A/N: I'm totally feeling my Tic right now, having just read something about unorganized bookshelves. It gets like that and sometimes I wonder if I have OCD. Let's put Hermione in a totally OCD-prone environment and see what happens, shall we? Yes, I think so.
Disclaimer: I own nothing… especially not Harry Potter
Obsessive Compulsive Granger Disorder
Hermione was sitting in the room shared with Ginny Weasley, reading a book.
The components necessary to properly compose the Draught of the Living Dead are –
She stopped reading when something caught her eye. The corner of the page had been doggy-eared, undoubtedly by Harry, who had been forced to borrow her Potions book for an essay when he lost his own. Scowling, Hermione smoothed out the page with her fingers and continued reading. At least, she tried. The crease that remained in the page from the fold was bothering her horribly. Hermione tried to ignore it, but a fuzzy kind of feeling came over her and she couldn't keep her mind on the book. Not while there was something wrong, something unbalanced. She tried desperately to get the crease to fade, reminding herself to hurt Harry later, but nothing could be done.
A sound from behind caused her to jump and tear the page she was frantically trying to set straight. She winced and reached for her wand to repair the page when something else caught her eye. Amidst the other neatly closed dresser drawers behind her was one that was opened ever so slightly. Hermione rolled her eyes and snatched up her wand, and prepared to perform the spell to repair the page. She seemed to have forgotten how, however, due to the fuzzy fog that had once again engulfed her mind. She turned around in her chair and tilted it back, hand outstretched. If only she could push the drawer in, the sooner she could fix the page and the sooner she could fix the crease, enabling her to get back to her reading.
When Hermione was an inch away from the drawer she heard a crack and the leg of the chair snapped. She plummeted to the ground in a heap, her book flying in the opposite direction and her wand rolling over on the desk so it was balancing on the precipice. Meanwhile, Hermione felt as if she was balancing on the precipice of a conniption. Either the whole thing had to be on the desk or none of it. She picked herself up to grab the wand when she saw Ginny's collection of Butterbeer corks. They were stacked on top of one another, but not evenly so. Hermione abandoned the dresser, the book, and her wand and set off for the cork collection. On her way, she discovered one too many things that weren't just right.
Hermione opened her mouth to yell out in frustration when the door opened and Ron appeared. His shirt was on backwards. She snapped. Ron watched in slight horror as she gave a piercing yell and tugged at her hair.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" Ron asked in concern.
"Everything is wrong!" Hermione yelled in anguish. "My life is naught but a twisted, unbalanced world full of creases and bad organization! I can't live like this. I'm going to die!"
Ron raised his eyebrows at her and placed his hand on the door handle.
"Should I come back in five minutes, then?"
A/N: Heh, so I started this yesterday (and wrote the beginning A/N as well). Only people with Turrets Syndrome (which I think I spelled wrong) and those with a Tic Disorder, like myself, know the foggy feeling in the brain quite like that. Anyway, I just finished this and I also just watched Moulin Rouge, so I might just have to go and cry now. Or maybe write something depressing. Or something very very happy. Nobody knows, least of all me. I hope you liked this little ficlet, for it was quite fun to write.