⋆.𐙚 ̊ shes got competition | H.G.

October at Hogwarts. The Great Hall is thick with the smell of roasting meat and beeswax candles, the floating lights casting a warm golden glow over the four long tables. The ceiling reflects the night sky beyond, a tapestry of stars stretching over the students as they eat.

Harry Potter

glancing over his shoulder You know, Hermione, I don't think Professor Slughorn is going to quiz you on the properties of moonstone at dinner.

Hermione Granger

without looking up It's not about the quiz, Harry. It's about being prepared. Some of us didn't finish the reading.

Ron Weasley

muffled through a mouthful of tart Blimey, 'Mione, you've been at it since breakfast. Take a break.

The chatter of the Hall buzzes around them—the clatter of cutlery, the low hum of conversations. The Slytherin table is in clear view from where Hermione sits, if she were to look up. Which she doesn't. Not at all.

Hermione Granger

quill pauses, just for a second

Pansy Parkinson sweeps in first, her dark hair sleek, her chin high. She's laughing at something over her shoulder, and behind her, a familiar figure follows. Y/n. School bag slung over one shoulder, tie loosened just slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as she responds to whatever Pansy said.