Hermione had just finished her schoolwork for the night. Or morning, for surely it was past midnight already. Either way, Hermione was just getting comfy with her new book, Incredibly Complex Spells and How To Use Them, when a loud noise interrupted her enjoyable reading time.

"BLOODY HELL!"

Hermione glanced up. This was not a favorable condition for reading, surely, but Hermione was one of the best out there, and had adapted to her noisy, annoying, common room climate. She had only voluntarily relinquished her focus. This was due to the fact that the loud noise she had heard was none other than Harry yelling (which was quite a familiar noise by now, if she may say so herself).

He was over by the fireplace, having just kicked the stone mantel (hard, judging by the way he was hopping around in pain). Harry didn't seem to notice Hermione, apparently to preoccupied with his own thoughts.

She coughed to draw attention to herself (just the right amount of attention, so that he could decide if he wished to really 'notice' her, or move to a more private location).

Harry chose the noticing option. Treading over with long strides, he didn't wait to arrive at her armchair before enlightening her.

"Hermione, am I a closed book?"

She sighed and closed her own book.

"No, Harry, you're completely see-through." Obviously, he wears his emotions on his red and gold sleeve.

Harry frowned for a moment, as if this was not the answer he had anticipated. Appearing to come to terms with it pretty quickly, he spoke up.

"You're bloody well right I am. I'm a tissue. I'm tracing paper. I'm glass. I'm saran wrap!"

"Your point?" Said Hermione, brusquely. She didn't really mean to sound crabby, but she had reached a focal point in that book!

Harry scowled again. "My point is, 'Mione, that Ron doesn't understand anything."

Realizing what this was about, Hermione looked Harry in the eyes.

"I could have told you that."

Harry sighed, looking disgruntled. "I just don't know. I don't know what to do."

Hermione smiled for a moment, because when The Boy Who Lived didn't know what do, things just seemed to work out for him.

"I know what you can do. You can tell him…"

"Tell him what?"

"…tell him that you like him, Harry."

Harry glared.

"You know it's true. He won't understand, otherwise. How bad can it be, Harry?"

Harry's expression changed from 'angry' to 'discontent'.

"Really bad, Hermione. I could lose my best friend."

Hermione stood up, packing away her books and parchment.

"You could get something else, too."

She began to climb the stairs to the girl's dormitory, and this time it was Harry who was left sitting behind.