Chapter 2

"I'm getting sick of it," Hermione growled several days later. Sitting across from her, Harry scribbled madly on his homework. She had insisted they work in the library today rather than try and study in Gryffindor's common room.

"I know, Snape's been extra nasty ever since Christmas." He replied.

"I wasn't talking about that." She stated, pulling her own homework closer to make sure he didn't copy.

Harry had gotten himself into some trouble. His potion grade was low; low enough that Professor Dumbledore had pulled him aside during the holiday and given him a stern lecture. Now he and Hermione were having study sessions every day to try and bring it back up. Snape was enjoying himself greatly at Harry's distress, no doubt, but it wouldn't last. He'd salvage his grade with her as his guide, Hermione was sure of that.

Dipping his quill in the inkwell, Harry muttered, "Then what did you mean?"

She sighed heavily and closed her Potions book. Glancing up, he waited for her to answer.

"I'm talking about Ron and DeWinter," she huffed. "They're always whispering to each other during class, which is disruptive, or holding hands, which blocks people from getting around them. For Merlin's sake, I've seen them skipping down the corridors! They need to act their age."

Harry stared for a moment. "They were skipping?"

"Well, yes. It was just once, but I saw them!"

Shaking his head he tried to picture his best friend skipping with Natalie. He laughed. It must've been humorous, but obviously Hermione didn't think so. Her narrowed eyes were enough to tell him that.

"They're dating. People who are dating apparently do silly things sometimes. Fred assured me it's just a phase; Bill went through something similar only it involved notes and they never met the girl." He stopped as Hermione drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

"So it's hereditary."

"Apparently."

"I think I'll spell myself until he comes to his senses."

Opening her book again, they continued working. From time to time Harry would ask to look at her work and she'd refuse. He wouldn't learn anything from copying her work. Instead she looked over his, pointed out where he was wrong and suggested he reread the chapter. It went on like this, the two of them sitting at the table, while the ghosts occasionally floated by, searching the bookshelves for a title they wanted.

After a while Harry put down his quill.

"Finished," he announced. She nodded and held out her hand for his homework. Automatically he passed it to her, smiling. He felt he'd done rather well. A few moments later she gave it back to him.

"Check question five again. It's still not right." She informed him.

Frowning, Harry read it over. It sounded right to him. He told her this, but she shook her head and instructed him to reread that section in the book again. He'd see what was wrong. Unfortunately, he didn't. Picking his brain for another half hour, with no helpful hints from Hermione, he gave up.

"I think I'm going to head back. Nothing's making sense anymore. I'll look at again in the morning." Harry probably wouldn't, but he felt the need to tell Hermione he would. Actually, if he thought about, he'd ask Ron when he got in. With Natalie as his tutor, his grade was improving. Maybe he should ask her to help him too, at least with this problem.

Hermione nodded and said that she'd be following him shortly. She wanted to finish this little bit. With a good-bye, he left. Once he was out of sight Hermione closed all her books. She'd been done with her homework for an hour and had been waiting for him to leave. Now she could explore.

Stacking the books neatly, Hermione strode off with purpose. She was on a mission now. Deciding to start where she'd left off the other day, she scooted to the farthest outside wall and began scrutinizing every stone. Somewhere there were four fish and she was bound to find them.

Most students were at tables spread out in the inner areas of the library so she had little chance of running into them. The tall shelves obscured her from view, leaving her plenty of time before someone bumped into her and she'd have to make up some story of why she was staring at the walls.