I was in my absolute favorite place in the world.

The scent of antiquated binding, fragile paper and inky parchment filled my nostrils. I should have been able to focus on the task at hand, but somehow my mind kept drifting off into the uncertain.

Is this really bothering me as much as it is? I thought intensely to myself as I placed a solid, musty book back on the shelf almost above my reach, almost not paying attention to what order I was putting it in. Almost.

The last few weeks had been especially difficult for me; all these feelings I had toward two very different people, two people that meant everything to me, were getting to the point where I was having trouble focusing on my work and my studying, which, even I admitted to myself, was very rare.

As I turned and walked slowly down the aisle of books back to the large, antique desk where my heavy satchel of schoolbooks was waiting for me, thoughts flittered across my mind like the delicate autumn leaves that blew across the courtyard as the fall term seemingly dragged on.

School had only been in session for what? A fortnight now, and a part of me was already ready for the holidays, where I could get away from the boys. But even just the thought of that tore my mind in a million directions, thinking of how things could possibly be by the colder months.

I shuddered. It wasn't that late, only 8 in the evening, but I was exhausted. I needed to go back up to my dormitory and collapse in bed, but somehow I knew I wouldn't be able to even get there without coming across either one of them or the pair of them. They were unavoidable.

It had gotten so difficult in a period of two weeks. I couldn't even talk to either or them without over-thinking every single word of every single thing that one of them said to me. My mind had this knack for taking a simple sentence and twisting it around to such an extent to where it was comparable to a Muggle trying to decipher my Ancient Runes essays- a completely different language almost impossible to understand.

I struggled to accept that feeling. I did more than struggle; I tried with all my might to "follow my heart" and not let my mind get in the way of anything. But whom was I fooling? Perhaps I should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. All this bloody logic was getting in the way of everything.

Draping my bag over my shoulder, I double-checked to make sure I had not left any spare parchment or books lying about, and walked slowly past Madam Pince, who was quietly gathering her things up as well.

"Have a good evening," I said to her in a soft tone.

"Thank you dear girl, same goes for you," she replied. "Try and get some extra rest, Hermione, I can tell that something is troubling you. Sleep will clear your mind, no doubt."

I blushed and nodded, then awkwardly turned and walked out of the library. Was it that obvious that I was bothered by something? Usually I did an exceptionally good job of hiding my emotions, but apparently what was going on in my mind broke through the walls I had subconsciously built and decided to write itself across my face. How embarrassing.

My pace back to the Gryffindor Common Room varied as I debated walking quickly or slowly, timing myself in a manner that would make me seem as if I was feeling normal, but also to make it appear as if I were to preoccupied with something else to talk to either one of the boys. I settled for quick walk to the stairs, and a slow climb up them. I knew no matter how much I postponed it that it would still come.

When I reached the portrait hole, I paused. I was dreading seeing Ron and Harry, but at the same time I desperately wanted to be in their company before I went to bed that night. The ongoing struggle in my head longed for the personal comfort that they always unknowingly provided, yet I did not want to have to sink back into that uncomfortable feeling that had intensified ever since the first day on the train back to Hogwarts. Something had changed in me, and there was no getting around that. And unfortunately, that meant I had to deal with my present circumstances with as much composure as possible.

Anxiety began to take over me. I started smoothing my coarse hair down, attempting to twist it into a tail on the nape of my neck. I readjusted the bag over my shoulder, straightened my robes, and subconsciously chewed on my fingernail. The bag of books suddenly felt heavy, and for a split second I wished I had Harry's Invisibility Cloak to use for those few steps from the Fat Lady to the stone staircase leading to my dormitory.

I mentally scolded myself. I was better than that. I was a Gryffindor after all, right? I needed to toughen up and put my apathetic front back on. If anything, I could not ever let the boys know the inner turmoil I was experiencing.

It was pathetic.

I was pathetic.

I scolded myself again.

After half a moment's of deliberation, I quietly and clearly said "ad oculos" and the door swung open. I stepped in, nearly tripping on the front of my robes, and was greeted with the familiar scent of the room I had grown to love over the last seven years.

Almost as if I was programmed to do it, I immediately glanced over to the two figures slouched on the chairs in front of the table, and out of recent habit, felt relief shoot from head to stockings when I realized that it wasn't the boys waiting up for me. It was only Seamus and Dean, excitedly whispering to each other in hushed tones.

"Are you two plotting to do something horrid behind my back?" I accused in a downgrading voice. "I swear on Merlin's grave if I catch a whiff of anythi-"

Seamus grinned and Dean fidgeted.

"Herm, of course it's not your back we're plotting behind. It's Crabbe and Goyle's backs that need to be watching out, if ya know what I mean. We swear," said Seamus with a devilish look on his goofy-looking face.

I feebly smiled. "Well that's okay. Just please don't do anything to get expelled."

They simultaneously nodded and went back to discussing something in lowered voices.

I straightened up and exhaled, thanking Godric I wouldn't have to see Ron or Harry until the next day. I debated for a split second on asking Seamus or Dean where the boys were, but I quickly tried to forget even thinking that. I didn't care. Did I? I knew I did, but not in the way that I thought. I scowled. I really was ready to go to bed and forget everything going on in my head.

The subtle warmth of the fireplace slowly crept over my hands and cheeks, and as I walked slowly to the steep staircase, I was torn between the reddish glow of the fire and the black stillness of my room. I turned my back on the heat though, reached the staircase, and began trudging up the steps to where my comfortable bed was waiting for me.