...Yeah. I feel really bad. This is really late. And I really have no excuse. But I'm here now! And I will try my hardest to write the next chapter ASAP.

I really love you all. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer: No J.K. here. If you do see her around, let me know. I'd love to get her autograph. ;)

Hermione dipped her quill in red ink before bending over the page once more. Across from her, a similar action was being carried out by a lanky, blond-haired boy.

Malfoy and Hermione had met at the library two more times during the week and had made considerable progress on their report. They had agreed to write individual essays on the spell before combining them. This provided both of them with a shortened period of each other's company. They were currently in the process of revising each other's essays. Hermione was quite surprised by Malfoy's work. She had always been aware that he was top of their year - under her, of course - but she had never actually seen evidence of his advanced schoolwork. He wrote extremely well, and his writing was both captivating and informative.

His snarky self had stuck around, leaving no evidence of his ghostly, sickly doppleganger. This meant that Hermione was constantly attacked with disparaging comments about her hair, intellect, modesty, and family throughout their study sessions. She discovered that it was highly challenging to focus on writing while someone whispered evilly into her ear. Still, somehow, they were almost done with the project.

She read the final line of the essay and sat back with a small sigh. While she waited for her companion (she noted that he took great care in both writing and editing and measured each word carefully before continuing) she allowed herself a moment of woolgathering. She pondered about Harry's strange Potions book - the one with all the writings in the margins. She couldn't believe he was actually following some unknown student's ramblings instead of the approved text! She certainly wouldn't trust the notes - even if they had worked in efficiently making the Draught of Living Death. Her mind wandered to the memory of another book - the dust cover-less, turquoise book Malfoy had been holding when she stumbled into him several days before. Hermione couldn't help but wonder what it was. As she usually did when she allowed her mind to wander (one of the reasons she didn't do it very much), she found herself speaking her thoughts aloud.

"What was that book you were reading the other day?"

His head snapped up and he gave her an inquisitive, one-eyebrow-raised look. Her cheeks crimsoned.

"Er, the one you were reading when I, well, bumped into you. Here, in the library." Goodness, she was getting all flustered. She hated it when she accidentally spoke her thoughts out loud.

Malfoy's face seemed to close off even more (if that was possible), and he quickly pushed her red-marked essay back across the table. His voice was low as he mumbled, "Hardly any of your business, Granger."

With a final flash of platinum hair and deep green Slytherin tie, Draco Malfoy vacated the library.

Gryffindor's quidditch tryouts were scheduled to occur that day. After Malfoy left the library, Hermione up to Gryffindor Tower to fetch her scarf. She knotted it tightly around her neck as she stepped onto the Quidditch pitch. She meandered over to the bleachers and settled down to watch as Harry attempted to conduct the tryouts.

The group was terribly unorganized. It was obvious that half of them were only there to breathe the same air as the Boy Who Lived. Hermione found herself rolling her eyes multiple times as the awed group of students soaked in Harry's presence. Eventually, the Keepers flew up towards the goals to begin their portion of the tryout.

She watched miserably as Ron struggled to fend off the Quaffles. Every time a ball went his way, or he flew too far left or right, or he seemed to not have a firm enough grip on his broom, she winced helplessly. Hermione was suddenly horribly worried that Ron wouldn't get the position. She hoped Harry wouldn't play favorites - after all, he was the team captain - but she knew Ron would be completely crushed if he didn't make the team. Her lower lip began to bleed from the countless times she had bitten down on it in concern.

Soon Cormac McLaggen took his place in front of the hoops. He flicked his hair back in what Hermione couldn't help but consider was a rather feminine way before turning his head towards her. Her mouth dropped in astonishment as he sent her a saucy wink.

Her scorn quickly turned to lip-crushing, stomach-twisting worry as he successfully blocked every Quaffle with grace and ease before it reached the goal. No matter how much Harry loved Ron, McLaggen was the better player. Unless...

It was extremely wrong, and definitely against the rules, and who knew what would happen to her if she was found out, but Ron wanted the position so badly, she knew he did, and...

Pretending to cough into her hand, she quickly muttered, "Confundus."

She couldn't help her smug smile as Cormac dodged the Quaffle, then shook his head in utter confusion.

Hermione sighed happily as she slipped under the duvet of her warm four-poster. She really shouldn't have confunded McLaggen. She was feeling pretty bad about it, actually. But the look on Ron's face when his competition had missed the final Quaffle... Her cheeks turned a soft pink as she smiled.

She liked Ron.

Not just as a friend, no. She, well, like liked Ron. She couldn't say that she loved him - that was a big step - but she was most definitely in love with him. Hermione couldn't really say when her love for him began to grow. Not first year, and not necessarily second year, either, but by third year she fully and irrevocably had the hots for Ron Weasley. There was just something about him. He was sweet, and adorable, and - and his freckles matched hers! Their children would all have smatterings of angel kisses across their noses, she was sure.

She felt really glad that she had been able do something for him outside of schoolwork. Even if he never knew it was her (and she intended to affirm that he wouldn't ever find out), she felt her heart swelling within her chest at being able to give him something he really, truly loved and desired.

It made him happy. So she was happy.

She wondered what else he really, truly loved and desired. Was it possible, she ventured, from him to like her, too?

Hermione let her mind wander down that path - dating, marriage, children - before she shook her head ruefully. She didn't know if he felt anything for her other than friendship, and it wouldn't do her any good to dwell on what may never be. Fully banishing all thoughts of Ron Weasley from her sleep-deprived brain, she closed her eyes and settled down to sleep.