Disclaimer: None of these oh-so-pretty characters are mine. They all belong to the extremely talented J. K. Rowling.
The
rain pounded outside the Gryffindor common room windows. Harry stared
glumly at the soggy grounds. He wished the rain would stop so he
could get out and practice for the next Quidditch match. He sighed
and watched as a soggy owl tumbled past the window.
A log
cracked in the cheery flames and called his attention back inside to
his friends. Ron was staring in disbelief at the large stack of
papers in front of Hermione. He dragged himself back into the
conversation he had toned out.
"So you see, it's all
really quite simple," Hermione was saying. "Each subject is
colour-coded by date, topic, and level of difficulty. I've made us
all copies; it won't do if we fail our N.E.W.T.s, now, will it?"
She smiled brightly at the boys. Harry couldn't decide if Ron was
holding back a look of horror or amusement. Harry bit back a laugh
and simply nodded. Ron nodded, too, but his face was now contorted
into an odd sort of grimace. Hermione's smile faltered. "Well, I
thought it was a good idea," she added timidly.
"Brilliant,
Hermione, really," Harry agreed.
Hermione brightened. "Good!
Then I'll go get your copies; I couldn't manage to carry all 600
pages down at once." She rose and rushed up the stairs to the
girls' dormitory.
Harry gave a bemused grin. "Hermione...
Well. She's perfect, isn't she?"
Ron shook his head.
"Not quite."
Harry looked quizzically at his friend. "What
do you mean, mate? She's about as perfect as it gets."
Ron
shook his head. His face seemed to gain a bit of a red tint. "She's
still not perfect."
Harry furrowed his brows. "Why, then?
What makes her not perfect?"
Ron turned scarlet this time,
but he couldn't hide it any longer. "Well, Harry, she's almost
perfect, but she's not... She's not mine."