Ariana's words, delivered with the calm precision of a master duelist's spell, did not have the immediate effect she had logically anticipated. She had presented Hermione with a sound, reasoned argument, expecting her friend's own formidable intellect to process the data and arrive at the same conclusion. She had, however, underestimated a powerful and illogical variable: Hermione's pride.
The next morning, a distinct chill had settled between them. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat a few seats away, pointedly engrossed in a discussion with Neville about the proper way to prune a self-fertilizing bush. She answered Ariana's polite "Good morning" with a curt nod, her eyes not quite meeting hers.
Ariana observed this new development with a quiet, analytical detachment. Hermione had not processed her advice as a logical concern for her well-being; she had interpreted it as a challenge to her capability. She felt that Ariana was telling her she couldn't do it, and her entire identity was built on proving she could do anything, and do it better than anyone else.
The rift, subtle at first, began to widen. In the corridors, Hermione would often be walking with a large group, her laughter a little too loud, pointedly not noticing Ariana walking nearby. In the library, they no longer shared a table. Hermione would set up her own fortress of books on one side of the vast room, while Ariana worked in her usual secluded alcove on the other. They were two magnets of the same polarity, repelling each other with a silent, powerful force.
This schism did not go unnoticed. In fact, it became the subject of intense, gleeful speculation throughout the school.
"See? I told you it wouldn't last," Parvati Patil whispered to Lavender Brown over breakfast, watching Hermione pointedly ignore an empty seat next to Ariana. "You can't have two queens in one hive. They were bound to turn on each other."
"It's a proper catfight, isn't it?" Lavender giggled. "I wonder what it's about. A boy, probably. Maybe they both fancy Cedric Diggory."
The Hogwarts rumor mill, a machine more powerful and less accurate than any divination tool, churned out theory after theory. The idea of the two smartest, most beautiful, and most powerful girls in their year being locked in a silent feud was irresistibly dramatic. It was a narrative the student body seemed almost desperate to believe. It made the two girls seem more human, more accessible, their falling out a comforting confirmation that even perfection could crack.
The boys in their own group were completely bewildered.
"What's going on with them?" Ron asked Harry, watching Hermione and Ariana walk past each other in the common room without a single word. "They were fine on the train. Now they're acting like Snape and, well, everyone."
"I don't know," Harry said, feeling a familiar sense of being on the outside of a complex emotional equation he didn't understand. "Ariana said something to her about her schedule. Maybe Hermione's just stressed."
Daphne and Tracey, with their Slytherin perceptiveness, understood the dynamic better. "It's pride," Daphne commented quietly to Tracey as they watched the silent standoff from their seats at the Gryffindor table (a habit that still caused ripples of confusion). "Granger can't stand the implication that she has limits. And Dumbledore only deals in logic. It's a battle between pride and logic. Logic will win, eventually, but pride is a stubborn beast."
Ariana, for her part, did not engage. She did not press the issue. She had delivered her analysis. To repeat it would be inefficient. To apologize for it would be to invalidate the truth of her concern. So she simply… waited. She continued her own studies, attended her chosen electives, and observed her friend from a distance. She saw the dark circles beginning to form under Hermione's eyes, the slight tremor of exhaustion in her hands as she juggled five different textbooks, the way her shoulders were constantly tensed with the stress of a schedule that was not just demanding, but physically impossible.
She knew this cold war was not sustainable. Hermione was running on pure intellectual adrenaline and stubbornness. Sooner or later, she would hit a wall. And when she did, Ariana would be there. She would not say, "I told you so." She would simply be there to help her friend pick up the pieces. It was, she concluded, the only logical thing to do. The rift was not a true fracture in their friendship; it was a stress test of Hermione's own self-perception. And like any well-designed structure, it had to be tested to its limits before its true strength could be known.