A Little Thing Called Love

Chapter 2

Hermione was angry. Really angry.

"I can't believe they did that to me!" she kept saying to Catherine. "Oh shit!" Her bag had just split open.

Cathy helped her pick up her books. "Look," she said, handing Hermione back her quill. "If it's any help, guys are like that. You know, stupid pratts. Besides, I think Ron likes you."

They walked up to the dining hall for dinner. "Oh, bollocks," retorted Hermione, seating herself down. "You saw how he treated me. Like I was... a- a book he could just open up when he needed it and then toss away." She picked at her roll, making it crumble onto her plate. "I mean, I'm nice, right? I dress decently, I don't have Eloise Midgen's face- or nose- and... and...-dammit, why do they treat me like that?"

Catherine served herself a baked potato. "You're not bad," she agreed between forkfuls. "Actually, you're quite nice. They just need your help, that's all, and the clumsy bastards just don't know how to ask."

Soon they changed the subject, giggling and chatting together like most girls usually would. Soon Hermione's mood lightened up, enough (in Cathy's opinion) to forgive to two boys.

Back in the Gryffindor tower, Harry, Ron and Hermione were on good terms again, but Cathy's shyness kept her away from them. She was a loner, anyway, she thought to herself, while she watched the group laugh and chatter over their homework.

Catherine was still blushing over her meeting with Harry. While she was in the middle of her essay, Cathy let her mind wander. She imagined herself in Harry's arms, his waist surrounded by his strong hands and their faces inches away from each other's. Soon they would be embracing on the sofa, passionately kissing each other, figures locked together...

Catherine started at the vivid image that had formed in her mind.

A fresh burst of laughter could be heard from behind her; Harry and Ron were laughing hard, while Hermione was looking slightly annoyed, a smile playing on her lips.

Taking out a fresh piece of parchment, she decided to draw him as he looked now, smiling and laughing with his friends. Inconspicuous, in a darkened corner of the Common room, she furrowed her brow and started sketching. Behind her the picture of a woman dressed in Medieval clothing observed her curiously, watching her draw.

Soon Catherine was done. Satisfied with the result, she wrote the date on it. My love, Harry, she added at the bottom. A drawing of my year-long infatuation in hopes that we will someday be together.

She finished her homework in silence, and, putting her things away, hurried up to the girls dormitory. A few minutes later she came back down, some parchment and a quill in hand,and called to Hermione that she would be outside.

"What?" Hermione called back distractedly. "In this cold? You'll freeze!" She bent down to pick up the book she had dropped.

"I don't mind the cold," Catherine called back. "I just want to watch the sun come down." And write a poem or two. She wished Harry would notice her. "'Bye!" She went out the portrait quickly and disappeared from view.

"If she's one of your best friends, then how come you don't spend time with her?" asked Ron, crumpling up his second piece of parchment. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading.

"Because I'm always off helping you two dimwits stay out of trouble." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "You know, I should spend time with her. She's a really nice, sensible person. You would like her," she said to the two boys.

"She's hot," piped up Harry. Ron and Hermione stared at him. "What? It doesn't mean I like her," he said defensively. Then, turning back to his work, he added, "I don't even know her, anyway."

"I think he has a crush on her," Ron said loudly to Hermione. Hermione giggled; Harry just looked annoyed.

"Well," he said, picking up his things and standing up. "If you two won't be mature about my comment, I'll just leave." Ron and Hermione giggled again, to his extreme annoyance.

He stalked off to his dorm. Upon reaching the stairway to it, he heard someone call him. Looking around, he realized it was one ofr the portraits.

"Shhhh," she whispered, beckoning to him. "Come here." Intrigued, Harry went to the medieval witch who was talking to him. She was plain but had a look of mystery about her.

"I am led to believe," she said in an excited whisper. "That a certain maiden is in love with you."

Harry laughed. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Now that is something I really, really doubt."

The lady crossed her arms, looking extremely miffed at being laughed at. "Well, if you won't believe me, then maybe you will when you look at that."She nodded towards a piece of parchment lying on the floor in a darkened corner.

Harry, still grinning, stooped over to retrieve the parchment. His face froze and acquired a look of astonishment.

On the parchment was a perfect sketch of him smiling. He could define each of his hairs, the twinkle in his eyes. But what astonished him most was what was written at the bottom.

Along with the day's date, in a pretty, spidery handwriting was written:

My love, Harry. A drawing of my year-long infatuation in hopes that we will someday be together.

He ran up the staircase, not noticing the portrait calling, "See? I told you so!"