A/N: Yes, I know, I went away and came back with this short, rather unsatisfactory chapter, but that's just the way it is. It's the summer, be happy. Feel the love.

To everyone who reviewed! I love you all! Please come back and do it again!!!

Bugger.

Hermione cursed to herself as she hurried through the halls at an urgent pace. It was the darkest part of the night, but she felt no need to light her wand. It would do no good. She knew the route so well she could walk it with her eyes closed, and besides the light would only attract attention.

She cursed again as she climbed the steep staircase that headed up to the astronomy tower. She was cursing her life, cursing the dark, but most of all, cursing her own stupidity. How could she be so stupid to leave her book behind? It was practically her most valuable possession, so what does she do? Forget about it!

The finally made it back to the window she had been sitting on earlier. On it... There was no book. She cursed again and looked around the room, then looked outside to see if it had fallen out the window. She found nothing on both counts. This was ridiculous. Who would take her book? She pulled out her wand. "Accio Book" she called loudly.

Down in the basement, a small black book flew out of a surly professor's hand and banged roughly into a mahogany door twice, then promptly collapsed onto the ground. But Hermione couldn't know this from the astronomy tower, so when the book had not arrived a few minutes later, she gave up and did not try to cast the spell again. She returned to her room and picked up a piece of parchment from the floor. With the quill she kept beside her bed, and faint wand light, she tried to write some sort of poetry to calm herself down...

She found her thoughts turning again to her professor. As her pen began to scrawl words across the page, she briefly reflected on how easy it was to write poetry about unrequited love.

When did this happen?

When did I fall?

Why must I have chosen you?

The most unattainable of all.

It shatters me

To know I must be content with what I have

You can never know.

I must abandon this ill conceived hope

Forget this path,

Let go of the rope.

You've never even glanced my way

To preoccupied by hate.

I shouldn't waste my time on you

But here I am

Writing

Angst ridden poems

While I wait

And want

And wait

And want

And I have no choice

But to wear the mask

That was handled to me by an unsatisfactory life

And to tell the lie.

Bugger

I wish.

In the end

I know I'll die alone.

Just as it started

With nothing

And no one

Just a few more sins

Wondering where

And when it never began

And what if I had done thing differently

Been in your house

But knowing

That nothing would be different

To you

In the end.

Hermione dropped the pen after she finished to poem, but sleep was busy elsewhere. She hid the poem, then fretted for hours about the book.

Finally, she slipped into a light, violent sleep. She was haunted by dreams of scarlet fish and black globes with stars twinkling inside of them...

R&R because you love me :-)