This adorable little plot bunny was kindly stolen from Iejasu. (Posted at WIKITT) My thanks for the idea--since I read it, it wouldn't go away. It reminded me vaguely of Brigit Jones' Diary, so that's where the diary entries come in.

It was her last year of University. The last year of her sheltered school life. Next year, she would be on her own. Sure, University had provided her with some much-treasured freedoms and responsibilities, which she guarded with ferocious tenacity. But she was not a fully-functioning member of wizarding society. Next year.

Next year she would have a boyfriend.

For all her prettiness, for the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl had grown up, Hermione was still without a boyfriend. And had been since her sixth year of Hogwarts, actually. Then she had dated Ron. But they had nothing in common, and so the young woman returned to her books, and her knowledge. She had always been bookish, and Ron had foolishly attempted to draw her away from all that.

Then, in her seventh year, Voldemort had been defeated.

Still, she quested for knowledge. There would always be problems, and bright minds were needed to solve them. She had no qualms about labeling herself as brilliant. It was the truth, and no false modesty would change that.

She missed her parents. She truly wished there was a place for them in wizarding society. But there was no room for Muggles, even if they had spawned one of the brightest minds of the century. She rarely kept in touch with them. They did not understand her anymore, and were in fact a bit afraid of her and her abilities. And, in truth, she did not understand them either. Magic, by now, was so deeply ingrained into her very core that to go without it would have seemed impossible.

Dear Diary:

They're at it again. The annual race to see what sort of a 'prize' they can come up with for me. Surely, they think, one of us can find the perfect match for poor, bookish Hermione? She never has any fun! When will they understand that I don't want just any old wizard? Hell, even Harry Potter wasn't good enough for me. I don't know what type of mate I want. If I don't know, how can they believe they do? They must really think I like the boring type--invariably, the men they pick out will be of the 'classically nerdy' genre. Plaid sweaters, highly polished wands, thinking to impress me with their knowledge of complex charms. Charms don't impress me. Potions do.

Ah, well. I'll reflect later, I suppose. Time for bed--before I face the inquisition on the date I had tonight tomorrow. What was his name again?

Love,

Hermione.

Hermione's friends Chiara and Nadine meant well. They just wanted to help their best friend on her romantic quest. Unfortunately, neither stopped to consider that perhaps Hermione wasn't on a romantic quest. They figured all women were, and it was their duty to help a friend out.

So the minute Hermione showed up in class the next day, promptly ten minutes before the class started, they attacked her.

"Weeellll?" Chiara questioned.

Hermione, realizing the futility of pretending she had no idea what they were talking about, sighed.

"Honestly, Chi, I don't even remember his name."

Both girls attempted to keep their faces from falling with disappointment. It was a valiant effort, but to no avail.

"We tried, 'Mione, we really did. He seemed like a perfect guy." Nadine whimpered.

Perfect for whom? Hermione thought spitefully. Do I really look like the type who would cook and clean until my dear, darling husband got home from the Ministry? Do they not know me any better than that?

Sighing heavily, she sat down in her desk. "Yes, well. Thank you for the effort, guys. But really, if I wanted a guy I'd go out and get one!"

Her two friends exchanged looks, and then sat down in the two desks beside hers.

"That's the problem, 'Mione. You wouldn't. You're too wrapped up in your books."

"Promise us this, Hermione Nicole Granger. Tonight, you will go out to a club, no, it doesn't have to be with us! And you will dance with some unsuspecting guy, who you will sweep off his feet." Chiara grinned at her.

"Alright, alright!" Throwing up her hands in defeat, Hermione smiled. Maybe she wouldn't mind loosening up for once.

Conveniently, at that point, the professor walked into the room, signaling the start of class.