Hermione Granger was experiencing quite the quandary, for once in her life. She knew naught of this subject, this art that so many others possessed. While she watched from the edges of her library tomes, they smiled, laughed, and touched. They had something that she did not comprehend. She could not dissect it. Love was her problem. It was something she could not learn how to experience from a textbook, although she could see it from a pensieve and in her daily life and read it from a novel. That was not enough for Hermione, though. She wished to feel it, to believe it. She wanted more than butterflies in her stomach and the slight heat on her cheeks. No, she wanted more than a simple crush of childhood. She yearned for passion and the tingling between her thighs, devotion and lust twining against her soul. She wanted love; she wanted lust. Her body ached for carnal pleasures, but she knew not where it lay.
The bookwork rushed from the confines of Hogwarts and into the outside world. Her search began.