She stared at them, and thanked Merlin that there wasn't a glass of pumpkin juice in her hand, or else it wouldn't have been in her hand, but on the floor instead.
And she didn't want to ruin the Gryffindor common room's lovely carpet.
After further musing, she decided to also thank Merlin that there wasn't any pumpkin juice in her mouth either, because said lovely carpet would also have suffered a horrible death at the (metaphorical) hands of Hogwarts' exquisite pumpkin juice.
After even more over thinking (which most wouldn't have deemed possible) she concluded that she should just thank Merlin that there wasn't any pumpkin juice (or any other liquid save water, for that matter) within a ten metre radius of the carpet that was causing her so much strife.
Needless to say, all this took place in the space of approximately three milliseconds. Such are the workings of the mind of one Hermione Jean Granger.
Well, she isn't called (to use what Hermione thinks a rather...overused quote) the brightest witch of her age for nothing.
Her mouth was still hanging open, and her gaze transfixed on the pair seated on the sofa in front of her. They were talking, and the girl was laughing and what the boy had just said while grasping his hand tightly in hers. They were holding hands.
Holding hands.
The male subject of Hermione's strife bid the girl goodnight then turned to his best friend of seven years. She was frozen with her mouth wide open, as though emitting a silent scream, and she was staring at the sofa as though it were a psychopathic, power-hungry evil wizard. Which was strange, because she'd seen those before, and she didn't look nearly as scared then. And her hand looked as though it were holding an imaginary cup of…pumpkin juice?
No matter.
What was important now was that he revived Hermione before it was too late. He thought hard, and managed to create a mental list to show for it:
Hermione's Stress/Shock Reliefs
a)Knitting.No good; she had left her knitting...sticks? In the girls' dormitory and he didn't want to risk the 'Stairs/Slide of Doom'.
b)Reading.Nope; she was in shock therefore her brain wouldn't process anything even if she could bring herself to grip the book properly.
c)Abusing Ron both verbally and (occasionally) physically.No. Ron had developed a new habit of going bright red and not being able to string together a coherent sentence whenever in Hermione's near vicinity. And he would neverwillinglysubject himself to such abuse.
d)Eating?No, that's Ron.
e)Out of ideas.
Ah! How aboutshocking her out of her shock?Perfect. He gathered up Hermione's most beloved books:Hogwarts, A History: Revised Edition, bothAdvanced Rune Translation and Ancient Runes Made Easy, The Complete And Unabridged Works Of William Shakespeare(for, he knew, Hermione was a romantic at heart), Hélas, Je Me Suis Transfiguré Mes Pieds (Alas, I Have Transfigured My Feet),Sonnets of A Sorcerer and finallyGreat Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century (a book he was particularly loathe to even touch ever since Hermione had informed him six years ago that there was a whole double page dedicated solely to The Boy Who Lived), the various knitted items of clothing dedicated to S.P.E.W's work, and arranged them in what he thought was a rather neat pile, then placed his wand on top.
"Lacarnum Inflama-"
"Finite Incantem!"
He looked up to find Hermione with her wand out, and smoke practically billowing out from her ears. Any half-intelligent person would realise that this was not safe, nor was Hermione at this specific moment in time. So, he did what any teenage boy would do if faced with this rather compromising situation.
He ran.
"HARRY JAMES POTTER! COME BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BAS-"
It was at this point that Harry covered his ears (which was quite hard to do while sprinting). Hermione had taken to shrieking rather than screaming when she was chasing after him and Harry wasn't quite sure if it was better or not. It certainly wasn't any less damaging to his hearing, and occasionally, when he was feeling very cruel, he likened her shriek to that of a Mandrake.
Obviously, a Mandrake sounded much better.
Leaping over several items which seemed to be in his way on purpose, he took a shortcut and made his way down several staircases by way of sliding down the banisters. By the time he had reached the grounds, he was quite sure that he had lost her.
That, of course, was his fatal mistake.
Contrary to what almost everybody in the school may think, Hermione was very capable of being:
a)Irresponsible, and:
b)Completely and utterly immature
In other words, she was entirely capable of acting like a boy. This became apparent to Harry once he found himself in a Muggle wrestling hold that was rather uncomfortable.
"Ok, I'm sorry, I really am!"
"You were about to destroy my BOOKS!"
Harry could have sworn the ground shook.
"You could have bought new-"
"AND ALL OF S.P.E.W'S HARD WORK!"
Harry couldn't help but snigger.
"You mean SPEW's work. Besides, it's not like there's anyone else besid-"
He quickly stopped once he saw her face. Alert! Mount Hermione about to erupt! Take cov-
"For the last time, it's S.P.E.W!
The Society for the Promotion Of Elfish Welfare!
And do you really think you're in a position to argue with me, Harry?"
This last statement was accompanied by a tightening of the hold Hermione had on Harry's neck, and a wince of pain escaping his mouth.
"No…"
"Good, you're learning. Now, you know what you have to do."
"Sorry."
"Excuse me?"
"I apologise for almost setting fire to your most beloved and treasured possessions, Hermione, and affirm that this incident will not occur again."
This was a well rehearsed speech that both Harry and Ron made at least three times a week, and it was a miracle Hermione didn't get tired of hearing it. She sniffed condescendingly.
"You are forgiven, Harry. But if I ever catch you touching my precious books again…"
She made it a point to start twirling her wand between her fingers as she spoke, and he gulped. Harry had seen what she could do withthat piece of wood.
"Now run along, go find someone else to annoy."
And with that she stalked off. Harry shook his head. He had just been chased down and held in a wrestling grip by the girl widely agreed to be the most beautiful in the school. Why was he annoyed? Wait, why was he surprised that he was annoyed? She might be the most beautiful girl in the school now, but Harry still remembered a time when she wasn't nearly as beautiful. Or what everyone else classified as beautiful. Granted, she still retained her thirst for knowledge, but she'd had her teeth shrunk ages ago. And she used some potion for her hair now. What was it called again?
Sleekeazy's Hair Potion
Oh yeah. The one with the picture of a witch grinning as though she had just found the cure to cancer, then tipping the entire contents of the bottle onto her head. All at once.
And yet, evenhedidn't know why he was, or wasn't annoyed. Perhaps it was the humiliation? No, worse things than this had happened, and there weren't that many witnesses anyway. Maybe it was the way she had brushed him off afterwards?
He decided to store the question in the Forget About It And Maybe Come Across It In Ten Years Time, When You Couldn't Care Less section of his brain.
After all, it was just Hermione.
***
Ron wasn't happy. The fact that he was currently shoveling any edible thing within his reach made this obvious; like most males his age, Ronald thought with his stomach. The reason that he was currently eating Tasty Treats For Your Hybrid Cat was simple; he was jealous. He had just witnessed Hermione holding Harry in a wrestling hold that would have made Charlie proud. The problem was that they didn't seem to realise what sort of position they were in; it was completely inappropriate, especially with a number of first years as onlookers. Although Ron couldn't really pinpoint how or why it was inappropriate, he knew without a doubt in his mind that it was inappropriate. At least for two people who continually repeated the 'just friends' mantra whenever questioned about their relationship. He should be the one in that wrestling grip…well; it actually seemed quite painful, so maybe not. But he liked Hermione, and Harry didn't; not in that way. So he should be the one in such positions with her.
This last thought sent a series of completely unpleasant mental images coursing through his brain that were close to convincing Ron that he didn't want to think at all, if this was the result. He didn't know how Hermione made it through the day.
After realising exactly what he was shoveling handfuls of into his mouth, and reacting appropriately (screaming hysterically and using up the dormitory's entire supply of mouthwash in an attempt to cleanse his mouth), he sat himself back into the armchair everyone called 'Harry's Armchair(this was Ron's completely grown up way of 'getting back at him') and promptly recommenced his sulking and feeling sorry for himself.
It was at this moment that the very girl occupying his thoughts stalked indignantly into the common room, stopped for a moment, huffed to herself, and promptly went up to her dormitory, after being pranked for the 573rd time (but who was counting anyway?) during this term alone.
They were still only three weeks into the term.