I DON'T HAVE THIS ABC CHECKED ('CAUSE THE BUTTON WASN'T THERE - WEIRD, HUNH?), SO SEND ME A PM IF YOU FIND ANY PROBLEMS. PLEASE!

Disclaimer: *tilts head* What disclaimer?

As the weeks went by, Hermione began studying more and more. Her daily practices got to be upwards of two hours at a time, and she was beginning to run longer and longer.

She and Harry were walking behind Ron to lunch one day about three months before the end of the year when it caught up to her.

Harry was having a pretty ho-hum day. He'd observed that Hermione had the tendency to disappear for most of the weekend, and she only came into the common room at curfew. She had large bags under her eyes anymore, too.

He was thinking on this when Hermione fainted. Just right out of the blue, fell to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Or, fell towards the floor. His seeker reflexes came in handy, and he scooped her up before her skull could crack on the stone.

Predictably, Harry was mighty freaked out over how pale and tiny she was. Ron was already in the Great Hall for lunch, so he couldn't have noticed her sudden departure of body.

And then she was awake again, her eyes opened and looking somewhat shocked over this new change of position. "Harry?"

He may have made a sound reminiscent of "Hmm?" Possibly. He wasn't too sure.

"Why are you still holding onto me?"

Now, he blushed hardily and hastily stopped cradling her.

"Thanks. Sorry about that... It won't be happening again." The last sentence she didn't seem to be directing at him, even though she kept eye contact.

James had chewed her out for that, and told her that he would find a way to bar her from dancing and studying if she continued working at this pace.

Needless to say, she studied less, and went over her notes mentally as she stretched to the soft piano Mirror provided.

It was 5:15 on a Saturday when she was greeted by a semi-catamose Harry on a loveseat. Seeing his poor, sleep deprived form (and knowing that James and Lily were off somewhere), she let her motherly instincts take charge.

"Harry, have you slept yet?" She already knew that answer, and grabbed a nearby quilt to throw over him in preparation of forcing him to sleep.

"No. I think I'm an insodiuck."

She thew it over him and commenced tucking him securely into its folds.

"An insomniac, you mean?"

He huddled under the blanket, leaving her enough room to sit on the end by his head.

"Sure. Be' you don' have anythin' for that, Miss Granger."

She absently ran a hand through his hair, sifting through the inventories of her mind. He stretched out langorously in the meantime, finally ending with his head in her lap.

"There are nights when
sleep plays coy,
aloof and disdainful.
And all the wiles
that I employ to win
its service to my side
are as useless as wounded pride,
and much more painful.

"Maya Angelou, 'Insomniac'. Does that work for you?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, go off to bed, It's much more comfortable - especially when compared to my lap."

"I actually know a poem that might fit. I used to listen to Aunt Petunia read it to Dudley from the cupboard...

Most Beds are Beds
For sleeping or resting,
But the best Beds are much
More interesting!

Not just white little
Tucked-in-tight little
Nighty-night little
Turn-out-the-light little
Bed -

Instead
A Bed for Fishing,
A Bed for Cats,
A Bed for a Troupe of
Acrobats.

The right sort of Bed
(If you see what I mean)
Is a Bed that might
Be a Subarine

Nosing through the water
Clear and green,
Silver and glittery
As a sardine.

Or a Jet-Propelled Bed
For visiting Mars
With mosquito nets
For the shooting stars..."

Hermione smiled as Harry trailed off to sleep.

"Sweet dreams, Harry," she murmured to his now-fully-catamose form, slipping carefully out from under his head. It was time to disconnect and shove her legs every last inch.

Breakfast with Cedric was a pleasant affair; Hermione felt quite comfortable around him now. It was on her way from the Malfoy studio that the odd happened. Hagrid was taking corners with a suspicious demeanor, and hid something behind his back on his crab-walking way by.

Draco dove behind a nearby suit of armour, hiding pathetically. Hagrid, who was evidently completely absorbed in his mission, didn't even notice the clattering.

"It's safe," Hermione muttered when the large man was out of sight. "What do you reckon Hagrid was trying to hide?"

"Don't ask me," Draco half-sang, skipping out of hiding. "I've never much liked the man..." He skipped in circles around her, humming some nameless tune. At the Great Hall, they parted with plans to work most of the day on Sunday.

"Hermione, you'll never guess what I saw in the library this morning," Harry whispered to her over his beef stew a little later.

She almost choked on the tail-end of her sandwich. "You were in the library?" she gasped. "On a Saturday?" Hermione put a hand to his head. "Are you okay? Feeling feverish?"

"Hagrid," Harry continued doggedly. "In the dragon section. Looking suspiciously flustered, and hiding something behind his back."

Her hand dropped. "Yeah, I saw him in the hallway by the Trophy Room."

"Why were you over there?"

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, biting into a new sandwich. Harry noted how ravenous she was carefully, since she'd only gotten like that since, say, Christmas time. "How was you Quidditch practice this morning?" she eventually asked.

"Ugh. Wood is giving us such a hard time anymore. We're always working... D'you think we should visit Hagrid to check what he's up to?"

Nodding and popping the last of her sandwich into her mouth, she snitched a pear into her bag and stood. Following Harry and Ron out of the hall as best she could while still lugging the offensive bag, Hermione sent a small wave to Draco.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who first noticed her problem. And then he casted a simple Wingardium Leviosa to take the load off her shoulders, much to her shock and chagrin.

"Ron, you are a genius. Why on earth I never thought of that..."

Blushing, he muttered something intelligible. Especially when she came up to hook her arms through both his and Harry's.

Squinting up at the sun and smiling wide, she murmured, "Days like this make me want to dance - even more than normal."

"What?"

"Nothing, Harry. Today's just beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah... Are you okay?"

"Most certainly... Why does Hagrid have his fire going?"

"Aren't we heading there to find out?" Ron intoned.

"'Course. Who wants to knock?"

Well, that's finished. To the dear reviewer who commented on how much I bash Ron - I'm not a Ron fan. Never have been. But I added in that last bit just for you - so feel special, I say! Very special.

Next chappie should be up by Sunday. With some hope, trust, and fairy dust.

I've got a new oneshot series I should be cranking out by the end of my summer break, so look out for it. Kinda a post-apoctialyptic look at the wizarding world. Each shot is inspired by a line or two of the poem 'If - ' by our dear Kipling. There's also a new fic in second person format that I have bouncing around in the wings. Wish me luck, since it's a whole new thing for me.

Love you all! 'Specially Kyna!