The Love Hexagon

“Oh… really?” Harry managed to say, not managing to hide his surprise. He shuddered at the mental image of Krum as Hermione's boyfriend, and at the same time, he felt an enormous, nearly painful discomfort take hold of his chest. He wished he could talk to Sirius at that moment, but immediately pushed the thought away. Thinking of Sirius hadn't stop hurting.

“Yes… I wanted your opinion about it. I think it's really quite sad, however,” she said, turning to her plate. “I think I won't accept.”

“Why?” Harry asked, regretting his words as soon as they came out. Unless he was mistaken, they sounded strangely encouraging. Hermione's eyes snapped back to him and she looked confused. Yes, he thought miserably. He had sounded encouraging.

“You think I should accept?” She asked incredulously, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion and something else he couldn't identify.

“Well…” he struggled to answer her. He searched desperately in his mind for the right words, but before he could think twice, he blurted out exactly what he thought. “I don't know.”

She was very still for a moment before saying, without emotion, “I wasn't going to, although he is very nice and polite, and very caring.”

“It's all right, then,” Harry said, relieved. Then, while he pondered on what she had said, a question appeared in his mind. He debated on whether or not to tell her, and decided that if he couldn't ask Hermione these questions there was really no one else he could ask them to. “Why did you ask me for an opinion?”

“Harry… you're my very best friend. You're the person I trust the most in the world,” she told him, letting a little emotion seep into her words. Her eyes were large and captivating in a very friendly and open way, which made Harry smile, pleased. “Of course I would ask you for your thoughts on these matters.”

Harry felt more than flattered. He felt elated, giddy almost. “I'm happy to hear that. “

“Happy enough to let me know what it is that's been bothering you so much?” Hermione inquired, her eyes seemingly burrowing into his soul. Her question was like a slap, and her look like a handcuff. He couldn't escape.

“I don't know what you mean, Hermione,” Harry said, tearing his eyes from hers and focusing his attention on his meal.

“This year you're so different, Harry… like a different person almost,” she described with heart-wrenching melancholy. “You don't speak very often. I know it's hard, since Sirius died, but you need to tell your friends what is going on, so we can help,” she said tenderly. She touched his face softly and he felt as though his air being sucked out, and couldn't breathe. Suddenly, images started to rampage in his mind like an avalanche, each more painful than the other, and Harry fell from his chair onto the floor, clutching his head in pain. It was as though something was eating him from the inside, as though a sharp, white-hot deadly blade was caressing his insides and perforating his skull. There were too many images, and each of them felt like a knife in his gut… Snape teaching him the dreadful Occlumency, Hermione warning him about Voldemort's trap, the prophecy, Hermione almost dying because he was too stubborn, the veil, Sirius falling and dying. The only person who really loved him was gone. He had been avoiding these memories since the event that had taken his godfather away from him, pushing them to the farthest corners of his mind, in order to stand a chance of escaping his enormous anger, overwhelming frustration and consuming loneliness. The whole summer had been devoid of any pleasure. He was all alone in the world now. He had failed everyone, and almost killed his friends. And then he came to a realization that made his heart plummet and feel as though it was being shredded to thin, bloody strips: no one loved him anymore.

+++++++++++++++==============================++++++++++++++++++

“Do you think he'll be awake soon? Because the sorting ceremony for the new blokes is happening soon, you know,” Harry heard Ron say. Harry felt incredibly heavy, all his limbs weighing impossibly too much. He couldn't move his head, his mouth, make any sound at all, or even move his eyelids. He wished he could open them to look at his friends, but it was like trying to lift a truck with bare hands.

“Ron! Here he is, lying in a bed unconscious, and you're thinking about a sorting ceremony?” Hermione's stressed voice came to him clearly.

“What happened anyway? He just dropped to the floor like that?”

“No… we were talking. I was trying to get him to open up about Sirius. Talking about it with a friend might help him heal.”

“He has nightmares at night, Hermione. I hear them.”

“Every night?!”

Harry wished he could hear the rest, but unconsciousness took hold of him again. He didn't know how much time had elapsed, but when he finally could hear again he heard not Ron's voice, but Ginny's, talking to Hermione. Once again he felt the urge to open his eyes or say a few words, but was incapacitated.

“Madam Pomfrey has diagnosed it after I told her everything. It's called complete emotional breakdown, Ginny.”

“Nice going, Hermione. Pushing him to talk about Sirius at this stage of the game.”

“He's too hurt inside. I thought I could help.”

“Well, he didn't miss anything today, did he?”

“Actually, he did. He's going to be really disappointed that he missed Lupin's first lesson.”

“Well, anyway, Ron is calling you. Says he's got news.”

“Good news?”

“For you they should be, although I doubt you will find them very good. That cute David Gardner was sorted into Gryffindor.”

“What?! This is unbelievable!”

“That I think he's cute?”

“No. He is kind of attractive. But my level of misfortune this week has been unbearable. First, Krum telling me he's decided to come here, then, the gossip column, then, my fights with Ron, now David's in Gryffindor? There's something wrong with me. There has to be.”

“I knew you wouldn't like it that he's in our House now. Ron wasn't surprised at all that he was sorted in Gryffindor. He said that David is very brave to be an idiot like that to everyone.”

“He's not an idiot to everyone, Ginny. I didn't see him being an idiot to anyone but me. And he tried to apologize.”

“Oh, you mean the plant thing with your robes? Heard of it. And I don't mean that. David and Ron had a minor quarrel a little before dinner, Hermione.”

“Really? What was it about?”

“You.”

“Oh, great. Competing to see who can be more childish?”

“I'm not sure how it started, but it ended on how David's got dung for brains and Ron is jealous little maggot.”

“They are so juvenile, so immature. I wouldn't have a side in that row, even though Ron's my friend. They shouldn't argue like that.”

“You know… I can't help but think that you should beat least a little affected emotionally by this.”

“By what?”

“Two boys, none ugly, fighting over you.”

I don't like either of them as anymore than friends.”

“Who do you like?”

Harry heard a muffled answer he couldn't understand, and once again the weight of fatigue brought him to the darkness.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++==================+++++++++++++++++++

Meanwhile,

“So… who are the popular folks around here?” David casually asked two Gryffindor boys he had seen with Hermione earlier. He approached them with care and caution, knowing they were probably on Ron's side during his row with him.

“Popular? What do you mean popular?” Asked a red-haired boy. David chuckled in remembrance of Hermione's remark about Irish accents, but he couldn't help thinking about a girl who would be jelly-legged in front of this redhead.

“I'm David Gardner. You two have names?” He asked amiably.

“Seamus Finnigan,” the red-haired boy introduced.

“And mine's Neville Longbottom,” said a slightly overweight boy.

“I need some information here, you see. My introductor told me nothing about Hogwarts,” David started to explain, casually sitting down on one of the chairs. Almost everyone had finished their meals and left for the Common Rooms, which was what the two boys were bent on doing before David came to their side.

“Who was he? Who was your introductor?” Seamus wanted to know.

“Not a he. A she. Hermione Granger,” he stated. He started to say something when he noticed Neville's cheeks becoming very pink.

“Oh, don't mind him. He used to have a thing for Hermione. He says it's gone, though,” explained Seamus.

“It is gone,” Neville said unconvincingly. David made a mental note of his reaction and drew out a notebook.

“I want to know who, around here, is good-looking, admired, respected, liked by everyone, and seemingly perfect. That person can be considered popular, you see,” David told them. Looking at each other, the two boys sat down and seemed to consider for a moment.

“There's Hermione, and she's very smart, too.” Neville said after a while. “And the girls like Harry, too.”

“Hermione's not liked by everyone, but is respected. Blimey, she's very dangerous sometimes,” Seamus complemented with a mischievous smile.

“Why?” David asked, confused. She had seemed to him like a perfectly normal girl, only a bit prettier and wittier than the average.

“Friends don't let friends mess with Hermione. That's all I'm telling you,” Seamus whispered cryptically. David raised an eyebrow in confusion but decided not to say anything.

“There's Harry, too. The girls like him,” said Neville.

“Great. Who else?” David inquired, writing down the names of the two mentioned ones.

“Parvati Patil. But she's not very liked or respected, but she's very pretty. She's in the same dormitory as Hermione, by the way,” Neville added, looking around the room. “Draco Malfoy is another one, that girls like. But everyone who's not a Slytherin hates him, because he's a show-off.”

“Hm… very jocky of him,” David muttered, scribbling down the other names.

“Very what?” Neville inquired, confused.

“Oh, nothing.” He paused for a second and then asked them, “what about Ronald Weasley? Who is he?” Instantly, suspicion took hold of the boys.

“He's Harry's best friend. They've been friends since our first year,” Seamus explained slowly, as though carefully picking his words.

“What else? What has he got to do with Hermione Granger?”

“Aside from the fact he's got a massive crush on her, they're best friends,” Seamus said with a snicker, but his smile quickly disappeared, as though he regretted what he had told. David stopped writing and pocketed his small notebook again.

“Thank you,” he said with a large grin. “This was exactly what I was looking for.”

+++++++++++++++++=========================+++++++++++++++++++++

“Ron, he's opening his eyes!” Harry heard Hermione exclaim, calling Ron. Harry's head was paining him almost unbearably, bringing tears to his eyes. He groaned in pain and clutched his chest. Everything was hurting. “Harry?” He opened his eyes and the first thing his eyes captured was Hermione's face. It was worried and anxious, with her chestnut eyes wide, her eyebrows very, very close together, and her lips slightly open. “Are you all right?” Then Ron seemed to push her a bit to the side and he saw a blurry Ron. Not Ron, exactly. His nose. “Ron, he's not blind. You don't have to stand that close to him, you know,” Hermione stated.

“Sure, sure…” he said, drawing his head farther from Harry. “Are you there, Harry? Can you hear us? Because your eyes are open but you're not saying anything.”

“I'm… I'm fine,” he uttered weakly. The pain seemed to be regressing, but it was still very great.

“You're not fine at all, Harry. You will be, though. Don't worry,” Hermione reassured him, and Harry felt her hands embrace his right hand.

“Madam Pomfrey said you can get out of this hole tomorrow,” Ron told him while helping Harry sit up.

“This is not a hole, Ron. It's an infirmary, and very decent one, too,” Hermione protested.

“It's got whoever's-here-is-off-his-rocker written all over it,” Ron affirmed solemnly.

“What time is it?” Harry asked faintly. He still couldn't get more than a whisper out of his mouth.

“It's a little after 9, Harry. We just had dinner and the sorting ceremony,” Hermione said, then she was quick to change the subject, which came as no surprise to Harry, knowing what he knew about the row that had occurred. “Are you hungry? Madam Pomfrey let us stay here for a while before we have to go to bed, and she's gone to get food for you.”

“I'm not hungry,” he stated, feeling the warmth that came from Hermione's hands. He looked directly into her eyes and added, “thanks for staying here all this time.”

“How did you know?” Hermione asked with a smile. Harry realized he might have made a mistake—he couldn't let her know he had listened to her conversations.

“I… felt it,” he muttered after a few moments.

“That's good, I think. Anyway, here comes Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione told him, looking at the entrance. Harry turned his head and saw that indeed there came the plump nurse towards him.

“Mr. Potter, you have suffered a very grave emotional ordeal. You need rest, calm, and nutrition. Eat this right now,” she ordered, handing him a tray of chicken and various kinds of candy. “The sweets were sent by the headmaster.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely, feeling slightly more cheerful as his eyes took in two bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and a Sugar Quill.

“Well, children. You must now go. Mr. Potter needs rest. Tomorrow he'll be fine enough to go out, and then you'll be able to see him as much as you want,” Madam Pomfrey reassured them. They both got up to go and Ron started to walk to the exit, but Hermione hesitated, staring at their joined hands.

“Hermione? You coming?” Ron said, a few feet away from them.

“Hold on a little bit. I mean, you can get going. I just have to say something to Harry. It's fine, really. Nothing important.” She said, not taking her eyes off Harry's hand.

“Sure. See you in the Common Room. Bye Harry. Get well, though. We need you for Quidditch,” Ron added.

“Don't listen to him. He doesn't need you just for Quidditch. That's his way of saying he cares,” she said curtly, finally looking at his face. He opened his mouth to ask for the reason of her prolonged stay, but she spoke before he could. “Harry, I just want to apologize for having asked you to talk about something so… obviously painful for you,” she said, her eyes becoming very glossy. Harry felt an enormous need to comfort her somehow, and he felt the pain recede completely. Or maybe, he thought to himself, he was so consumed by the need to console Hermione that he was forgetting his pain.

“It's okay, Hermione. Don't worry,” he assured, summoning enough strength to raise his hand and take her other hand. She stared at their hand for a while, and Harry was happy that she didn't protest to his touch.

“Harry?” she called faintly, her eyes searching his. “Can I ask you something? And I need you to be absolutely truthful.”

“Of course. You can ask me anything,” he reassured her, a smile coming naturally to his face.

“Did… did you care? Did you care at all that Viktor asked me to be his girlfriend?” She asked hesitantly, avoiding his eyes suddenly and staring at the wall behind his bed. Harry was silent for a while, absolutely still. His mind was racing with ideas for answers. He wished at once Sirius was still with him to counsel him, but pushed the thought away. Don't think about him, he told himself to avoid any further pain.

Harry cared. That was the truth, uncorrupted and intact. But that was not the answer he was going to give, for the realization that he indeed cared brought forth a storm of doubts inside him. What was happening to him? When had he started to care about who Hermione dated? Why did it worry him so much? What did it mean? And most of all, he questioned himself with growing dread, why was he wishing that Hermione would like him instead of liking Krum?

“No.” He answered very simply, and the answer came from him by instinct rather than by a logical part of his brain. Still—he wondered if, after some thought, he would have said something different.

“Oh.” Was all she said. “Well, Harry. You need rest, don't you,” she said without emotion. She gently let go of his hand and he did the same with hers. “I hope you get well very soon. Tomorrow you'll have the tryouts and probably some Quidditch practice after that, and I really missed cheering for you in Quidditch, you know… you didn't play at all in our 4th year and only had a game or two last year. I really missed it,” she said, standing up from her chair beside his bed.

“Well, I'll play this year. Don't worry,” he promised, shaking off the impression that he had said exactly the opposite of what he should have said as an answer to her first question.

“Bye, Harry. Good night,” she said, offering him a smile, which he promptly returned. Harry watched her exit the infirmary before drifting off to sleep once again.

++++++++++++++++++++======================+++++++++++++++++++++

The next morning, Harry was dispensed from the infirmary in time to have breakfast with Hermione and Ron, who were bickering as usual.

“Of course he plays well. He's a Seeker for the Bulgarian national Quidditch team, for heaven's sake. He beat out loads of people to be playing there,” Hermione affirmed hotly.

“Of course not. You don't know how tiny that country is. Hogsmead has more magical folk than Bulgaria,” Ron retorted. “He's not a good Seeker at all, they only put him there because he's rich and pureblooded and because they didn't have anyone else.”

“Ron, would you think logically for a minute? Everybody thinks he's a good Seeker, and do you ever wonder why? Because he is.”

“Everybody only thinks he's good. He fakes the whole game. And he likes to show off, too, just because every time he catches the Snitch he gets a standing evacuation,” Ron muttered.

“Do you mean ovation, Ron?” Hermione corrected with disbelief.

“Harry! You got well!” Ron exclaimed, catching sight of the approaching Harry, while being obviously glad to change the subject. A Gryffindor nearby, which Harry couldn't recognize, had been watching the argument—or, as Harry suspected, had been watching Hermione—and immediately turned back to his food when Harry threw him a frown.

“Did you just get off?” Hermione inquired, and when Harry was about to answer her, Krum came up behind her and covered her eyes. “No use, Viktor. I know exactly who you are,” she affirmed casually, removing his hands. She looked at Krum for only a second before turning to Harry once again. “So, did you?”

“Uh… yes. Madam Pomfrey just released me,” he confirmed, not knowing what to make of Krum's act. Then, Harry's eyes caught a very good-looking Slytherin girl nearing them, who looked an awful lot like Krum, except that she didn't look as moody and dark. The same black hair and paleness, but her nose was not crooked like Krum's, and her eyes were very bright and cheerful.

“You must be Harry Potter,” she spoke, with very fluent English. “I'm Natasha Krum. Viktor's sister,” she introduced herself grinning.

“It's nice to meet you. Your English…” Harry started to compliment her, trailing off when he realized it would not be very tactful to hint that her brother's accent was terrible.

“I studied in America before. I transferred from there,” she explained sympathetically, blushing when her eyes took in a moody-looking Ron.

“Can't you tell your brother how to speak properly, then?” Ron said bitterly. Harry turned to look at what Ron was staring at and watched Krum, who had sat beside Hermione, push a few strands of her curly hair away and whisper in her ear. Hermione's face was one of utter concentration as she stared at their table, and he couldn't tell if she was trying to figure out what he was saying because of his accent or whether his words were puzzling to her. Either way, the scene made Harry feel very strange inside. It was as though he was being immersed in his irrational side, which was telling him very clearly to get Krum away from Hermione by punching him. He slowly sat down, his arm muscles tense.

Hermione turned to Krum and said, “I'll tell them. Thanks anyway. And have a good practice.” Krum gave her a happy grin and left them, along with Natasha. “Guess what?” She said to them.

“Is it good news?” Harry managed to say, even though he felt as though he'd been socked very, very hard in the stomach. He hesitated in picking up a piece of toast from the table, thinking it'd be best if he recovered before he risked eating.

“Very good news,” she said, starting to eat and unfolding her Daily Prophet.

“Vicki has decided to kill himself?” Ron guessed gloomily. He took an angry bite off his roll and without even chewing, downed it with a huge gulp of orange juice.

“No…” she denied vaguely, very concentrated and not looking away from what she was reading. “He's got us seats in this Quidditch stadium, I think it's called Ilkley Moor, where his team is going to play,” she explained distractedly. “He got us five seats, so that's three for us, one for Natasha, and one for Ginny,” she added, turning a page.

“Who says I want to go?” Ron asked defiantly. Hermione looked up from her newspaper, slightly surprised.

“Well… it's a Quidditch game.”

“So? I don't like Ireland and I hate Bulgaria. Who am I going to root for? I'm not going to watch it,” Ron stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. Hermione wasn't impressed, and his attitude did not affect her in any way whatsoever, it seemed.

“Fine.” She turned and Harry noticed who was sitting beside her. “David, do you like Quidditch?”

“That's rhetorical. Of course I do,” he answered, obviously very surprised and pleased that Hermione was speaking to him.

“Well, you see… Viktor Krum gave us some tickets for the first game of the Quidditch European Cup, which is—“

“Bulgaria vs. Ireland,” he complemented, his smile growing. Harry glanced at Ron and saw that he was definitely not pleased with whom his ticket was going to be given to.

“Yes. Exactly. And the tickets are for Top Box seats—“ Hermione started to specify when Ron rapidly uncrossed his arms and, very abruptly, leaned over the table with his forearms supporting him, so that his face was very close to hers.

“Did you say Top Box?” He demanded, and Hermione nodded calmly, containing a grin. “Well, Davie boy. No need for your services anymore,” Ron said triumphantly, leaving David very puzzled. “I'll go. But don't expect me to thank Vicki,” he said, his voice regaining its roughness.

“And you, Harry? Do you want to go?” She questioned, smilingly pushing Ron off the table with a finger.

“Yes, of course. When is it?” Harry asked, a surge of excitement flooding him.

“Well… let us see… we started school in September the 1st, that was a Sunday… and today is the 18th, a Wednesday, and the game is on the weekend after the upcoming one—“

“It's on the 29th, Harry.” Ron interrupted, bored.

“Okay, I'll go,” Harry confirmed. His eyes wandered to one of the windows, to the sky, and he was reminded immediately of Quidditch. “How will the Quidditch tryouts be held today?”

“It's this afternoon. Angelina's isn't here anymore, neither is Alicia Spinnet, and Fred and George are gone, too, so we need two chasers and two beaters, since you're back to seeking,” Ron answered.

“Ginny told me she'll be trying out for Chaser,” Hermione told them.

“She'll probably make it. Her and me played Quidditch in the summer, and blimey! She was good,” Ron complimented. “And a little while ago the kitchen sink in the Burrow played Quidditch better than her.”

“Class is going to start,” Hermione reminded them, carefully folding her newspaper and placing it in her bag with her books. “And today is also my first day as a writer for that horrible gossip column with Parvati.”

“Trade with Lavender, then. Ginny told me she's writing in the world news section,” Ron suggested while they all picked up their books to head to their first class, double Charms.

“She is, and I've talked to her, but she actually wants me to suffer, it seems,” Hermione answered angrily as they started to walk towards the class. "She insists it will help me be more girly."

“Only if girly means annoying,” Ron said, and the three entered their class.

+++++++++++++++++++++======================++++++++++++++++++++

After the two lessons of Charms, they headed for lunch, only to find the Great Hall almost deserted.

“I have a hunch this has got to do with Vicki,” Ron accused acidly, his eyes scanning the few seats that weren't empty.

“You're right, it does,” Hermione confirmed, sitting down and ordering roast beef. “The Bulgarian team is practicing right now. Everyone must be watching.”

“Aren't you going to go watch and cheer for Vicki?” Ron asked resentfully.

“No… I'm hungry. I prefer having lunch, of course,” she said nonchalantly, and her eyes settled on Harry. She looked at him oddly for a moment, and Harry could swear that for a split second he saw something flash across those eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, but it made him immensely sad to see it.

After that they had Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs, a class Harry had been looking forward to very much now that Lupin was back.

“Good afternoon, my students. And hello to you, Harry,” Lupin greeted sympathetically. “It's good to see you out of the infirmary.”

“Thanks, professor,” Harry said, sitting down next to Hermione.

“Today we will continue revising the basic protective spells, not only to prepare you for anything you might encounter out there, but also for the Duel Competitions we will have between all 6th and 7th year students, at the end of November.”

“Professor?” Hermione raised her hand.

“Yes, miss Granger?”

“Will we be graded during the duels? And will it be worth House points?”

“Yes, you will. And the overall winner will reward his House with 100 points. I understand that there are some Houses that need those points more than others,” he said, and at this moment all Gryffindors avoided his eyes, “but I believe that the best will win.”

“How can we compete against 7th years?” A Hufflepuff boy spoke up.

“Oh, I believe there are many in this class whose dueling abilities surpass by much those of some 7th years,” Lupin assured, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a proud, guilty look. “We will practice many attack and defense spells that you have studied in the past in addition to the ones you will learn this year, and we will do so until every one of you can aptly put the spells to use in a duel. Stand up, all of you. Boys to the left of the classroom and girls to the right.” Everyone immediately obeyed, and with a mutter followed by a swish of his wand, Lupin made all the desks and chairs move to the farthest end of the classroom. “Girls, pick a partner from the other side of the classroom,” he commanded as he opened a notebook.

Harry watched Hermione hesitate, and he knew why. She didn't know whether to pick Ron or him. Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye a girl approach him, and with dread, he realized she was going to pick him. “Hello, Potter,” the girl greeted nervously.

“Uh… hello,” he greeted back distractedly. Hermione wasn't where she had been previously. He searched the room and, resentful, found her partnered with Ron.

“I want you to now practice the Expelliarmus and Protego spells now. Watch out for your wands, however. Be careful to not accidentally switch wands with someone else. You can start now.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++======================++++++++++++++++++

As Harry walked to the Quidditch pitch, he tried to empty his mind in order to relax a bit, but he found himself unable to do so. His mind was strangely focused, and on his best female friend nonetheless. Hermione, during the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, had accidentally lost her wand, and instead of asking someone to accio her wand, she had extended her hand, and wandlessly summoned her wand. No one saw this but Harry. Ron had been looking for her wand under a bookshelf and everyone else was concentrated on their own duels. But that wasn't all that troubled him on his way to the tryouts. Hermione was being watched by other boys much more frequently now. Most had very clear admiration for her, others gawked, and Hermione seemed oblivious to all this. What did they see in her anyway? Harry asked himself. He would have to concentrate more the next time he saw her, he decided.

“Harry! Harry!” He heard Hermione call behind him.

“Yeah?” He answered distractedly, without turning.

“Harry… look at me,” she protested, lacking any real irritation or anger. Harry turned, and felt his breath being stolen from him. Hermione's eyes were bright and sparkling with enthusiasm, her cheeks were very flushed and her lips were curved into a beautiful smile that showed off her small, perfectly placed and flawlessly white teeth. “Harry, you took my bookbag,” she informed him. Then, raising another bookbag that Harry immediately recognized as his, with her right hand, she added, “here's yours. I'll need mine for the gossip column thing.”

It took Harry a few seconds to answer. Hermione, he realized with pleasant shock, was very pretty indeed. “Yeah, yeah… it's in the Common Room,” he responded, finally gaining control over himself. He was immensely glad his friend could be considered very good-looking since she had suffered with it so much in the past, and also that he now knew what it was about her that attracted the boys, but at the same time he resented having been apparently the last one to see it.

“Hermione, before you go,” he said, stopping her at the moment she was going to leave. “You look very pretty today.”

“Thank you, Harry. You look nice, too,” she added happily. Then, handing him his bookbag back, she took off.

++++++++++++++++++++==========================+++++++++++++++++

A/N: I must say this… I had no fun whatsoever writing this chapter. This is due mostly because of my frustration. Harry is such an idiot! I know, I know… I'm the author and I could certainly change that, but believe it or not, I let the characters act for themselves in my head and I just write it down. In this chapter Hermione was supposed to work for the first time in the gossip column of the Hogwarts newspaper, but somehow, that infirmary part got very long. Oh, well. Back to Harry's stupidity, it's at least very good that he finally saw that Hermione is pretty. I put it here that she's pretty because my theory is that Hermione is getting prettier every year. I imagined her to be very unattractive during her first year, but she gradually got very pretty, as evidenced in the fourth book, when Krum actually fell for her. A guy like him, famous and chased around constantly by girls, would never go for a very ugly girl, even if that girl was charming Hermione. So, I hope you guys review and tell me if you agree with my theory.