Something New

Hermione sighed and looked around her bedroom. As usual, it was neat and well kept. Her books--A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, The Standard Book of Spells, grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander, and Hogwarts, a History: Fifth Revised Edition--sat in a neat pile on the corner of her desk. Her inkwell and favourite quill pen, a peacock feather from Harry, stood between her books and the parchment on which her Arithmancy homework was still sitting. She really ought to put that away, now that it was done. The south wall was where her window was. The gossamer blue drapes were tied back with tidy blue ribbons, and her zinnias and chrysanthemums poked their brightly-coloured heads over the edge of the hand-painted pots. Her low dresser sat under the window, supporting the plants, and her tall dressers, one fat and one narrow, stood on either side of it. On top of the low dresser, out of sight of the window, her CD player was softly playing the soundtrack from Yellow Submarine--basically, it was a Beatles' CD.

The west wall, facing her bed, was completely given over to pictures. Still pictures of her smiling parents, posters of her favourite soccer and women's softball teams, moving pictures of her and her friends taken at Hogwarts on sunny afternoons outside Hagrid's hut as well as other places, a picture of the Gryffindor Quiddich team, a large Andy Warhol-style painting of the Beatles, drawings she had done herself, and various pictures she had taken herself around Hogwarts covered the wall. A small cubby-hole was hidden behind the painting of the Beatles, which was framed to cover the fact that it concealed a door. The cubby-hole contained only a small stepladder, used for hanging new pictures as she purchased or brought them home.

The north wall, the one with the ceiling sloping down it, was shorter than the others were. Much of the wall was given over to low bookshelves, filled with the wonderful novels she had been reading since she was five, when she had first learned to read. A chaise longue occupied the only spot where there were not bookshelves, and her best friend Ron Weasley occupied the chaise longue.

The east wall contained her door and her closet, but the door to her closet was quite narrow, as was the door, leaving plenty of room. This space was occupied by her computer desk and computer, where she now sat. Recently, she had taken to frequenting the Internet in her spare time--that is, when she wasn't reading. On the other side of the door was her bed, a comfortable Catalina-style four-poster. On this bed was her other best friend, Harry.

All three had been rather depressed since the previous year, when the Triwizard Tournament had come to Hogwarts. Harry had been entered in an attempt to bring Voldemort back and kill Harry. The first succeeded, but the latter did not, fortunately. However, the other Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory, had been killed, not by Voldemort but by Peter Pettigrew using Voldemort's wand, as Pettigrew didn't have one of his own. Knowing that while Harry was safe from Voldemort at his aunt and uncle's, he was certainly not safe from them, and also in an attempt to cheer everyone up, Hermione had invited them to her house. They had arrived that morning. Ron had inquired about the various electronics in Hermione's room rather half-heartedly at first, but everyone was still rather depressed and soon fell silent.

Hermione turned thoughtfully to the computer, and her eyes lit up. She had an idea. Quickly, she switched it on and logged on to the Internet. Then she turned back to her friends. "Hey, guys, are you in the mood for some fanfic?"

"Some what?" asked Ron, staring at the ceiling.

"Fan fiction," replied Hermione, grinning to herself. "In this case, Harry Potter fan fiction."

"What's that about me?" said Harry mildly from the bed.

Hermione couldn't help grinning. "There're some Muggle books about you, I've found. People believe they're fiction, but they're incredibly accurate. There are a few things I'm not sure about, but the things I knew about are accurate. Anyway, people write stories based on the books, then post them on the Internet. I've become involved in them recently."

"Sounds good to me," said Harry.

Hermione opened the link and scrolled down the page. "Hmm, nothing new looks too terribly interesting...What are you guys in the mood for? Insanely long chapter stories, humour, romance, drama, angst, what?"

"Not long stories," said Ron, still staring at the ceiling. "I don't think I have the patience for a long story all at once--" Hermione raised an eyebrow but said nothing--"and I don't feel like waiting to hear the end of one."

"Not angst," said Harry, rolling on his side to face Hermione. "I don't think I could stomach angst right now."

Hermione nodded. "So, what'll it be? Romance or humour?"

"Humour," said Harry as Ron said "Romance."

"How about both?" suggested Hermione.

Harry looked at Hermione. "How do you manage that?"

"Here," said Hermione, pointing to a name on a list she had called up. "It's called I Am A Slug by Morgana Malfoy. It's really funny, but it's a romance too."

"Sure," shrugged Harry.

Hermione grinned to herself and clicked the link for the story.

"Okay, here goes," she announced. "I'll skip all the boring stuff at the beginning, the disclaimer and such. By the way, it's supposed to be Draco Malfoy's diary." With that, she began to read.

~~~

I am in love.

Ron: Are you sure this is about Draco Malfoy?

Hermione: Yes.

Ron: Draco Malfoy, in love?

Hermione: Yes.

Harry: With who?

Hermione: I'm not telling. It'll spoil the fic.

It always happens to those who don't want it. I know I don't. She doesn't either. She hates me.

That's why it hurts so much. She hates me and she always will. It's a cold feeling. I'm not suicidal,

Ron: Darn.

and it doesn't affect me in any way, but I don't like it.

When I first met her, I was a shit, basically.

Harry: Very well put!

Ron: Hermione, it isn't you he likes, is it?

Hermione: Ron, you have a sick mind. For God's sake, no.

I won't say I was covering up my feelings, because I wasn't. I was letting them out full flow, but they were against Potter, not her. I jeered and laughed and pointed. But there was no real desire to hurt her, I was trying to hurt him. I felt nothing for her.

Harry: I thought he said he loved her.

Hermione: He also said at first.

But she became one of the snorting, short-trousered Scooby Gang,

Ron: The what?

Hermione: The Scooby Gang. I don't understand it, either. I'll leave a review for Miss Morgana about that.

and I started to make fun of her for her. I mean, I won't defend myself, but she was a scrawny little thing, and fairly plain. Who am I to say whether or not she still is? I'm in love with her, for God's sake.

Ron: Her who?

Harry: Ron, shut up. Maybe he'll tell us later.

I watched them all, trying to trip them up, to be honest. Potter... he was a prime target. He and his pals were the saddest bunch...

Harry: Grrrr...

but not her. As I watched her, at first trying to get to him,

Harry: *shocked* Hermione! It is you!

Hermione: Is not!

Harry: Who else keeps trying to get to me--that's a girl, so don't get any nasty ideas, Mr. Weasley.

Ron: Sorry.

I began to like the way she did things. I admired her personality. It made me retch, certainly, but deep down I suppose I wanted to be like that myself. All generous and caring, and fluffy bunnies, flowers, you know the sort of thing.

Ron: Ew.

Harry: A whole new side of Draco.

She writes in lilac ink, and it's (gross) sort of endearing. Those little bobbles she wears in her hair, fluffy, for the most part.

Ron: Wait. Bobbles in her hair...doesn't Parvati Patil keep putting things at the end of her braid?

Hermione: It's not Parvati.

Ron: Then who is it, for God's sake?

Hermione: *smirks*

Now we're back to the bunny aspect again. She looks so (sickening) sweet in her uniform. The Miss Kitty T-shirts she wears over the weekends make me (want to throw up) go weak at the knees. Essentially, I love her, but she makes me feel utterly ill.

Harry: *collapses in hysterical laughter, then stops suddenly*

Hermione: What's the matter, Harry?

Harry: It's just so funny...especially all the little add-ins...and it's just...well...I'd forgotten how good it felt.

Ron: What?

Harry: Laughing.

I have dreams about roasting them all over a bonfire (nice and crispy, just how I like them), but I also have dreams about kissing her. The rest of them can roast for as long as they want, and we can toast marshmallows (or eyeballs, depending on your gore preference) romantically. It's a delightful picture, Potter howling and screaming as I simper with his little girlfriend,

Ron: See, I told you it was you, Hermione! Who else is Harry's girlfriend?
Hermione: In Draco's mind, someone else.

licking chocolate off her stomach. (I do like chocolate)

All: EWW!

Sorry, I have to stop for a second. I need to send Crabbe or Goyle to get some chocolate. I have a craving.

Ron/Harry: *collapse in helpless giggles*

Hermione: *chuckles, then composes herself* Now really, boys!

Ugh. Having looked that over again I realise it sounds like I'm craving Crabbe or Goyle and chocolate. Not so, I promise you. Heterosexuality is exciting enough for me. Ugh.

Ron: *still laughing* See? See?

Hermione: Yes, I see, and he said "Not so". Ugh is right.

Ah, that's better. Now, back to my monologue.

Harry: Well, this is certainly exciting.

The fact that... sorry, dramatic pause for my little shudder... that ugly little weed Potter

Ron: *grits teeth and grumbles in anger*

Harry: Ron, calm down. If that's all he can come up with, he's losing his touch.

is closer to her than I am makes me so furious. I struggle daily for her to like me, maybe just to look at me without scowling, and she's been in love with him since first year. It all comes so easily to Potter.

Ron: *suddenly stops growling* No!

Hermione: *innocently* No, what?

Ron: It's just that...for a minute I thought...nah. It must be you, Hermione.

Hermione: It's not, how many times do I have to tell you that?

Fine, fine. I know he lost his parents, tortured upbringing, blah blah blah, but who are we talking about here? Me or him?

Ron: You, but you keep talking about him.

He's good without trying to be.

Harry: I am?

Ron: He seems to think so. Gee, the things you learn about your enemies when they don't know you're listening...

Hermione: Or looking in their private diaries, which we are, actually.

His father doesn't hunt him with an air-rifle over the summer holidays.

Harry: *gasps* His does?

Ron: Who cares? That argument doesn't count. Your father's dead.

Harry: True, but still...Strange as it seems, I actually feel sorry for Malfoy.

Hermione: Me too. I never actually thought about what his home life was like, but I've read several fics describing how tortured his home life is...it must be fairly accurate, if so many people write about it.

Ron: Ooh.

Admittedly that doesn't really count, as his father's dead.

Ron: Didn't I just say that?

He's always been loved.

Harry: Yeah, right.

Hermione: That's not what he means. He means that everyone around you admires you, except the Dursleys, and they don't count.

He always does the right thing, and he always wins. I do try. So I bought my way onto the team. I'm still good at it.

Harry: You've got to admit that's true.

Ron: *grudgingly* Even though he could've got onto the team without buying his way in, he probably had a good reason to.

Father said he'd get out the Sniper rifle if I didn't get on the team by the end of the term.

Hermione: That good enough reason for you?

Ron: What is a Sniper rifle?

Harry: A big gun with a really far shooting range. It can shoot for up to a hundred feet, and the barrel is grooved so that the bullet spins. It's really fast and extremely deadly.

Hermione: I read that there were a lot of attacks in Virginia--that's in the United States of America--where some crazed maniac and his son ran around killing people with a Sniper rifle. The bullet went right through most people. Only one person survived out of seventeen. They were calling these people the Sniper--they thought it was only one guy. The media got a lot of bashing, because every time they reported an attack, there was another one. When they thought they'd caught the guy, the Sniper struck again and killed someone else. Some thirteen-year-old schoolgirl in Norfolk said that her class was mad at their Health teacher about that.

Ron: Why?

Hermione: In health class, he gave them a scenario about what if a kid their age, a friend of theirs, was killed by the sniper--what would they do, you know--and the next day, a twelve-year-old boy was shot outside his school as he jumped out of the car. Sniper rifles are not something you use for average hunting. They're war weapons, designed to kill instantly.

Ron: Eep.

Next time Potter says something bad about me, maybe I'll show him that lovely deep cleft in my arm where the bullet skinned me last year.

Harry: Don't worry, you don't have to.

Back to my love.

Ron: Thank you. That's enough about Snipers and Sniper rifles.

I have no plans as such. I don't know what I could do to get her to notice me.

Harry: Take off your clothes, paint yourself blue, and do the Chicken Dance?

Ron: Even I'd notice that.

Hermione: *shudders* That's quite enough from you two.

Well, I'm going to bed now. I'll have thought of something by tomorrow evening when I write next. So farewell, for now. I go to the land plagued by nightmares of Goyle's stomach.

Ron: I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know...

Hermione: Me either, and I've read this fic seven times.

I have returned!

Harry: Whoopee.

Here you go. Juicy juicy.

Ron: What's that supposed to mean?

Hermione: It means we're about to hear the details of what he's done to get the girl to notice him.

I sent her an anonymous owl!

Harry: What a brilliant idea!

Ron: *sarcastically* What an original idea!

I know, I know. The idea was crap, but my heart was in the right place. (Ugh.)

Harry: Isn't it usually?

Hermione: You never know. For example, Hagrid's heart or Madame Maxime's, or maybe even Professor Lupin's, might not be where it should. They aren't completely human, after all.

Ron: So what's Draco? Part rat?

Harry: Ron, that isn't nice.

Ron: You're lecturing me about being rude to Malfoy? *sees Harry's glare* Sorry.

I told her how important she is to me, and asked her to meet me up the astronomy tower tonight at midnight.

Hermione: Like I said, it's a major place for lovers to meet.

Ron: I feel sorry for the poor girl.

She'll probably scream and jump off when she sees me.

Harry: You're probably right.

Oh well. At least it'll rid me of the problem I'm faced with right now.

Ron: Since when is love a problem?

Hermione: *coughs significantly*

Ron: Oops. Did I say that out loud?

Harry: *grins* Come on now, Ron, who is it?

Ron: *embarrassed* Parvati Patil.

Harry: Oh, is that why you wouldn't ask Padma to dance?

Ron: *defensively* She's too smart for me.

Hermione: Oh, gee, thanks.

I'll be all hooded and mysterious, then grab hold of her and kiss her before she knows it's me, then I'll jump off. How's that for a sneaky plan?

Harry: It's rather dumb. What if your hood falls off when you kiss her?

Ron: Then she'll jump off too, and he'll follow, and the world will be rid of a lovesick moron--and Draco too.

Hermione: *giggles*

I know you're an inanimate object, oh diary mine, but what do you think I should do? Will that be okay? Or should I just do what comes naturally? (Ugh.) I'll go up there, and tell her exactly how I feel, deep down inside. Then I'll throw up all over her robes and ruin the moment completely.

Harry: Isn't that what that kid does in that really dumb, vulgar, and inappropriate American cartoon?

Hermione: You mean South Park?

Harry: Yeah.

Hermione: Yes.

Harry: Thought so.

Alright. I've decided. I'll go up there, and see what happens!

Told you I was Master-Plan Guy.

Ron: No you didn't.

Oh well, half-eleven. See you later.

Harry: He really must be nervous. *to Draco* It's half-PAST-eleven, you dolt!

Bollocks. Bloody fucking stinking crappy bollocks.

Ron: Well, this seems an appropriate start to telling about his evening.

It went totally wrong from the off.

Harry: Figured as much.

I went up there, and she was there waiting. When she heard me, she turned around and smiled. She asked if I was there to meet her, and I said no.

Ron/Harry: YOU MORON!!!

Harry: You always say yes!

Hermione: Yes, but then there would be no story.

Ron: True...but still...YOU MORON!!!

NO! Why the bloody hell did I say no?

Ron: We were wondering that ourselves.

Harry: No, we weren't. We knew the answer. It's because he's a moron.

Ron: Oh, yeah.

I told her I was representing someone. Then she asked who. I told her it was Potter.

Harry: NO!!! Tell her you represent Ron, Seamus, Dean, Neville...anyone but me!!!

She asked who I was. I told her. Her face hardened immediately, and she went all tight-lipped. She asked me why Potter had got me to talk to her.

Ron: Because she would wonder why her best friend had asked her other best friend to spread a message at the Astronomy Tower instead of Gryffindor common room.

Hermione: For the last time, Ron, it isn't me!

I said I had no idea. Then I had to make up some crappy message filled with nasty horrible shit, and get out as quickly as possible.

Harry: Ah. You told this girl a bunch of "shit", as you called it. You wanted her to think I hated her.

Hermione: He's just berating how stupid he thinks he is, and how stupid his message sounded.

Ron: Well, there's no point in denying that.

Okay, okay. You don't have to tell me how thick I am. I already told myself.

Ron: *surprised* Sorry. *to Harry* It's like he can hear me!

Great thing about early February, is Valentine's. The worst thing about early February, however, is also Valentine's. I can't count the number of girls (and, frighteningly, boys) who send me cards on that terrible day.

Ron: Um, ew.

Hermione: That goes for all of us, including him.

But now I will send one too. What day is it?

Harry: It's on February the fourteenth. Why didn't you know that?

What?! How the hell do you expect me to know? I'm evil!

Ron: Once again, there's no point in denying that.

I'll compose some lovely poem for her. Yes, that'll work. Or I could do what my clinically insane father did while he was courting my mother. She complained about the fact that he hadn't sent her a Valentine. He asked her what one of those was. She told him it was usually red, gold, and expensive, with a heart. He went out and killed a Muggle, then gave its heart to her on a solid gold plate.

All: EURGH!

Harry: Okay, I always knew his father was evil, but that's just sick.

Ron: His father is definitely clinically insane.

That's the thing (the only thing) I love about my father. His delightful sense of humour.

Ron: He thinks it's funny?!

And the lack of it. That wasn't a joke. Well, it was red, expensive, and with a heart. It was a heart. How much heartier can you get?

Harry: Ha, ha. Very punny.

Hermione: Harry, you're almost as bad as he is.

No. Maybe not. I'll send her a bunch of roses, a nice card, and a box of chocolate. I may have to siphon off the top layer of chocolates, though. I do like chocolate. Not Goyle, though. Or Crabbe. Ugh.

Ron: Thank you for clearing that up. Ugh is right.

Yeah, anyway. Tired and stupid. I need sleep.

Harry: Yes. Sleep, and have extremely morbid nightmares about your clinically insane father's valentine to your mother. That's exactly what you need.

I don't need beauty sleep. If I get any more of that, I'll be unbearable. (No pun about my current state of unbearableness intended)

Ron: My God, he thinks he's beautiful.

Hermione: I always knew he was rather Narcissistic.

Harry: No, Narcissa is his mother.

Ah. At least that's over and done with. I sent her a dozen roses, a box of heart-shaped chocolates (minus a couple, but she'll never know), and a nice card with a poem in it.

Harry: A poem? Well, let's hear it.

I think it went:

You are pretty

You are sweet

I think you are

Good enough to eat

Just like the chocolates.

Harry: Well, don't stop now.

Hermione: That's it.

Ron: That's it? That's terrible!

I think I'm very talented, don't you?

Harry: No.

I know. I know it sucks. I wasn't trying (no, seriously). I wanted it to seem like some illiterate like Potter wrote it.

Harry: Gee, thanks.

I watched her open it at the breakfast table. She showed it to all of them, and hugged the letter to herself. She smelled the roses, and ate some choccies. Then she stuck a rose through her ponytail, and looked absolutely lovely.

Ron: I'll bet she did.

Harry: Do you have a crush on her now, Ron?

Ron: I think I do.

Harry: *innocently* Her and Parvati?

Ron: Shut up. But yes.

Hermione: *swallows nervously* I wouldn't go that far yet, Ron.

Ron: Ha! It is you!

Hermione: It is not!!!

I went past her, Crabbe and Goyle staggering behind me with my love letters.

Harry: He's got that many admirers?

Ron: Apparently. Or he's too weak to carry it all himself.

Hermione: Maybe a little of both.

She glared at me, as usual, and I shared a private joke with myself. I think it's hilarious that she's happy I like her.

Harry: That's only because she doesn't know it's you.

Ron: You think he cares? There's someone who actually likes his awful poetry.

Hermione: It gets better, trust me. He wasn't trying, you heard him.

Ron: True, but she still likes it.

You see. I don't take myself too seriously. I can laugh at myself just as easily as I can laugh at Potter. I think it's desperately funny that I'm obsessed with her. Do forgive me if I upset my ink bottle while I write. Yesterday I was laughing so hard I slipped off my chair. Then I laughed at myself for that, too.

Ron: I'd laugh at you too.

Harry: I'll laugh at you now. *throws back his head and laughs insanely*

Hermione: Are you quite finished?

Harry: *pauses* No. *gives one final insane laugh* Okay, now I'm done.

Hermione: Thank you.

What was that saying? Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and you cry alone?

Ron: That's pretty much what it said.

Bollocks.

Harry: My sentiments exactly.

Laugh, and the world laughs AT you. Cry, and the world laughs harder. (my motto, actually)

Ron: *laughs* I think I like that one better.

Harry: Me too. *opens his mouth to laugh*

Hermione: Harry, don't you dare.

Harry: *closes his mouth*

Am I abnormal to think that I am the saddest case, and then laugh at myself for being such a sad arsed freak?

Harry: No. I've been doing that all summer. Except I wasn't laughing out loud.

Well, that might be okay, it's just that, while I'm laughing, I feel superior to myself.

Harry: *nods vigorously* It's true. Too true.

Maybe that's the key to it. Actually, I am a slug, but if I laugh at the butterflies, then I am making them just as much slugs as I am, and because I have been a slug for so long, I am better.

Ron: Very profound.

Harry: And very true.

Damn. I should have saved that as my fabulous deathbed statement.

Hermione: Quite possibly, that would be best.

Harry: If that's his deathbed statement, I'll definitely be there.

Although, it could be a little long. It wouldn't be too great if I choked off at 'I am a slug', would it?

Ron: No.

I can see it all now. My friends (or servants, or hangers on, or followers)

Harry: And Harry Potter, come to have one final laugh at his old enemy, or a last look at a new friend--

are gathered around me in a white room.

Ron: St. Mungo's insanity ward?

I'm all crusty, and bald. I clear my wrinkly throat. They all fall silent to hear the wise Guru's final words.

Ron: Since when is he a wise Guru?

Harry: Not even in his dreams.

'Actually, I am a slug.'

Harry: And everyone in the room looks at each other with confused faces, then back at Mr. Guru, who has suddenly shrank into a slug, and laughs insanely.

Hermione: Not in my bedroom!

Harry: Aww, come on, pleeease?

Hermione: No. Absolutely not.

Harry: Darn.

No. I'll think of something much shorter than that. How about 'Chocolate is good for the heart... aaargh! I think I'm having a heart attack! Pass me those chocolates, will you?'

Ron: Nope. Still too long. You'll choke off at "aaargh!"

Maybe not. What about 'Nurse Dale has a lovely bottom.'

Ron: Perfect. It completely wraps up your life: a long stream of utter nonsense.

Harry: Too true, too true.

At least then I'll be going down happy. And very wise.

Harry: Yes, but maybe not as wise as all that.

She really hates me.

Ron: Who? Nurse Dale?

Harry: No, I think it's the girl he's got this massive crush on.

Her bag split in the corridor today.

Harry: See? Unless this girl's last name is Dale, Nurse Dale is completely irrelevant to the overall story.

Having had good manners drummed into me by my father, I bent down to help her pick them up.

Ron: *as Draco* She promptly whacked me on the nose with the most heavy one in her bag, breaking it (my nose, not the book), and performed a curse to sterilise every book I'd touched, as though I were contaminated. She's always been smart like that...top in our year...

Hermione: Once again, it is not me!

She moved all her books out of my reach and continued to pack them up. Rather hurt, I went off. Then I doubled back to eavesdrop.

Hermione: Oh, big surprise. He's eavesdropping.

'Why did he do that?' she asked. she sounded really puzzled.

Harry: 'Cause he likes you, honey.

I was so betrayed. Why does everyone think the worst of me?

Ron: 'Cause you're a slimy git...honey.

Harry: Ron, don't be vulgar.

Ron: Sorry.

Come on. I'm batting my eyelids here. Why?

Harry: Now stop that! It sounds like you're flirting with us!

Ron: Eurgh!

I weren't droppin' no eaves, sir! Honest!

Hermione: A pathetic and highly gossamer lie if I ever heard one!

Ron: Gossamer?

Hermione: Like my curtains. Sheer and slightly see-through.

Okay, now. My personality causes me to want to plot revenge, and I shall. But my fluffy bunny wants me to try and make her see that I'm not so bad really. I think I'll play more tricks on her.

Harry: Infinitely wise!

Ron: That's exactly what you do when you're in love with someone! You play many tricks on them and ignore your fluffy bunny.

Tee hee hee! What a jolly jest this is! I sent her a solid gold bracelet with her name engraved on it. She opened it at the dinner table again, and put it on straight away. She showed it to everyone. I forced a house elf that used to work for us to put notes on her pillow. I'm going to make him put flower petals all over her bed while she sleeps. This is so fun!

Harry: Ah, those kinds of tricks.

Ron: That's not fun at all!

Oh, those petals were great. She came downstairs clutching my note, with petals in her hair, and told everyone about it. She thinks it's someone nice! That's the second best bit. The best bit is still that she hates me, but she's in love with me. I am a great lover of irony.

Ron: Okay, now I'm really in love with her.

Hermione: *suddenly looks alarmed* Ron, I really wouldn't say that if I were you.

I need to know who she thinks it is to exploit the poor girl even further.

Harry: She thinks it's me, like you wanted her too.

What?! She deserves it for making me fall in love with her in the first place.

Ron: Exactly.

What do you mean, that's not her fault?! Of course it's her fault.

Ron: I never said that! Of course it's her fault! It's always the woman's fault.

Hermione: Excuse me?

I know it may seem like I don't love her at all, playing all these terrible (terribly funny, more like) tricks on her, but I do. I'm just a bit of a schizo.

Ron: Schizo?

Hermione: He has two personalities. It's short for skits-o-frantic [Author's note: That's pronunciation, as I don't know how to spell it]

The difference is, I know I have two personalities, and that I'm a social retard, and I think it's funny.

Ron: So do we!

Right, now I know you didn't believe me about my poetic prowess, so I've decided to prove it to you. I'm a little scrambled right now, so this isn't my best attempt.

Harry: It can only be better than before.

Her eyes are the colour of forget-me-nots

(forget-me-nots that got shat all over by a dog with diarrhoea, but forget-me-nots, nonetheless)

Ron: He wrote that?

Hermione: I think that they're notes someone wrote in afterwards.

Ron: Oh.

Her lips are the precise shade of blood clots

(mmm, kissy kissy)

Her skin is as soft as a baby's arse

(Johnson's baby ®)

Her... spit is as clear as a chunk of glass

Harry: Ew.

(I warned you. I'm fishing for rhymes, here)

Ron: That looks like him to me. He has a very disgusting mind.

I want to hold her in my arms

(Ugh, I got a rather unpleasant trace of WESTLIFE in there. I'm severely disapponted in myself)

And enjoy all of her womanly charms

Ron: Ew. That's dirty.

(It's only dirty if you're sick minded)

Hermione: *smirks*

Her hair is like wine

(red, not white. I don't go for blondes. Makes me think of mum. Ugh. Sorry Pansy, Crabbe. It's not you, it's me)

Harry: Isn't he a blonde? Hey, Ron, what's wrong?

Ron: It--can't--be! It--it just can't be!

Harry: What?

Ron: *shakes himself* Nothing. It's nothing. Like I said, it can't be.

I wish she was mine

(Having already used the WESTLIFE comment, I have no smart-arsed remarks for this one)

All: *laugh*

But she wants me dead

Ron: What was your first clue?

Boom-boom.

Harry: Boom-boom? His father must be so proud.

Hermione: He's not. We've already established that nothing but perfection makes his father proud, which means that Draco doesn't.

What do you think? Come on, this is only a draft. Don't judge me on this. I'll come up with something really good for tomorrow. Any way, I have to go to the kitchens and get them to make her a special breakfast. All lovely and... pink. See you.

Ron: A pink breakfast? Eurgh. Sounds like something Lockhart would've come up with.

Hermione: This is completely irrelevant, but did I really have a crush on that git?

Harry/Ron: Oh, hell, yes.

Hermione: Okay, I'm as much an idiot as Malfoy is. Eurgh.

That was totally priceless. I don't know how long I can keep this up for, but hell, it's fun while it's lasting! She bursts into tears every time I do something now.

Harry: Tears of joy or tears of pain?

Hermione: *sings* Tears say more than words explain...

Harry/Ron: ...?

Hermione: Never mind.

I've sent her another message asking to meet me, but I'm going to send a first year to pass on what I want to say. I'll make sure he doesn't say my name. I think there's some kind of dark curse that means he'll be torn apart by a black cloud with trolls in it if he says more than I want him to. I'll just go and look it up.

Ron: That sounds pleasant.

Ah, here it is. The Mangle Curse. An old favourite of my father's. I've employed an unimportant first-year to have it put on them and take the message to her in the charms classroom at midnight. I'll just go and perform it, then give him my note, and come back.

Harry: I hope that first year has sense enough to not say his name.

All done. He's left. I can't wait to hear this!

Ron: Me, neither.

I'm in quite a bit of trouble. They don't know it was me who cursed the poor boy, but they're using Veritaserum to find out who was responsible for him being torn to pieces.

Harry: I get the feeling that the boy told the girl his name.

It's a murder enquiry, but actually it was suicide. I told him what it did.

Ron: Yep, he definitely said Draco's name.

'Now, don't say my name, or you get mangled. That's why it's called the mangle curse. Very messy and unpleasant.'

Ron: You can say that again.

Maybe he didn't understand 'mangle'. That would be a fatal error, considering the nature of the curse.

Harry: You think?!

At least he paid most dearly for his torturous mistake in TELLING HER THAT IT WAS ME!!! Bastard!

Ron: Yes, he definitely is.

So now she knows. My little game is up.

Harry: You can say that again.

She sent me an owl asking to come and see her in the hospital wing, where she's being treated for severe

shock.

Ron: To say she loves you, to say she can't believe you let her think it was Harry, or to hex you to death?

Harry: Yes.

I have to go up there tonight. I can't wait to see her of course. I love her so much, but unless she's evil and barbaric, I don't quite think she'll take an exploding first-year as romantic.

Harry: Well, you never know.

Well, you never know. I would.

Hermione: Okay, this is getting creepy.

I guess this counts as tomorrow. It's fine to put in the tomorrow slot, right?

Ron: Um, sure. Boy, he sure is in a giddy mood.

I'm disgustingly happy, right now. I suppose you want to know why? I could send you packing, if I so wished. Oh well, in this sickeningly cheery mood, I may as well tell you.

All: Go on!

I went up there to see her, broke into the hospital wing, and sat by her bed. She looked perfectly fine, and smiled when she saw me. That was when I realised they'd memory-charmed the explosion right out of her head, and she could only remember up to being told it was me.

Ron: I hope they didn't ask Lockhart to do it...

Harry: That could be nasty. Especially if he used your wand again.

Hermione: Obviously this is one of those inside jokes I don't know about because I was...

Harry: Petrified in the hospital wing. It was in the Chamber of Secrets. Ron's wand exploded, hit Lockhart instead of his intended victim--me--and caused a cave-in.

Hermione: Ah.

She sat up and held one of my hands. I perched on the end of her bed, like you do with a sick person. She thanked me for all the things I had sent her, and written her. (I am so glad I didn't get a chance to send her the most recent poem)

Harry: Especially with all the little add-ins there...

Hermione: Hardly romantic.

She said that it made her really happy whenever she got something, and she had been compiling a list of who it could have been, asking questions, then ticking people off. She said I had never been on it in the first place.

Ron: No shit.

Then she started telling me how attractive I was, and how she'd always been really upset when I was mean to her, because she fancied me.

Ron: *nervously* Is he dreaming?

Hermione: Nope. This is very real.

That made me very happy. Being a real Action-Guy, at that point I grabbed hold of her and snogged her senseless.

Harry: Now that sounds like a good idea! *grabs Hermione and snoggs her senseless*

Ron: *coughs* Um, can we just finish the story?

Harry: *releases Hermione, much embarrassed* Sorry.

Now I'm covered with lipstick, dating her, and grinning like a madman. Uh oh. Mirror has just revealed that in fact, I have lipstick on my teeth, and my tongue.

Ron: Ew. I'm not sure I want to know why.

Miss! It's all resolved, but completely secret.

Harry: Yes, if I had sent someone a love note delivered by an exploding first year, I too would want it to be secret.

I being a Slytherin and she being a Gryffindor, it would be hard to walk around arm in arm.

Harry: *shocked* Ron's right! It is you, Hermione!
Ron: *is extremely pale* No. It's worse. Much worse.

Well father, you had fears of my being homosexual, and then incapable of producing an heir. I'm not. You may however be just as disappointed in my choice of girlfriend.

Harry: Well, if she's a Gryffindor, no duh.

Tell you what. I don't care. Just to prove how little I care:

Harry: Tell us already!

Ron: *is silently praying to himself*

I'm dating Ginny Weasley!!

Ron: AACK! *faints*

Harry: He's right. That's much worse.

So you can go boil your head, and fuck your hunting dogs, for all I care.

Hermione: Vulgar thoughts to yourselves, please, boys.

~~~

When Ron had finally been revived, Hermione turned back to the computer. She called up a large window that heralded "Review!" and typed out an appropriate response, containing her friends' reaction to various parts of the story, and Ron's loud "AACK!" at discovering the fact that Draco was in love with Ginny.

Harry asked, as she sent in the review, "Is there a sequel to that?"

Hermione nodded with a grin. "There's five in the series."

"Oh, let's read the next one," pleaded Harry.

Hermione smiled. "Let's not. I think the first one is enough for Ron. But there are other stories we can read, especially if you're ready for drama and angst."

"Sure!" said Harry, a bit excited.

"Well, then we'll read more," said Hermione. She logged off the computer and opened her bedroom door. "After lunch."

Together, the friends walked downstairs, happy once more.