Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me...obviously! Shame...

A/N:I just want to say how greatful i am to schmoogy for helping me! This is my first fic and i could never have done it with out her. (By the way, she's an amazing writer so if i were you, i would go and read her stuff!)

It was a beautiful, clear night. The sky was a dark, velvety blue and there was a crisp feeling of November that hung in the still evening air. If you were standing in the Hogwarts ground on this evening, staring up at the great school, you would see that every window shone a warm and welcoming light. If you were to look through a window on the seventh floor, at the base of Gryffindor tower, you would find yourself peering into a cosy room full of squashy armchairs and sleepy students. You would notice three students in particular, sitting by the fire. You would feel yourself wishing that you were sitting with them in that warm and inviting room, amongst the gentle mumble of drowsy chatter…

"WHERE IS MY QUILL?"

The warm and welcoming atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room was shattered by the rather bad tempered yells of Ronald Weasley.

"Ron, there's no need to shout!" Hermione looked up at Ron, slightly bewildered by his sudden outburst.

"Yes there bloody well is. I have a Defence Against the Dark Arts essay in for tomorrow and I can't find my quill anywhere!" Ron stood up abruptly and marched over to a slightly frightened looking second year girl. "Are you using that quill?" he asked, pointing to a rather shabby looking quill lying on the table next to her. He didn't wait for her to answer, and although it was obvious that she was using it, he picked it up quickly and said "Thanks!"

"Ron! You can't do that!" Hermione scorned, prizing the quill out of Ron's hand and passing it back to the second year. Harry just sat there in his chair, smirking.

"What am I going to do? If I don't finish this essay, Snape's going to go mental!"

"Just calm down. You could have asked me for something to write with you know."

Ron looked up confused but hopeful. "You said that you needed your quill." Hermione sighed an exasperated sigh, but didn't answer. Instead, she reached inside her robes and pulled out a black ballpoint pen.

"Here! Now will you shut up and let me get on with my work?" She placed it down on the table and went back to writing her essay.

Ron stared at the pen for a moment, and then picked it up. There was a definite look of confusion in his face.

"Hermione…"

"What!"

"What exactly am I meant to do with this?"

"Oh for god's sake Ron!" Hermione had suddenly cracked. 'Why can't he do anything for himself?' "Can't you see I'm working? Get Harry to show you. He's not in the middle of an essay…" she broke of when she saw Harry. He was slouched in his armchair, fast asleep. "Fine! It's only a pen you know. They're not difficult to work out for yourself. Basically the same as a quill…Ron! You need to take the lid of first!"

"Oh!" He looked up sheepishly. Hermione's heart suddenly melted. It was quite sweet really. And it shows the isolation that many wizards had from Muggles as they are growing up.

"Like this," she said kindly, leaning across the table and taking the lid off for him. "I told you it wasn't hard!"

"Thanks!"

Hermione smiled and went back to her defence against the dark arts essays. The things she was learning about this year were truly fascinating. In charms they had been learning how to…

"Hermione…"

Ron's voice pierced through her thoughts.

"What?" she asked with a huge sigh.

"I don't think this thing works!"

She looked up to see Ron dipping the end of the pen in his ink bottle and trying to write on his parchment which was covered in black splodges.

Hermione didn't know weather to laugh or to have a go at Ron. "Ronald Weasley. You really are a pain in the arse!" She waved her wand and the ink disappeared. "You don't need to use ink. There's already some in it!"

"You mean that this thing is full of ink?"

"Yes"

"But what happens when it runs out?"

"You chuck it away and buy a new one. Now is that all? You can remember how to write can't you?"

Ron gave another sheepish grin. Hermione took that as a yes and went back to her essay. 'Really! He can't even use a pen.'

Most of the student has gone up to bed and the room was lovely and silent apart from the crackling of the slowly fading fire. Hermione sighed a deep sigh.

"Hermione…"

"…"

"Can I copy your essay?"