[ It is, in short, a lot. The kettle starts whistling before Hermione fully digests all that, and she turns the thing off with a flick of her hand, wandless magic sent impatiently that way, her attention given in full to Red.

Red, who is her housemate and friend, who's seen her out of a dangerous place, who is stronger than a girl of her frame should be, who probably hides something. (She could guess again at a werewolf but she's guessed at that enough times here, and been wrong. It starts to grow old.) Red, who looks like she could use a hug, and also Red who's dropped a whole lot in Hermione's lap.

Metaphorically. ]

I...oof. [ A little laugh, a little brittle. ] I wish I didn't, but I know exactly how that feels and it's awful. [ She can't forget Lily Evans, a brilliant witch and a brilliant friend, whose death Hermione would never be able to stop, whose future she could never discuss without fear of breaking the woman. Lily Evans, gone - either lost somewhere along the route or perhaps gone back home, tragic and awful as it is. ]

I like to think that the people we meet here just go back to a different version of my universe, if it makes sense. A parallel one where they can't be hurt because they're nice and they were my friend and they don't deserve that.

[ Bitterly, at last. ] Knowing about the future of someone is terrible. Do you think asking him if he would want to know would change things?