therapeutic affects of that sweet little purple flower. Relaxation was the furthest thing from her mind when she read those three nasty syllables…

Lav-en-der.

Indeed, whenever she had the misfortune of hearing that name uttered by a certain ginger-headed boy, and whenever the girl bearing that very same name responded with ghastly zeal, "Oh, my Won-Won!", whatever chance for respite Hermione may have had suddenly disappeared into the darkness, a place she had begun to feel more and more drawn to.

"Olfacto mutuus," she murmured with a gentle tap to the lid of the offending jar. Unscrewing the lid, she could smell the much more pungent odor of eucalyptus wafting toward her nostrils. Hermione wished she could excuse her actions by chalking it up to more Charms or Transfiguration practice, but deep down she knew that the scene she was causing had nothing to do with magic.

Hermione crawled over to the tub and turned on the warm tap. She fumbled around in the cabinet beneath the sink, pulling out a bottle of unscented bubbles. She attempted to pour in the perfect proportion, but could hardly keep her hands from shaking. Deciding to hell with it, she vigorously squeezed the bottle and tossed the bath salts in haphazardly.

"You can wallow for today," she again spoke only to herself. "Tomorrow, you'll go downstairs with a bright face and have a lovely breakfast with mum…and dad, who is perhaps the only decent man left in your life." She frowned at that. She knew plenty of decent men in the wizarding world, Weasleys included, save for one stupid boy. One stupid, insensitive Weasley boy.

While thinking this over, Hermione had attempted to remove her shoes as she was standing up. She landed right back on her bum, and briefly wondered if her tailbone even existed anymore.

Frustrated beyond belief, Hermione pointed her wand at herself and muttered an incantation. Her clothes popped off of her body, and with another swish of her wand, they started to neatly fold themselves on the sink. She absent-mindedly considered that such a spell was typically used to get at serious injuries or…well, much more private things. She blushed at that, and a brief wave of nausea washed over her when she speculated that Ron might have picked it up during some inane round of bloke talk. He never had much tolerance for school-work, but his mind was a steel trap for information he deemed interesting or useful…like chess or Quidditch…or every single flavor of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans….or getting in Lavender's knickers?

'No, no, no,' she insisted to herself. 'Stop thinking about him. You are not one of those frivolous girls that….that sobs when she finds the boy she fancies snogging another girl ….and then sends a flock of canaries soaring at his head?'

"OH, BLOODY HELL!" Hermione shouted in frustration. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. 'Where did that come from? I'm the one always chastising him for his language…'

There was a delicate knock on the door, causing Hermione to jump despite the gentleness of the noise. She turned off the tap, as the bath was nearly overflowing at this point, and climbed in hurriedly. Water and bubbles sloshed everywhere. Another knock, this time accompanied by a worried voice.

"Hermione, darling, are you alright in there?"

Hermione sunk lower into the water, irrationally hoping the bubbles could hide her away.

"Of course, I am," she said in an unsteady tone. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm p-perfectly f-fine."

Hermione could hear her mother's sigh from the other side of the door, and pictured her hands flying to her hips. Like mother, like daughter.

"Sounds like it. How about you open this door?" It was more of a gentle demand than a request.

Hermione picked up her wand, unlocked the door, and sunk lower yet into her cocoon of bubbles. Her mother's brown eyes searched around the small room, noting the open, untidy cabinets and the damp floor.

"Hermione, what on Earth happened in he-" She stopped short when her eyes landed on her daughter huddled up in the bath. Hermione was staring straight-forward, face scrunched in an effort not to cry under her mother's scrutiny.

"I was just l-looking for something..." She cleared her throat; it was betraying her efforts. Her mum came to sit on the brim of the tub, paying no mind to the water, and placed a hand affectionately on her unruly tresses.

"Oh, sweetheart, have you fought with Ron again?" Hermione shut her eyes at the question. Mums always know. Damn clichés.

"Not exactly…" She was still evading her mother's curious glances.

"Not exactly…what happened then?" Jane Granger was biting back a smirk. Teenagers! Hermione had spent too many holidays yammering on about Ronald Weasley. A mum always knows.

"I asked him to the Christmas party," Hermione lamented, as if it were the worst decision she had ever made.

"You did! That's wonderful. I can't see what could be the matter. He must have said yes."

"He did," she said flatly.

A deep wrinkle creased between Jane's eyebrows.

"Are we having the same conversation? Why are you so glum?" Jane asked exasperated.

"Then, he-he snogged Lavender Brown," Hermione exclaimed with a quavering sob. She finally looked pleadingly at her mother.

The wrinkle became deeper.

"Lavender…Lavender," Jane mused aloud. "You know someone named Lavender Brown?" Her face did not withhold the humour she felt at hearing such an outrageous name. Was she a girl or a colour palette?

"Mum, could you stop saying her name?" Hermione responded hysterically. Moisture had begun to form about her eyes.

"For goodness' sake, you act like she's the anti-Christ." Jane was disappointed to see her daughter dissolve into tears. "Oh, oh, dear, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be insensitive. It was only a joke."

"No. I am being absolutely ridiculous. I mean, it's Ron, isn't it? He's my best friend. I was silly to try..." A familiar rush of anger came upon Hermione as she realized she had referred to him as her friend in the present tense. What a friend, indeed…

Jane felt the shift in Hermione's mood and realized she could go about this one of two ways. Hermione had inherited her father's temperament after all. If Jane confronted her about the issue straight away, Hermione was likely to confess the entire thing in a rush of syllables, but even more likely to descend into a stubborn silence. On the other hand, if Jane were to simply appease her and let the whole thing go, she knew for a fact that her daughter would spend the entire holiday sulking regardless.

She decided to press her luck…

"So, the boy you fancy is snogging another girl. Alas, I do not envy your age."

Hermione's face screwed up in indignation, and it was as if a tangible wall had gone up around her.

"When did I say I fancy Ron? I…It's the principle of the matter! I asked him to accompany me to a dinner party, and he went back on his word," she muttered, red in the face.

"Ah, I see," Jane said in faux understanding. "He snogged this Lav-" -Hermione glared into the bubbles at the slightest mention- "…this girl, and told you he wouldn't be going to the party with you?"

Hermione's skin maintained its flush. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"No, he didn't. I-I just took somebody else. I couldn't very well go with him. His cow of a girlfriend wouldn't hear of it."

Jane chuckled rather than reprimanding her daughter for her less than tactful name calling.

"We share a dorm...Lavender and I." Hermione pulled a face as if she had just tasted something disgusting. "The entire tower would be abuzz with gossip, even worse than it already is." Her mother's eyebrows shot straight up, and she made a tutting noise with her tongue.

"That's who he's snogging! Ah, I remember Lavender now. Oh, my. It's worse than I thought."

Hermione remained tight-lipped, and after a stretch of silence, Jane decided a slight change in the direction of the conversation might help…

"Isn't Harry in that club with you? Did you go with him instead?"

Hermione picked up a handful of bubbles and inspected them closely.

"No. I mean, he is, but I somehow overlooked that solution. I wish I hadn't. At least I could have gone with a friend." She realized that this statement contradicted her earlier assertion that she had asked Ron only as a friend, and quickly added, "It would have been just as well as if I had gone with Ron."

"Who is this boy then?" Jane asked with great interest. Hermione had hardly mentioned any of her male peers aside from Ron and Harry. Jane had realized some time ago that her daughter was far more interested in her studies than boys.

"He's a seventh year... and possibly one of the most arrogant, insufferable prats I have ever had the displeasure of knowing," said Hermione with a frown.

"I was certain you would have given that title to Ronald," Jane attempted.

When Hermione's only response was to sink lower into the tub, Jane decided the time for light-hearted jibes was over. She moved to kneel on the ground beside the tub and face her sullen daughter.

"Hermione," Jane started, lifting Hermione's chin gently, "I know you're furious with him right now, and you have every right to be, but these things take time. You're both growing up. The unfortunate truth is that it just takes boys a bit longer to get the picture."

"Oh, what a stupid excuse! Like boys have a monopoly on being idiots! He knows exactly what he's doing. Besides, he's at perfect liberty to kiss whoever he likes. I don't care that he wants to make a fool of himself all over the school grounds, stuck like a suction cup to that daft girl's face. It's the principle of the matter, Mum. If he cared at all about me, he wouldn't have agreed to be my date, treated me dreadfully the entire week leading up to the thing, and then run off with Lavender on some whim. If dating some twit is more important than being my friend, then... "

Her breath hitched only for a moment before she looked ready to continue with her rant. But she stopped when she saw the knowing look on her mother's face.

"Please, don't look at me like that."

"I'm not sure what look you're referring to," Jane replied softly. "It sounds a bit like he got cold feet."

Hermione scoffed.

"What was there to be nervous about?" she asked rather uncertainly.

She knew precisely what there was to be nervous about because she was nervous about the very same thing. What if this changed their friendship...what if it changed everything?

"I didn't ask him to elope with me..." Hermione continued. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. He didn't even bother to apologize. We haven't spoken in weeks, and I certainly won't be the first to break the silence."

"My dear Hermione, I don't know what is more appalling...your stubborn head or your stubborn heart." Jane felt the water in the tub quickly, and rose to her feet. "Don't stay in too long. The water is already tepid. Don't need you catching your death first night home."

Hermione allowed an amused look to cross her features at the irony of her mother's choice of words. She had come much closer to death than Jane would ever know; a bit of a cough was the least of her worries.

She sat in the tub until the water ran cold, thinking about her friendship with Ron. She continued to think about it while she toweled herself off and got ready for bed. And her mind was still running wild even as she lay there in bed some time later, wide awake yet completely knackered

Now her mother's words were battling for her attention. She had to admit to herself that she was quite stubborn. She relied on the walls she had constructed around her heart, the restraint she placed on her emotions. This was the precise reason why she had let her guard down, and what a spectacular failure that had been! After enduring the past year together, with everything that had happened at the Ministry, Hermione had seen an open door and grabbed onto the possibility that this... thing growing between them could develop into a real relationship. She had thought that perhaps with a bit of encouragement...

Ron had all but slammed the door in her face. She should have seen it coming, Ron's relationship with Lavender. Well, Ron with anybody, really. She had become so caught up in her feelings for him that she had failed to consider that other girls had every right to develop feelings for him as well. At the very least, they'd start to find him attractive. Seeing Ron find a girlfriend would have been heartbreaking enough, but the reality of the situation was maddening. Not only had Ron chosen someone else, it appeared he had chosen someone else over her. To add insult to injury, he had chosen the absolute anti-thesis of everything Hermione stood for.

When it came down to it, her heart was broken. Her vanity was bruised. Their friendship was damaged, and she didn't have a clue how to fix it…

Or if she even wanted to.