Hermione stepped out of the library, trying to keep the worry from her features as she thanked Madame Pince for the use of the Restricted Section. The librarian spared her a nod, looking up from reprimanding the Weasley twins. It was quite confusing as to why they weren't getting ready for the upcoming Quidditch match. "I have to warn Harry," she said softly, turning a corner.

Her head smacked into something hard and she stumbled backwards. The fifth year Prefect Penelope Clearwater smiled down at her, making to move past her. "Penelope?" her voice was a high squeak. "Er... well, I've figured out what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is." Penelope's eyes widened and she pulled Hermione by the hand down the corridor.

"Come on, Hermione," said Penelope quickly. "What is it? How do we tell the teachers?" She seemed to collect herself and snapped into prefect-mode, standing straight and forgetting her original panic.

Hermione shook her head, increasing her pace to keep up with Penelope. "It's a Basilisk. Harry can speak Parseltongue, and he's been hearing voices in the walls for weeks. The Basilisk is a snake. And the roosters by Hagrid's cabin were killed, right?" Penelope nodded. "The book says 'A rooster's cry is fatal to it'."

Penelope nodded, pulling out a mirror. At Hermione's confused look - something which didn't happen very often -, she said, "This way we won't be killed if we happen to come across it. We can look around corners to see if it's there. I'm not sure what happens if you don't look it in the eye but through a mirror, though." Hermione agreed, taking the mirror and pushing it around the corner.

She and Penelope rested their eyes on the mirror, and they continued down four corridors until they saw Professor McGonagall in the mirror. However, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the huge yellow ones from an inconspicuous hole in the wall just a few meets away.

And then the world went black around her.

Harry stepped onto the Quidditch pitch, expecting to see the stands full of roaring students, holding banners and flags. But the Gryffindor team was met with a field full of running feet, each student attempting to reach their dorms before something else happened. At first they were confused, but, in his mind, Harry managed to piece together the puzzle.

Professor McGonagall met them in front of the entrance, a grave grimace on her face. "The match has been cancelled. There's been another attack. Mr Potter, come with me - the rest of you, go back to your dormitories." She offered Wood a pat on the shoulder before turning on her heel, leaving the grumbling Gryffindor team. The Boy-Who-Lived hurried after her, imagining the worst.

Ron met them as they reached the castle steps, his red hair a mess. It was obvious he had been jostled about but McGonagall did neither falter in her stride nor protest to him joining their small, unusual group. "What's going on?" he whispered to Harry, to which Harry did nothing but shrug, swallowing hard.

"This may come as a shock," said McGonagall, stopping them in front of the Hospital Wing's doors a few minutes later. They were on the fourth floor and it had taken them a while to push through the crowds bustling up the staircases. The Transfiguration Professor pushed open the Hospital Wing doors and let Harry and Ron past her inside.

His heart dropped when he pushed his way past Madame Pomfrey and behind the curtains. Harry's stomach clenched when he spotted the two nearest occupied beds. The first bed was occupied by Penelope Clearwater, a fifth year prefect he had never really known or met before. "Hermione," he heard Ron mutter, but he was oblivious to much else than his bushy-haired friend as he harried over to her side. "What happened?" Harry swallowed, dreading the answer.

"They were found with this," said Pomfrey quietly, holding up a mirror. "Do you recognise it? From anything?" Ron shook his head, sitting on one side of Hermione, Harry on the other.

The last Potter reached out for her hand, trying to disguise the hopelessness he felt as worry. Of course Harry was worried for her, but without his beautiful friend they could not do anything to save the school. Without here, we're nothing.

It was late at night, and Harry had situated himself by Hermione's side. The Invisibility Cloak was drawn over his head, not daring to turn on the lights. He didn't need to, however; Madame Pomfrey slept in her office - which was surrounded by wards that blocked out light outside the room - and saw no need to turn out the lights on petrified students.

In the stories, mused Harry sadly as he held Hermione's hand tightly in his, the beautiful girl would wake when she was kissed. He hadn't heard many fairytales as a child, but one night before he was admitted to Hogwarts, he had overheard his Aunt Petunia reading Dudley his favourite fairytale - Sleeping Beauty. Harry had found it stupid when he was a child, and had spent many minutes snickering outside his door. But the way his Aunt had read it was heart-wrenching, at least the way his six-year-old mind had thought it to be.

But the idea was absurd. It could be considered assault to kiss a sleeping, defenceless girl. However, he meant no harm by it, and some part of him egged him on. Kissing his best friend would be ridiculous, he berated himself. "No way," he murmured, but part of him wanted to do it. And that was what scared him.

"Get a grip, Harry," he growled to himself, but the matter was with him whether or not he wanted it. "Stop thinking about it like that."

Several times he thought he heard Hermione stir, but he knew that she wouldn't wake or really stir until the mandrakes were grown and ready for use. Harry found the thought saddening and something settled in his gut, but when he thought of those stupid fairytales he found it more tempting to lean down and kiss his best friend's frozen lips.

Harry internally fought against his instincts, knowing if he ever kissed her she'd know. But maybe she can't feel anything, a snide, cruel voice told him. Just do it, you know you want to.

Every time he tried to fight it, the thought became more and more real and enticing to him that he knew he would give up in the end. He caved in a few moments later.

His head descended towards hers slowly but surely, and his forehead touched hers so lightly it almost wasn't there. Harry's lips lightly touched hers, but he pressed harder until he swore he heard her heart beat through her lips. "I'm sorry!" he whispered, pulling back like she had stung him. He half-hoped her cinnamon brown eyes would flutter and open and she would tell him she accepted, but he knew she wouldn't do that until she was cured.

He leapt up as if his seat had burned him and scurried from the Hospital Wing, his face burning. She'll never know...