A/N: Just a random thought I had.


Her hand swings loosely by her side as they make their way through the crowded corridor. Harry's in the lead, guiding them through the slightly chaotic mass of people as they catch a bit more gossip and finish their last bites of breakfast from the Great Hall before the bell rings for class. Harry's in one of his brooding moods, and he's not taking anything from anyone today. He's pushing past everyone rather roughly, seemingly not noticing the gaping mouths and hurried whispers as he passes. Hermione knows better, though.

Her main focus, however, is not on Harry, or the crowds, but her hand. It has felt like this before. A tingly, not quite achy feeling is concentrated in her palm and is radiating through her fingers. A longing feeling, almost. A need to be completed. Held. Normally, she would write a thought like that off immediately – as though a hand could long for something. It simply isn't possible, if you think about it logically.

But there is nothing logical about the way the tall, redheaded boy walking beside her makes her feel. So for now she'll just grasp her book bag tightly (as if that could be a replacement for what could be) and quicken her pace to keep up with Ron and Harry.