Disclaimer: All characters mentioned belong to Ms Rowling. I'm aware Hermione might be the teensiest bit out of character, but please just take it in stride. I mean she is having a nervous breakdown, right? ^_^ In Which Hermione Drives Herself Insane... ...and finds that it's not all that bad, provided you have the right company. Have you ever caught yourself doing something very odd that you find you have absolutely no idea why you're doing it in the first place? Like when you wake up at three o'clock in the morning with the sudden, overtaking urge to study for your Charms exam, even though it's not for another three months. Or when you're sitting in a boring History of Magic lecture and you look down to find your parchment all covered by the name Ron, over and over again. It's in your ink and your handwriting, so you suppose you must have written it, although you have absolutely no idea why your hand decided that doodling that particular name would make a good idea at all. There's nothing more to do than to crumble up the parchment, hoping that there were no important notes on it, hoping no one sees you blushing furiously... although why you should be turning so rosy a shade a red because of three little letters on a piece of paper is almost as much a mystery as why you wrote it in the first place. Up in the front row, Seamus Finnigan turns around and winks at you. You blush redder- just how the hell did he find out? Suppose he tells Harry? Or Ron? What if he talks in his sleep? Your heart starts racing as you consider for the briefest moment perhaps getting some first hand experience in one of those unforgivable curses. You could frame it on Lavender, the ditzy brunette who sits behind you, or even better, on Ron himself... Wait. Lavender. It was probably her Seamus was winking to in the first place... but you decide to keep your ears open and your wand ready. Just in case. Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, the bell finally rings, signalling the end of classes for the day. At last! If you play your cards right, you can get nearly three hours of studying time in the library before supper. The briefest break for supper, then maybe two good hours of reading up on next week's assignment while Harry is at Quidditch practice and Ron... You stop suddenly in the middle of the hall. A harried looking Ravenclaw ploughs into you, giving you a dirty look as she gathers her fallen papers and hurries on down the corridor. What the hell is happening to you? At the slightest mention of his name, you're actually considering giving up *studying* time to spend with him, probably getting beaten in chess. No, sir. You want to study. Need to study. If you don't study, then you'll fail your classes. Get send back to the Muggle world. Except that you've already missed five some years of Muggle schooling. There'll be nothing left for you! You'll be forced to get a job as a waitress in some sleazy dive! Your life will be ruined. And it will be all his fault. You wonder briefly what Hogwarts would be like without you. It's not that you're exceptionally vain, and you know things would function quite smoothly without you- but- but would he even miss you at all? Since when do you care? You shake your head firmly and head up to the Common Room to deposit some of your books and pick up your Transfiguration paper. Needs to be ten pages long. Will take nearly all night to properly finish. Good. Maybe you'll skip supper, too. It's not like you have anyone you particularly want to see there. Except maybe Harry. And Ron. No! Not Ron! Notronnotronnotron! You don't know how to make it any clearer to yourself to absolutely do not find him attractive in the slightest. Attractive! Ron! The two words in the same sentence are nearly enough to make you sick. You do *not* like Ron. Well, of course you like him, but you don't *like* him like him... oh, bother. Perhaps you can somehow convict your heart of mutiny. Doesn't it know by now that in Hermione Granger, the mind always rules? Always. And Forever. Always and Forever. That sounds like some kind of love song. You wonder if Ron likes love songs or not. Probably not, but still... No! Not Ron! You make a silent vow not to think about him for the rest of the evening. And you're doing good, too. You've made it from your Dorm Room back down to the Common Room without your mind drifting to him once. Your almost there. Almost there... "Hey, Hermione. Going to the library?" Oh, damn it. If you believed in Fate you'd most certainly consider the possibility that the Fates find it rather good fun to play with your mind like this. "Yeah," you find yourself answering coolly. Although you still can't bring yourself to look him straight in the eye- oh, you're a coward! A terrible coward! It's just *Ron*, after all... "Can I go with you?" he asks, turning a bit pink around the ears. What does he think he's doing? Asking you to the Ball? "I mean, Harry have to go see Sirius and I do need to work on my... erm... Potions paper." "But we don't have a Potions paper due." He flushes pinker. "Transfiguration essay, then. Do we have a transfiguration essay?" You're tempted to say no. If you say no, he'll have no excuse to come along. "Yeah, we do." After all, if you said no, he'd have no excuse to come along. Not that you particularly care or anything. It's just homework. And it's just Ron. It's not like he's asking you to Paris for a weekend or anything. You're just going down to the library, for Merlin's sake. Like you've done a million times before. You keep telling yourself that. Silently, you and he start down the hall. You walk close together, just close enough for him to accidentally brush his hand across yours several times on the trek down the corridor. You try to concentrate on a puzzling Arithmancy problem that's been on your mind since your last study session, but you find your mind more and more being drawn to the touch. A silly little touch. The type that means absolutely nothing. Still, you begin to wonder just what exactly he would do if you, say, all of a sudden slipped your hand into his. Would he blush? (You hope so, he's adorable when he does.) Or would he drop it like a red hot coal and avoid you for the rest of your life? Arithmancy, Hermione! You need to think about Arithmancy! Arithmancy... There's an 'r' in Arithmancy. Ron's name starts with an 'r'... Finally! The library! You've never felt more glad to see the familiar door, to feel the rush of anticipation that flows through your body at the prospect of the row upon row of blessed books, the comfortable tables and shiny wooden floors, the slightly mouldy but particularly wonderful smell of the library. Your home. For a split second, it even takes your mind off of Ron. "Well, we're here," he says unnecessarily, drawing your attention away from the raptures of homecoming back to him. "So we are," you mutter, letting him open the door for you as you make your way to your regular table. Such a gentleman. You wonder if he'll pull out your chair for you, too. You stand expectantly by it, waiting. He flops down on the seat across from you and looks up at you curiously. "Why aren't you sitting down? It's a long essay." "I just didn't want to sit down right away," you reply, suppressing a sigh as you sit. It is just Ron, after all. What you've been trying to tell yourself all afternoon. He's probably only messing with your mind. Probably thinks it's good fun. Unconsciously, you glower at him over the top of the thick Transfiguration book you have just buried your nose into. "What'd I do?" "Nothing. Do you have your books?" He looks blankly down at his hands, as if surprised to notice he didn't even bother to bring a quill. You sigh and pull a think piece of parchment and an extra quill out of your backpack. "Honestly, Ron," you begin. "Sometimes I think you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your neck." "Sorry, Mum," he grumbles, never-the-less taking the offered goods with a surprising lack of protest. "What's the essay on?" It's your turn to look at your assignment book blankly. You knew up to five seconds ago... it must be Ron wearing off on you. "Er- I think it was about- um- well, why don't you know? If you bothered to pay attention in class, you'd know." "Yeah, well," he grumbled. "No," you say, mustering your loftiest face. "If you didn't pay attention, then you'll have to live with the consequences." He sighs, exasperated. "It's just a bloody assignment!" "That attitude is exactly your problem." Ron glowers and you check a small smile. It's not that you particularly enjoy arguing with him, but there is something rather exhilarating in it, when it's not horribly earnest (like that horrible affair with Crookshanks in your third year!). It sounds rather twisted when you think about it, but you feel more alive when your battling with him than nearly any other time in your life. Besides, he's rather cute when he's trying to be mad at you. You did not just think that. You refuse to believe that you did. You notice him looking at you curiously. "Er- Hermione?" "Yes, what?" "Are you, uh, you know, okay?" "Of course I am!" you answer emphatically, pounding your Transfiguration book on the table for emphasis. It makes quite an impressive thump. "Why wouldn't I be?" "You were- were pounding your head against your textbook. Are you sure your okay?" "Am I sure?" she asked, feeling a bit crazed. "Do I look okay, Ron?" He slowly begins to push his chair back from the table, eyes roving for a quick exit. "Honestly? Not really." "Because I'm not! Nothing is okay! I'm going crazy! And it's all your freaking fault!" "Perhaps you ought to see the nurse about that- wha... my fault? How do you reckon that?" You take a deep breath and stand up, trying to clear your mind. It doesn't quite work. "Because you are absolutely not cute when you glower. Or when you blush. Or when you do any of the other stupid things you do. Okay? I in no way find you attractive at all. So stop trying to convince me that I do. Do you understand me? If I find myself thinking about you one more time I swear I'll find a way to get you expelled. So stop making me think about you! I do not like you in the slightest bit!" You pause for a moment. "Well, maybe the slightest bit. But no more, do you understand me? No more! Arg! I'm going crazy! Pass me my Charms book!" You sit down with a huff and pull out a fresh sheet of parchment. Somehow the other one ripped. Silently, he passes over the book, looking a bit stunned. The next few moments pass wordlessly as you try to absorb yourself in your homework and he stares, wide-eyed at his hands. His hands must be a great deal more interesting than your book, because you're having a considerably harder time concentrating- how can you when your eyes keep flitting up to his face? You kind of wish he'd say something. Anything. "So- er- you find me attractive?" he asks finally, eyes carefully trained on his hands, face turning quite red. Anything but that. "No. Weren't you listening to a word that I said?" "Yeah," he looks up, and your eyes meet. It's only for a second, but in that briefest of moments, no part of you is hidden from him, no part of him from you. You come to a complete understanding, an understanding that needs no words and will remain unbroken long after you finally look away. It leaves you nearly breathless in it's power. "Well, if it's any consolation," he grins presently, "I don't find you very attractive, either." You grin and turn back to your book. He's adorable when he lies.