His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard,

I wish he was mine, he's really divine,

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.

"What a load of rubbish," thought Hermione, "This sounds like it was written by a seven year old." She was sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room trying to do homework. She would work on something for a few minuets before being distracted by that poem. "I mean, how hard can be to write a good sounding poem about Harry? He has so many good qualities, and who would think that a pickled toad is attractive." As she was thinking these things, she looked down and found she had been trying to write a poem herself. "Wow I'm one to talk," she thought as she read the horrible poem she had written. "There change this, and add that there. There we go, now that's better."

Eyes as green as the forest after the rain,

The way his hair falls makes the blood rush through my veins,

His smile makes me want to dance at the sight,

The way he looks at me sets my heart alight.

Hermione laughed at herself, writing a love poem to Harry. Even if it was a pretty good poem. She crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it toward the fireplace. Unfortunately, one of those infernal dwarfs walked between her and fire and got hit in the head with the paper.

"Oi, what's this there?"

He grabbed the paper and uncrumpled it.

"Another one for him, eh? Okay, I'll make sure he'll get sometime today."

And he walked away.

Hermione sat in shock.

"This is bad, this is bad, this is very very bad."

She hadn't meant anything when she wrote the poem, she wasn't even sure why she wrote it. Now that dwarf would read it to Harry and would embarrass him even more. By the time she realized that she should stop the dwarf had left the common room. Hermione walked up to her room, worrying. Would the dwarf tell Harry who the poem was from? No, probably not, he didn't say who sent the last one to Harry. She felt so bad for him, that last poem had embarrassed him so much. Hopefully this one would be delivered somewhere more private than last time.

"Ugg, I suppose there is nothing I can do now. Just hope that Harry never finds out it came from me. Though, would that be such a bad thing? What! Of course it would be bad. It would ruin our relationship. No, best to keep these feelings to myself."

Hermione felt sure in her resolution, she would keep those feelings secret until Harry was ready for more.

Later that night Hermione was lying in bed reading a cheap romance novel, a guilty pleasure on St. Valentine's Day. "Someday, someday I will have this with someone. Someday." She looked up as she heard a scratch as her window. Outside was an owl, with a single rose in it's beak. She opened the window quietly, so as not to wake anyone. She took the rose from and owl and looked at it, who would be sending her flowers? She looked back at the owl and saw it also was carrying a card for her. She took this as well and went back to her bed to read it.

You are the sun on a day after rain,

Your hair makes the most beautiful of manes,

When you smile at me I would dance with you for hours,

When I think of you I hope for a future that will be ours.

Hermione was in shock, the only signature on the card was a lightning bolt.