Clever Girl

Hermione Granger was a very clever girl. She could count by twos, and tie her shoes, and even knew magic, which isn't something everyone can say about themselves. She knew why the stars seemed to glide across the sky, and how far it was from the north pole to the south pole. She knew that two plus two equals four, and that five thousand, three hundred, seventy-five divided by two and a quarter is two thousand, three hundred, eighty-eight point eight repeating. In fact, she could figure both out in her head, and, at the same moment, explain the relativity between mathematics and life itself.

But most importantly, she knew about boys.

Boys are dumb, boys are immature, boys like to take your heart and wrench it out through your ears. She knew all this, and exactly what to expect from boys, which isn't much. Her best friends were boys, and sometimes she would do something silly with them, like sneak off to the fourth floor and hide in a certain little cranney that allowed them to throw things at unsuspecting passers-by. She would laugh along with them both while the person took off, either swearing like mad or screaming and running willy-nilly down the corridor. She wouldn't do it often, but sometimes she needed some of the stress that would build up over time taken away, and going out with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley was one way to do it. But while that was her way of relieving stress and maybe even having a bit of fun, that was their life, and thus drew the broad line between herself and the two of them.

She would often scold them, as if they were little five year-olds, who had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but the fact was that whenever this happened, they were most likely doing or were about to do something childish. At one point, it seemed all she was doing was telling them off for something or another, and she eventually stopped doing so. For, she learned, boys would be boys, and nothing could stop them from being such.

At this moment she was sitting in the large and particularly squishy red armchair that sat right in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. She was feeling content, with Crookshanks curled up on her lap and a warm drink on the table next to her. Harry and Ron were down in the kitchens, along with a few others, all stuffing themselves with sweets, no doubt. They had offered for her to come with them, but she politely refused, and curled up with a blanket on the chair. They promised to bring her some back with them, and with that, they left her. She didn't mind being alone. It was peaceful, listening to the purring bundle on her lap, while the fire crackled and licked at the mantle. She had been reading a book, but it slowly was put onto the table, next to her hot chocolate, while she became entranced by the dancing flames. She had no homework, and was enjoying the free time. The boys had been gone for a while now, they should be back soon, she thought. Just a little while longer...

Yes, Hermione was a very clever girl. She knew that boys can be sweet and well-meaning, but she knew that they are often prats, and expected no less. She turned her head to look at Seamus, whose chuckling had caught her attention. He had stayed behind also, and had told the others that he needed to study. And, true to his word, there was his book, held in his hands. Of course Hermione knew he was not studying. Due to the fact that boys do not enjoy studying, and most people need the book facing upright to read it, she knew that he was looking at some magazine that he had acquired at Hogsmeade. She also knew that her duty as Head Girl would be to take it and dispose of it, but he would just buy another one. Boys looking at witches wearing only a pointy hat was not one of her top offenses anyway.

She turned her head a little more to the left and saw Dean, sitting on the window sill. He was completely still while staring out at the night sky, save breathing regularly and an occasional blink. Hermione knew that he was thinking about Ginny, who had broken up with him just a few months ago. She had told him that she wasn't exactly in love with him, but loved him more as a brother, and she didn't want them to be a couple anymore. Dean had agreed whole-heartedly at the time, of course, and Ginny had given him a kiss on the cheek and went on her way. But Hermione knew. She knew that he was really heartbroken, that he cared very deeply for her, and was very hurt. Of course, when Dean had come back on a Sunday morning, bleary-eyed and wobbily, she knew that he had gone out for a drink the night before, even if everyone else figured he was just tired. Boys will be boys, which includes doing stupid things. And so, knowing that he was sad, she knew that he was looking at the sky, which was a lovely shade of blue, and was thinking of Ginny. He had been sitting there since sunset, and at the time it had been a deep red, which had probably reminded him of Ginny and her beautiful hair. He had not moved since, and the sun had set more than a few hours ago.

Hermione turned back to the fire and looked up at the clock, whose ticking suddenly sounded slower. I hope they come back soon, she thought.

Of course, back when she was scolding Ron and Harry for whatever reasons, she had figured that she would never meet anyone, since boys were so thoughtless. She felt more mature than all of them; even some of her professors seemed to act immaturely at times. She wanted to be with someone who was at the same level of maturity as her, and at the time, it hardly seemed an imaginable thought. But she had found someone. He had been there all the time, and she hadn't even thought of it.

Oh sure, he could be menacing at times, but who couldn't? He certainly wasn't immature anymore, that stage of his life had long since passed. He was kind and caring, and he always helped her when she needed help. They had to meet in secret, of course, but that was not an issue. She loved everything about him. The way his fine, pale hair shone in the light. The way his voice could seem so menacing or so sweet. The fact that he was not a boy. He was a man.

And she loved him. That was a fact. She knew it.

But, being the clever girl she was, she also knew that he would inevitably pass away before she did, what with the war going on. Danger lurked around every and any corner, and she was afraid for him. But there was nothing to be done about it. She would have to move on, and find someone else, and live the rest of her life without him. This thought was kept at the back of her mind, but it was there, all the same.

The clock coughed and let out a dry, wheezy breath. "My goodness," it said to her, dust falling from its hands and face and falling into the fire. "What is a young beauty such as yourself doing up at this time of night? It's already midnight, dear." Hermione let out a sigh. It was getting late.

"I'm waiting for my friends to come back," she replied.

"I see," it said kindly. "Do not stay up too late, there are classes tomorrow, are there not?"

"Yes, I'm going to bed shortly." And with that, the clock's momentary life was spent, and would not come back until one. Hermione sipped her hot chocolate and picked up her book again. She opened it and stared blankly at the pages, the words not making sense to her. She was thinking about other things, and was forced to put the book down again.

She worried about him all the time, and she loved him with all her heart. She didn't know if he felt the same way about her, she could only hope. Yes, they met often, they talked often, but did he really love her? Maybe it was less than that to him, maybe nothing at all.

No, it had to be something. It just had to. Just a few more minutes, Hermione, just be patient.

She sat for five more minutes, and just as she was about to slip into a stupor, the portrait flew open and noisy, rambunctious boys filled the room. They were all chatting animatedly, most with their mouths full, spraying people with food. Hermione caught Ron looking at her. He turned away and started talking to Harry, who was holding a very full napkin, which she figured was for her. Ron's ears turned red.

She knew.

Of course she knew, it was so obvious. Ron was nice and kind, but he was still a boy, and she was already in love with someone else. Maybe later, she thought as Harry started winding his way through a crowd of people toward her. Later, after the war, when...

"Hey, Hermione. I got you these," said Harry, who was grinning ear to ear. The recent Quidditch victory was to blame for all the excitement. He plopped down on the sofa, which sank at least a foot in the middle. "Why didn't you want to come with us?"

"Oh, you know," said Hermione, waving her hand dismissively. "Woman problems." Harry nodded sagely.

"I'm glad I'm not a woman," he mumbled as he leaned back comfortably. Any boy knew not to question one of those responses, it was almost an instinct. Hermione laughed; she was relieved that they were all back. It was no longer getting late, it was getting early. But he would still be up. She looked in the little bundle, which looked as if it had been made in a hurry. It contained various sweets, as she had guessed. She thanked him and wrapped it up again, saving it for later. She then leaned forward towards Harry and spoke quietly.

"Harry?"

"Mm?" He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, obviously full and tired from the day.

"Would you mind if I borrow your invisibility cloak for a while?" Harry opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Sure, why do you need it?"

"There's a book I need to check out in the restricted section, and I didn't want to ask for permission." The words came out casually, having been well-rehearsed. Harry nodded and got up. He motioned for her to follow him, and they went up the stairs into the boy's dormatory. He went to the end of his bed and pulled out the cloak from his trunk. It looked like he was holding water; it slithered across his hands and glinted in the light, its silvery-grey color reminding her of... him. She took it from him, trying not to look excited. It was a book she was going for, after all.

"Thanks," she said, and was about to turn around when Harry grabbed her arm gently. She turned back to look at him, confused, and saw a smirk on his face.

"I know you're not going for a book, Hermione. I've known you too long for you to pull that one over my eyes." He grinned and let her go, crossing his arms over his chest. "Who is he?"

Hermione was surprised. She wasn't exactly shocked, because you never knew just what to expect from boys. Just never the best. She had found that Harry was the most mature boy she knew her age, and sometimes she didn't give him enough credit. He was cleverer than most. Not her, of course, but still clever. She smiled at him, and he smiled back knowingly.

"Do I know him?" Hermione nodded. "Is he nice to you?" She nodded again. Harry surveyed her through squinting eyes, and sighed. He then hugged her tightly and spoke into her hair.

"My ickle Hermione, she's growing up so fast..." Hermione laughed and punched him playfully on the arm after he let her go. He rubbed the supposedly wounded spot and mock-grimaced with pain. She giggled.

"Alright, I suppose you can go," he said loftily. "There isn't any chance you might tell me who it is?" Hermione shook her head.

"No, dreadfully sorry, but there isn't. " She paused, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Harry. Don't tell anyone?"

"Not a word," he said, putting a hand over his heart. Hermione then smiled again, wrapped herself in the cloak, and headed out the door. She walked down the stairs silently, though no one would have been able to hear her anyway, since there was so much noise. She avoided people by going around them, mostly edging along the walls. She then went through the portrait as quickly as possible, holding it open gently so as to not wake the Fat Lady. She closed it behind her and marvelled at the difference in sound there was between the rooms. The party could still faintly be heard from where she was standing, but at twenty feet away, no one would even look twice. She took a deep breath and started down the corridor.

Harry was the one she could talk to when she was troubled about something - he was a good listener. She never really expected advice from him, he was just there for her to talk to when she needed to get things off her chest. Yes, he was certainly growing up fast, but he was still a boy. She knew he was drinking butterbeer right now in the corner with Ron, and in about fifteen minutes, would be snogging Parvati sensless. Hermione had a vision of him pausing for breath and staring at Seamus's magazine over her shoulder.

She made her way through the drafty castle, avoiding Filch and Mrs. Norris at all costs. She listened to the wind whistle through the cracks in the walls, and watched as the lightning lit up the sky and thunder shook the foundation. She shivered and quickened her pace. She knew that it was only electric charges, that it was only sound waves, but it was still unnerving. She would be with him soon, and her troubles would melt away with his beautifully mellifluous voice.

After about twenty minutes, she came to a stop. She paused to get her breathing back to normal, and tightened the cloak around herself. After making sure no one was coming, she whispered to the large gargoyle that was blocking her path.

"Pepper Imps." The gargoyle hopped out of the way and Hermione quickly slipped through the opening. She walked quickly up the spiral staircase, not waiting for it to rise her slowly to the top, and stopped at the large, wooden doors. She let the invisibility cloak slip off and opened the door quietly. Inside were the familiar sights - the portraits, all sleeping peacefully, the little whirly-gigs on the desk, Fawkes, resting on his perch in the corner, and a pair of twinkling blue eyes. Hermione smiled.

"Hello, Albus."