Butterfly
"I like butterflies," Hermione announced suddenly one afternoon.
"What?" Harry asked, startled out his deep thoughts of treacle tart and whether ghost ever needed to use the toilet.
"I said; I like butterflies," Hermione repeated.
"Oh." Harry blinked. "Why's that, then?"
"They're free. They don't have gossip or exams or Dark Lords to worry about. They just fly," Hermione sighed, gazing out across the lake.
"You're being extraordinarily angsty today, 'Mione." Harry said teasingly and nudged her. "It's almost like you're turning into me."
Hermione nestled into his shoulder. "That would be awful," she murmured amusedly.
"Simply dreadful, I know. Because then I'd be dating myself, and I'm sure Malfoy could come up with a million insults just from that."