A/N: Oops....some time has passed since the last update. Stay firm, my sisters and brothers, I will not abandon this, allthough it might seem so sometimes... Many thanks for your rewievs and hopefully you still remember what happened last.

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Oh Captain! My Captain!

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She swept in to the Common Room and discreetly opened the little note while Ron was still behind her. Her eyes flew over the few words and then she crumpled the paper in her fist and turned around.

"Do you think Harry would loan me his cloak?"

"What?" Ron stared at her, open-mouthed. She almost grimaced. What was happening to her careful plans and discreet conduct? Why was she practically revealing herself to Ron – and to him, of all people!

"I should check something in the library and there's really not enough time before the curfew." Not the best of excuses and not very skillfully performed, either, but maybe it would go through. She studied Ron's face...it possibly went through. He maybe bought it.

"I'll come with you." Why was he offering? They weren't even supposed to be speaking, for Heaven's sake!

"It's not necessary. It's just some research."

"Hermione, you look ill and you forgot the password. I don't think you should go by yourself. In fact I don't think you should go at all, but I know not even a herd a wild hippogriffs can keep you out of the library, so I'll come with you." And then he smiled. And something weird happened to her stomach. And then to her brain. And she panicked.

"No! I'm...I'm meeting somebody and you can't come!"

And then she realized what she had said and paled and blushed and run to the stairs, not wanting to see his face. She didn't know which possibility she feared more: that he would get angry or that he wouldn't.

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She stormed to her dormitory, slamming the door shut behind her. She was trembling all over. Why, why, why had she said that? She knew very well that jealousy didn't work with Ron. He got jealous and angry allright – or at least he previously had gotten jealous and angry, now she didn't know if he would anymore, as there was that other girl – but it never helped any. No amount of rage had ever made him confess any feelings besides the said rage. She sometimes believed that being jealous actually prevented him from making a move, or maybe made it easier for him to accept the other girls' approaches.

Therefore, for the last year or so, Hermione had cautiously avoided any contact with boys that he might have interpreted flirtatious. She had even continued doing so after all those air-heads had started to stalk him. Sometimes, she had been tempted to experiment, to make sure he cared at least enough to get angry, but she had kept herself in check. She had reminded herself she didn't want him getting angry, that anger wasn't the emotion she was after. And now she had ruined it all. If there had been any lingering affection for her in Ron, now he surely would like to forget it forever. If nothing else, she had probably given him one more reason to cling to his new Hufflepuff.

Why? Why? Why? What on earth had driven her to do such an idiot thing? Suddenly Hermione jumped. Maybe she had been hexed? Yes, hexed with stupidity! She really wouldn't putit past the Fat Lady to do something so utterly thick and devious. She probably had imagined it would help Hermione, for Heaven's sake! Like when she had been rambling her not-so-subtle hints about love and secrets!

Hermione was all set and ready to transfigure some conditioner into turpentine and attack the portrait, when she hit her toe sharply against the foot of her bed. The pain made her stop and admit what she had subconsciously realized already: she actually had been very stupid all by herself, with no hexes or even jinxes involved. She groaned and slumped down on her bed. If there really was some entity keeping score of the mistakes and follies each person made, she had probably done her share for at least a few years. Hopefully they would count and she would be saved from making any graver errors, ones that would affect more important thing than her own happiness or dignity. Then, at least, some good would come from all this agony and humiliation.

Nevertheless the stupidity she had just committed, Hermione wasn't stupid. She could identify her own thoughts as self-pitying and martyrish. She could even imagine her mental voice having quite a whiny quality and very much in common with the Moaning Myrtle. She shivered at the comparison and straightened her back, struggling to deal with the problem at hand.

She stared at the crumpled piece of parchment on her lap. The script was elaborate and old-fashioned, almost like calligraphy. Well,that was to be expected, as the Fat Lady had lived several hundreds years ago and learnt to write during the era when paper was expensive and writing a form of art. The message of the luxuriant script was simple, though. Eighth corridor to the left on the fourth floor, the portrait in between the two landscapes. Tell him Primrose sent you and address him as "Captain". Good luck.

How was she now supposed to go? Or was there even any reason to go anymore, with her having spoilt it all with Ron? And why again a new person to ask advice from? She read the message one more time. She wanted to go. If not for else than curiosity and common courtesy. As the Fat Lady had risked Dumbledore's anger by slipping Hermione the note, it would be extremely rude not to use her advice. Wouldn't it?

She was in the middle of her reasoning, when the door opened and Lavender stepped in. She eyed Hermione curiously and with a fair amount of caution. All of Gryffindor had learnt to be careful when they knew Hermione Granger was upset, and according to Harry, Ron and Hermione had once again been quarrelling.

"Sorry to disturb you, Hermione, but Harry wanted to see you downstairs."

"Oh." She didn't like the idea of Harry getting involved with their fights, and she didn't like the idea of Harry getting involved with her love life – the one Ron now thought she had or the one she herself wanted to have. For Hermione Granger, her crushes and affections had always been something very private. At least always since the time she was eight and the girl she had regarded as her best friend had announced her big, secret crush to the entire school and she had been mocked for days. Hermione still shivered, remembering how the boy she had fancied had laughed and grimaced in disgust when hearing about her crush. After Lockhart, she hadn't even ever written anything possibly discriminating down anywhere. When she was bursting with her emotions towards Ron, she could scribble something on a piece of paper and burn it immediately afterwards. She really, really didn't want to talk about this with Harry.

"Well, all right. I'll go," she, however, heard herself answering the awaiting Lavender, who visibly relaxed and immediately got that twinkle in her eyes that told she was going to start questioning and inquiring. Hermione fled the dormitory before the fair-haired girl got her act together. Harry was much poorer inquisitor and, therefore, a more preferable companion at the moment.

"Hermione." Harry was looking nervous and wouldn't look her in the eyes.

"Yes?"

"Um....here." He showed a package towards her. "You have as big a right to borrow it as Ron, and I have loaned it to him, sometimes. There's the map, too, in case you need it."

She really hadn't expected this. "Oh. Thanks, Harry." She was grateful, even though she couldn't help wondering when and why Ron had borrowed Harry's cloak.

Now Harry was looking even more nervous. He shifted and squirmed, until he finally opened his mouth: "Um...but, Hermione... I know you're smart and can take care of yourself and can...um.. make your own decisions and all that, but...um...I just...um..would it be better to see this bloke in the daylight first? I mean..um...he could assume... something when you just...I mean....I don't mean...I mean...I know how it irritates Gin when Ron acts all....and I'm not really your brother or...but..."

She felt her cheeks flushing and was certain to be almost as red as Harry. Great! Now Harry thought she had just agreed to meet some boy in the middle of the night somewhere as their first date. And if Harry thought so, Ron thought so – and he still hadn't tried to stop her. Maybe it was all in vain. Maybe Ron didn't like her at all. Not even enough to get angry.

"It's not like that, Harry," she mumbled attempting to make up some other reason for meeting some one in secret at night. For once, her mind was empty. Totally empty. Did it feel like this if you simply didn't know any answers in the class? Hermione felt an entirely new kind of empathy towards Neville in Potions. She remained silent and didn't look at Harry.

"Oh...um...I didn't tell Ron I loaned you the cloak. I guess I can keep him in our dormitory tonight. He's sulking. Just...be careful, will you?"

She just nodded and blushed even more, as Harry awkwardly squeezed her shoulder and climbed up the stairs. Well. Now she had the means and she had the backup.

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Hermione checked the map once more in the light of her wand. Snape was in his chambers, and Filch in his. Harry and Ron were in their dormitory and the whole floor was empty of living creatures. Carefully, she slipped the invisibility cloak off of her, folded it neatly under her arm and raised her lighted wand to examine the portraits on the wall. There was a landscape: a sunny pasture with a few sheep and a brook. Another landscape represented a sea-side village. She could almost smell the salt in the air and the stormy weather in the painting made the waves hurl against the cliffs so harshly she nearly got sea-sick just by looking.

Hermione was so concentrated in the landscapes, that she didn't at first notice the smaller painting in between them. When she finally did, she felt her palms start sweating and her heart beating fast. What would the mysterious man in the painting say? She approached the portrait and eyed it cautiously. There seemed to be some kind of small tavern in the background, and in the front, there was a man fast asleep, slumped on a chair under a big oak tree.

The loudly snoring man was youngish and good-looking in a roguish way. His shirt was only half-tucked in his pants and his uniform jacket hung haphazardly on the back of his chair. He had a kind of attractive five-o'clock shadow on his face and a hair-style seriously competing with Harry's. He certainly looked like some one who had a love-life, probably several at the same time, but Hermione wasn't so sure if she wanted to ask his advice. He was certain to think she was incurably naive and childish and inexperienced to have such stupid problems.

She almost returned to the Gryffindor Tower, but it felt more stupid and childish still not to do anything after all the trouble she had gone throughin order to speak to him. Carefully, she whispered: "Excuse me!" The man didn't stir. "Oy! Captain!" Hermione was about to add: "my captain", and started to nervously giggle at the thought of performing poetry to a sleeping painting, when the man suddenly opened his eyes.

"Oh my, oh my. What a pretty little lady," he drawled, grinned lazily and stretched so that Hermione could see his muscles ripple under the fine cotton shirt. She blushed, even though she was certain the man did it on purpose and exactly to get the kind of reaction she was involuntarily offering.

"What does a pretty little lady like you do here, all alone, in the middle of the night, if I may ask?"

"Primrose sent me, Captain." Hermoine was proud that her voice sounded quite normal. She wasn't one to fall into these kind of tricks, thank you very much.

"Primrose?" Now the man straightened in his chair and leaned forward. "How's the old bird? Back to her old business, eh? The Headmaster must have changed."

"No, sir. Albus Dumbledore is still the Headmaster. That's why she sent me to you. She couldn't talk to me herself."

"My my....well, little lady, let's hear it then. Captain O'Samuelson ready to serve you!" He saluted lazily and reached for his glass under the chair. "Marvellous stuff, this. Nothing compares to real old, nice port. D'you care for a drink, little lady?"

"I'm only seventeen, Captain. I'm not allowed to drink alcohol."

"And according to your expression, I shouldn't drink either, eh?" The man took a hefty swallow. "That's not nice, you know, judging others. Especially when the others are helping you, little lady."

"Sorry." She wasn't, but she was uncomfortable and his gaze travelling up and down her body didn't help any.

"So, little lady. How come such a pretty creature can't get her man? I would take you anytime. Anywhere." He smirked suggestively and she blushed again.Hermione didn't feel like sharing any of her emotions with such a rude person, but just as she was to say so, the man's expression changed.

"Hey, hey, little lady, don't get mad! I didn't mean to be offensive or anything. It's just been such a long time since I've talked to anybody, let alone to a pretty girl like you." He pouted cutely and then grinned through his pout, and Hermione couldn't help but to grin back. Suddenly he seemed as young as Ron or Harry, and not at all threatening. His grin widened when he saw Hermione's smile.

"Now, little lady, tell me about this thick-headed fellow of yours. And call me Derek, will you?"

Hermione couldn't help it. She was a private person and she never shared her secrets with strangers, but all of a sudden, she found herself just pouring out everything. She told about her own insecurities, about Ron's girlfriends and how they didn't even know him, about his jealousy that never got him to do anything, about Harry and how she didn't want him to think she was seeing some boy in secret, and about Lavender and Parvati and how she did want them to believe she had some one, because they always looked at her as if they pitied her, because she hadn't a boyfriend. She told it all, and it didn't even feel awkward or dangerous. Maybe it was because he was a portrait, or maybe because he was so good-looking and looked at her in a way that made her feel pretty, or maybe it was because he listened. Really listened.

When Hermione finished, out of breath and flushed, he didn't say anything for a while. He sipped his port, and when he, anew, offered her a glass, she accepted and let the sweet drink slowly spread on her palate. The way he twirled the small glass in his large hand, looking at the swirling liquid, somehow calmed her. Maybe he could help her. Maybe he really could. And then she could be just a normal girl for change, just a normal girl with a normal life and normal problems.

"Ingenious, really," Derek said slowly, deep in thought, "to paint me in front of the tavern. The port never ends and I can order nearly anything whenever I take fancy." Hermione started and looked at him, offended and angry. Was that all he had to say? She had poured her heart out to him and that was all he had to say?

"If that's all you have to say, I really -" She didn't get further in her rant, when he interrupted.

"I believe I can help you, little lady. I believe I can."

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A/N: Well, well, well...what will he offer to do? What advice can he have? How will Ron behave the next day? How about Harry? What will Hermione tell Lavender and Parvati? Is every damn portrait in Hogwarts an Agony Aunt?

It was fluff....I know, and not even so original fluff. Sorry. I just felt like writing some. I was having fun, hopefully you did, too. Please give me some feedback! It's highly appriciated and cherised.