The owl tilted its head, extended its leg, and intentionally knocked over her pumpkin juice.

Hermione untied the folded parchment and shooed it away, but not before it snagged her toast. "I hope it gives you indigestion!" she huffed, turning her attention to the missive. Anxiety simmered in her belly, a boiling sense of doom rising within her, coating the inside of her skin.

She unfolded the letter.

Miss Hermione Granger,

Kindly see me in my office at your earliest convenience. You are excused from class for the day, so I shall expect your arrival immediately after breakfast.

Should you have difficulty reaching my office, a mention of Toothflossing Stringmints should help.

Sincerely yours,

Albus Dumbledore

She wasn't in trouble, was she? It couldn't be, she'd taken care to keep her nose clean this year. It couldn't be about her O.W.L.s either, could it? The scores weren't in yet, and wouldn't be until the middle of summer holidays. Perhaps it was-

Her skin shriveled back, and fear clouded over her mind. Harry's and Ron's families had gone to battle Death Eaters the night before. But what could that have to do with her? Her own parents were Muggle, and couldn't fight even if they wanted to.

"Exactly," she whispered.

It wouldn't do to worry unnecessarily, but she knew she wouldn't be able to stomach any more breakfast.

The walk to Headmaster Dumbledore's office was a short one, and before she knew it she was trudging up the spiral stairs and knocking on the heavy oaken door.

"Come in," Professor Dumbledore called. His voice was somber, definitely, and it didn't help Hermione's nerves.

"You summoned me, sir?" Hermione squeaked.

"Indeed," he said. He was stationed behind his desk, hands steepled over the polished surface. To his left, a small bronze instrument oscillated in gentle strokes. "Please, sit."

Hermione obeyed, clutching her schoolbag to her chest.

Professor Dumbledore sighed, staring directly into her face. "I'm afraid I have grave news for you, Miss Granger," he said. "Your parents passed away yesterday."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Oh. I see."

"Do you have any questions?" Professor Dumbledore asked, gently.

"It was them, wasn't it?" Hermione whispered. "The Death Eaters, they killed them."

The Headmaster nodded, but said nothing more. Hermione didn't push it.

###x###

"Hermione, the boys are calling for you," Ginny said. "If you aren't up to it, I can tell them to lay off."

"Thank you," Hermione said, "but I think it's about time I face them."

Ginny frowned. "There's no time limit on grief, you know. You don't have to hurry and get back to normal. No one expects you to, and it's unhealthy to try."

"I know," said Hermione. "All the same, I think I can handle a trip to the Common Room."

Her friend stepped aside, and Hermione ignored her concern all the way downstairs. It was cloying.

###x###

By the end of term, Hermione felt she had a pretty good handle on the situation. She talked to Harry and his parents and they offered to let her stay with them over the holidays, an offer which Hermione gladly accepted. Harry, at least, didn't drown her in sympathy like the Weasleys did. Perhaps he just understood, like Hermione did, that there was a war on. Hermione's parents wouldn't be the last people she would lose.

Godric's Hollow was an idyllic little place, and Harry's home was wonderful as always. The library was overflowing, courtesy of Lily Potter, and Hermione spent several weeks working her way through the most interesting of their books. Things were good. Hermione used the comforting silences to process, and the Potters let her.

Peace could only last so long. That summer, Muggleborn families all over Britain were being targeted and eliminated. Dennis and Collin Creevey. Penelope Clearwater. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Terry Boot. Dean Thomas. More every week, almost every day.

Lily Potter was attacked in Diagon Alley in broad daylight. She managed to Apparate home without any serious injuries, but it was chilling all the same.

"I'm worried about Hermione," she said to her husband. Hermione froze outside the door, just out of sight. "I'm staying, obviously. This is just as much my fight as anyone else's. But Hermione... she's not safe here."

"You're right," said James. "Even with the wards on the house, she'll still have to leave someday and then she'll be in danger. She deserves a normal childhood, one without fear."

"What if... what if she leaves Britain entirely? Send her to live somewhere else, like Australia or Asia. We can fake her death if we have to."

Hermione crept upstairs, mind spinning.

###x###

Albus Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to see her safely to Japan, and Hermione was conscious of the honor. She tried her best to feel at ease as they both waited for the snapped table leg to glow. It should only have taken two minutes, but it felt far longer.

At last, the Portkey lit up in warning, and they were off.

###x###

The atmosphere of Ouran Academy was so light, Hermione didn't quite know what to make of it. The aura of fear which every Hogwarts student carried was conspicuously absent. She stood at the front of the class in a simple white button-down and black slacks in lieu of the uniform and absorbed the curious stares. She wasn't even self-conscious. These rich little partridges were no match for her.

It shouldn't have been such a relief to be outside the jurisdiction of any Ministry of Magic. Even the Statute of Secrecy couldn't touch her. She still planned to uphold the laws she would have been beholden to had she stayed put in Europe, but if she had to break a few rules, it was a huge comfort to know that no court could judge her.

She felt the hard line of her wand in her waistband, and any anxiety she felt floated away.

###x###

The scholarship hadn't been hard to get, and keeping it was no challenge either. She hadn't known that she would feel so grateful for her parents' insistence that she keep up with her Muggle education, too, but there she was, excelling as always.

Life was so laughably easy here, it was hard to leave it behind to go home. Home: an empty apartment, sterile and dim. She preferred the Academy.

Maybe she preferred it, but studying was still necessary. And to study she needed quiet, for, unlike at Hogwarts, she was a novelty. The European transferred honor student with the queer accent. The libraries- multiple- were hardly places of learning, and Hermione avoided them as much as possible.

Ouran Academy was similar to Hogwarts in one respect: both were huge, sprawling places, replete with secret passages and hidden rooms. It was a pleasure to explore, to discover every quiet place.

Music room #3: tucked away in a corner of the Academy, practically begging to be excavated. Hermione swung the door open, and-

Crash.

Hermione stopped short, as the source of the noise manifested before her eyes. A student in a baggy sweater was stretched out over a pedestal in the middle of the room, glasses hanging to the end of their nose. The shards of a vase lay scattered over the tile.

This student wasn't the only one in the room, however. There was a sizable group, all boys, all surrounding the maladroit student. She couldn't hear just what they said, but it was clear from the expressions of all present that something was wrong.

Would she ever get used to Muggles? Of course, they didn't have magic at their disposals, but it still seemed like such a silly problem.

Was it worth it to fix the vase?

The tall boy with black hair and glasses leaned in to whisper something to the blonde, and everyone turned at once to look at her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, before anyone could greet her.

"It's the other honor student," said one of the twins- was she doomed to find Fred and George everywhere she went?- eyes alight with interest. Malicious interest, if Hermione knew anything.

A lesser woman would take a step back, but Hermione refused to be cowed. She'd dealt with Fred and George, and they were wizards. There was nothing to fear from these... these...

"Our apologies," said the one who'd first noticed her presence. "We were not expecting guests quite so early."

"Guests?" Hermione asked, distracted from the unsettling similarities between these twins and the Weasleys. "Oh, I suppose this is a club of some kind. A catering club, perhaps?"

"No, not quite," said the boy in glasses. "May I present, the Host Club."

She had to admit, they did pretty well even without the advantage of magic. As one, they assembled and did some sort of... smiling thing. It was pretty dazzling, if she were honest.

"How long did you have to practice that?" she asked.

From behind the assembly, Hermione spotted the maladroit student coming to and focusing on the situation. She- and it was a she, as far as Hermione could tell- looked deeply upset.

"More importantly," said Hermione, "what's going on?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," the blonde soothed, stepping forward and taking her by the elbow.

"Don't-! Don't touch me," Hermione yelped, snatching her arm back. "And don't act so condescending. It's insulting."

The blond reeled back. "What do you mean?" he cried.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione muttered. "You're trying to make that first year pay for damages, aren't you?"

"No, of course not!" said the blonde.

"Yes," said the twins.

"Why would you do that? It can't be that bad!"

"8 million yen," the one in glasses said.

"Oh," said Hermione. That made more sense. Yes, it would definitely be worth it to cast a surreptitious Reparo. "What's your name, Maladroit?" she asked.

"Fujioka. Haruhi Fujioka," the clumsy girl said, looking more confused than anything.

"Would you help me pick up the pieces? I'm sure there's something we can do." Hermione knelt, thanking the sturdy material of her slacks, and plucked up the biggest piece.

"Even if you do put it together, we won't be able to put it on auction," the one in glasses said.

"We'll see," said Hermione.

The group of boys watched in clear bemusement as the two honor students crouched and cleaned up the broken vase by hand. It took hardly more than a minute, but all the while Hermione couldn't shake off the heat of their stares.

Hermione and Haruhi stood. "Here, I'll take that," Hermione said, pulling out her shirt to use as a carrier. Carefully, they dumped the shards onto her shirt.

"What are you planning?" Haruhi asked.

"I'm going to step outside for a moment. Don't follow me. I'll be back in a moment." Before anyone could protest, Hermione stepped back and shouldered the doors open.

She didn't have much time. Someone would come looking and then her opportunity to do a good deed would be lost. Holding the shirt with one hand, Hermione pulled her wand from her belt. "Reparo," she whispered.

The vase reformed easily, effortlessly, and just in time- she heard the doors open behind her.

"See?" she said. "Good as new."

"I don't understand," said Haruhi.

"Interesting," said the boy in glasses.

The small, child-like blond, who'd kept to himself with his tall dark-haired friend until then, came forward and ran a pudgy hand over the surface of the vase. "What did you do?" he asked, and when Hermione looked at him his eyes were shining. "Is it magic?"

He was so... so small. "Yes, it's magic," she said, softly. And then, "Here, take it. I've done my best."

The tiny blonde held it with reverent hands for only a moment before the boy in glasses took it. "There are no visual differences," he accused..

"Or tactile, you'll find," Hermione mumbled.

"Indeed. I'll be sending this in to have it certified- and I'm sure you know that fraud is against the law, yes?"

Hermione scoffed. "I know you're convinced that I just happened to have a handy forgery, but you're wrong. Your professional will assure you that it's entirely genuine. Or, as genuine as the vase you were selling in the first place."

The boy in glasses tilted his head in such a way that the light reflected off the lenses, obscuring the expression of his eyes. Hermione glared back— for she was sure that it was an intimidation tactic— and for several moments they were locked in place, neither willing to look away.

"Ahem," the twins coughed, and Hermione and the boy in glasses turned away.

"If you'll excuse me—" Hermione started.

"If you aren't a customer—" the boy in glasses said at the same time.

They both stopped, and Hermione brushed her hands off. "I'm going. Leave Haruhi alone, would you?" Satisfied to have gotten the last word, she stalked off.

###x###

A lot of things began to make sense after that encounter. The many idle mentions of a "Host Club", which offered every "main" type of boy one could ask for: Tamaki Suoh, the princely type; Kyoya Ootori, the cool type; Kaoru and Hikaru Hitachiin, the devil types; Takashi Morinozuka, the strong and silent type; and Mitsukuni Haninozuka, the childish type. If she thought back, she could connect the names and descriptors to the faces. The Hitachiins were the twins, obviously, and Mitsukuni was the boy who'd been so charmed at the idea of magic. Less obviously, Kyoya was the boy in glasses and Tamaki was the tall blond, and Takashi must have been the tall dark-haired one who'd said nothing at all.

Knowing their names felt like a victory, like she was one-upping them somehow, even though she was positive they'd known hers from the start. Now that she knew who they were, she let it go as an interesting encounter, but ultimately not useful to her.

Or, rather, she would have, if it wasn't for the twins.

"Granger! We've been looking for you!"

Hermione nearly choked on her salad as they appeared on either side of her. "Oh. Hello," she coughed. "Do you two need something?"

"Yeah, actually," said the one on her right.

"Kyoya-senpai had the Renaissance vase examined," said the one on her left.

"What about it?" Hermione said, trying not to smirk.

"It's genuine," the twins said together.

"Of course it is." Hermione took another bite, shoving her homesickness back into its box. "It's exactly as genuine as the one you were going to sell, as I said."

"Well, about that," said the twin to her left.

"It shouldn't be possible." The twin to her right put his chin on his right hand, and the other twin mirrored him.

Hermione shrugged, taking another bite, her muscles as relaxed as she could force them to be.

"How did you do it?"

"How did you switch them?"

"There wasn't enough time to fix it—"

"—And it was a one-of-a-kind piece—"

"—So how did you do it?" They finished together, scooting closer and looking expectant.

She took a moment just to observe them. They reminded her so much of Fred and George! What were the odds that they were also mischievous little devils? And their simultaneous speech, it was so eerily similar. Was it a good idea to spend any amount of time with them? They were little chunks of home, and that just couldn't be a good idea.

"At least you aren't trying to accuse me of anything," Hermione said. "Can you... can you two keep a secret?"

Obviously not, stupid woman, their vigorous nods said.

"It was..." Here she looked around, as if to search for eavesdroppers (of which there were admittedly a few), and then she whispered, "It was magic."

"Tough," said the one on the right to the one on the left.

"She's not going to just tell us," said the one on the left.

"Who are you, anyway?" Hermione interrupted.

The twins exchanged looks of unwarranted glee. "I'm Hikaru," said the one on the right, "And that one's Kaoru. You get the one freebie, got it?"

"Gred and Forge," Hermione muttered.

"Is she having a stroke?" asked Kaoru.

"Maybe," said Hikaru. "She seems a little young for that, though."

"Well, not really. Statistically speaking, it's more common for older people to have strokes, but there's a definite chance to have one when younger. It's often misdiagnosed, of course, but it does happen." Hermione coughed and took another bite, her cheeks reddening.

"She sounds like Kyoya-kun," the twins agreed.

Hermione smiled at the dubious compliment. As unpleasant as their one meeting had been, it was obvious that Kyoya Ootori was a boy of considerable knowledge and intelligence. "Well, you have your information," she said. "Why are you still here?"

The twins stared at her for a moment before saying, "Because that wasn't an answer."

"If you say so," Hermione chirped, secure in the knowledge that she was neither lying nor betraying her secret.

"Why don't you come to the club after class today?" they suggested as one.

"Because I don't have time," Hermione said.

"What are you doing?"

"...Studying," Hermione mumbled, well aware that they wouldn't find it a good enough reason.

"You could do that anywhere," Kaoru said.

"No," Hermione deadpanned.

"Please?" They asked together.

"No."

###x###

She'd meant it when she refused. Really, she had. But the twins, like a certain pair of Weasleys, didn't know how to let things lie. They pestered her for the remainder of the day— an impressive feat, considering they were first years to her second— and in the end Hermione cut her losses.

"You're squaring it with Ootori," she groused.

They didn't look too terribly thrilled at the prospect, as if they hadn't even considered the consequences, but agreed nonetheless.

It was an odd mixture of loneliness and flattery, sitting alone at a delicate table with her books off to the side of the room. Only Kyoya Ootori even looked at her, and Hermione felt all the regret of agreeing to be a third (fifth, seventh, twentieth) wheel.

For all the emotions attached to the situation, it was a good place to study. It was quiet enough that she could focus on her reading and busy enough that it reminded her of the Gryffindor Common Room. She could glance up at any time and find some sort of dignified drama to secure her attention.

Curiosity, forever the crux and bane of her existence, kept her looking up often. She hadn't wanted to admit to being curious about this Host Club, and it was an excellent opportunity to spy.

Tamaki Suoh had by far the most customers, which figured. Hermione could see girls like Lavender and Parvati paying for this kind of obsequious flattery, but she could also see girls like Hannah Abbott. That is, shy and unsure, comforted by that kind of confidence and universal praise. Together they made up such a large percentage of the kind of adolescent girls who would subscribe to a host service that it was no wonder Suoh was the most popular.

The other hosts filled in for practically every other desire. The twins held a sizable crowd of their own, being next on the extroversion scale. They were actually wonderfully adept at maintaining a delicate balance between having a close relationship with one another and seeming to offer an opening for a third. They touched and sweet-talked one another while simultaneously teasing their patrons. It was cruel, in a way, like opening a gate only to face a door, but everyone knew the truth of the situation. That was the beauty of such a service: pretty lies, beautiful illusions. It was a way to introduce steady affection without having to worry about real life for a little while.

After the twins came Mitsukuni Haninozuka and Takashi Morinozuka, a double act in their own right. They offered the inverse of the Hitachiins' attraction; whereas the twins were a perfect circle, Haninozuka and Morinozuka were intentionally contrasted in every way, which brought to mind feelings of maternal and familial tenderness. One could easily imagine themselves as Haninozuka's mother and Morinozuka's wife, and that was the draw. It was the draw of a family unit. Hermione wagered that there were two kinds of girls who kept company at their table: the girls who knew nothing else, and the girls who craved nothing more. In other words, the girls who'd been raised with a doting mother and father, and the girls who'd never had that kind of stability.

Last came Kyoya Ootori— and that was easy enough to explain. He was by no means lacking patrons, it was just that the kind of person who would appreciate his chilly intellectualism would also appreciate that he was a busy, busy boy. Anyone could see that he worked overtime to control absolutely everything in his life— indicative of a lack of control at home— and who would want to get in the way of that? His customers were usually content to just watch, perhaps try to match their auras to his. It never worked, and that was his draw: the unattainable, the prodigy. They all laboured in the vain hope that they would be the Special One to at last capture his interest, to coax out genuine smiles. Beneath such a cold exterior, intuition whispers, must be a burning passion.

They had a good balance, yes, a fantastic coverage of their target audience. As lucrative a business as this must be when only open to those attracted to boys, how much more so could it become if they broadened their horizons? Girls, in most parts of the world, are brought up in vastly different ways than their brothers. Girls must first be comfortable with their own need for such affection, and that sort of realization too often doesn't come young. Boys, however, are almost taught to be such a way. That was a large part of why the hosts existed at all: to provide a service, true, but also to gratify themselves. That was proof in and of itself that providing even one hostess would drastically improve profit margins.

Surely it had occurred to at least one of them? She could recognize the dilemma. The male hosts were hardly seen in any sort of negative light, but a woman would instantly be labeled a slut, a tease. She might even get hurt. Certainly not an occupation for a gently-bred, softly-borne young lady.

The human element was so frustrating sometimes.

At last a bell rang, signalling the end of club hours. The girls groaned but shuffled out without complaint, leaving only Hermione and the hosts.

For her part, Hermione was unsure what exactly she was meant to do. She wasn't a customer, exactly, having been specifically invited there and not subject to the same time constraints as the other girls, but neither was she a part of the club. She could only hope that the twins would take responsibility for their guest.

No such luck. Hermione stared at her page, having mastered years ago the art of pretending to be absorbed in a text while being fully aware of everything around her. If she controlled her reactions, it was easy enough to convince people that she'd blocked out external stimuli entirely, being a handy excuse for why she was still there.

"Um... Miss Granger?" Mitsukuni Haninozuka tugged at her sleeve, and Hermione looked down at him with feigned surprise. "Are you okay?"

That wasn't the question she'd been expecting. "Er, yes, I suppose so," she said. "The twins told me to study here, but I suppose now that club hours are over I should go." It seemed so obvious when she said it aloud, so obvious that Hermione wondered how she could've been unsure. She closed her book and set it atop another one before dragging the remaining two towards her and setting them on top of the stack.

Before she could stand, however, Haninozuka shook his head. "You don't have to go right away," he twinkled.

Oh. They wanted to talk to her, "they" meaning all of them, not just the twins.

"Is there something I can help you boys with?" she asked, pitching her voice so it would carry.

"Yes, in fact," said Kyoya Ootori. "The twins asked you earlier today, but you seemed unwilling to be forthcoming. We are willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that it was because of the public setting."

This boy really, really irked her, Hermione decided. As if she owed them anything at all, much less personal information. As if she should be afraid of them, of him. Still, starting an argument wouldn't end well. "Oh, that," she drawled. "The vase? You've already determined that it's genuine, as far as I heard."

The others had created something of a hemisphere around Hermione and Ootori, all standing. Looming, even. Hermione herself still sat, and perhaps even that had been intentional.

"How did you do it?" Ootori asked. Calm. Frigid. As if he already knew, and he was just waiting for a confession.

"Magic," Hermione said. She felt her wand press against the skin of her stomach, and she wondered whether she would have to use it. Muggle or no, this was a six-to-one ratio, and she was already in an unfavorable position.

"Hermione Granger, sixteen years old, female. Transfer student from Britain. Qualified as a scholarship student and began attending Ouran Academy during the second semester. Homeschooled during middle school and first year of high school. Both parents deceased as of three months ago. Has no legal guardian—"

"How long are you going to do that?" Hermione interrupted, resting her elbow on the table and keeping her twitching muscles under control. One of the couches in the center of the room buckled and pressed into the marble tile. She could fix it, naturally, but that would only draw her more indelibly into this situation.

Ootori audibly snapped his little black notebook shut and waited.

"Look," said Hermione in a softer voice than she knew she was capable of with such fury in her veins. "You're all reading too much into this. I didn't mean to get involved. I was helping someone out, and if I'm not mistaken even helped you all in the process. A lot of things in this world don't make sense, and it's—" Hermione stopped, shook her head, and placed a hand atop her stack of books. "I'm sorry that you're not used to not knowing things. Really, I am. It must be infuriating. But it's not my problem, and if you don't believe me, then that's on your head."

There was silence for several moments, and then Hikaru said, "Sure, we'll believe you. Why not?" Kaoru nodded his agreement, both of them grinning.

The others didn't quite agree, but neither did they argue. At last Ootori gave a sigh. "I cannot in good faith detain you any longer. You're free to go."

That couch crumbled further. Hermione resented the implication that she couldn't have left if she'd wanted to. She really, really, really resented it.

Emotions aside, Hermione scooped up her books and huffed her way out. No one tried to follow her, but she twisted around the corridors anyway.

Her breathing was coarse and stuttering, and Hermione stopped to get herself under control. That could easily have gone sour, and Hermione couldn't figure out why they'd let her go so readily. The human factor would destroy her yet.

###x###

The next few days were trying.

The Hitachiin twins continued showing up where they had no business, to the extent where Hermione had to wonder whether they ever went to their own classes. Ootori and Suoh, too, made a habit of being everywhere she was. They, at least, had the excuse of being in her year and, if she looked, in some of her classes.

It felt like she was being stalked, hunted. She hated feeling like that, like she was only tiring herself out before they inevitably caught up.

Even so, Hermione refused to give up. She would keep running until the bloody end. If she were to lose, it would be to someone worth losing to.

"What's that look for?" said Hikaru.

"It's scary," said Kaoru.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart doing its best to escape her foolish body. "Go away," she said.

"Nope," the twins chirped.

"Actually—"

"We were wondering—"

"Are you available this afternoon?"

"To be trapped in a confrontation again? No, thank you, I have a limit. Once a week." Hermione turned the page with too much force, and a small ripping sound echoed in the space between the three of them as the corner separated from the binding. Hermione wanted to cry.

It was just after six in the morning. She'd come in early to study in one of the libraries since she'd known no one would be there.

Hermione had to wonder why they were so interested in learning her secrets when they seemed fairly magical themselves.

The twins each settled an arm over her shoulders and leaned in, creating a sort of flat hug. Hermione tensed, but they didn't seem to notice or care that she was uncomfortable.

"No confrontation," they promised. "We'll even pay attention to you this time."

"Oh, yes, that's just what I need," Hermione said. "To be mistaken for one of your incest groupies. I have standards, you know."

Far from being offended, they laughed, deep chortles that tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth. "Fair point," they said. "We'll let you study?"

Now that was a tempting offer. She'd gotten a lot done in that one afternoon, even with as much time as she'd spent spying on the club. "Why?" she asked. "What do you get out of it?"

"You're interesting," Kaoru said.

"And you're driving Kyoya spare," Hikaru said.

"We guess it takes time for information to come in from Europe."

"He doesn't like not knowing things."

Hermione smiled. "And, being the chaotic forces that you two are, you'd like to push together things that don't fit together on their own. Is that it?"

"Close enough," said the twins.

"Fine, I'll go. Today. I'm not promising anything after that!" she said.

Satisfied, the twins set down their heads and fell asleep almost instantly.

Hermione gazed with blank eyes at the grain patterns in the dark cherrywood table. She really was getting lonely, wasn't she? She was agreeing to insert herself into a situation which could potentially reveal the existence of magic to a room full of Muggles for the entertainment of a pair of red-headed troublemakers who happened to have similar mannerisms to old friends of hers, and all she got in return was the illusion of having close relationships. If she didn't dislike using the word as much as she did, she may even go so far as to call it pathetic.

Still, she felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach like climbing ivy, spreading tendrils throughout her abdomen. Of course she would go. If she were honest with herself, she'd been hoping for another invitation from the start.

The day passed in minutes and hours, and by the final bell Hermione's limbs were shaking. Would she be ignored again? Would she be confronted again, intimidated again? Or would they treat her like a guest?

She pushed open the double doors to Music Room #3 and inside found everything exactly as it was, only without the hosts. Hermione stepped forward, the bottoms of her shoes loud against the marble. Everything in her was screaming that it was a trap, but Hermione marched forward, aiming for the table she'd studied at a few days ago—

The sound of several balloons popping at once pierced her ears, and Hermione shrieked at the top of her lungs, her hand nearly punching herself in the gut as it grabbed for her wand.

"Happy birthday!" rang the deafening shouts of half a dozen teenage boys.

Hermione froze. Birthday? "My birthday was two weeks ago," she said. And she definitely hadn't spent it moping around her apartment thinking about home and her parents. Definitely not.

"We know!" cried Haninozuka. "But we never celebrated it, so we're doing that now!"

"Oh," said Hermione, and it was the most intelligent thing she could think of to say at the moment. She studied the faces in a ring before her, this time bearing vastly different expressions than they had only a few days before. Haninozuka especially was beaming, and it was difficult indeed not to respond in kind.

The party was brief but intense, as they had to pack up before the girls arrived. Hermione helped despite their protests, and she fought a smile the whole time.