I Learned Your Pulse

"You could be the one to discover it."

Hermione smiled and held her out to him, which he took and spun her once, with very stiff posture, and they began to shuffle once more.

"I told McGonagall," he said after a while. "About the lethifold attacks."

She froze. "You... how much did you tell her?"

He patted her shoulder reassuringly. "That I was attacked and both times, you conjured a Patronus and saved my sorry arse."

"Mr. Malfoy, watch your language and dance," ordered McGonagall, walking past.

She and Brant were laughing, walking along the shore of the Black Lake, looking at how their feet made prints in the snow and how the lake looked no different than anywhere else, as it was completely blanketted in white. They could tell where the edge of it was because of the dip in the land and the ice that they skittered around. Walking and talking, enjoying each others company as normal. the air was crisp and cold on their faces, brushing against her cheeks and turning her nose and ears bright red, matching his.

"Mirrors are fascinating," said Hermione. "I've always had this theory that you could use them to travel, but nobody seems to want to test it."

"Why don't you test it?" Brant asked. "You could be the one to discover it."

For a second, she dreamed of her name in a book titled Discoveries 1900-2000 sometime in the near future, but laughed it off. "It's just a fun little idea. I also think you could talk to people through them, like a fireplace," she added, "but the only mirror that ever did that is shattered now. If I can re-figure out how to enchant a mirror to do that, we could stop poking around in fireplaces, risking getting burned. And maybe there's people inside mirros. Have you ever thought of that? They could be telephone operators, or something like that -"

"Whaty-phone operaters?"

Hermione's forgotten he was a pureblood. "Telephone. They're electronic devices you use to talk to people."

"So, like fireplaces?"

"Yes, but you don't talk to them face-to-face, just hear their voice and... you know... talk."

He looked confused. "Isn't that what letters are for?"

"Letters can be slow," she said, "And keep in mind, Muggles don't use owls to deliver mail."

"They don't?" This stunned him. "How do they write to each other? How do your parents write to you?"

Hermione spent a good other half hour explaining Muggle mail systems between themselves and Wizarding relatives. He was intrigued, fascinated about this as she was about mirrors. When they were done talking, they walked on in comfortable silence for a while.

And then he took her hand.

Not sure how she felt about this, she allowed it, walking on. It was holding her hand, and she was single. The more she thought about it, it was probably a friendly gesture.

And then he stopped walking and turned her around to face him. Confused, but only for a second, because then he kissed her - full on the mouth. It was a quick kiss, but it surprised her so much the blood rushed to her cheeks again and heated her face. His fingers grasped hers tightly as he pekced her lips once more, twice more, and then pulled back.

"You haven't changed your mind about the ball, have you?" he asked.

"Brant..." she had to think of something to say that would let him down easy. "I've promised you first dance, but I've got a date."

He seemed to get angry very quickly. "Who?" he demanded, so much like Ron she had to supress the urge to chuckle, which would not have helped the current circumstances.

"Someone," she said, not wanting to tell people because he certainly hadn't wanted to gree to go with her in the first place.

It was an odd contrast - one second, Brant was kissing her, holding her hands warmly, romantically, and then next he was storming away, stomping his feet against the ground, creating a mini-snowstorm with each step. Hermione was more bemused than anything. He wasn't a bad kisser, but, as much as she'd expected it, she hadn't felt anything stirring in her chest when his lips had touched hers. She was slightly disappointed.

And then she remembered...

For one split second, the only things that existed were she and he; there was no lethifold, no imminent threat of death, no darkness, no light, no snow, no fear - just them, their lips moving in synchronization as she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying her hardest to fill him with the happiness that seemed to evade him. She threw her arms around his neck and he wrapped his arms around her waist, their body heat mingling, their hearts racing each other but exactly in time with the other.

What was wrong with her? Remembering her kiss with Draco wasn't helping anything. But already, her lips were tingling with the memory of his, and she brought her fingers up gently to touch them, feeling, to her surprise, that they were smooth as marble but as warm as the sun.

And for some reason, she started crying.

No, they weren't heart-racking sobs, nor was she wailing in espair; just one or two tears spilling over her eyelashes to be wiped away quickly as she tried to figure out why they'd fallen at all.

"Hermione? Why are you crying?"

Hermione fixed a dry smile on Simis, who had appeared out of nowhere. "Hey," she said.

"Why are you crying?" he asked again, coming closer, putting his arm around her shoulders, wiping her tears away with his gloved hand. She shrugged.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly.

"Well, stop," he said. "I hate it when you're sad. Speaking of sad, you'll be pretty sad about going to the ball without a date."

What was with Simis and Brant? Both so focused on the ball, with no particular reason; was this their way of asking her out? You only had to be friends to go to the ball with someone, the exception being her and Draco, who may or may not be tolerable acquaintances. "I have a -" she tried to say.

And his lips interrupted her.

She paused for a moment. His lips tasted good, like strawberries, but there was no spark. Her heart beat normally, her skin wasn't alive with electric jolts of passion, or anything like that she might've hoped for if not expected. Actually, she liked Simis enough. He was a good person. He had been the one she'd always suspected herself of having a crush on; she was closer to him than Brant. But she was overwhelmed with disappointment at this kiss. It was so ordinary, too ordinary, that she was mad. She pulled back right away and, before she could stop herself, had slapped him across the face.

He gasped as the slap stung and she instantly felt bad, but she was still angry at not having feelings for him. "I was taking, and that was rude," she snapped, side-stepping away from him and dodging between trees to get away from the bank. It wasn't his fault she had no feelings for him, but for some reason, she was mad at him for her not having feelings for him.

As she walked toward the castle again, leaving Simis without an apology and with a red cheek, she thought with horror that she was becoming a true mans' lady. She swore, right rhen and there, to herself, that she would kiss nobody else the whole year unless she was dating them. And she wouldn't date them unless she really thought she loved them. Right, she thought. So no more kissing. She sighed.

And then realized she didn't have a dress for the ball.