Claraowl: Welcome back! I apologize for my previously obnoxiously long author's notes, so I'll keep this short. I don't own HP!

Thank you to those who reviewed!

We get into the romione this chapter. ;) Enjoy~!

I miss you. I love you. I want you.

Hermione had thought that she would be able to handle this. She had a Time-Turner, after all; there was no excuse, really, for her not to be able to handle her schedule. Yes, she was alone most of the time; yes, two closest friends were mad at her because of something that wasn't her fault… but there was no reason to fall to pieces – she had work to do, and quite a bit of it. Indeed, she didn't even have time to be worrying about anything but her workload – and finding helpful information for Hagrid, to save Buckbeak. It was the least she could do for him; he's lent a kind ear when she needed someone to listen to her woes. She'd been going down to see him more frequently – in truth, he reminded her a bit of her late grandfather.

She nearly smiled then; the memories, even now, were a bit bittersweet. A sigh slipped from between her downturned lips… at least she had those memories of happy times, even if such times – all of them, seemingly – were gone. Her shoulders slumped, and she rubbed an ink-stained hand roughly across her eyes. Why hadn't they been able to see that she'd only been trying to help? Why didn't they realize what danger could've been concealed in the wood of that broomstick? Why do my friends always end up deserting me, or me having to move far from them? Why… Why did you leave me? I miss you, miss being around you. I can't even laugh anymore, no matter how hard I try. Please… don't leave me like they did… I was only trying to help.

She cleared her throat and turned back to her books as the common room slowly cleared around her. If she wanted to get today's work done before tomorrow's dawn broke, she would have to focus. Her quill was lowered to the parchment; the scratches echoed through the otherwise empty room, accentuating her loneliness. Her eyes closed slowly, then opened after a moment; she forced the treacherous thoughts to the back of her mind, and worked steadily. She would not surrender to something as trivial as yet another bout of solitary existence – she wasn't even entirely alone, as she had Hagrid, Crookshanks, and (to an extent) her roommates. Perhaps she was saddened that her closest friends had misunderstood her intent to help as one to hurt, but that was really no reason to not complete her duty. She may have been left nearly alone again, but that did not mean that she would let her grades slip. She needed some sort of constant in her life, after all. If she did not have even that, then she might go even madder than she already was.

The hoot-hoot clock on the mantle signaled the half-hour, the little owl popping out in place of a Muggle clock's cuckoo bird; it was eleven thirty post meridian. Her quill did not waver; the next day was, thank all things good, Saturday, so she did not need to worry about getting up early – and so could finish this essay tonight. The clock hooted again, and then once more; still, the scratches upon the parchment did not cease. It's something a bit twisted, she mused, dipping her quill into her half-empty ink pot. Normally, things like this amount of work cause people to go mad, not keep them sane. She traced her fingers sadly down the spine of the dusty text she'd borrowed from the library. It's one part hate and once part the contrary, for now – this relationship with my work. I love you, in some ways: right now, you're the only thing on which I can really depend, as I don't want to burden anyone with my troubles, only to be cast away again. I suppose that I should thank you… or, at least, finish you, even if I'd truly love to sleep.

Her quill danced across the parchment, causing her to yearn for the days when she could dance freely. Times like this made her yearn for her family, certainly, but even more so for the siblings who had adopted her almost instantly upon meeting her. She had been about eight years old, and had just come home from a positively awful day at her primary school. On top of the ordinary boredom of the school day and the mocking of her classmates – sticks and stones would be much less painful, in her opinion – another one of those odd occurrences had happened. This time, she had somehow succeeded in animating every writing utensil in the classroom – and set them to work drawing rather unflattering pictures of her persecutors on every loose scrap of paper in sight. As a result, there had been quite a few yet-un-shredded depictions of her classmates floating around – and while it had amused her to no end, it had resulted in even worse retaliation from the people she had once hoped were her friends. (Looking back now, Hermione classified this as her third burst of magic.) So, disheartened, a young Hermione had walked the few short blocks home alone, her head hanging; when she arrived, she was met with a strange sight.

The house next to her had been completely empty when she had left that morning, but was suddenly quite obviously inhabited. The rooms inside (what she could see of them through the window) had been furnished, and the drapes had opened for the first time in her young memory. The lawn had already been neatened; she distinctly remembered her wonder at how her new neighbors had managed to accomplish so much in the length of a single school day. She'd blinked, sensing something she couldn't quite understand, something that made her curious – a yearning that was tingly, as if something was just out of her arm's reach, and she was balancing on a thin wire while trying to reach it. She'd stood there, trying to understand, for only a few minutes when a small face had peeked out of the window – and then abruptly thrown open the front door. "Hello!"

Hermione again nearly smiled at the fond memory – Evie hadn't changed, even after all these years; she was still the type to see someone standing in a daze and decide to abruptly greet them. At the time, Hermione had been utterly startled, and had tripped backwards, landing painfully on the sidewalk. Evie had rushed out the door and up to the bewildered Hermione, introduced herself, and begun firing rapid questions – only to be stopped be Ethan, who'd followed in his hyperactive little sister's wake and clamped his hand over her chattering mouth Hermione had gaped at the two of them from her spot on the sidewalk, as they both had toads on their heads as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Despite their somewhat bizarre meeting, the three had soon grown close – close enough for Hermione to mainly ignore the jibes of the rest of her peers.

Now, she wished desperately that the two of them had come to Hogwarts with her instead of being homeschooled. She needed someone on her side again – someone who could understand. Her roommates were pleasant, and they got along relatively well, but it just wasn't the same. Hermione yearned for Evie and Ethan, for Ron and Harry – she needed her closest friends again. Now, she could admit that she couldn't do this alone anymore. I want you here, on me side again – not on the opposing team, or watching from a distance. I need your support, your camaraderie. I need someone to lean on… I need someone to help me smile again, to help make me human. I'm not asking for a knight in shining armor. I'm asking for a fellow page to give me a leg up onto my horse. Please….

The quill slipped out of her limp fingers and landed on the table; her head thumped softly onto the mercifully soft stack of spare parchment. Hermione drifted off into a confused and troubled sleep, unaware of when a concerned being – more worried than angered, at that early hour – descended the stairs and slipped one of the throws from a couch over her wearied shoulders.

"Sleep well," the half-man, half-boy whispered, torn between his anger over previous events and his worry for his friend. Slowly, he turned towards the stairs and walked back up to the dormitory, Scabbers quivering in the pocket of his pajama top.

I miss you. I love you. I want you.

When they'd been young, she and Evie had often played dress-up and dreamed of going off to balls – yes, they danced at the studio, but there was something about a ball that seemed simply magical, and drew them to the concept like the metaphorical cat to the milk bottle. The two of them (much to Ethan's amusement) had actually attempted to hold a ball in Hermione's basement when they were eight, only to be thwarted by their inability to decide who had to play the part of the prince. Ethan had promptly ceased his amusement when the two of them had apprehended him as he guffawed on the steps and forced him to play that part – and grew positively grumpy when they forced the fairy king's crown onto his head. He'd proceeded to pout until they managed to get the fact through his skull that all he had to do was dance; as he'd loved to dance, even back then, he'd perked up considerably and conceded to their demands. The three of them had then had a lovely little ball – even if it wasn't quite what they'd imagined.

Now here Hermione was, in her fourth year at Hogwarts, getting ready for an actual ball – the Yule Ball. She had always imagined that she and Evie would go to their first ball together – Ethan would take Hermione, and Evie would go with one of the Johnson brothers, probably Lucas, he'd fancied her for ages despite his enmity with Ethan – and the two girls would get ready together, laughing and chatting. Getting ready without Evie was lonely, and felt a bit unfaithful. There wasn't much that they could do – after all, Evie didn't go to Hogwarts, as her mum homeschooled both her and Ethan – but that did not interfere with Hermione's wishful thinking. I miss you, Evie. I wish that you could be here, to get ready with me – and so that we could dance together, like we'd planned. Sure, we might scare a couple of people, but that doesn't really matter. She sighed, squirting yet more Sleakeazy's hair potion into her palm and rubbing it into her hair. Besides, you know how terrible I am at taming my hair. As she smiled at that thought, the door to the dorm's loo opened, and admitting Lavender and Parvati.

"Oh, you're here already?" Parvati asked in surprise, meeting Hermione's eyes. "I thought that we'd have to come find you to get ready with us."

Hermione blinked. "Pardon?"

"Well, we're getting ready together, aren't we?" Lavender giggled, amused. "You know, like we agreed to last week?"

"I didn't realize that that included me," Hermione informed her two dorm-mates, squirting more potion into her palm.

"Well, of course it did," Lavender smiled, slightly confused. "Why wouldn't it? We're friends." Parvati nodded in agreement.

At this, Hermione smiled awkwardly, albeit happily. "In that case, could I impose upon you to help me with this mess?" She gestured hopelessly to her hair with potion-covered hands. "I've been trying to tame it for over an hour, and it's not cooperating much…."

"Sure," Parvati grinned, "but you have to let me borrow those bright pink earring of yours. I only have pale pink!"

"Deal," Hermione beamed, offering a potion-covered hand for a shake. Parvati took it, and Lavender laughed.

"I'll start on your hair while you do Hermione's," she volunteered, still giggling. "You showered this morning, right?"

"Yup," Parvati replied, already wrist-deep in the bushy mess. "Thanks, Lav."

"No problem! I'm so excited for this!" her friend squealed in reply, fetching a brush from the vanity.

The other two spoke words of agreement, and hair was dealt with. Then, after a few moments, as if she could bear the suspense no longer, Parvati burst out, "Who're you going with, Hermione?"

Hermione jumped slightly, startled, and nearly yanked the piece of hair she was straightening out of her scalp. "What?"

"When Harry came over to ask me to go to the ball, he asked Lav if she'd go with Ron."

"We were surprised that you weren't going with Ron, since you obviously fancy him and all…" Lavender continued.

"I do not!" Hermione protested. "He's merely a close friend."

"…so we were wondering who you were going with," Lavender continued, ignoring her bushy-haired friend's feeble denial. "We asked Harry, but he didn't know."

"Which, of course, made us even more curious," Parvati giggled, finally finishing the application of the Sleakeazy's hair potion. "There, you're done."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled, and the two girls stood to rinse the potion off of their hands in the nearby sink. Her hair now hung in sleek sheets around her face.

"Merlin, your hair's long when it's straight," Lavender observed from her seat, where she was now brushing her own hair. "It looks pretty."

"Thank you, again," Hermione smiled, and began twisting it up into an elegant bun.

"So who are you going with?" Parvati prodded, plaiting her hair.

"It's a surprise," came the reply. "You'd tease me if I told you; that's why I didn't tell the guys."

"You told Ginny, though, right?" Lavender inquired, curling her hair with her wand.

"I had no choice," Hermione sighed, pinning the bun into place. "She has some blackmail on me."

"Like what?" Parvati asked innocently, her fingers still twisting her hair into place.

"Yes, like what?" Lavender grinned, going to fetch her dress robes.

"Like I'd tell you," Hermione laughed, following her. "One person knowing is enough!"

Parvati trailed after them, still plaiting her hair. "Oh, come on… we can keep secrets!"

"We could even tell you something in return," Lavender offered, disrobing.

Hermione grinned. They aren't Evie, nor are they Ginny – heaven knows that one Evie and one Ginny are more than enough – and we may be different, but they're actually excellent friends. I really don't know why people think that we're enemies. I love you two for being my friends, and for giving me someone to play dress-up with here at Hogwarts. I don't think that I can thank you enough. "Thanks, but I don't think you'd want me knowing that kind of information about you." She pulled off her everyday robes, and pulled her periwinkle dress robes out of her trunk.

"True," Parvati snickered, finally finishing her plait and disrobing as well. "With your memory, you'd be able to use something like that long after we'd forgotten about it."

"Precisely," Hermione nodded, stepping into her dress robes. "Will you zip me up, please?"

"Sure," Lavender replied, and did so. "Now you do me."

Hermione obliged, carefully zipping the back of the shimmery material. "Oh, Parvati – the earrings are in the drawer, in the third box to the left."

"Wow, you're so organized," Parvati giggled, fixing the side of her dress robes and fetching the earrings. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Now for makeup!" Lavender declared, marching back into the lavatory in her bare feet. Parvati followed her excitedly; Hermione trailed after them more slowly, smiling.

While her body was busy applying her makeup, her mind was shifting elsewhere. She didn't need to be worrying about the past right now, what she would've done with Evie; she didn't need to worry about her future, even. Right now, she could just be an ordinary teenaged girl, and had every right to be excited about a dance. So what if people didn't see her as a woman? She'd prove them wrong tonight – it wasn't as if she looked horrid in this dress. She'd prove herself to herself, and to the others; she'd make him swallow his mocking words, force him to realize that she was more than capable of getting a date for the ball – and she'd have fun doing it. After all, she grinned, fastening her necklace, making everyone realize that there's another side to me is just a bonus tonight. Yes, I'd like them to acknowledge me as someone other than the plain girl, but I don't really need their approval. More than anyone else, she thought, picking up a tube of lipstick, I want to have fun and have him to realize that he can't just have me as backup. I want you, she smirked, popping the top off the tube and lifting the pink to her lips, to be forced to admit what I'm worth.

"Ready, Hermione?" Lavender grinned, her recently-donned heels clicking as she joined her friend at the mirror.

"I'm a bit nervous," Hermione admitted, laughing as she finished applying her lipstick.

"Why?" Parvati inquired from the bench, where she was putting on her shoes. "You look fantastic! I bet," she giggled, "that the guys won't recognize you at first."

"How likely," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes and putting the lipstick back on the vanity. "They've only spent most of their time at Hogwarts with me. What would be unusual about them not recognizing me?"

"Take a look at yourself," Parvati instructed, standing and joining her two friends at the mirror. "Is that the girl you usually see in the mirror?"

"No," Hermione conceded, "but the basic features are the same."

"They didn't even notice your teeth," Lavender pointed out, reaching over Hermione's shoulder to straighten Parvati's sleeve.

"True." Hermione smirked again, causing the girls on either side of her to exchange a glance; this was a new Hermione. "This should be fun."

"Right! Now let's get down there so you can sweep your mystery man off his feet!" Lavender giggled, twirling so that she could link arms with both of them.

This time, the bookworm grinned. "Yes, let's." You'll see a side of me you never knew existed. I hope you're ready, because I won't hold back. The three of them half-skipped down to the common room, where Hermione bade farewell to her friends, who were to wait for their dates there (Lavender huffed about the boys taking too long). She took a deep breath and climbed out of the portrait hole, and then made her way down to the Entrance Hall, where Viktor awaited her. He took a moment to recognize her, and his mouth dropped slightly open.

Yes, tonight was definitely going to be excellent fun.

I miss you. I love you. I want you.

Today was her sixth day at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and was to be spent entirely in the company of one of her closest friends – the one who never failed to make her laugh. Granted, the day would be spent cleaning, but they would be cleaning together – either in comfortable silence or happy chatter. For some bizarre reason, it was now easier to turn their rows into something more cheerful, almost flirtatious, when the two were alone. It was something new, but enjoyable – yes, a good row could be almost fun, but this let them experience that fun without getting truly furious; though utterly unprecedented, it was something that both of them hoped could continue, even after the third wheel of their tricycle arrived.

The male in question rapped his knuckles lightly against her forehead, grinning at her inattention. Hermione jerked back to reality and smiled sheepishly; she'd been lost in thought for the past few minutes, and had not realized it. Ron, having noticed, had taken advantage of this situation to poke fun at his best friend. "Anyone home?"

"Barely," she laughed. "I was off in a faraway land, called 'thought.' I tend to get lost there quite a bit."

"Really? I can't say that I ever have," he laughed, knuckles still on her forehead.

"That isn't difficult to imagine," she replied teasingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded in false indignation.

"Oh, nothing," she beamed, ducking away from his hand and waving her dust rag vaguely in his direction. "Shall we get back to work, as you so kindly waited for me while I was lost in the land of cognition?"

"If we have to," he shrugged, obviously not as worried about cleaning as he was about teasing her. He flicked his rag gently into her face.

"The sooner we get back to work, the sooner we'll be done," Hermione reasoned, flicking her rag in retaliation.

"Always the practical one," he sighed with a grin, swatting her rag with his.

"One of us has to be." Her rag smacked against his hand; her eyes sparkled with laughter. "Since you refuse to, the less-than-savory task falls to me."

"Hey, I can be practical when I want to!" Ron protested, grinning and flicking his rag against her nose.

"Key words being when you want to, better known as never," Hermione scoffed, ducking beneath his outstretched arm and flicking the tip of his reddened right ear with her rag. She was laughing; no one else could make her laugh as honestly as he could, nor so easily. Oh, how she'd missed this casual bickering, this game of words and actions. Do you know how much I miss you and your humor when we're apart, or too irritated with each other to speak?

He laughed as well, her closest friend and steadfast comrade, even when they weren't speaking. "Fine, when I'm forced to be." He held up his rag. "En garde."

She smirked in reply, and touched her rag to his; the sword (rag) fight began. This continued for quite some time, as it is rather difficult to de-rag another rag-wielder with said piece of dust-laden cloth. Indeed, it might have gone on for the rest of the afternoon had Ginny, passing by on her way up to visit Buckbeak – having finished her assignment – not called in to them, "Stop flirting!"

"We're not flirting!" Ron hollered back, finally being de-ragged for his lack of attention. "Oi!" he exclaimed in mock indignation, turning to Hermione, who beamed.

"Ye looked away," she reminded him. "If ye wish to win in a battle — be it of swords or of rags – it is important not to be distracted by bystanders."

Ron rolled his eyes and gave her an ironic little bow. "Yes, milady. I concede defeat. What wouldst thou have me do?"

"Take up thine rag, and continue with thine duties, rouge," came the quick reply, accompanied by an equally ironic curtsy.

"Your wish is my command, fair lady," he grinned, taking his rag from her hand and – in accordance with their impromptu play – brushing his lips over her knuckles. He then blinked, flushed, and quickly turned back to his cleaning duties.

Hermione quietly turned back to her own work, cheeks tinged rose. Things had been somehow different between since she'd arrived at Grimmauld Place five days previously. She wasn't complaining; their relationship was freer and closer now – looser, even. He'd started letting her in more, and had grown more likely to do things like that – even if he immediately grew silent afterwards – and she… well, she'd unintentionally revealed something she hadn't even told Evie. Her rag squeaked against the wood of the cabinet, alerting her to the fact that she's been cleaning the same spot for approximately three and seventy-two hundredths minutes. She shook her head slightly and moved her rag to a new spot. Honestly, she hadn't dared to tell anyone else about it, after those girls had abandoned her that first time – and her magic had exploded, injuring them. She bit her lip; why should she be surprised that he'd stayed by her side? He was the most loyal person she'd ever known.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?" he replied casually, having forced his earlier actions to a corner of his mind for the sake of his sanity.

"Thank you," she smiled, rising to her toes to reach an upper part of the stubbornly dusty cabinet.

He blinked. "For what?"

"Oh, just for being my friend," she replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet and raising dust clouds from the floor. I love you for putting up with my quirks, for not scorning me when the terror from that book resurfaced. I love you for being my friend, and… for something else I don't quite care to admit. Not yet.

"Er… you're welcome?" he replied, uncertain as to what could've brought this on – and clueless as to the proper response. Then, noticing her plight, added, "D'you need a boost?"

"That would be rather helpful." She smiled, turning to face him. He walked over to her, and indicated that she should face the cabinet. She did so, and felt him pause behind her, as if steeling himself. Then, lightly, his hands alit upon her waist. She froze; she'd only had a male's hands on her waist if she were dancing with him – or if he was one of her relations, swinging her much younger self up into the air in greeting… or if it were her book-self, then in very compromising situations. She couldn't move; she was torn between her own budding desires and her irrational fear stemming from one book she would gladly throw into the fire.

He must have realized that something was amiss – though, knowing him, he didn't realize which particular emotions were battling – for her released his gentle grip and took a step back, ears red once more. "Wh-Why don't we just switch? I'll finish this if you'll work on the window."

"Alright." She smiled awkwardly, still fighting against herself. "Perks of being tall, yes?"

"Yeah," he laughed, a bit harshly, still stung from her reaction to his touch. "That's about all I'm good for."

Hermione paused; when had the conversation grown so serious? Furthermore, where on earth had he gotten such a foolish notion? "You really shouldn't joke about things like that, Ron." A slightly bitter, disbelieving smile graced his lips at her words. Seeing this, she continued, "Of course you're good for more than that."

He did not answer, but instead finished the dusting of the cabinet, and then walked over to clean behind the door. It swung shut at his touch. The room grew a few shades darker, matching the shift in mood. Hermione sighed. "You're loyal, and you're the only one in whom I'd put my complete trust – and have, actually. I never even told Evie about the book. Plus, you can make almost anyone laugh, no matter how down they are."

Ron paused, and looked up at her. "Thanks."

The look in his eyes portrayed an untouchable wound, inflicted by years of overshadowing and deepened by the previous year's events. She held his gaze until he looked back to the door, trapped in his pain. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, and not always put yourself down. Why couldn't she think of anything to say – why couldn't she cheer him up like he did her? You're worth so much more than you think you are; you're so much smarter, so much stronger. I want you to realize what you're worth… what your absence would cost those around you. If you were gone, forever… I don't know what I'd do. She opened her mouth, words forming on her tongue before she was consciously aware of them, "Ron, I –"

At which point Fred and George Apparated into the room, completely wrecking the atmosphere. The doppelgangers proceeded to tease the cleaning pair about having the door shut after flirting so blatantly (a pair of mental notes was made to get revenge upon Ginny), and that they should come downstairs for lunch. They then Disapparated, leaving the two alone once more. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, laughed helplessly, and put down their rags. Ron opened the door and allowed Hermione to pass through first – fleetingly putting a hand to her waist to guide her through ahead of him. She smiled up at him, and the two went down to lunch.

I miss you. I love you. I want you.

Yes, it was hard, knowing that her roommate was snogging someone who had been her best friend and the object of her fantasies for some years. No, she would not give in to temptation and send another swarm of birds. Yes, she would like to know what had made him so angry with her before the rest of the drama had unfolded. No, she would not ask him – she would not speak to him. She refused to even look at him, to avoid further rending of her heart; she had things more important than love to focus upon – there was no reason for the rest of her life to go to pieces just because Ron had chosen another girl over her, or because her roommate had chosen to go out with someone whom Hermione obviously fancied… not that she really blamed Lavender. Things had been rocky between them before she came into the equation; yes, Hermione was jealous of her, but no, Lavender wasn't to blame. After all, Hermione hadn't sent the birds at Lavender; she had sent them at Ron. It was his fault, after all, for acting unreasonably and unfathomably cold towards her.

She sighed, wondering if things would ever be the same between them again, doubting it more the longer she pondered the matter. One glance was allowed across the common room, and quickly regretted; honestly, they appeared to have more tentacles than the giant squid. And yet… she wished that she could have him back, if only as a friend. There was no one else who could make her laugh quite so hard, no one else who could read and comfort her at her weakest. Her life, once he had come into it, had become much more fun. She gazed out the window, silently willing the two wrestling halves of an octopus to separate. I miss you. I need you back in my life, to talk and laugh with – if nothing else.

As much as she hated to admit it, that was not all for which she desired him back. Yes, she had confessed – to herself, and later by force to Ginny and Evie – that she was attracted to him, fancied him, even… yes, she had admitted that her feelings were stronger even than that. She rested her chin on her hand, absently doodling on her bookmark. She hadn't felt so – for lack of a better word – stimulated since she'd stumbled across a certain book in a dusty corner of her hometown library, and had lived out the personal life of a member of a royal court. Glancing down at her bookmark, she realized what she was doodling, and promptly crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the fire; she then tore a new bookmark off of a sheet of parchment. She didn't need that sort of proof floating around, especially not now. Yes, there were a few dreams – both nighttime and daytime – but dreams were dreams, and this was her current reality. He didn't need to know the effect he had upon her, nor the way he interfered with her sleeping and waking times – the way he made her want to cry and laugh at the same time. I love the effect you have upon me. I love being around you… and, as I've finally admitted, I love you. She needed him, and his effects; she needed his smile and his laugh, his coarse jokes and his sarcasm. If only, if only….

She stood, gathered her books, and walked out of the common room, heading for the library, her hideaway and her safety. She skirted around the marks of Peeves and took a shortcut through a tapestry. Within minutes, she was setting her books down in her favorite corner of the library, where there was – inexplicably – a bean bag chair shaped like a baked potato, complete with a small yellow cushion representing a pat of butter. She sank into it, sighing, and pulled a book off of her pile; she'd long since finished her homework and studies, of course, and now had the luxury of time to read for pleasure. This particular book had been a favourite of hers for many years; its daring heroine, after uncovering a scheme and defeating the enemy, spoke directly to the reader, challenging him or her to surpass her. This challenge had always stirred Hermione's blood, making her desire for success and a certain level of power greater than usual. Now, it seemed to mock her for her difference in desires; did she not still wish to prove that she could stand on her own? Was she, after all, a fairy tale princess, awaiting a knight in shining armor?

No, she didn't need someone to save her – she only wanted someone to stand by her side, so that they could fight together. She wanted someone to be on her side, to have her back when she had his. Yes, this may have seemed noble, but she knew that it ran deeper than that – she wanted him to stay with her, even after the battle was done, after she had retired to her chambers. She needed no knight in shining armor; she wanted a comrade during and after the battle. Could anything have prevented the creation of this new antagonist – was she to discover that he was the mastermind behind the scheme? If so, how could she find it in her heart to defeat him? Yes, she would like to win against him in the most intimate of battles, but to beat him into submission was something that she could not do. Why did you leave me now, when the battle is so close? I want you on my side, and at my back. I want you to be there, even after the battle is over. I…

I want you.

When had the feeling become so carnal, so lusty? When had the change occurred? Had she just not noticed the growth of this, the gradual siege upon her heart?

She glanced down at the book again, re-reading the challenge of her favourite heroine – the challenge to become a stronger, fiercer character than she. There, in the dusty corner of the Hogwarts library, seated upon a baked potato beanbag, Hermione felt the old spark defiantly flare up once more. She smirked; how could she have let it nearly die? If she wanted something, she must fight for it; if she wanted someone, then let the battle begin. Just you wait, she thought, snapping her book shut, I'll surpass you, and then come for you. Just you wait.

Thus decided, she gathered her books, stood up, and marched off, prepared for her future battles. Let them come – she would be ready. Just you wait. I'll be there. She would overcome the difficulties, and then hear the cries of surrender. Just you wait.

Claraowl: Well, I hope that you enjoyed that, and that I managed to keep her thoughts in character.

Was that enough to satisfy your romione cravings?

I hope not – there's still one more chapter to go! ;)

Please drop me a review to let me know your thoughts~!