Chapter 4: While You Were Sleeping
She hadn't deserved to be one of the victims. Neville would not have thought it possible. The Cleverest Witch of Her Age... a basilisk shouldn't have beaten her, or even caught her unawares, coming home from the library late at night.
Thank Merlin she had only been Petrified, and not killed. But you would never have known the difference, the way Harry and Ron had sprinted after McGonagall off the Quidditch pitch in a blind panic, forgetting the match that she had abruptly cancelled. Following them, Neville had felt his heart sink like a stone when he saw the victim. And Hermione hadn't been the only one. Poor Colin Creevey, a hapless first-year that reminded Neville somewhat of himself, had been attacked too.
There were whispers that the school itself was going to close. That Professor Sprout was feverishly working on a cure for Mandrakes. She wasn't working fast enough, in Neville's opinion, and he had even once tried to enlist his services of his favorite teacher, but his courage had failed him. She may have asked why he was so eager, perhaps even guessed at the reason.
And no one could know the reason. Not yet, anyway.
Staring down at Hermione's still form in the late evening sun of the hospital wing, Neville periodically checked the clock. He didn't want to be here when Harry and Ron inevitably showed up, after the dinner rush. These past two years, the three friends had grown ever closer, with Harry and Ron become more and more willing to play dirty to ward off bullies, for whom Hermione had become a prime target. The two boys were very protective of her, and Neville had to pity any boy in the future who might want to go out with Hermione. Harry and Ron would hex his bollocks off first.
Which is why neither of them could know about his crush.
Neville didn't know if Hermione might return the feelings. She probably did not. She only ever saw him as a friend in need, a classmate to help out. Innocent, probably too naive to even have thoughts of dating and... other stuff. Neville didn't quite know what that other stuff was yet, but he figured he would understand soon enough.
Dinner was just about over, according to the clock. Another meal skipped. He had better return to the library and face Snape's Potions essay; get out of here long ahead of Harry and Ron, who were probably fast on their way. Neville squeezed Hermione's hand.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Hermione." He daren't say anything affectionate, like 'I Love You', fearing that she might hear, even in her comatose state. Quietly, the boy slipped away.
