DAPHNE GREENGRASS eyed the Gryffindor table with absolute disgust. "Who does that bitch think she is?" She snapped incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest – which Pansy had watched the blonde stuff her bra with tissue paper earlier in the morning.

"Who?" The black-haired girl asked, even though she knew exactly of the person Daphne was referring to. Hermione Granger was all the girl could talk about for weeks now, and while Pansy would've gladly talked about Gryffindor's lioness in any other context, she'd grown tired of the constant negativity. Her dark eyes glanced towards the table adorned in scarlet and gold, her gaze locked fully on the dark-skinned girl dressed in a honey-yellow sweater and black skirt: she'd noticed the girl had taken to wearing more feminine clothing even on days that there were no classes. And what was it about dark-skinned girls looking so much better in lighter clothes than everybody else?

She watched as Hermione ran a hand through her curly brown hair, because somehow she'd managed to tame it and it now resided in curls rather than being bushy and impossible. If Pansy had thought the girl was beautiful before, she considered her ethereal now: a goddess.

"Hermione Granger, obviously. Who else have I ever despised as much as her?" The blonde Slytherin beside her snarled bitterly, and Pansy really wished she'd sat with the boys for lunch today. She'd been foolish in thinking her dorm mate would talk about anything besides Hermione.

"Cho Chang, I think. When Diggory asked her to the Ball rather than yourself," Millie butted into the conversation, stuffing her mouth full of a sandwich. "You were convinced it was only natural that the school's prettiest girl should attend the Yule Ball with the school's handsomest boy, and became vexed with her once he chose her."

"I guess you're right," Daphne pouted, pulling a small mirror from her pocket and checking her lipstick. To Pansy, the girl looked as though she'd overdone it with makeup and looked like a porcelain doll. "I am the prettiest girl in school. Nevermind Hermione Granger's sudden need to prove she's actually female. The poor Mudblood probably grew tired of hearing people call her 'sir' rather than 'ma'am'."

Pansy blew a breath, willing herself to stay calm. Granger was naturally beautiful, whereas Daphne was a carbon copy of a copy. The girl was about as original as the plot of the creepy fan-made story section in the back pages of Witch Weekly – the ones where desperate witches wrote themselves into a fantasy relationship with their celebrity crush and fished over 'love at first sight' and 'perfect skin' and being 'beautiful though she'll never believe it.' Yeah, Pansy really hated those stories.

"How did you do on your Charms essay?" She asked suddenly, deciding once again to sway the conversation away from the Gryffindor table.

"Flitwick knows nothing about Charms, I swear. He gave me the lowest score possible! Like, he's obviously never been to the islands of Bombarda. It's a beautiful place."

"Um, I think that's called Barbados, Daphne. 'Bombarda' causes small explosions." Millicent eyed her friend with disbelief. Sure, Millie may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but compared to Daphne...

"You're wrong!" The blue-eyed girl frowned at the both of them. "I know what I'm talking about." She stood up and walked off indignantly, making sure to go the long way around the Great Hall so as to walk passed the Gryffindor table. As she passed Hermione, the girls could hear her say "and your sweater is tacky!" before slamming the doors closed. The girls continued to eye each other in amazement.

————— ↯ —————

Exams would be approaching before long, and Hermione Granger wanted to be sure that she filled her brain to its carrying capacity with knowledge. She sat down in the library at a table near the windows, and thumped her pile of books down in front of her, emitting a thud! and then a shh! from Madam Pince. She glanced toward the librarian apologetically and then sat down behind her pile.

The weather had taken a turn for the better as February turned to March, and the snow had begun to melt from the grounds outside. However, the Gryffindor couldn't find herself taking the time to enjoy the weather as she had to study. Suddenly, she heard a chair being pulled out across from her and after having separated her books, she noticed Viktor Krum's large grin.

"Hello, Her-my-oh-ninny." The Bulgarian Quidditch star said, and she found herself eyeing him with confusion. In the weeks following the Ball, she thought she'd made it very clear that she wasn't interested in him, and him pulling her from the Black Lake had been entirely surprising to the both of them. However, now she found herself sitting across from him in all of his blood red clothing and furs: he always seemed to wear furs.

"Viktor, what're you doing here?" She asked, silently willing their conversation to go quickly so she could crack into her books. She'd given strict orders to Ronald and Harry to leave her alone that day after lunch, and now she'd found herself with a new distraction.

"I listened to the Snake House at lunch today as the blonde spoke about you." He noted, and she found herself frowning. Malfoy had started gossiping about her again? She'd already determined it was him who'd told Rita Skeeter she and Harry were an item ( which they weren't and never would be ) during the First Task, but she thought he'd finally decided to leave her alone for awhile.

"What's he been saying?" She asked, momentarily forgetting about her books as her brown eyes peered into Viktor's.

"Who is he? I am speaking of the blonde girl. The Grass girl." The champion ran a hand across his neatly cut brown hair, eyes scrunched in confusion to make his nose appear even larger.

"Oh," Hermione understood now. "Daphne Greengrass. What did she have to say?"

"She thinks you are not as beautiful as her. I think she is wrong. I was hoping you would come with me to Hogsmeade and have drinks?"

The Gryffindor noticed the hopeful look in the Bulgarian's eye and she sighed, reaching across the table to take his hand lightly. He looked down at their clasped hands with shock, barely noticing as she said his name to draw his attention. Across the library, the sounds of heels clicking hurried along the flooring, tearing out of the library faster than a strike of lightning.

"Viktor, I'm sorry, but I've already told you that I'm not interested. I can't be wasting my time on boys when there's so much studying to do, as well as helping Harry win the tournament..."

"I like Harry. Harry is good friend to you. Good boyfriend." The Quidditch star interjected.

"No, he's not my boyfriend. Aren't you listening? I'm not interested in boys: in dating at all, actually. There are things far more important in life than romance." She tried to reason with him, but it appeared that though the rest of the man's body was quite large, his brain was small.

He pulled his hand away from hers. "Then you will live a very lonely life."

His chair scraped as he turned to leave, and Madam Pince made a shushing sound towards him. He barreled through the library and out the door, completely disregarding the witch. In indignation, the woman stomped over to Hermione and glared at her.

"If you are going to keep using my library as a place for public disturbances, Miss Granger, I will have no choice but to ban you from it. Five points from Gryffindor." Then, she walked away. With a silent huff, Hermione's head slumped to the table. She just couldn't seem to win.

————— ↯ —————

Pansy Parkinson sat glumly in the Slytherin Common Room that night, dark eyes illuminated by the fireplace in which she was curled in front of. The passageway slid open and Draco Malfoy appeared with his cronies and Blaise Zabini in tow. The blond made a beeline straight for the dorms and Crabbe and Goyle followed after him while Blaise took notice of the sullen-faced girl.

"What's happened?" The dark-skinned boy asked, taking a seat beside her on the leather couch. There were other students in the common room, though they were far more invested in their own conversations or studies to care about the Fourth Years.

The Slytherin princess found herself thinking back to earlier in the day, when she'd been working up the courage to speak to Granger again, and instead had come to the library to find her locking hands with Viktor Krum. Her heels had clicked so loudly across the library floor that she'd been sure Pince would give her a detention, but she hadn't. She'd been foolish in thinking Hermione would ever consider speaking to her again, let alone someday dating her. She stuffed her face into a pillow and leg out a muffled scream.

"Is it... gay stuff?" Blaise wasn't used to this: one of his friends having romantic feelings towards someone of the same sex. He wasn't raised to understand these types of people, hardly any Slytherin was, but he was trying his hardest to appear supportive and understanding. At his remark of 'gay stuff,' however, Pansy eyed him with an amused twinkle in her eye.

Or maybe that was the gay sparkle? He'd heard somewhere that gays had this sparkle in their eye that heterosexuals just didn't have. Like the trademark tale that this person, in fact, was a queer.

"Extremely gay stuff." She smirked, leaning her head on his broad shoulder. She missed being able to curl up with her friend like this. Even though he'd sworn to never act on his feelings towards her because of Malfoy ( except for that kiss which had been deemed 'The Unspeakable Event of 1995' between the two of them ), he'd always been an amazing friend and confidant to her.

"Ready to tell me who it is, then? Who turned- correction, not turned, but solidified your questioning of being queer for? Merlin, I'm not helping the situation. Who are you crushing on, Pans?" The boy was about ready to slap himself. Never before had he appeared as such a babbling mess in his life.

She pursed her lip, eyeing him warily. "You'll flip out."

"I won't, I promise." He held his hands up in mock surrender. She pondered this for a moment, determining and weighing every possible outcome from which could forth exist with her telling him this.

"You have to promise to not tell a soul. Absolutely no-one can know about this, especially Malfoy." She demanded, eyeing him with intensity: an unspoken threat. If he dared cause a scene, she may castrate him.

"I promise," he moved so he was sitting with his leg bent and facing her. The two appeared in this instance like any pair of teenagers gossiping about their crushes: a ridiculous cliché, though groundbreaking. "Now, spill."

Pansy blew a breath. This would be the first time she would ever admit this aloud: "I may have a small crush on Hermione Granger."

A moment passed.

Another moment.

Silence.

And then, "you like Herm-"

Never before had Pansy's hand moved so fast as it did in that moment, covering Blaise's mouth and muffling his voice as his eyes flashed wildly. She glared at him, daring him to mutter a single word once she removed her hand.

"What did you just promise me, Blaise Zabini?"

"That I wouldn't make a big deal, but Pansy, you really like-"

"Stop talking, Blaise. I swear to Salazar I'll make you mute if you keep talking." The black-haired boy silenced immediately and blew a shaky breath. They sat like that for awhile, quiet and contemplative: Blaise's mind racing a hundred kilometers a minute.

Pansy likes Granger! his mind screamed. It's really true then: she likes girls!