"But Hermione! You can't just go around looking all weird-like and not telling us what's wrong!"

Hermione blushed as Ron leaned across the Gryffindor table to stress his words. Twenty seconds before, Harry was happily eating a bagel for breakfast and Ron was busy complaining about McGonagall's Transfiguration homework. Hermione had sat there, not really listening, staring off into the distance at something. ...or could it be someone?

Ron, being incredibly genius, picked up on his friend's odd behavior and had the courtesy to bring it up loud enough for half the table to hear. Hermione had denied it, and, being Ron, he screamed even more.

"You've been acting like this for weeks! I don't know what's gotten into you." Ron sighed, but was quickly cut off by the soft munching of bagel coming from Harry. He glared at Harry from the corners of his eyes, and the munching quickly stopped. "Harry, why can't you ever get serious about anything other than You-Know-Who or Quidditch?"

Twelve year old Harry munched thoughtfully. "I do get serious about a lot of things, Ron. It's just that 'Mione is obviously not going to tell us what her problem is." He shrugged and finished his food, quickly grabbing the bowl of toast to the left of him.

"DON'T YOU GET IT, HARRY? IF SHE'S UPSET, SHE MIGHT NOT HELP US WITH OUR HOMEWORK ANYMORE!"

Harry's head snapped up at that, and he looked at a blushing Hermione. "'Mione, what's wrong? We can help, but only if we know."

"I um, I um..." Hermione was blushing furiously by now, eyes darting for escape. "I have a crush on this guy..."

"Oh, okay." Harry went back to eating, but Ron shoved his face in between the mounds of food to look at Hermione.

"Who is he? A fifth year? You know, that one that passed us earlier DID have a cute butt..." He sighed dreamily.

If Hermione wasn't so worked up, she would have scolded Ron for his suggestive behavior. "N-No. Not him. You know, I really don't want to talk about it. Let's drop it." She pressed her face back into the textbook she was pretending to read, almost spilling her orange juice.

Ron wouldn't drop it. "How about you whisper it to me so no one else will hear? I won't tell a soul."

Hermione looked sour. "No, but you'd make fun of me and make a big deal."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Hermione slowly leaned towards the orange-haired boy, and he pressed his ear eagerly to her. She mumbled a few words into his ear, and he shot back, eyes bloodshot.

"YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON PROFESSOR SNAPE?"

The Great Hall became silent faster than it would have if the Headmaster started stripping. Flitwick choked on a strip of bacon, coughing in his bowl. McGonagall snapped her head up, ready to scold whoever yelled such a thing. Dumbedore, eyes a'twinkling, didn't say anything, but stroked his beard casually. Snape stopped mid-chew and looked up.

Hermione's blush turned the color of blood, and tears streamed down her cheeks. The Slytherin table suddenly erupted into laughter, and over all the other voices, she could hear Malfoy's drawling words. "Wittle Muddleblood has a crush on her Pwoffesor? How Cyute!" At his words, Hermione ran out of the Great Hall, not bothering to bring her books. Ron looked around guiltily, slouching and hiding his face.

Up at the main table, Dumbledore bore his twinkling eyes into Snape. "Now Severus, I expect you should go talk to the girl."

McGonagall wasted no time interrupting. "And embarrass her more? I don't think so." She stood up, about to go confront her best student, but Snape stopped her.

"No Minerva." He said, his voice cold. "The Headmaster is right. I will talk to her."

"Fine. But if she turns out mentally damaged and scared of expressing her feelings, I'm blaming you."