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Hermione remembered her first kiss with the clarity afforded by a life and death situation: Ron, the Chamber of Secrets, the castle's foundations shaking around them as the war raged above, the cold, the fear, the desperation… it hadn't been a very good kiss.
There had been more kissing after that, and then with other men when things ended with Ron, but she found it all so very unsatisfying. Something was… missing. She certainly wasn't as into it as her partner's seemed to be. She could fake it for a while, hoping she would finally feel what she was supposed to feel, what everyone else talked about, what she read in books and saw in movies…
She knew she was the problem. Her boyfriends were perfectly fine. She had even tried for some variety: wizards, muggles, tall, short, funny, smart and not so smart - admittedly, that one had been a disaster - shy, outgoing… she had even gone out with an older gentleman once. But it was all for nought. She might as well kiss an ice cube.
Maybe she wasn't normal… maybe Bellatrix's torture had broken her in more ways than one. Maybe one of her spells had burned the love right out of her. She wouldn't be surprised. Bellatrix had been as evil as she was talented.
So Hermione gave up on dating. She focused all that useless energy into herself, her work, her friends.
Today, she was meeting up with Lavender at their favourite tea shop in Diagon Alley. They had put their childish dislike of one another aside after running into each other at St Mungo's. Funny how the wizarding world was so small, and yet, she hadn't seen her fellow Gryffindor in almost ten years. Finding they actually had a lot in common, they became fast friends. Hermione helped her out setting up her magical paraphernalia shop, which was just across the tea shop, and five minutes away from the Ministry where Hermione worked, so it was no wonder they met so often.
"You made it!" Lavender greeted her, waving her hand frantically in her direction and patting the chair next to her, as exuberant as ever despite the sweltering heat.
"Of course I made it. What did you think would keep me away? I don't think I've ever missed one of our meetings." Hermione replied, eagerly reaching for the teacup Lavender had already prepared for her, just the way she liked it.
"I thought my face would melt off just walking across the street. I didn't think you'd be able to stand the damnable heat all the way from the Ministry, but…" Lavender trailed off, eyeing her critically. "Are you for real wearing long sleeves today of all days? Has work at the Ministry finally done away with your brain?"
Hermione's previous amusement at her friend's antics suddenly vanished, replaced by awful memories and lingering pain in her left arm. She rubbed it absent-mindedly, avoiding Lavender's big blue eyes, so she couldn't read the anguish in her own.
"Don't be silly. I used cooling charms like any other sane witch on my way here."
Silence weighed heavily over their table, until it was replaced by a familiar buzzing sound around them. Hermione recognized the muffliato charm, then felt a notice-me-not shrouding them and their magic. Hermione finally met Lavender's challenging gaze, raising an eyebrow.
"No one can cast cooling charms on themselves all day long, Hermione. Not even you. And I know you. Something's bothering you. Spill."
"Merlin, how can I refuse such a cordial invitation?"
"You like my frankness."
"That I do," Hermione admitted with a sigh, disgusted by the constant politics and backstabbing at the Ministry. "I… it's nothing, really. It's… it's silly," Hermione said, smiling despite wanting to cry.
At least her voice was steady, a touch self-deprecating. It truly was silly when she really thought about it. It was just a scar. Half the wizarding population in the country had them, although they didn't usually spell out such an awful slur. Some were even proud of them. A sign they had been brave enough to stand up for what they believed, and lucky enough to make it out alive.
Lavender scoffed.
"Pull the other one. No one can use Hermione and sillly in the same sentence, not even you."
Lavender reached across the table and covered her hands with her own. Hermione only then realized they were trembling, and it made her feel even worse. Weak and silly. She opened her mouth, tried to explain, but it was as if her voice had been stolen along with her ability to forget about that day in Malfoy Manor, and brush it off like the strong witch everyone expected her to be.
But it still hurt, haunted her, and even hampered her to dress the way she wanted. Funny that in all these years, Lavender was the only one to notice. Harry and Ron knew of course, so they didn't comment on her long sleeves, or, as oblivious as they were, maybe they really had not noticed either…
"Hermione?"
Lavender brought her out of her spiraling thoughts, and Hermione wanted to leave and bury her past once more, but her friend's earnest and worried eyes kept her in her seat.
Well, if Hermione couldn't say it, she would just have to show it. Slowly, she rolled up her left sleeve. The edge of the last letter appeared, looking like any other cursed scar: red, angry, raised lines that never seemed to heal. Lavender had her own, she knew, after being mauled by Greyback the day of the Final Battle. In fact, she looked nonplussed until Hermione raised her sleeve enough that it was clear letters had been deliberately carved into her flesh. Then Lavender looked like she was going to be sick when she guessed what had been written before she could roll it up all the way. Hermione stopped, hoping that would be enough for Lavender to understand, to let it go.
But she didn't.
"Who?" she asked.
"Does it matter?" Hermione replied, glad to have her voice back now that the ugly truth was out.
Lavender seemed to think it seriously over for a moment before she shook her head.
"But they're dead?" she asked.
Their eyes met. Hermione nodded and her lips curled into a semblance of a smile. She understood. Hermione began rolling her sleeve down again when Lavender stopped her.
"Can I?" she asked, as unapologetic as ever.
Hermione nodded again, uncertain of what she wanted to do, but trusting she wouldn't hurt her. Lavender inspected her scars, turning her arm this way and that before letting go of it to rummage in her oversized bag.
"You should have come to me sooner. You know I'm a dab hand at applying make-up."
"It doesn't work on this kind of scar, Lavender. Don't you think I haven't already tried everything?"
"Oh, please," Lavender scoffed. "I don't go about mucking around in your legislation bills, so don't come telling me how to apply make-up, love," she said, still sorting through the absolute chaos that was the contents of her bag.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat at the endearment, and something long forgotten woke up in her. A warm feeling of fondness and hope spreading through her chest. It couldn't be… Eyes wide, Hermione stared at Lavender, seeing her through a slightly different perspective. She had already noticed how pretty Lavender was, she wasn't blind. She'd just been glad not to feel that petty jealousy she had in school. And if her eyes sometimes lingered on her cleavage, it was only because she wished she was daring enough to wear those clothes. Right? And if she stared too long at her lips, it was because she admired how her lipstick made them so glossy and pulpous. Right? And-
Fingers snapping in front of her face.
"Lavender to Hermione? Hello?"
"Ah… yes?"
"You got lost in your brain again," Lavender chuckled. "I swear it's a wonder you ever get anything done."
Lavender then held her arm in one hand applying make-up with the other, slowly and explaining every step she took, before sealing her work with magic.
"You spell the make-up, not the skin…" Hermione said as realization hit her like a rabid bludger. "How could I be so-"
Lavender's index pressed against her lips, preventing her from finishing her sentence.
"Uh-huh, what did I say? Hermione and stupid do not go together. Ever."
Hermione blushed. This close, she could count Lavender's eyelashes, and her perfume was intoxicating. Despite what Lavender said, Hermione couldn't believe how oblivious she had been. How had she not figured this out sooner? It was logical, in hindsight. Women. She liked women. That's what had been missing. She wasn't abnormal, she had just been navigating under a false premise. Stuck in her ways. Kissing frogs when she had been admiring swans.
Lavender's eyes sparkled, mischievous, as if she had just read her mind. It was possible, but not in the conventional way. Besides, Hermione knew Lavender was pants at mind magics, and very few people were actual legilimens, but she was insanely good at reading body language, and whatever Hermione's body was unconsciously broadcasting had Lavender look like a cat that got the cream.
"But maybe we do?" Lavender continued.
Hermione licked her lips. She felt parched all of a sudden.
"I… yes. I think we might."
Lavender closed the distance between them. Admittedly, it was only a few inches, but it was like jumping over a cliff, breathtaking and exhilarating. Hermione's heart was being portkeyed around her chest and she wondered if she would survive the experience until Lavender's lips met her own, soft, warm, inviting. Like sun and sugar-quills, like wooly socks and hot chocolate, like butterflies and fireworks,
like a dream and victory…
This. This was what she had heard about, what she read in romance novels, what she had yearned and hoped for.
Her other first kiss. The only one that mattered.