Love's Labours

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Chapter Two ~ To Sleep …

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Climbing the stairs to her own dormitory, Hermione's mind was reeling over what she had overheard.

'Yes, Hermione, there is something else you can do. Go with me to the Yule Ball, and not just as friends.'

Harry's words continued to echo in her mind. Over and over, she heard his words and the slight hit of despair that had colored it. 'Why?' she asked herself. 'Because,' a voice answered back, 'this is your last year together. His last chance to have a relationship and he doesn't want to lose your friendship if you were to say no.'

Hermione sighed to herself as she entered her own dormitory. The answer was correct of course. While Hermione herself knew that any move Harry made would be welcome, Harry himself had no idea. And she knew she couldn't drop any hints either. So, it was all up to Harry. Sighing once again, she pulled the scarlet bed curtains aside and climbed into bed.

When she had settled into her bed, Hermione reached over to pick up her latest book, 'Hogwarts, A History'. Granted she had already read it cover to cover, but each time she learned something new. What better reason to read it again?

"Maybe there's a way to knock sense into a certain green eyed wizard," Hermione muttered with a laugh, pulling the large book into her lap.

A slight rustling of the bed curtains drew Hermione's attention. She watched as her ginger cat squeezed his way between the curtains, jumped up on the bed and settled onto Hermione's lap, completely obscuring the book. The presence of her cat drew her attention away from the book. Absently, she stroked the cat while staring out into space.

Two figures filled her vision: one of Harry, the other of Krum. Inwardly, Hermione cringed. The only thing that would keep them apart ... was her relationship with Krum. What was their status anyway? Hermione leaned back against the headboard of her four-poster. Yes, they still saw each other on a romantic level ... but nothing ever escalated past that. And besides, she rarely saw him, with Bulgaria's hectic training schedule and all. Still ... she had been with him on and off for three years ...

"What do I do, Crookshanks?" Hermione asked her cat softly.

Instead of answering, the cat merely looked up at her, purring. She lifted her cat off the book and closed it before depositing it on the floor. There was no way she could concentrate on reading now. Not when her emotions felt like they had been thrown into a blender and set on pulverize. Why did things always have to be so difficult? This was why she liked Arithmancy. It was an exact science … not at all like Divination. Emotions, like Divination requited guesswork. And, when guessing, there was always a chance that you could be wrong. And that was something Hermione would never settle for.

Hermione gave the cat one last stroke before reaching over and turning off her bedside lamp. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was Viktor Krum's portrait on her bedside. Enveloped in darkness, Hermione rolled over in her bed, pulling her arms around her.

"Why me?" she muttered into the darkness. "Why?"

~*~*~*~

Across the Gryffindor tower, it was a sleepless night for all. Ron himself lay awake in bed, his own thoughts haunting him. He had changed much since their first year at Hogwarts. No longer the lanky red headed Weasley, Ron had come into his own. He had filled out considerably in the past few years, no doubt a result of Quidditch playing. Since the twins' graduation a few years back, Ron had joined the Gryffindor team as a beater. Since then, his popularity had grown ...

Which it why it was odd that his bed was empty tonight.

With the growth of his popularity, Ron had found his life changed dramatically. People no longer saw him as Harry's friend Ron, but as Ron, the Gryffindor beater. Once that change occurred, Ron began to care about his appearance and his popularity soared.

Women flocked to him as well. They stopped craning their necks around him to catch a glimpse of Harry as they sat together in the Great Hall. Instead, they completely ignored Harry and centered on the red-head himself. While Ron basked in the glory of his newfound fame, he was saddened somewhat, for the one girl he wanted ... he could never have.

Just thinking about her made him aroused. In his state, Ron carefully climbed out of bed to make sure his own bed curtains were pulled tightly around his one area of the Gryffindor tower. Satisfied that no one could see him, Ron made his way back to his bed to indulge himself in his fantasy.

He bit his lip to keep his fantasy cries from filling the room. He didn't want ANYONE to know what he was doing. Granted, he knew others did it. Low moans could be heard from either Seamus or Dean's curtained beds on any number of occasions. Still, Ron was careful of his own actions and what others thought of him. He had his newfound popularity to consider.

Moving his hand quickly, his feeling of pent up energy soon passed him by, and he lay back on his bed, a pleased smile plastered on his face. The entire time, he kept her face plastered in his mind. He wished SHE would do such things to him ... but for now he had to be content with merely fantasizing about the ordeal. But one day ... one day he would make it past the proverbial first base with her. One day ...

Exhausted, Ron rolled over in his bed, wishing he could wrap his arms around his mystery woman. The woman who haunted his dreams and his every waking moment. He may flit from woman to woman at Hogwarts, but if she ever gave him the green light, he would stop. Ron believed he could stay with one woman ... especially if it were her.

Before he went to sleep, he opened the top drawer of his nightstand. Removing a worn, folded picture, he looked at it and smiled. Ron ran his finger along the picture, dreaming that it wasn't a picture, but actually her instead. That she was here instead of across the tower from him. She was here, running her hands along his naked body. Giving him the pleasure he wanted from her, and he giving it back to her in return. Feeling her hands tighten around his aroused member. Ron shut his eyes as another wave of pleasure washed over him. Ron refolded the picture, shutting the drawer soundlessly. He closed his eyes knowing that he would dream of her.

His mystery woman.

His Hermione.

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Just across the room, Harry entered the dormitory, greeted by the sight of pulled bed curtains around everyone's beds. The only bed that stood out from the crowd was his own. While Harry wanted nothing better than to curl up and go to sleep, he knew he couldn't. Harry looked at Ron's bed and scowled. How did the red head manage to get back to the dormitory so quickly and be able to go to sleep? He didn't remember seeing Ron working on his essay for Snape earlier in the day. Harry shook his head. While he himself wasn't always the most conscientious student, he never blew off an essay for Snape's class. EVER. He would never give that man the pleasure of singling him out in front of the class, only to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

Which is why Harry knew he had a long night ahead of him.

Granted, he knew it was his own fault. He shouldn't have held practice tonight ... not with the essay due the next day. Still ... the start of the Quidditch season wasn't that far off ... and if Gryffindor was going to have any chance of winning the Quidditch cup again this year, they'd need all the extra practice. This was going to be his last chance to shove Malfoy as far into the ground as humanly possible. Any chance he had to humble and humiliate the blonde was an opportunity he seized. No questions asked.

So, the extra practices were a necessary evil, even if it meant that he'd be up until the wee hours of the morning writing furiously about the different uses for dragon hide. As Harry moved towards his own four poster, he knew how he was going to spend the rest of the night. Hunched over a piece of parchment with very little light, spilling ink all over his bed covers.

Collecting his quills, ink and parchment from his cauldron, Harry settled himself on the bed and pulled his curtains around him. While he should have worked in the common room, he couldn't bring himself to go back down there. He couldn't chance another meeting with Hermione in her nightshift. Harry shivered just at the memory. Why had she affected him so much? Because she was wearing next to nothing and he could see her firm --

Harry shook his head fiercely, breaking off his own thoughts. He would need a clear head in order to write a half decent essay. And that meant, keeping his mind off of Hermione ...

Easier said than done.

As he worked into the night, exhaustion began to overtake him. Every time he yawned, a picture of Hermione filled his vision. Hermione removing her nightshift, offering herself to him ... Harry reaching out to caress her breasts and--

Harry slammed his fist into his bed, almost overturning the open ink bottle perched precariously on his pillow. Harry winced not only at the ink but at the dull thud his fist had made. He really didn't want to wake up anyone. They didn't have to suffer his sleepless night as well.

Remaining perfectly still, Harry listened for any sign that he had disturbed his roommates. All he heard were low moans and the rustling of bed sheets. Harry winced once again. He didn't need to know his friend's late night escapades. While he himself wasn't totally innocent of the act, he didn't like to have to listen to others. Harry quickly turned his attention back to the essay, scratching his quill furiously in an attempt to block out the sound.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours as he wrote. At last he could write no more. His eyelids drooped and the words began to swirl on the page. Harry was no longer sure how long he had been writing, but looking at the three rolls of parchment, he knew it was a while. Granted, Snape wouldn't think it was enough. Then again, nothing Harry ever did would be enough for Snape. Unless he perished at the hands of Voldemort. Then ... Harry was sure ... Snape would be satisfied.

Harry hastily gathered up his writing supplies and deposited them back in his cauldron once more. He extinguished his light and climbed into bed, determined to get a few hours of sleep before morning classes. Morning classes would come soon enough, judging by the hint of purple that had just begun to tinge the sky. Harry would get three hours of sleep ... if he was lucky.

Rolling over in bed, Harry was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

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A strange series of events would come to pass once the green eyed wizard finally went to sleep. Yet, these events would never be discussed amongst the trio for many years. Once discussed, however, it would lead to another rather unfortunate series of events. Yet, that is another tale …