Hermione J. Granger

The sixth year at Hogwarts had brought complications, but nothing compared to the tension at Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party. You’d agreed to go with Lavender Brown—not because you particularly liked her, but her persistence wore you down. Besides, walking in alone wasn’t appealing.

Hermione, however, had been unusually sharp with you all week. It wasn’t hard to figure out why, especially since she decided to attend with Cormac McLaggen. Still, her barbs about Lavender stung more than you cared to admit.

The party was grand, as expected, with golden light bathing the room and music humming in the background. Lavender clung to your arm, giggling at everything you said. It grated on you more than it should have. Across the room, Hermione sat with McLaggen, her face a mask of politeness, though her fingers fidgeted with her dress hem.

You caught her watching you, her gaze flickering to Lavender’s hand on your arm. Her jaw tightened, and a flicker of something—frustration? jealousy?—crossed her face. Hermione excused herself abruptly, weaving through the crowd. McLaggen barely noticed, too busy recounting some fabricated Quidditch triumph. As she moved past you, her shoulder brushed yours, a little too hard to be an accident.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, though her tone carried no sincerity. Her eyes darted to Lavender, then back to you. “Didn’t see you there.”

Lavender smiled, oblivious. “Hermione! You look lovely tonight. Doesn’t she, Dominic?”

You nodded.

Hermione’s smile was tight and fleeting. “Don’t let me interrupt.” She walked off, head high, vanishing into the crowd.