Hermione had a dream, a very, very long dream.
In the dream, she sat by the window in the deepest part of the Hogwarts library. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the glass, spreading a warm patch of gold across the table.
She leaned against a sturdy arm—Vincent's. Her head rested on his lap, and she held a copy of A History of Medieval Magic.
"What are you reading?" Vincent's voice came from above her.
"I'm reading..." She turned the page and pretended to study it intently. "A fourteenth-century debate about cauldron thickness."
"Is it good?"
"Very good."
Vincent laughed, his body shaking with it, making the back of her head tremble as well.
She could not be bothered to sit up. She merely rolled her eyes and raised the book higher to block his face.
The next scene was the Owl Court Club lounge. Hermione reclined on the sofa with her legs casually draped over Vincent's lap, holding a cup of hot cocoa as she watched him play Gwent.
His fingers were long and elegant, especially when he held the cards.
She simply watched him without doing anything, occasionally taking a sip of cocoa and occasionally wiggling her little feet.
The scene shifted to the Great Hall. She and Vincent sat at the Gryffindor table, with Harry and Ron across from them and Lavender and Parvati beside them.
Dumbledore was speaking at the staff table, but few students were listening seriously.
Fred and George were passing notes. One flew over Hermione's head, only for Vincent to snatch it out of the air. He glanced at it, grinned mischievously, and passed it to Harry.
Harry looked at it and blushed.
"What did it say?" She leaned toward Vincent.
He lowered his head and whispered a few words into her ear.
She burst