Never once did Hermione think that a boy would give her more problems than a particularly difficult mystery. Given her proximity to Harry, she'd become quite capable at figuring out various things that might end up hurting him in the long run, never losing sight of their end goal. Even if she did sometimes get distracted by Ron, like when he stretched out on the chair in common room, lifting his lanky arms to the sky and treating to her to a sliver of exposed skin peppered with tiny ginger hairs, she hadn't dissuaded from her mission.

That was until she became involved with Terry Boot.

She wasn't even certain what to call what they were doing. With her limited knowledge, this didn't feel like dating. Being at someone's beck and call in the library. Snogging sessions she couldn't see a way out of during her Prefect rounds. Feeling his fingers slide into her own as they sat together in class, nausea sliding down her throat.

She'd loved having Terry as a partner. Discussing matters of runic interpretation, and intra-personal werewolf-wizard relationships for their project had provided hours of delight. And perhaps, yes, she had enjoyed the attention he lavished on her. But she didn't think she'd made any move to encourage him. He'd never truly given her an opportunity to say no. Every morning, she woke up, convinced that today would be the day that she would tell him that she didn't want to do this anymore. Every evening, she came back, having somehow been talked into this being a good idea.

For a girl used to being the clever one, this came as a real shock.

What made it worse was that she didn't feel she had anybody to speak to about this problem. The idea of going to Harry was laughable. Honestly, thank merlin he was dating someone as well-adjusted as Ginny, because he couldn't handle any sort of emotional crisis even if it came up to him waving a white flag. She thought of trying to speak with Ginny before coming to the realization that given that Ginny had no trouble rejecting boys falling at her feet, she couldn't understand the problem of trying to get rid of one. Which was the problem. Risking breaking Terry's heart could mean him retaliating. He could easily turn around and tell the entire Hogwarts population that she was a sneaky, randy liar. And they would believe him. She still had a few younger students whispering about her apparent poison knowledge.

What hurt the most was knowing that if Terry spoke to even one other person, Ron would find out. The thought knocked in her head like a persistent hoover salesman. His hurt face took over her brain when she went to sleep at night. The downturn of his lips as he frowned in her direction. She didn't think he'd yell, but the prospect of his disappointment felt like it would hurt even more.

Ironically, if nothing else, having to deal with Terry only made her more certain that she wanted Ron. Ron who had been sweet enough to hold on to her bag when she left it in a hurry. Ron who kept asking if she was alright. Ron who sent her smiles when he thought she wasn't looking. Her heart nearly broke when he'd offered to take over her rounds on the evening she was due to see Terry after hours again. Part of her wanted his help, wanted him to get overprotective as he had in previous times. Certainly, he could get overblown in his efforts to come to her defence, but she would never forget the 12 year old who stood up to Malfoy with a broken wand and vomited slugs all because someone had used a derogatory term against her. If Ron knew that she was in a situation she didn't like? Terry was basically asking for a trip to the Hospital Wing.

Perhaps that was why she tried to keep it all to herself. She didn't want Ron to get into trouble. Nor did she want anybody knowing that she'd gotten herself into trouble. She was Hermione Granger for merlin's sake! She did the helping. She fixed the problems.

So she could figure out a way to solve this one.

This was much easier said than done. Her usual library haven had been sullied by his presence. He sat in her favourite spot. He dared to inch his fingers up her leg if they were sat together. If she spent too long in the Common Room, he would question her, ask why she'd been avoiding him. It wasn't that he threatened to spill the beans, per se, but she saw the flash of irritation in his eyes. She was trying everything to avoid that look.

Honestly, it was all exhausting. She found herself nagging more towards Harry than usual, frustrated that he was able to carry on such a chill relationship with Ginny. Ron being sweet made her feel ill with guilt, so she was trying to spend as little time with him as possible. Being alone with Terry felt like navigating a minefield. Hagrid was still so devastated from Aragog's loss that she didn't feel right bringing this to him.

For someone who prided herself on having a selection of choice relationships, she'd seemed to muck it all up in terms of asking for help.

A couple of weeks after Terry had insisted they start snogging, Hermione was nearly at her wits' end. She fobbed off Terry in the library by letting him know that she had to speak with Harry about something, and marched up to the Common Room hoping to find him in there. As the portrait hole swung open, she caught sight of his messy hair, leaning over a table near the window on one of the squishy armchairs. Unusually, he was alone. A couple of younger girls were shooting him furtive glances, but there was no sign of Ginny or Ron.

Harry barely looked up from his parchment as Hermione swung into the seat beside him.

'Hello,' she said, in what she hoped sounded like a normal voice.

Harry dropped his quill, startled by her. He pushed his glasses up as he fixed her with a look. She smiled back.

'What are you doing here?' he asked.

'What do you mean?'

'You're usually in the library,' he started, running his fingers through his messy fringe. 'It's still daylight out.'

Hermione blushed. Part of her had hoped that it wasn't that obvious.

'It was a bit crowded in there today.'

Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Hermione looked down at his parchment. It appeared as though he was nearly finished his Potions essay. She bit her lip. Though it was driving her mental that Professor Slughorn was now accepting that love made a person a worse potioneer-as if that could be correct, because she still managed to brew nearly as good a Draught of Living Death as Harry all the while smelling Ron's hair in the amorentia while he was sitting right next to her-today was not the time for another argument.

'Do you need help?' she asked instead.

Harry shot her a perplexed look.

'Are you alright?'

'What do you mean?'

'You aren't going to berate me for starting this so late because of Ginny, or talk about how it's about time I learned my place in po-'

'I'm offering as your friend,' Hermione cut in, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. 'I'm not always a nag.'

Perhaps in an effort to keep the peace, Harry didn't respond. Ron would have jumped to her defence. Or argued back.

Harry slid the parchment over to her, and she pulled a quill out of her bag, along with an inkpot. She began editing some of his phrases as Harry glanced out the window. He appeared lost in thought as she worked, although she could see that he had a small smile on his face.

It took her by surprise.

Somewhere in all the confusion of this new issue with Terry, she'd forgotten about this monumental thing in her best mate's life. Harry looked for the first time in ages like he was happy. Ginny had brought out this side to him that Hermione had never seen before. Something calm. Something that made him seem less…marked.

Because he was, wasn't he? Destined to go up against You-Know-Who whether he wanted to or not. Taking the courses to be an Auror because he thought it would help him in his mission. Most things in his life were pre-destined. Ginny was the one thing he'd chosen.

And Hermione had been berating him because of it. She really should get a better handle on things.

'Is it that bad?' Harry asked, looking horrified at her.

Hermione realized that a few tears had leaked out.

'No, no,' she muttered. Wiping furiously at her eyes, she willed the tears away. Harry hated them. She tried her best not to cry in front of him, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

'It's actually a fairly good essay,' she continued, as she sniffed. 'You did a decent job explaining the differences in knife metals.'

He continued to look at her as though she might explode at any moment.

'Are you sure you're alright?' he asked again.

'Yes,' she muttered, feeling her cheeks flush once more. 'It's been…a lot.'

Harry nodded, as though trying to pretend he understood when he clearly did not.

'Where are Ron and Ginny?' Hermione asked him, in an effort to change the subject.

'Owlery,' Harry replied, seeming grateful for the rope she'd thrown. 'Ginny wanted to send a letter to Charlie now that Pig's back.'

That made sense.

'Did you enjoy Ginny's retelling of the match?' she asked. Harry gave a sly grin.

'Yeah. Sounds like she played brilliantly.'

'She did,' Hermione confirmed. 'The team really looked up to her. Ron seemed quite proud.'

'Really?' Harry nodded his head before he frowned. 'She said Ron seemed pretty distracted during the match. Something about almost falling off his broom?'

Hermione's stomach swooped at the memory. The terror she'd felt as Ron began to slide down towards the grass. Heart pounding in her throat as she tried in vain to remember the spell to slow his fall.

'You know he has anxiety around Quidditch,' she said instead. 'It must have been nerves.'

'Right. Nerves.'

They sat silently for a moment. Hermione pricked the skin around her thumb. It felt a little strained between them at the moment. Given that Harry was spending most of his time with Ginny and Hermione didn't want any details, it made sense that he was quiet.

'I think he's worried about you,' Harry mentioned.

'Who?'

'Ron.'

'What? Why do you think that?' Hermione asked, voice nearly turning shrill.

Harry looked at her once more. 'You've seemed a little…short lately.'

'There's a war going on,' Hermione replied. Her heart began to drum in her chest.

'Right.' Harry said. 'That's what's bothering you?'

There was a flash of sunlight reflecting off his lenses as Harry looked at her. She realized her nerves must have been apparent if Harry had noticed it. She couldn't remember him ever asking her if something was wrong before.

Guilt washed over her. She'd promised to help Harry. Not make him worry about her.

She forced a smile, hoping it was bright enough to fake.

'Oh, and the usual exams.'

Harry's shoulders relaxed.

'Course, it's exam time. Like you aren't going to come out top in every class.'

This time the smile was real. Harry's blind faith in her academic prowess never failed to bring her joy.

'So could you and Ron if you just applied yourselves,' she replied, tartly.

Harry rolled his eyes. 'It's Sixth Year, Hermione. Time to give up that dream.'

He pulled his parchment closer to him and began to implement some of the corrections Hermione had made.

She watched him for a moment, pondering her own life. What were her problems, compared to his? How silly to be this upset about Terry.

The portrait hole swung open once more, revealing two familiar gingers.

'Snagged an Evening Prophet!' Ginny called out to them. Ron was behind her, hands in his pockets. Hermione felt her heart lurch at the sight of him. It was a windy day, and his hair was more tousled than usual.

Harry's face broke out into a grin at the sound of her words. The Weasleys made their way over to them, Ginny stopping to give Harry a quick kiss. Hermione looked away, and found herself staring at Ron who had slid into the seat beside her.

She felt a jolt as their eyes met. Ron quickly looked down at his shoes and coughed. Hermione frowned. For the past few days, Ron hadn't seemed to be able to look her in the eye. She wasn't entirely sure why. He'd been normal until that Transfiguration test a few days ago. McGonagall had kept him behind, and later when she'd asked him why, he mumbled something about prefect duties and never brought it up again. His neck had turned bright red though, so she wasn't convinced of his honesty.

'How's Pig?' she asked, in an effort to break the tension.

'Same excited little furball he always is,' Ron said, one side of his mouth cocked open in a grin. 'Mum and Dad say hello by the way.'

Hermione felt a rush of warmth. She liked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley immensely. Getting greetings from them in a letter to their children lit a glow inside of her. With Hogsmeade visits being banned and her mother refusing to get letters that weren't from the Muggle post office, ("No more post from these bloody nocturnal birds! Screech owls aren't even native to the UK!" her mother had bemoaned) Hermione hadn't exchanged any words with her family since Davos. Not that there would be much to discuss anyway.

'Tell them I send my love. They're still happy to have me come to the wedding, right?'

Ron looked somewhere near her ear.

'Course they are. What kind of question is that?'

'I just meant, with them planning a wedding, everything is going to be hectic and I don't want to be in the way-'

'You're never in the way.' His words were emphatic. 'You've got to come. Ginny needs some backup anyway.'

'What?' Ginny asked, overhearing her name.

'Hermione's worried Mum and Dad don't want her at the wedding.'

Ginny snorted. 'Don't be ridiculous. After you showed Dad how to put batteries in the torchlight correctly, he thinks you're the best thing since toast.'

'Does your dad have a toaster?' Harry asked, as Ginny slid down to sit against his legs. She snorted once more.

'Who knows what he's got shoved in that shed. Mum didn't even know about the car until it was finished.'

Hermione glanced to her side to see Ron frowning as well.

'Never did see that car again, did we?' He asked Harry.

'After it got us out of the spiders?' Harry clarified. Ron nodded. 'Nah. It's probably out there, living it up, dodging the rest of the acromantula.'

Hermione felt a shot of melancholy. Hopping on the train at the beginning of second year had definitely been a low point. She'd searched in vain for Ron and Harry before convincing herself that they hated her enough to hide, that they no longer wanted to be friends and were too afraid to admit it to her face. It had come as a bit of a relief to know they'd stolen Mr. Weasley's car…even if Ron's wand had to pay the price for their transgression.

Ginny flipped through the Prophet idly, as Ron and Harry got into increasingly more ludicrous ideas about where the car might be.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione felt content. She was surrounded by the people she loved. They were laughing, and telling jokes. And while Ron looked thoroughly put out by the idea of Ginny parading that he had a pygmy puff tattoo, the idea of hidden ink on his body made Hermione shiver involuntarily. As she rolled on the floor laughing, she happened to take a look at Ron's downturned face. From the angle, she could see right up into his eyes. Lifting herself up to her knees, she realized a moment too late that she was level with an area she tried her best not to think about. Ron seemed to notice and blushed. Hermione followed suit and sat back in her chair.

The afternoon with the three of them had done more to bolster her spirits than anything else the past couple of weeks. By the time she headed off to bed, only after allowing Ginny to practice a fishtail braid on her with spectacularly dismal results, she was nowhere near as worried about telling Terry off the next day as she'd been before she'd spoken to Harry. All she had to do was remain strong.

…

Black. A darkness more sinister and fuller than anything she had ever experienced. Her breath caught in her throat. It was suffocating her. Through the swallowing vastness, she could hear the sounds of fighting. Latin curses thrown indiscriminately into the air. Stonework collapsing in on itself. The shouts of her friends, of Order members. She tried to grope her way forward, one hand clutched on another's. Sticky with sweat, a rough bracelet on the wrist. It felt like a girl's, but she couldn't be sure. All that mattered was pressing forward. She had to, because he was there, somewhere in the impenetrable shadows. Beyond her reach. She needed to get to him. A compulsion.

Why, why had she let him go off? Why did she agree to the split?

Her heart hammered in her chest. Her right hand gripped her wand so tightly she feared it might splinter. Get to him. It was the mantra of her heart.

A thud echoed beside her. It sounded like a body hitting the floor. A moan escaped her mouth before she was able to stop it. Please, please don't let it be him.

The hand squeezed hers, urging her forward.

They continued to flounder in the pitch black. Voices grew louder, more insistent. Before she knew what was happening, they were bathed in candlelight once more. The corridor was lit with shimmering spells. It looked as though a staircase had collapsed. A body lay immobile underneath the rubble. She launched forward, hardly noticing a stunning spell aimed for her curls.

Oxfords. The body had oxfords. He didn't own any.

She breathed a sigh of relief before a flash of red caught her eye. Glancing to her right, she was overcome with the sight of boiling red blood pooling out of gashes in the skin. A flash of blue caught her eye before rolling back into the skull. Her stomach swooped.

Her fingers slid out of the others. She could feel warm air tearing at her throat.

'NO!' she heard from a great distance.

Why was nobody stopping to help? He made a gurgling sound that frightened her to her core.

'NO!' she heard again.

Nobody seemed to listen. Not one head turned to look at him. She sped towards the body, hearing more screams.

It wasn't until she pushed back the fringe that she realized the sounds were coming from her own throat.

'RON!'

….

The air felt stuck in her throat. Sitting up, she began to cough uncontrollably while Crookshanks yowled at her from his position further down the bed.

'Keep it down, would you? Nobody needs to hear about you failing another exam.'

Lavender's nasal whine came from the other side of the room. Hermione stuffed the covers into her mouth, determined not to scream again.

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she heard Lavender leave the room to go towards the loo. She was vaguely aware that her limbs were shaking, but didn't know how to stop it.

The dream had felt so real. This was unusual in and of itself. Hermione was not one for dreaming. She could count on her fingers the number of dreams she remembered. Even then, those had more to do with exam stress, or her teeth falling out, or that one time she dreamt that she'd been dancing at the Yule Ball with Ron rather than Viktor. Nothing like the nightmare she'd just had. The image of Ron's slashed face was a polaroid against her eyelids every time she shut them. She gave a shuddering sob into the fabric, willing herself to get it together.

It was just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you.

She had no time for Divination or other flights of fancy. Nothing of what she'd just experienced could be chalked up to anything prophetic. Given the amount of stress she was currently under, it was little wonder she didn't have worse dreams. Why she had to remember this particular one was beyond her.

It took a few more deep breaths before her hands ceased to shake. Crookshanks stopped his mewling and was looking at her. Wide, yellow eyes that showed concern. She was fine. This was fine. Nightmares happened to people all the time. There was a war. It was natural to picture your best friend….

The polaroid was fixed in her brain.

Her hands shook again.

She shot out of bed and grabbed the first clothes she could see. There wasn't much to be done sitting and moping about it in bed. Her time would be far better spent getting to the bottom of the Prince mystery, or trying to do some more work on Horcruxes.

Thanking Merlin it was early on a Saturday morning, Hermione grabbed her bag and wand and marched downstairs. She didn't relish seeing anybody right now. Not while her face was still tear stained, and her eyes still felt wild.

Pausing on the fifth floor to brush her teeth, (as the daughter of Dentists, one was in every bag she owned) she marched down to the Great Hall for a spot of breakfast, only to be confronted with the other problem in her life.

'Someone's dressed mighty casual today, Hermione!' Terry called out to her from the Ravenclaw table. Hermione glanced down at the jumper and jeans she was wearing. In her haste, she'd put on only a vest and neglected a central part of her wardrobe. If ever there was a time to swear, now would be it.

'Morning, Terry,' she replied, trying to make her voice sound as hearty as possible. He waved his arm, and she lifted her hand slightly in response. Suddenly she felt very self-concious of her lack of bra.

Breakfast would settle her stomach. If only she could stomach it. Between the nightmare and forgetting undergarments it was natural to feel discombobulated. Any real deviation from her usual routine, and her appetite would vanish. She picked at her slice of toast for a few moments before giving it up as a wash. Swallowing the last of her pumpkin juice (juice had enough calories to sustain you, right?) she swung her legs back around and prepared to head to the library.

Without having cleared the doors to the Great Hall, two hands circled her waist and yanked her into the shadows. Before she could protest, Terry's mouth was on hers. He must have had kippers that morning and she pushed against his chest, trying to dislodge his foul-tasting lips.

'What was that for?' he breathed at her.

'Not here,' she said, between gritted teeth. Eyes darting, she couldn't see anybody around, but paranoia seeped through her pores.

'Not fair,' he responded, pulling her hips closer towards his.

'What's that supposed to mean?' she retorted.

'Come on Hermione,' he whispered, his voice dropping down into a breathy sound she could practically feel in her chest. 'You come down here like that and expect me not to want to touch you? Are you trying to tease me?'

Hermione's arms shot up to cover herself.

'No, it has nothing to do with that…' she protested, before she came to the realization that she couldn't explain to Terry what had gotten her so distracted.

'So you are a tease, Granger,' he whined in her ear, breath hot and wet on her skin. 'No need to be ashamed about it.'

'But I'm not-' she tried to protest, but it was no use.

'Plenty of time for that later,' Terry continued, seemingly oblivious to her protests. 'We've got a project to finish.'

Without asking, he yanked one of her hands away from her chest, and began to lead them towards the library.

Thank merlin it was empty for this time on a Saturday. A few of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws taking OWLS this year were dotted at tables, looking ragged and peering blearily at their notes. Not one seemed to notice that Terry was still leading her by the wrist. She wished he wouldn't. In vain, she'd tried yanking her hand away from his. His grip was too strong. He led them to her favourite spot. She cursed having shown it to him.

Thankfully he let go of her hand as he reached down to grab his notes and things. Hermione, though miffed, followed suit. They did have to finish their project after all. No use in delaying the inevitable.

'You ended up talking with Harry for a long time,' Terry mused as he unscrewed the lid to his inkpot.

'It wasn't just Harry,' Hermione clarified. 'Ron and Ginny were there as well.'

Terry made a noise, some sort of dissatisfied hum that Hermione didn't appreciate.

'What?' she asked, still too on edge from her earlier nightmare to realise she was getting heated.

Terry looked up from the parchment he'd been unrolling. 'I've never understood why you hang out with them.'

'Excuse me?'

Terry leaned back in his chair, a small smirk playing on his lips at her response. 'I mean, come on Hermione, it's not like they're…you know.' He made a non-committal gesture with his hand.

'No, I don't know,' Hermione retorted. She made no move to pull out anything further from her bag. 'But I'm sure you're going to tell me.'

'Hermione, darling,' Terry began. The use of "darling" made her muscles clench in defiance. 'You're brilliant. Smart and charming and an excellent conversationalist. If you were in Ravenclaw, where you belong-'

'I've told you,' Hermione retorted, daring to raise her voice slightly above a whisper. 'The hat put me in Gryffindor. I belong there.'

'So you keep telling yourself. But let's face facts, if Harry didn't have this whole "chosen thing" going for him, well, there wouldn't be much to talk about, would there?'

Hermione stared at him.

'Sure, he's a good seeker and all, but doesn't seem to be the brightest, does he?'

Hermione felt a rage building inside of her. She tried to keep it under control. They were just words. They didn't matter. Terry didn't seem to notice as he continued to prattle on.

'Other than Slughorn, I've never seen Harry grab the attention of any professor for academic prowess.'

'He taught you,' Hermione snapped, unable to resist bringing up this fact. 'In the D.A. You learned from him.'

Terry pondered this for a moment. 'Yeah that's true,' he agreed. 'I'd forgotten about that. He can do pretty advanced defensive magic.'

'And he did brilliantly during the Triwizard tournament.'

'Yeah, but then he's always got to play the hero, doesn't he? Always dragging you into dangerous situations. Weren't you in the Hospital Wing for a week at the end of last year?'

Hermione's hand fluttered absentmindedly to her scar. Other than Madame Pomfrey and Ron, nobody knew how bad things had actually been. With Harry being so devastated by Sirius, she'd asked them not to broadcast it. It wasn't worth piling on more guilt for him.

'And don't even get me started on Weasley.'

Hermione snapped her head back up. Eyes narrowed, heart pumping wildly.

'What about Ron?' she hissed.

'What does he really contribute?' Terry asked, tilting his head at her. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though he were deliberately trying to provoke her. 'Can't imagine his grades are that good.'

'Enough to get him into most of the same classes as you,' Hermione pointed out. There was a tremble in her voice. She hoped Terry hadn't caught it.

'Sure, sure,' Terry said with a wave of his hand. 'But from the little I've spoken with him, it's all dumb jokes and Cannons scores.'

'How much have you actually spoken with him?'

'Not much,' Terry acquiesced. 'But surely you've been dying for some intellectual stimulation. You said it yourself, it's just endless Quidditch talk with them.'

'I was angry,' Hermione pointed out. 'It was an exaggeration. I've never lost a chess game to Ron. He beat McGonagall's pieces in first year.' The tremble had turned into a slight desperation. 'Anyway, grades aren't everything. I'm friends with them because they're kind to me.'

'Darling,' Terry laughed and she felt her muscles clench even further. 'You weren't even speaking to Ron for most of the year.'

'A misunderstanding.'

'I'm just saying, you could benefit with hanging around my friends a little more often.'

'To what? Judge people as harshly as you just did?'

'Excuse me?' Terry asked, any hint of joviality vanished in an instant. His eyes were narrowed in frustration.

Hermione's breath became shallow and labored. 'I shouldn't have to listen while you judge my friends. Who I choose to spend my time with is my decision.'

'Friends who get you into danger.'

'For good reasons!' Hermione snapped. 'The school would have shut down if they hadn't figured out where the Chamber of Secrets was hidden and killed the basilisk.'

'According to Potter, you figured out it was a basilisk.'

'That's not the point, Terry. We're a team. We're friends. I don't choose who I let into my life based on their value to me.'

He made a clucking sound in his cheek. There was a nerve pulsating near his temple. She wondered if she'd pushed him too far. Did it matter? When it came down to it, nobody was more important to her than Harry and Ron. She'd give her life for them.

'Yet I'm the one you're snogging.' He mused. 'Do they know?'

Hermione's face gave her away. Terry made a sly grin.

'Good enough friends you don't tell them everything. Interesting. Perhaps I should-'

'Don't,' Hermione interrupted. The anger inside her was rapidly turning to panic. 'Leave them out of this.'

They stared at each other for a long moment. Tension mounted, so taut that she found it difficult to breathe.

With a snapping of a string, Terry reached under the table to caress her knee.

'I won't say anything about us,' he promised. 'Let's get to work on the conclusion to this, okay?'

Hermione nodded, still hardly daring to breathe.

'Are you still arguing that because the runes began to take on characteristics of Bohemian typography in the 17th century, that the Brotherhood died out?' Terry asked, looking up at her through his long lashes.

Knowledge. That was something she could get behind. That was something she understood.

She launched into her argument, trying once more to get him to see what she meant. Mostly she was glad that he'd dropped the subject of Harry and Ron. The threat was there. She had to keep him happy. Having Ron back in her life meant too much to have it be ruined by him. She'd have to tread carefully.

They worked through the afternoon, and as Hermione made her way back to the tower to see if Harry had finished his detention, an awful realization hit her; Terry had somehow made her forget yet again to bring up that she didn't want to keep snogging him.

No matter. She'd simply have to double down the next time they met.