Hermione walked towards the Burrow slowly, taking in the light from the now dawned sun and building up a wall around her frayed emotions. She felt so remote from everything here. Professor Snape had disappeared, with a barely audible pop, and with him had taken any evidence that the evening she had just lived through was even real. Now, she had to walk into the Weasley family home and behave as if nothing had changed, when in reality her entire being was now off kilter. She considered it was probably a good time to start practising Occlumency. Molly Weasley may have seven children and always be in the middle of thirty or so urgent tasks, but that didn't stop her being bloody perceptive. Hermione couldn't afford for her to catch on to something being wrong, she didn't want to have to explain herself. Not yet at least.

As it turned out Hermione needn't have worried, the Burrow she walked into was a house gripped by war, just not the war that was affecting the rest of the Wizarding world. No, this war was being fought over an issue far closer to home. Bill Weasley had returned at the start of the summer, and presented Fleur Delacour; Beauxbatons' graduate, Triwizard Champion, part Veela and unexpectedly Gringotts employee, to the family as his fiancée. The traditionally happy news did not appear to have gone down especially well. Hermione decided that it would be best to remain neutral, as much as possible, it was, after all, a family matter, and she had no desire to get on the wrong side of either woman. That was easier said than done when confronted by an incensed Molly, who had a list of the young French girl's faults that must have been a mile long. Yes, Fleur did seem to look about the place as if there was a bad smell under her nose, and she did make fairly disdainful glances. Sometimes she made sharp comments to the other women inhabiting the cramped conditions at the Burrow, but one look at Bill told Hermione all she needed to know about how this would play out. The eldest Weasley brother beheld Fleur like she hung the moon, and as the pointy fang dangling from his ear could attest to, Bill did things his way, even if Molly was totally set against it. If Bill said Fleur was going to be his wife, then there would soon be a new Mrs Weasley in town.

Unfortunately, it wasn't just Molly's ire that was adding to their hostilities; Ginny disliked the French girl as well. The depth of her aversion Hermione didn't fully understand until she saw the blonde interact with Harry the next day, and the proverbial penny dropped. The men of the house were clearly not impervious to Miss Delacour's ample charms, and Ginny's sulking directly correlated with the amount of time Harry spent blushing, which was a lot. The part Veela evidently still felt a deep debt of gratitude to him for saving her little sister, during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. Or possibly, she was just trying to make an ally of one of the only non-family members in the house.

Hermione wondered if she would have behaved belligerently towards the girl if she had still harboured feelings for Ron. She admitted to herself, shamefully, that she probably would have. Hermione knew she had a temper and a bit of a jealous streak, add in that she was insecure about her appearance and that Fleur was completely perfect, it was a foregone conclusion. As it was, Hermione watched Ron's stammering treatment of the unparalleled beauty with thinly veiled mirth, like the rest of the house.

Chaotic and tense as the Burrow was over those last few days, Hermione relished it for what it was to her, a glorious distraction. She hadn't told any of the others what had happened back at home. She reasoned that Harry would blame himself, and Hermione had no desire to add any more weight onto his already overburdened shoulders. Even if she had been less inclined to secrecy, factoring in the surprising assistance of Professor Snape, she definitely could not see the benefit of imparting information. To give them proof of him being an active Death Eater would confirm every suspicion they had ever had about him, and after what he had done for her, it would be a betrayal. Hermione could not say that his actions had brought about a change of heart where the teacher was concerned, but she was grateful and would remain so for the rest of her life. Professor Snape had earned her respect; she scoffed slightly at the no doubt scathing set-down he would have given her if she dared to ever tell him as much. But the fact remained, he didn't ever to know. There were many adults in her life that she trusted infinitely more than the Potions Master, but he had been the one there, he had raised the wand to do it. Hermione pondered that he might want something from her later, some back payment for his good dead, although his behaviour had not seemed to suggest that. Most of all she wondered at the situation he spoke of, when he had made the wrong choice. It was not likely that she would ever know the details. He was a private man, and even getting as much detail from him as she had was shocking.

Theories on the motivations behind her teacher's behaviour did not take up all of her head space. It had taken a couple of days before her mind had eased over the initial stab of hurt, and when it did, Hermione began ruminating on the first note. 'We', the note had said, 'we'.

The only possible explanation was that the note was from another Death Eater. From the information Professor Snape had given her it would suggest it was someone who knew the time and date of the attack. Her professor had known less, and had contacted her immediately, the note, however, was a warning to make a move. The sender must have known she still had those days, likely a person who had been assigned to go to the house. But who could have sent it? More than once her mind, unwillingly, moved to dark eyes and wavy hair, but Hermione quickly snuffed that thought out. He was in Azkaban, and even if she set aside the absurdity of such a thought, he was certainly not in a position to either hear that information, or warn her about it. So, it was someone else.

Two things were clear as Hermione sat between Ron and Neville at the Sorting Feast; firstly, that this year was going to be just as awful as the last, and that Harry Potter liked to make an entrance.

Harry was almost dragged into the hall by Professor Snape, and Hermione did her best to ignore the professor resolutely, any form acknowledgement would be an enormous mistake. From what she could see of his demeanour, from under her lashes, he was doing the same. Though it probably wasn't much of an effort on his part, it wasn't like they had spent the last few years building up a relationship of witty discourse over shared tea and biscuits. Harry was deposited, roughly, on the bench in front of her, and when Professor Snape swept away, she dared to raise her eyes only to see Harry's face was completely covered in blood. Once Hermione had assured herself that he was, in fact, fine, she shook her head in frustration. Well, that's what you got for spying on Malfoy.

Ginny had sent so many angry glances at Harry throughout dinner that Hermione had run interference as they exited the Great Hall, and pulled the girl up to her dorm, allowing her to pace to burn the simmering rage off. Once Ginny had calmed enough that an eruption worthy of Molly was no longer imminent, she fell onto the bed next to Hermione sighing. They chatted about everything and nothing, more freely than they would have felt comfortable to in the Burrow, engaging in the kind of 'girl talk' Hermione had always sneered at her mother for suggesting she would enjoy.

"It's a good job Tonks was there to collect Harry; he might have ended up all the way back in London, then Merlin knows what would have happened. She's apparently applied to be stationed out in Hogsmeade for a while." Ginny rambled, as she absentmindedly blew on a feather that had come loose from the pillows.

"How come?" Hermione replied, her brow pinching slightly. "I thought she would want to be more central to things going on with the Order."

Ginny sat up straighter, her face alive with a secret smile, a smile that was very familiar to Hermione; it indicated that Ginny had gossip. "Well, I heard that Tonks wanted to spend a bit of time away from headquarters, to avoid a particular person."

"Who?" Hermione asked baffled, having not picked up on the clumsy Auror having a preference for anyone when she had seen her last.

"Professor. Lupin." Ginny retorted smugly.

"Why?" Hermione replied without thinking.

Ginny slapped her arm. "Hermione, why? She's in love with him of course; I heard my mum telling dad that her Patronus has changed to a wolf." Hermione wasn't sure what to make of that, Tonks and Professor Lupin seemed like a bit of an odd match, but she was more concerned with the changing Patronus. Merlin, she would have been mortified in that situation, not being able to hide unrequited love in that way must have been so humiliating, especially given how often the Order used their Patronuses to deliver messages.

"Isn't it romantic?!" Ginny exclaimed, falling back on Hermione's bed with a theatrical swoon

Hermione rolled her eyes but her lips quirked into a small smile at the redhead's antics. "If you say so Gin, there's a bit of an age gap, though?"

"Yes, but not as much as in some cases, and didn't you have a bit of a crush on him when he was the DADA Professor?" Ginny replied wickedly. Hermione flushed bright red, and Ginny laughed. "Don't be embarrassed Hermione, I've always thought you would end up with an older man," she explained waving her hand dismissively. "And it's not like there's a great number of them in the castle for you to focus on, unless you count Snape, and no one does. Plus Lupin was kind of dreamy in a shuffling, scruffy way." Hermione flushed deeper, "And I take it you don't think of Ron like that anymore?"

It was said with certainty, but there was enough note of enquiry for Hermione to know she was expected to provide confirmation. "No, not anymore, the more I thought about it, the more… it just didn't seem... right." Hermione replied testing the word. "Being with him would be like forcing two puzzle pieces together that are only an 'almost fit', even though you know it will ruin the overall picture."

"That makes sense," Ginny said, and Hermione sagged a little at her ready acceptance.

"What about Dean? You two looked cosy at the Feast," she teased, seeking to take a bit of the attention off herself.

"I like him; he's lovely… but he's not-"

"Harry?" Hermione tried, and it was Ginny's turn to flush. "Harry likes you; you know that right?" Hermione continued gently. She had seen the change in her messy haired friend over the last few months. When Ginny wasn't present, he always had half an eye out, watching for her, when she was there his attention would continually be pulled back to wherever she was in the room. Hermione felt they were destined, even though that sounded like something Luna would say. She believed it was only a matter of time.

"I know," Ginny groaned, turning onto her side, holding her head up on her arm that was bent at the elbow. "Is it wrong to want him to work for it a little? I spent my first few years of knowing him making a fool of myself and... I do like Dean."

Hermione reassured her friend. She didn't think making Harry wait a little while would do him much harm, in fact, it would probably do him a world of good.

The next morning Hermione had breakfast opposite a blessedly, blood free Harry, who told her, in hushed tones, that Dumbledore had requested he attend private lessons with him this year. Hermione worried about Harry's unquestioning belief where the headmaster was concerned; it was a likely risk to them all. She had long been suspicious of the man's twinkle and the grandfatherly demeanour he adopted around Harry, the information she had gained the evening her parents were packed off to Australia had hardly changed her views. Though Harry had managed to survive Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape the year before, well, largely, maybe he could get through this too?

It wouldn't have been a new year at Hogwarts without the introduction of the unfamiliar DADA Professor, but still, Hermione had been very surprised that Professor Snape had been announced as Umbridge's successor, and Harry had too if his incredibly audible 'No' at the news was any indication.

Walking into the classroom, it was evident that their professor had endeavoured to adjust the space to be something more suited to his preferred aesthetic. Much of the natural light had been diminished, and terrifying posters of hideous curses lined the walls. Hermione suspected this fell in line with his favoured teaching technique of scaring the crap out of them, and supposed he couldn't exactly use the more disgusting potion ingredients that he used to. The only thing he hadn't eradicated was the warmth that was found on the upper floor classroom, but it was still the first week.

Only minutes into the assigned practical session Hermione felt the strongest sense of deja vu of her relatively short life, as she stood behind Harry, willing him to shut his mouth. When he sassed Professor Snape, she fought the urge to drop her head in her hands. Then he landed detention which seemed to shock everyone in the room, given Professor Snape's very deep breathing their teacher wasn't far from a more violent reaction.

As they exited the room, she couldn't hold back from Harry. "You don't need to call me Sir, professor, are you kidding Harry James Potter?" she scolded shrilly.

Ron cut her off. "Ease up Mione, that was brilliant."

She huffed off down the corridor leaving them both to get into whatever trouble they wanted for the rest of the day. Hermione wasn't going to spend another year babying Harry and walking on eggshells around him, hoping he kept his temper.

By the end of the week, Hermione was relaxing in one of the comfortable chairs in the common room ahead of breakfast. She had spent a productive evening in the library the night before and was now way ahead of where she needed to be for school work. She had ticked off her various to-do lists of extra tasks and was too tired to think of the anonymous note again. In short, Hermione had nothing pressing to do for the entire weekend to come, and she was revelling in the glorious feeling of it. She supposed at some point she should try to make peace with Harry and Ron, not that she was minded to be overly apologetic. Just as she had reluctantly resolved to speak to them over breakfast Ron walked down the stairs looking pale, closely followed by and anxious Harry. Hermione looked back and forth between them for a moment, trying to pick up on what she was apparently missing until she remembered with a start that it was the Quidditch try-outs that morning.

Oliver Wood had graduated at the end of last year, leaving the Keeper position open. From a conversation a week before, that Hermione had been half listening to, she knew Ron was going against Cormac McLaggen, a seventh year, who walked down the stairs seconds later looking much more confident than Ron.

Hermione jumped up to follow them to breakfast and spent the next twenty minutes absolving herself for her temporary memory loss by fussing over Ron and trying to get him to eat something. She was forcibly made to stop by Harry grabbing her wrists from across the table. "Stop fussing Mione, he is going to do brilliantly," he said, though his bright green eyes looked a little disbelieving.

Hermione nodded emphatically, meeting Ron's questioning gaze, who seemed to brighten at her agreement. It was a testament to how out of sorts Ron was that he was looking for reassurance on his Quidditch prowess from her. Hermione had attended more games than she cared to count and still wasn't exactly sure what the rules were, and she was definitely at a loss when it came to the point of it all. Still, when Harry got up to urge Ron to the field, Hermione gathered her coat and scarf to follow, pointedly ignoring the surprised faces of the other Gryffindor's at the table at her apparent willingness. Lavender Brown narrowed her eyes in Hermione's direction, but she brushed it off. This was important to Ron, and she was Ron's friend. Most of the time.

"You're coming right Mione?" he asked hesitantly as she paused to adjust her scarf.

"Of course Ron," she answered automatically, only just noticing the slightly green tinge his skin had taken.

She regretted her eagerness later, once she was faced with the chill whipping around the pitch. Why couldn't there be a warmer way to show solidarity?

Harry's bold prediction regarding Ron's performance was actually not far off. Despite an obvious lack of confidence in his ability Ron successfully deflected four of the five Quaffles fired at him, seeming to perk up after each play was made.

Then it was McLaggen's turn.

Cormac was definitely not in the midst of a crisis of spirit; he approached the hoops with an arrogant swagger, something Hermione imagined was incredibly difficult to pull off while airborne on a broomstick. Cormac was objectively incredibly attractive, certainly one of the best looking boys in Hogwarts, and Hermione could quote that as an almost official statistic, Lavender and Parvati had a list. Cormac had been in the top five ranking on that sheet of parchment since the girl's first year. He did move about a bit, but that seemed to be dependent on whether or not he smiled at the girls on a regular basis.

Hermione watched on, growing tenser as Cormac saved the first four Quaffles without appearing to try very hard. The feat was made all the more impressive as she was pretty sure the team were working far more doggedly to get it passed him than they had been with Ron. It all came down to this, the final play, Hermione watched the Quaffle leave Ginny's hand, and she could already predict the outcome from the angle the ball was flying, not to mention the skill she had already seen the older Gryffindor display. Before thinking about it fully she sent a small confundus at Cormac, without using her wand or speaking. Hermione had been practising with similar magic for a year, mainly when she had been staring the back of Harry's head in DADA classes. She wasn't confident with it; she rationalised that there was about a fifty-fifty chance of it working, in some part of Hermione's brain that absolved her culpability, a little.

She noticed the vaguely distant eyes Cormac had for a second and she knew it had succeeded, he shook it off as soon as the Quaffle had shot passed him.

"Bugger," Hermione muttered to herself quietly.

Hermione was not having a good week.

She and Harry had been circling each other like boxers before a fight for days now, and it was only a matter of time before one of them broke. Following the Quidditch try-outs there had been a party in the common room, which Hermione would have tried to enjoy, if only for Ron's sake, (Harry had elected to make him Keeper following the even try out scores), despite Harry continually catching her eye and giving her assessing looks. Hermione wasn't sure whether it was the lingering guilt making her paranoid, or, more likely, that Harry knew something about what she had done, so she did the 'Hermione thing' and avoided him as much as possible.

Then they had their first Potions lesson with Professor Slughorn. Harry and Ron had not been expecting to take the class, as Professor Snape had always demanded the highest grades, and as such neither had the appropriate textbook. They were pointed to the dusty supply cupboard, and both grabbed old copies. The lesson passed in a daze of steam and concentration until the end, when Hermione looked on astonished as Harry, who typically scraped through the subject, was labelled as a prodigy. He was being lauded, and Hermione's potion hadn't even worked. Professor Slughorn had come over and eyed her cauldron sceptically; she had 'come close' apparently.

When they left the room Hermione's hair was larger than it had ever been, due to a combination of mingling fumes and lingering temper. She roughly fought it back into a ponytail as Harry had told her it was all because of that book. He had used it to cheat. She told him to give it back, but he wouldn't listen, and completely failed to see why she was so angry. Hermione stormed off, something she was making a bit of a habit of, but it couldn't be helped, she felt too enraged to deal with them in that moment.

Despite what people would believe, Hermione had never considered that she was naturally intelligent, she was a hard worker who was good at research, her grades took effort and time, and for Harry to be happy to cheat made her so infuriated she didn't know how to cope with all of the feelings coursing through her.

And so it was with great reluctance that Hermione went along to the Gryffindor v Hufflepuff match with the rest of the students that weekend, relations between herself, Harry and Ron were decidedly off, and the sight of Cormac sitting in the stands made her feel slightly queasy. She perked up however when she noticed Luna sat in the commentary box regarding the world around her absently until she spotted Hermione and began waving animatedly. Hermione's face broke into a delighted grin. Much more eager, she rushed into the stands and took a seat next to Neville who immediately offered Hermione his scarf as the first chill of wind moved through them.

Following the match, Hermione all but ran over to where Luna was standing; her friend was watching her movement with a growing grin oblivious as an exasperated Professor McGonagall scolded her for her 'irrelevant and illogical commentary'. In a very un-Hermione-like move, she jumped on Luna, the force of her hug nearly knocking the pair of them to the floor.

"You, Luna Lovegood have done the impossible; you have made Quidditch not just bearable but thoroughly entertaining!" She laughed out in pure delight. Luna beamed, and both girls ignored Professor McGonagall's incredulous expression before the infuriated teacher sighed to the heavens and headed back to the castle.

The weekend following the first Quidditch match of the season was a Hogsmeade weekend, and while generally a tempting trip, the lingering chill in the air had put the girls off. Instead, Hermione, Luna and Ginny cobbled together a selection of blankets from their various dorm rooms and Luna charmed the elves into bringing food up to them in the Astronomy Tower. Hunkered down under multiple layers, Hermione was sharing her favourite moments of Luna's commentary, while taking sips of the perfect cocoa. Luna lit up with pride during the animated retelling, and Ginny rolled around pounding the floor laughing, her uncontrollable giggles echoing around the stone turret.

"Ginny Weasley coming onto the field now, she's very kind to me, and I am reliably informed, by the consensus of the Ravenclaw common room, that she has a very nice bum."

"Ernie McMillan does not want to release that Quaffle; it seems like a clear case of Quafflitis - terribly sad, can end a player's career. A fear of letting go of the Quaffle can be a difficult thing to overcome."

"Ow and Harry Potter has been hit by a stray Bludger; this will likely be the end for him in this game but it should help him with his Wrackspurt issue. Head trauma is the only known way to disturb an infestation once it is in advanced stages."

Their peaceful sanctuary was interrupted far too prematurely by Harry. In his typical style, he launched himself through the door and explained, breathlessly, that Katie Bell had been cursed by a necklace given to her by an Imperiused Madam Rosmerta. He related in a series of disparate sentences that the professors had thus far not been able to lift the curse. Their housemates' condition being deemed severe, though not critical, and she would be transferred to St Mungo's as soon as her parents arrived later that day.

"It's Draco; it has to be, you must see that now Mione," Harry panted out.

"Using an Unforgivable? Do you really think he is capable of that?" Hermione asked incredulously, standing from the warm cocoon of blankets and walking over to him.

"Yes, I do," he bit out, firm in his resolve.

"Okay, Harry," she acceded quickly raising her hands in front of herself, "but even if you're right we have no proof," she challenged as much as she dared.

Harry surged forward his eyes glinting at her hostility. "Why I am I the only one who cares about this? You should be helping me!" Ginny and Luna both started at the unexpectedly loud tone.

"I am Harry, I seem to do nothing but help you, but this obsession with Malfoy being a Death Eater isn't helping, and in any case, there is a slightly more pressing matter to be dealt with now."

"What carrying on your chat with your girlfriends?" he sneered.

"No Harry," Hermione replied, even though the contortion of his face in such anger had poked at her ire. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She didn't want to fight with him while he was in this state, it was very likely they would both say things they would regret. "I am going to visit Katie before she is sent to St Mungo's," she said, pushing for an air of finality in her tone.

Ginny and Luna stood, voicing their desire to attend as well and Harry moved to the side, clearing a path to the door, Hermione took it as a nonverbal acceptance that the subject was closed, for now, though Harry was obviously still raging. Once Ginny headed down with the remains of the food, Luna collected all of the pillows and moved towards the exit while Hermione was drawing together the blankets.

"One should always be careful of erosion Harry." She heard Luna say, the blonde had paused by Harry's side though her eyes were fixed on her fingers playing with the corner of a decadent scatter cushion.

"Is that supposed to be helpful?" He snapped, and Luna smiled balefully at him.

"Erosion of rock formations occurs when waves repeatedly batter against their surface," Luna said while beating out a rhythm against the custom she was holding, accenting her words. "What was once jagged, characterful and hardy gets worn away. The rock bends to the mightier will of the ocean; it retains no trace of what it was before. It becomes brittle."

"Luna, as usual, I have no idea what you are saying!" Harry barked, Hermione flinched at his tone but Luna's face didn't register it, she moved even closer to him.

"I'm saying, Harry Potter, that you should be careful that your abrasive temper doesn't erode away the support and personality of friends, people that have stood firmly for you, as unmoving as the earth beneath your feet. If you wish your words to be headed as law, without question, I suggest you befriend mindless drones."

Luna managed to breathe out the words out in her normal airy way, but the steel behind them was clear. She breezed out of the doorway, her chin in the air, and Hermione rushed to catch up with her.

As though it had temporarily taken over her life, Hermione once again found herself in the stand overlooking the Quidditch pitch, next to Neville. All of her other friends were involved in the game to some capacity. Harry, Ron and Ginny were on the team and Luna, the only bright spot that made it worth the time out of the library, was once again commentating. Professor McGonagall looked over at the commentary box with a face pinched in resignation, who would have guessed that their passionate professor would come to miss Lee 'that was clearly a foul' Jordan? Despite Professor McGonagall's obvious reticence, it was clear everyone else, all houses, and even the staff appeared to enjoy it. Hermione thought she even saw Professor Snape's lips quirk up once or twice but that might have been a trick of the light.

The game seemed to be going Gryffindor's way, and despite some rougher tactics from the Slytherin team they were up against, all of the red-clad figures were enjoying themselves.

Luna's voice carried across the stands; "Marcus Flint making a deliberate foul there, right in front of Madam Hooch. That doesn't seem like a sensible decision, but then it is possible he is suffering from Loser's Lurgy. Those with sloping foreheads and prominent brows are much more prone to developing it."

Hermione smiled, and even the aghast expression on her long-suffering Head of House's face could not stop her giggles.

None too soon it was over, and if the jubilation on Harry's face was any indication, there would be a party in the common room that evening.

'Party' was a bit of an understatement for what was happening in the Tower that night. Hermione was fairly sure there had never been this many Gryffindor's so assumed some infiltration from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, though it was hard to see just who was who in the crush of bodies. She concentrated on suppressing her inner Prefect, but only as she was so pleased for Ron, he deserved this. Ron always felt in the shadow of someone, first his brothers and then Harry, the-boy-who-lived, but this moment was all his. He had made a few saves during the match that even Hermione, as an uninterested novice, could say were spectacular.

She began to debate leaving to do some homework; she felt uncomfortable at gatherings of any kind. It was awkward; she didn't quite know where to stand, Ginny was chatting to Dean, stood in a corner invading each other's personal space, Hermione caught Harry as he looked on longingly at the cloistered couple and she stifled a giggle.

Suddenly the crowd were cheering again, some other re-enactment of a famed win, and she spied Ron drinking what she thought was his third firewhisky, in half an hour. Hermione decided to go over and congratulate him before he was incoherent, and then she would allow herself to leave, people never seemed to have fun with her anyway. As she moved towards him, trying to force her way through the taller bodies, she was aware of a hush that came over the mob followed by even louder hooting. As she broke her way to the front, Hermione stopped dead at the sight of Lavender Brown, climbing Ron like a tree, arms and legs wrapped around him as if he was a life raft in shark-infested waters and then they were kissing. No, not kissing, full on snogging. Snogging like someone had fed her poison and Ron's tonsils contained the antidote.

Incapable of an entirely coherent thought Hermione pivoted on her heel, with a level of agility her junior school netball teacher had never managed to coach her to do, and she ran from the common room as quickly as the crush of bodies would allow.

Half an hour later Hermione found herself in an abandoned classroom and in the quiet open space she felt able to think. Her reaction had been a little dramatic she could admit, but she had thought herself in love with Ron since the third year and had only recently given up on those feelings. Feelings or no feelings it had been a bit of a shock.

He was still her friend, one of her best, and Hermione supposed she was jealous of him in a way, she wanted that, wanted someone to want her like that. Want her enough to kiss her in front of over half their House, and the other assorted rabble, and not care who said what.

Hermione hated Lavender more acutely than ever before. It was not a feeling she was proud of. She had never made much effort with the girl she considered vapid, and Hermione knew she held at least some blame for the fact they did not get on, still, she reckoned Lavender would be harping on about this for the rest of the year. Life in their shared dorm was likely to get even more unpleasant.

Hermione had conjured a series of small blue birds that were currently floating above her head; she had only recently perfected the spell, and it made her feel less lonely. When she had come back after the summer, Hermione had tried to cast a Patronus, but the shimmering otter wouldn't come. The memory she had been using as a failsafe was of her mother, a couple of years ago, on holiday, when she had sat behind Hermione at her dressing table and braided her unruly hair. It had been such a powerful image, and when she had hit upon it, the small mammal conjured would float and dance about the air for almost half a minute. Now her enchantment brought forth a barely visible wisp. Another thing that she had to keep a secret.

Staring up at the ceiling as the birds circled Hermione was caught by surprise when the door creaked, and her head snapped up to see the unexpected face of Neville poking through.

"Is it okay if I come in?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sure," Hermione replied, very glad that her tears had subsided sometime before.

There were several seconds of pause while Neville pulled himself up onto the table top Hermione had plonked on top of and sat himself down next to her. "Are you ok?" he asked gently.

"Yes, I think so," she replied at once, realising how unconvincing her hollow tone sounded.

"You sure? I thought, maybe," he began falteringly before seeming to steel himself, "well, I thought you might have been upset because of Ron and Lavender?"

Hermione flushed, apparently Tonks wasn't the only one who had not been able to keep her feelings to herself. "Well, err… no, not exactly. I am a little upset but not… not really because of Ron," Hermione breathed, trying to formulate what she wanted to say. It would be an explanation she would have to use again later, so it was best to iron it out now. "I liked Ron… more than friends… for a long time, but not anymore," she all but whispered, her cheeks burning.

Hermione fixed her eyes on the rhythmic movements of her feet as she swung them under the table. Neville looked up into her face, surprise written all over his features but thankfully she didn't think she could detect scepticism, she didn't have the energy to convince someone.

"I still love him, but as a friend I think," she continued, wincing at the fumbling nature of her words. "It's a little complicated, but mainly I may have been… I think I was jealous."

Hermione was aware she was a bright red beacon now. It had taken a lot for her to admit that failing, but she had always trusted Neville. Harry never knew how to deal with her when she was like this, her upset made him uncomfortable, and it wasn't like she could tell Ron.

Neville's face held no condemnation or seemingly any judgement at all for her admission; he only looked at her kindly before turning his head to look up at the conjured birds. Hesitantly he asked, "Why? Why would you be jealous? It's not… it's not Lavender is it?" he asked his eyes widening.

Hermione burst into laughter, both at the suggestion and the look of horror on Neville's face, with the release she felt some of the pain of the last hour or so subside, after a moment he laughed too, taking her reaction as his answer.

"Then why?" he pressed, once their giggles had subsided.

"I'm not sure," she averted her eyes, "but maybe, maybe I want that too."

"You've never really struck me as the type to want public displays of affection," Neville teased in a tone Hermione had never heard from him before and she huffed out another laugh.

"No maybe not, but the sentiment behind it maybe," she confessed quietly and Neville nodded in apparent understanding.

The contemplative silence that had fallen between them was broken when the door slammed open, and Ron and Lavender virtually fell through it. "Sorry, sorry," Ron began then his face fell on Hermione and Neville, and he seemed to go from confusion to suspicion in an instant.

"Sorry we were looking for an empty room, but it seems this one is taken," Lavender said with a wink, an actual wink! She dragged Ron back out and crashed the door behind them.

The remaining occupants of the room looked at the door that had just closed in surprise for a second before Neville coughed a couple of times and then resumed watching the birds floating above their heads while playing with the sleeves of his jumper. "Suppose… suppose someone did… err… well, like you… like that," he made a vague gesture with his hand in the direction of the door, Hermione was momentarily stunned. Who?

"Err… I don't, I don't know; I haven't ever given much thought to the idea that anyone liked me," she answered honestly.

Neville nodded, his face crumpled up in what Hermione thought was almost pain; he coughed several times again not taking his eyes off the floating birds. "What if?" He began very quietly, "What if it were me?"

Hermione looked at Neville for a long moment. Despite typically being relatively fast on the uptake it seemed to take an extraordinarily long time for his words to sink in. When they did, there was a snap of recent memories in her mind and a large part of their interactions over the last year made a great deal more sense.

"You… you think you like me?" Hermione answered in an equally small voice.

"Err… not think, no. Pretty confident actually," Neville replied, and Hermione's mind scrambled

"Oh," she said stupidly, and tried to formulate a better answer, all she could think was how brave he had been. Stumbling and hesitant yes, but he had still admitted his feelings. He deserved her to be honest in return.

"Oh?" Neville replied in a slightly strangled voice.

"Sorry, sorry," she rushed out "it's… I didn't know… I didn't expect," Hermione felt her throat close at what was about to happen, she may be completely clueless when it came to boys and dating and a cause of much exasperation for Ginny in that regard, but she knew her own heart. She took a deep breath, what would I want to hear?

"Neville that's… that's flattering but I… I really like you as a friend." She paused and nearly bit her lip fighting the urge to look up at him.

"That's… That's ok Hermione; I didn't expect any different."

She hated the defeated tone in his voice. She wanted to reach for his hand but thought that might be mixed signals, or something. "I'm sure you won't like me for long anyway, you'll probably find soon that I'm somewhat annoying," she said with forced cheer.

"I'm not sure about that… you're… you're sort of perfect," he said, his eyes fixed on his knees, "you have always been so kind to me, and… and since the lesson on the Unforgivables in the fourth year, but… I mean, I'm sure I'll get over it," he said in the same brittle tone that she had used.

"I'm sorry Neville," Hermione abhorred how inadequate that statement was, but she didn't have much else she could say. She desperately wanted to say 'maybe in time' or 'after the war', so much so that the words nearly fell out of her mouth. But she knew it wasn't true and as painful as it was, false hope would be worse.

"It's ok, or you know, it will be," he said with a mirthless little laugh.

"Is it wrong to ask if we could still be friends?" she asked hopefully.

"No," he turned to face her, "we'll always be friends, but maybe… no study sessions or anything for a little bit yeah?"

"That's fair," Hermione replied gently.

"So um… I don't have a right to ask this, but as I've already completely humiliated myself I might as well go for broke, is there someone… you said not Ron, is there someone else?"

Hermione fought the image of dark brown eyes, and would discuss with herself later why her first reaction to that question was to think of a man that she had never had a conversation with, who was on the other side of the impending war, who had cursed her in their only interaction to date, oh, and what was it? Oh yes, was currently in the middle of the North Sea in prison.

"No… there's no one… why is there anyone else you-" she tried, forcing the conversation away from herself.

Neville cut her off, "No, well, not for a while."

"I think Hannah Abbott fancies you!" Hermione blurted and then immediately one hand lurched up to cover her mouth. She had no idea why she had just revealed. It was something Ginny had told her months ago, and she had never given much consideration to gossip. She supposed in some way she was just trying to give him something, anything that would make this moment less horrible.

"That's… that's interesting," Neville said blankly.

"Sorry I have no clue why I blabbed that out like that," she said, feeling her face heat up again.

"It's ok… do you think we could just sit here for a while?"

"Yes… that's… of course."

And so they did, they didn't look at each other, they didn't move any closer, they just sat together for what felt like the longest time. When Neville finally got up to leave, Hermione fought the tears that threatened away. Despite his assurances that everything would be fine, she knew this would impact their friendship, possibly forever.

When the door closed, much more gently than before, as he exited, Hermione let go cried herself hoarse, only returning to the common room long after the 'party' had been abandoned.

A/N Writing about Neville here prompted me to write a story where Neville gets the girl. Flourishing Devotion is a completed Nevmione available on my profile.

Moderately Fun Fact - I based Quafflitis off of Dartitis which is an actual condition that affects darts players, it's a psychological condition where they struggle to release the dart in matches.