Perched in an overstuffed, scarlet-colored armchair, Hermione Granger attempted to read her newest edition of Hogwarts: A History. She stared at the words on the parchment, slightly mesmerized by the intricacy of the print but too distracted with other thoughts to fully devote attention to it. Eyes flickering to the couch across from her, she focused her cinnamon gaze to the red-head that lounged, sleeping soundly, a few footsteps away from her. Hermione nibbled slightly at the chaffing skin of her lips. She listened for footsteps or the shuffling of dragging feet. Hearing nothing, Hermione wagered her luck and continued to stare, becoming quite entranced by the slight snore, the fluttering eyes, and the freckles that she swore were distinct from the rest of the Weasley clan.
Hermione witnessed a gentle stirring from the fiery Weasley. Clearing her throat, Hermione prepared to speak.
"Ginny, it's late. Why don't you get into bed?" Hermione inquired, silently wishing that she had not proposed such a thing.
"Hermione…" Ginny whispered, whining slightly to the older Gryffindor as she slowly awakened from her nap.
Ginny pushed her body into a upright position and wiped her eyes with her knuckles. She opened her eyes fully, blinking harshly to eliminate the blurring of her vision.
"Do you really want me to leave, Hermione?" said Ginny, questioning with a simple sparkle of her eyes.
Hermione fought a blush. Ginny Weasley would not—could not—have interest in her. No, Ginny Weasley would never feel that way. Hermione Granger was destined for a life of solitude. Yes, Hermione Granger was the librarian-spinster sort of girl—destined for no one.
"Hermione—"
"No, I mean- I mean, yes. No. I don't—you…"
"…don't know what you mean," said Ginny with a slight chuckle as she finished what Hermione's stammering speech could not. "I think that I know what this is about, Hermione. It's all right, you know."
"W-what are you talking about?" Hermione said, edging her words with a defensive flare.
"You're upset because of Harry and me. I understand. I know you're protective of him, and maybe you like him…. but I'm not trying to keep him from you. You're still his best friend."
"That's what you think this is about?"
Ginny looked perplexed. She brushed her hair out her eyes, nestling it behind her ears. "What is it, then? You can tell me, Hermione. You should know that."
"I—nothing. It's nothing. You should just get to bed."
"If that's what you want. I guess I'll go, then," Ginny said as she rose into a standing position in front of the couch. "G'night, Hermione."
Hermione watched as the youngest Weasley tiptoed across the floor and up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. She waited until she could only hear her own unsteady breathing and rapidly quaking heart. Then, and only then, would Hermione speak the answer to Ginny's inquiries.
"I love you, Ginny Weasley."