Disclaimer: This universe does not belong to me, I'm merely playing with it for pure enjoyment.
Hermione didn't know when she started thinking about a certain someone more often than she thought about schoolwork.
Maybe it was the same day that he'd first worn a tight fitting shirt instead of a loose one. She'd paused in mid-step when she saw him that morning.
"You okay, Hermione?" He had asked.
"Fine," she had answered too quickly.
"You look pretty today," he had said casually.
"Oh! Thanks," Hermione had said as normally as possible. "Nice shirt."
Of course, what she had wanted to say was 'That shirt makes me want to snog you senseless, right in the Great Hall, and not care what anybody says.'
He'd just smiled at her, eyes crinkling in that cute way they always did when someone complimented him.
The next week he had another shirt in the same style, and then the next day, the same thing... He had changed his wardrobe to wear those snug tee shirts all the time.
It drove Hermione to frustration.
Or maybe it was the day he'd caught her trying to rub her own shoulder.
"Hey, let me have a go," he'd offered a smile, and sat down to give her a massage.
Hermione had opened her mouth to protest when his hand descended and began to squeeze and rub, wiping away all of the tension.
"Oh, you've got some knots," he'd said, worrying about her. "How do you get so tense?"
She loved that he didn't assume it was from stress, as anyone else would have done. Most of her friends would tell her at this point that she needed to stop worrying all the time and just relax. No, he accepted her just the way she was. He didn't need or want her to change.
Hermione had felt her muscles relax, and still he didn't stop. His touches made her tingle pleasantly, and she felt half ready to kiss him and half ready to slip off into sleep.
"How's that?" He finally stopped and pulled her gently against him.
"Perfect," she sighed, leaning her head against his side.
His hand came up to stroke her hair, and within moments she was asleep, dreaming of him smiling at her, holding her and touching her gently again with those hands.
She thanked him when she woke from her little nap, and he just smiled.
"You deserve it, Hermione," he told, his voice sounding just as it always did when he was at his most sincere.
Hermione didn't ask for a back rub again, but four nights later he came to her again with the same offer. Shyly, she accepted again.
It soon became a ritual - every Tuesday and Friday night, he would come and sit with her. She knew to finish up her work beforehand, because she couldn't think of anything else when he touched her like that. Hermione came to treasure those nights above all others.
Every time he held her close her hopes soared. But those hopes inevitably burst again when it was over.
Or perhaps it was that cool morning in early November when he had taken her walking by the greenhouses.
He'd taken her hand the minute they left the castle. She loved the feel of his hand around hers, warm and solid and comforting.
They talked quietly, of class and classmates and teacher troubles - there were quite a few of the latter this year. Hopes and worries - she shared everything with him...
Everything except the fact that she knew she was falling in love with him, and she didn't know how to step away from the cliff. Revealing herself would be a terrible fall, but the build up was so amazing, that she was tempted to make that leap that day.
They had walked through some taller grasses, and his shoe had struck something hard. He had been curious, and reached down to pick it up.
It was a stone - but it looked as beautiful as a gem.
"Oh my," Hermione had breathed.
Colors danced over the cool surface - cool purples, warm reds, dark blues, sparkling golds, and light, flashing greens.
"What is it?" Hermione asked as he looked at the stone in silence.
"A cerycesian. Part of the broken shell of a gryphon egg. Professor Grubbly-Plank showed us a tiny piece of one when we covered gryphons last month. They're very rare, and very prized as potions ingredients."
"How could it get here?" Hermione mused.
He was the only person who didn't lord extra knowledge over her. Ron was always delighted when he found out he knew something Hermione didn't - usually some obscure wizarding tradition that Hermione couldn't learn from a book. Ron would crow about it loudly, and everyone else would smile in amusement - everyone but him.
But he didn't try to hurt her with knowledge. So Hermione loved learning from him.
"I don't know, gryphons usually drop them over the ocean..." He mused. "An instinct, or a tradition, I think. So why would it be way out here, at Hogwarts? I reckon someone would have spotted a gryphon."
"They are hard to hide," Hermione agreed.
He laughed, a kind, happy laugh, and Hermione's heart leapt again. She loved being able to make him laugh like that.
"Take it and put it somewhere special," he told her, pressing it into her hand.
Hermione tried to push it back, but he gently closed her hand over the cerycesian.
"I mean it, its a gift. Do what you will with it."
So she took it, brought it back to her room. She tucked it into her jewelry box, along with the sapphire pin from her grandmother, the pearl earrings from her mother, and the exquisitely painted pendant she'd found on the shores of Sicily.
Hermione made a point to look at it every week, when she wanted a reminder of how he felt about her. She knew he cared about her, even if it was platonic - on his part.
For a while it was enough to appreciate their friendship.
But the problem was it had gotten to be too much. She was positively brimming with emotion every time they talked. Every conversation held a double meaning for her. Every touch meant more to her than it should have meant to a friend.
When Hermione realized she spent more time thinking about him than doing her school work, she was appalled with herself.
That was only briefly.
Then she realized why that must be the case.
She must be in love with him.
Feeling the truth in the words she whispered for her ears only, said in a stolen moment between classes, Hermione shivered.
She had to tell him. It was well past time.
Hermione Granger was going to be brave, even if only for once before she snuck back into a corner and hid her feelings under the cover of the largest book the library owned.