Everyone else was in bed. Why wasn't she? Instead she sat in front of the fireplace, a book resting in her hand, waiting to be read. It would be waiting for a very long time. Hermione was in a state of deep thinking. She didn't know how to stop the unquenchable thirst that was taking over her life.
What was wrong with her?
Or perhaps a better question was, what was right about her? That one would be a little bit easier to answer, she reckoned. She tried searching the library and for the first time ever, it had disappointed her. She hadn't read one sentence of words that had helped her.
She'd read about puberty, yes, but if everyone experienced this, then why weren't they all suffering sleepless nights? Why weren't they all trying to fix themselves, as she was? She wanted this tainted feeling gone but, for them to be gone, she'd have to understand them first.
She slid off the seat and crouched down by the fire, leaving her body open to the heat. She stared into it, until it was barely a mesh of colours. Her heart seemed to pump in her ears as she tried to think. She tried to think as fast and as hard as she could, but all she could hear, all she could feel, was the loud pumping in her ears.
She was tired. She should have been asleep. But she couldn't return to that bed again. She couldn't return to that dorm where everyone else was sleeping, where everyone else was completely normal. Surely all Lavender dreamt about was hair and handbags. Surely all Pavarti dreamt about was clothes and shoes.
What about boys? Surely boys thought about it as much as she did. But, for her to think about Harry and Ron that way, was purely absurd. She felt like she was one in a million, the odd one out, the unsatisfied among the many satisfied.
Her distress built up and she fell from her crouch to seat on the ground, legs sprawled out. What was she going to do?
"Hermione," a timid voice came to her from the stairs, leading from the boys' dormitories. "er, what are you doing up so late? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
She turned slowly, slowly awakening from her heavy thoughts. "Neville? Oh.... Oh I couldn't sleep."
He stepped forward hesitantly, looking a little frightened. "Hermione, do you mind if I sit down here?" He gestured, in a small quick gesture, to the chair near her.
"No, er, not at all." Neville's awkwardness made her feel a bit awkward and she realised she was wearing her quite unflattering nightdress and that her hair was down. After years of frizzy hair experience, she now knew that she would be doing herself and the world a favour by tying her hair up and had done so now for the last two years. She felt vulnerable with it down, and extremely ugly.
But it was only Neville after all.
He sat down with a heavy thump and said nothing. She waited for him to say something but he didn't and, after a moment or two, went back to her thoughts.
She'd never even kissed a boy before. Yes, well, she'd kissed Ron and Harry on the cheek before but that was as bold as she got. But still she remembered that like yesterday. Leaning in, feeling her lips against their cheeks, the texture, the feeling, their faces of shock and confusion and the feeling of power and control she'd felt, at that second. Both of them, suddenly remembering she was actually a girl.
Did no one know and if so, how could she remind them? Did Neville know? Is that why he was so awkward, just a mere second ago? Or perhaps that was because she was bossy, and controlling, and often yelled at him in Potions. Yes, it was, of course, the Latter.
She'd never even kissed a boy before. Had everyone else kissed someone? Harry had kissed Cho, that was definite. How about Ron? There had been a rather funny rumour going around, about a very flushed Ron and a very guilty Lavender coming out from behind one of the Christmas trees that decorated the Great Hall.
How about poor old Neville, seating there, with his rather plump shape and his rather babyish red cheeks? How about Mr Longbottom, the failure of all failures at Potions? Hermione, feeling rather mean after such critical and guilty thoughts, smiled kindly up at Neville.
He looked like a deer caught in headlights. He tried to smile back, a terrible wobbly smile, and then he laughed nervously, in a giggle unlike Ginny's.
Was it that unusual for her to just smile at a boy? Was she that boring and nasty and unsocial? Was she that kind of girl, the kind of girl that would never have a relationship with a boy unless the word "plutonic" was before it?
Desperation clawed at her, the desperation for something she couldn't identify only to know it'd bring her the satisfaction she craved. She let it claw at her, build within her, until she couldn't stand it any more.
"Neville," she said brisky, "stand up."
Neville, registering her Potion's tone, stood up without question.
She stood up as well and straightened down her terrible nightdress. She couldn't look at him, couldn't believe what she was about to do.
She stepped close to him. A clock was ticking somewhere or maybe it was just her imagination. It echoed loudly in the silent room, along with both their breathing.
No, I can't do this.
Tick tock, tick tock...
Would they ever realise that she was a girl?
Tick tock, tick tock...
She'd never even kissed a boy before.
Tick tock, tick tock...
She lifted her head before she could reconsider, close to him as she could, registered in a flash his absolutely terrified head, and quickly kissed him.
Her first ever kiss, with Neville Longbottom.
Okay, may I just point out, I have no say in what my hands write? Anyway, this will not be a Hermione/Neville pairing, I don't even know what romance will it end on, but this story is all about Hermione growing up and finding herself. Hermione doesn't do things by half, she tackles them heads first and that what she's going to do in this story. Anyway, there should be more soon. I'm sorry this is so short, only I have to go study!