Disclaimer: I don't own anything in the Potterverse. sigh

Fancy some fluff? Read on...

"Yes, we will," Hermione said, getting to her feet and stretching. "But, Harry, before you get all excited, I still don't think you'll be able to get into the Room of Requirement without knowing what's there first'. And I don't think you should forget" — she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and gave him a very serious look — "that what you're supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn. Good night." Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

She yawned as she walked up to her dormitory having just left Ron and Harry in the common room. If she was honest with herself, she was a little tired of the constant talk about plots and evil doing in the castle, but once Harry got the bit between his teeth about something, (especially when the bit had something, anything to do with Malfoy) there really was no stopping him.

She drew her curtains around her bed and dressed quickly into her pyjamas. She pulled her schoolbag onto her bed and pulled out her Dementor essay to have one last look through it before it was to be handed in the next day.

By habit, she took out her quill and held it as if she was about to write but frowned when it didn't feel right in her hand.

She looked at the feather in her hand and noticed the natural dents in it had been added to by a larger curve in the feather a little higher up than hers.

She frowned as she brought the feather nearer to her face so she could examine it more closely. She was momentarily annoyed that her quill had been moulded into a shape other than that of her hands, but then she remembered something that made her smile.

Ron had been using her quill, and the feather had moulded to the way he held it in his hand.

She looked at how the curves looked together and she noticed that the larger curve above the one her hand had made in the feather months ago looked like it was protecting the smaller one.

Oh honestly, Hermione, she thought to herself, glad that no one could hear her thoughts or know what she was thinking. But as much as she tried to rid the image of Ron protecting her in every way he had done since she was eleven and continued to do as they grew older, the more she loved that fact that her precious quill feather had been moulded to his hand.

She was disturbed from her thoughts by a yawn that threatened to dislocate her jaw and reluctantly put her essay back in her bag, having not been looked over at all in the past five minutes, well, ten…fifteen, oh who was she kidding? She'd been sat on her bed thinking about Ron Weasley and looking at his shape in her quill feather for half an hour now, and she would pay for lack of sleep in the morning.

She rolled up her parchment, put it back in her bag and placed the quill on her bedside table carefully. She knew the shape Ron's hand had made in the feather would probably be gone by morning, it had taken weeks for her hold to be moulded into it, so half an hour of Ron using it wasn't going to leave a lasting impression.

Shame, she thought to herself, I think I'd like him to.

That's what happens when I listen to Half Blood Prince at work. Short and very sickly sweet! ;)