Friday, year six, Gryffindor Common Room, twenty feet from the enemy.

Hermione glares across the room, staring directly past Harry to do so, and sighs loudly into the air around her. The fire nearby crackles loudly and the few people that are left in the common room—and awake enough to hear it—jump and look at the fireplace nervously. Her companion, noticing her glare for the first time in the past five minutes it has been set on her face, frowns at her expression and attempts to snap his fingers in her face.

Which, of course, doesn't help.

In fact, she doesn't even look up at him until he says, "Hermione?" loudly and very near to her ear.

"What?" she asks, looking up at him in confusion.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing."

He turns then and looks in the same direction she's just turned from, shaking his head when he spots Ron and Lavender snogging on an armchair in the corner of the room. "Oh, really? 'Cause that doesn't seem like nothing."

"It doesn't, does it?" She looks at him in exasperation and slams her Potions book closed. "Why do they insist on making such a public display about it, though? It's not as though we've all asked for tickets."

He nods. "I get it, Hermione, I do. Why are you so upset, though? Is it because Ron's kissing someone or is it because Ron's kissing someone that isn't you?"

She tilts her head up in an attempt to look indifferent and looks away from him. "It's neither, of course," she lies and he shakes his head at her and rolls his eyes.

"Sure."

"Don't say it like that," she orders, giving him an admonishing look.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't believe me."

"I didn't say it any particular way."

"Please, Harry. I've known you for six years."

"And?"

"I do believe I'd know if you said something in a certain way."

"Would you though?"

"Yes."

"Sure."

"There you go again!"

He shrugs and sends another glance at Ron before settling his eyes on the base of the stairs to the girls' dormitories for a moment.

"What are you staring at?" Hermione asks for a moment, but Harry doesn't answer. She follows his eyes in time to see Ginny giving Dean a kiss goodnight before trotting up the stairs happily. She doesn't say anything else, but, when Harry turns his gaze back to her, she quirks an eyebrow at him and silently questions him with a stare.

"What?"

"You know what."

"You sure about that?"

She shakes her head before beginning to gather her books into her bag. As she does, a thought strikes her—making her head spin and her heart pound at the shear ridiculousness of the whole things (whatever put thoughts like that into her head, anyway?)—and she pauses for a moment. "You know," she starts, but cuts herself short.

Why would he need to know such a silly thought anyway?

"What?" he asks when she doesn't continue.

She shrugs simply and fastens her bag. "Nothing."

Harry shakes his head at her and moves a little closer. "When did starting a sentence and not finishing it become nothing? Come on, 'Mione. Tell me."

She looks at him—up and down with her eyes in a sweeping motion—before looking away and trying to contain her blush. "It is nothing. Just the most ridiculous thought I believe I've had," she admits.

"And what was it?" he questions, a smirk appearing on his face at the mere thought of what might be running through her head.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Please say no, she silently begs, hoping that, if not he, then at least some sort of God hears her.

"Yes," he says, and her stomach sinks with his answer.

Sighing, she leans forward on her elbows and prepares herself for this. After another moment of silence, Hermione opens her mouth to speak.

There's the first chapter—finally, right? Sorry, been a bit busy. FYI: the reason why it ends there is because I'm posting the second chapter tomorrow.

Feel free to tell me if you're interested yet.