"I hope he has the worst birthday of his life", she thought.

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's resident know-it-all, was busy scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment, drowning herself in homework as usual. She prided herself on her logic and intelligence, and as such seldom wasted time on feelings and matters of the heart, preferring to ensure a future filled with good marks and praise from her teachers, absorbing their compliments as a plant would the soils' nutrients.

Currently, she was busy overdoing her Potions essay while damning her heart for making her feel this miserable, but she mostly damned the one she considered responsible for her pain.

"Damn you, Ronald Bilius Weasley", she muttered through gritted teeth as she viciously dotted her 'i's, leaving her poor quill crushed beyond repair.

She would need another 'therapy session' with Ginny soon. It consisted of mostly listing every fault and shortcomings of a certain redheaded teenager that happened to be the one she had been cursing in her mind, over and over again. It also happened that she had some affection for said teenager, but just a few more chats with Ginny and she was convinced her silly little crush would go away very soon.

After all, she was Hermione Granger! She didn't have time for boys! Well, not any boy anyway. But that was the problem, he just wasn't any boy. Still, she refused to let her thoughts drift to him, no matter what her stupid heart said or wanted. Her heart couldn't memorize an entire book like her brain did, her heart couldn't recall the incantation for the Canary-Conjuring Charm like her brain did, her heart couldn't get her the best grades in classes like her brain did.

All her stupid heart did was give a jolt whenever Ron did this frustratingly endearing grin that only lifted one corner of his mouth – because he was too lazy to bother smiling with both sides, of course! No, that wasn't true, when he was really happy he beamed with a smile as wide as a mile that revealed perfect pearly white teeth – only because he was a wizard and they had charms to ensure good dentition… She missed that smile, usually it showed up when she smiled to him or when she inadvertently told a joke – when it was the latter it was even better, because before smiling he'd suddenly let out this rich, full-belly laugh that she wanted to hear over and over and – argh!

"Okay Hermione", she thought to herself, "remember the last therapy session…" What did she hate about Ronald Weasley's laugh? Well, for starters, he laughed all the time and for the stupidest reasons, because he was so immature – but then again, thanks for that, because she just loved the sound of it… No, not his laugh then! Think, think…

Of course, his laziness! He never did his homework and neglected his prefect duties and… No, wait, he had been handing his homework along with everybody else these past months – not that she'd been watching or anything… As for prefect duties, well, how would she know, she had requested to not be partnered up with him anymore! But he did show up at the meetings and… Well, who cared, he was still lazy because… Because! She had known him for six years and he had always been only interested in having fun and sleeping late and he didn't ever listen in History of Magic!

There. Obviously, Hermione couldn't nurture a crush on somebody who wasn't interested by goblin rebellions.

Oh, oh, oh! And the way he always defended her, like she was a feeble little thing that needed his protection! Did he really think she was, what, a damsel in distress or something? Okay, gallantry was fine by her; Viktor had been a gentleman, but Ron took it really far; he had belched up slugs for her, for Merlin's sake!... Drat, now her cheeks were flushing pink. Her inner feminist even had the gall to admit Ron was chivalrous. Please! More like overbearing and overprotective! And even though it was really sweet of him – no!

And just what was she thinking? Ron, chivalrous? As if! Chivalry implied having some manners, at least! Well, he did have some, he said "thank you" and "sorry", but when food entered the picture it was everybody for themselves. He crammed food in his mouth till his cheeks were puffed like a cute hamster's, and she'd call him a pig, and he'd glare at her with an endearing pout… Sometimes he'd forget to swallow before talking, his words muffled and garbled; she liked to believe that only she and a select few were able to understand what almost seemed like a secret language… Certainly Lav-Lav wouldn't know how to decode "Ron-speak" as well as Hermione did!

Well, it didn't matter, the prefect thought furiously as she pulled a book to her, Potions essay forgotten. She wasn't speaking to Ron anymore, so there were no more secret messages to decipher at meal times. However, as much as she had tried to ignore him, her mind constantly seemed to wander back to his tall, lean, lanky frame. She still pondered how the hell he managed to be so thin with his appetite combined to his renowned sweet tooth. She remembered how, at Fortescue's parlour at the beginning of third year, he had devoured two chocolate sundaes before flopping back in his seat, humming happily, and looked at her with a content grin… It had made her a bit – a lot – hot and bothered, and she had gotten a glimpse of all the various blues in his beautiful irises: crystal, cobalt, sapphire, ice, ocean, sky…

ARGH! Enough! This wasn't how you got over a stupid crush!

Though, now that she was on the subject, she remembered the incident that went back to a couple of days ago, at dinner, when Ron had been chatting with Harry and he had smeared a little bit of that delicious chocolate mousse on his equally delicious strong jaw. Harry had pointed it out and the dreaded Lav-Lav had tried to kiss it away – but the redhead had reacted faster, first darting his tongue out, then holding up one of his long fingers and wiping the stain away (to Lavender's audible despair)… But this was Ronald Weasley, and he didn't let perfectly good chocolate go to waste; Godric bless his heart, he had innocently licked his finger clean. Lavender's whines had attracted some stares, and a sharp intake of breath from a few bystanders had told Hermione that she wasn't the only one to enjoy the sight (a fourth-year Gryffindor boy had even dashed to the bathroom for, quote, "Charms practice"). Of course, because this was Ron, he had remained completely oblivious to the wave of sinful daydreams he had caused…

She decided then and now to crush her own daydreaming by reminding herself of the painful fact that he was taken. Taken by that girl who had more curves than her, who had a lovelier bosom, who had pretty eyes and straight, sleek hair. Hermione knew she had made heads spin at the Yule Ball, but that was after more than two hours of applying various hair and skin potions, and she had Viktor on her arm to put people into even greater shock, and it didn't change the fact that her breasts stubbornly refused to venture outside the B-cup category or that her hips were wider than her chest... which didn't mean a lot, actually.

On her better days, she just calmly accepted the fact that she was slightly pear-shaped and there was nothing she could do about it; during the worst days, she could repeat hopelessly the 'true beauty is on the inside' or 'good people see personality first' mantras, it didn't stop her from wishing that her enormous backside would switch places with her pea-sized breasts and be done with it. While she was at it, she also wished that this rat nest she called hair would just magically straighten – and she cursed the wizards of old, who crafted spells to make butterflies out of dew drops but didn't think once of helping young girls better their self-image (conveniently omitting the way she had gotten her teeth straightened in fourth year).

But it was okay, really, because it wasn't her fault. Yes, she was bookish, yes, she was smart – brilliant, even. Hermione knew she was cleverer than all the students of the school put together. So, she was not the prettiest girl? She wouldn't care. Younger students ran away from her because she ordered them to pay attention in class? Fine, they would be the ones crying over missed opportunities later in life. Harry didn't spend time with her except to coax her into talking to Ron or asking questions about homework? Alright, he could do whatever he pleased! She was a woman, damn it, she was not a lovesick teenager! She refused to be!

It wasn't her fault after all! The entire blame laid with Ronald Bilius Weasley! He was the misogynistic chauvinist, no matter what his stupid bouts of protective chivalry tried to show! He only looked at girls for their bodies, it was obvious, he hadn't even seen her as one until fourth year! He was unintelligent and daft and stupid, no matter how good at chess he was! He had no idea what emotions were, he never thought about her feelings, he was egotistic and self-centred and he was an idiot, idiot, idiot!

Hermione heard a terrible sound akin to paper being ripped and crumpled by a raging fist, and was startled out of her reverie, only to gasp in horror when she realized she had committed the greatest sacrilege of all – defacing her book with her own two hands. The few Gryffindors that had dared to venture closer to her were looking with various levels of curiosity or dread. As she prepared to bark at them to mind their own business or get sent into lifelong detention, the portrait hole sprung open to reveal Professor McGonagall.

"Has anyone seen Miss Granger?"

Hermione immediately sprung from her seat to come to her favourite teacher, wearing an expression that reminded both of a puppy eager to perform tricks and a soldier saluting their superior. The Gryffindors rolled their eyes, and a few "suck-up" or "brown-noser" escaped in-between exasperated breaths.

But Hermione didn't hear anything, for a Professor had called and she was ready to offer them anything, be it her tears, sweat, blood, or her firstborn child.

McGonagall just looked at her with slightly glassy eyes, like she refrained from getting too emotional, and it made the bookworm's stomach clench unpleasantly. Her Head of House bent down slightly to whisper something in her ear, and as Hermione's wonderful brain processed the words, her heart almost stopped beating.

Even as the seventeen-year-old girl was running to the hospital wing in a despaired frenzy, causing her head to spin and her body to flush, her innards were encased in the creeping chill of terror.

Her wish had been granted; Ron was having the worst birthday of his life.

And said birthday could very well be his last.