Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were friends. That's it, nothing more. And Harry had never thought of her in any other way. But when Harry went to bed that night his mind decided that Hermione was an excellent choice for a sexual partner.

Harry had had wet dreams before of course. He was a teenaged boy. But these dreams had never featured anyone he knew, just random, faceless bodies that he forgot about after a few moments.

When he awoke from said dream, his cheeks were burning. The rest of the boys were asleep still, and the sun was just peeking out from the tops of the Forbidden Forest. His heart was pounding double-time, and he looked guiltily over at Ron in the next bed over.

At breakfast, Harry couldn't look at anyone, most of all Hermione. She kept trying to start conversations with him, but he just kept his eyes averted and his mouth full of sausage and bacon.

"Really, Harry, what is the matter?" Hermione finally demanded, folding up the Daily Prophet sharply and snapping it against the table. "You're acting quite strange this morning."

Her hair was like a halo around her head in the morning light filtering in through the giant windows surrounding the hall. How had Harry never noticed how lovely she looked before this?

"Er, sorry Hermione- didn't sleep too well, is all."

How could he ever see his friend the same again?