Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. The words that are bolded & italicized are from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which I don't own (except for my copy ;) )


A/N: The title/idea for this story is "Mr. Right" by A Rocket To The Moon...which is a totally awesome song that I can't stop listening to...which is the main reason this story ever even come into being.

The particular lines were:

it's true / he never made it through a day of school / the only thing he studied you / he knows your body better than you do


"How would it be," she asked them coldly as they left the classroom…, "if I refused to lend you my notes this year?"

"We'd fail our O.W.L.s," said Ron. "If you want that on your conscience, Hermione…"

"Well, you'd deserve it," she snapped…


It's her fault, really, he thought as they walked down the stairs to the dungeon for Potions after break. I wouldn't need so much help if she weren't so distracting all the time.

It had become a growing problem since the Yule Ball the year prior. Even though she'd looked really different that night, he'd told himself it was only temporary and would all end the next morning. When that didn't happen, he assumed it was because it was the Christmas holidays and his perception was skewed due to the general merriment throughout the castle. When New Year's had ended and school went back to normal, he blamed the change on the het up excitement and drama of the Triwizard Tournament. After the third task, it became blatantly obvious that it was all because of Krum and also because everyone was mourning Cedric. But then everyone seemed to have moved on over the summer and he…hadn't.

Hermione wasn't the same anymore, and he just couldn't understand why. Harry didn't seem to think so, and neither did she, he decided not to mention it. He didn't particularly feel like having his theories shot down when he could prevent it.

So he decided to deal with it, even though it made lessons hard. That was why, that particular potions class, he skipped the line about stirring counterclockwise whatsoever and instead lazily stirred clockwise the whole time, watching the familiar creases in Hermione's forehead appear as she frantically flipped through her textbook.

"Ron? Ron!" she yelped, jumping away from his cauldron as green sparks shot out of the murky potion within. "Wha—oh!" he said, backing away as well as Snape quickly muttered something and pointed his wand at the cauldron's contents. "Sorry," he muttered as Snape moved on to Harry; now the unmistakable smell of rotting eggs was permeating the air around the Gryffindors. She nodded and filled a flagon of her near-perfect potion before doing his, too.

As soon as the bell rang, Harry nearly Apparated to the Great Hall while Hermione and Ron made their way up the stairs slowly, each consumed in their own thoughts. I wonder what the drama is this time, he thought wearily. Of course, Harry was his best friend, but he seemed to be very moody ever since he came to stay with them at Grimmauld Place that summer.

"I really am sorry," he said to Hermione, hoping she wasn't mad at him for almost setting her hair on fire. "It's quite all right," she said brightly, sweeping her voluminous hair into a ponytail as they neared the Gryffindor table and the sulky cloud that surrounded their best friend. Ron sighed, wishing that everything would just go back to normal.