Writer's Block

Writer's Block

Hermione threw down her Muggle Studies parchment with a frustrated sigh. Of all people, it would be the Muggle-born genius who couldn't fill four-and-a-half feet of parchment with an essay on why the Internet was an antiquated system. The trouble was, she didn't necessarily agree with that statement. She had already analyzed the problems of viruses, system crashes, popups, and connection speeds, but there were still roughly eight inches left and she couldn't think of a magical equivalent of the Internet with which she could compare Explorer. She wasn't even writing tiny!

She stared moodily out the window into the deep twilight of the night. There was barely any light left in the sky, so all she could see was Harry's white t-shirt as he streaked around on the Quidditch pitch. What is he doing out there now? she wondered idly. It wasn't past bedtime, but in early spring the night came early. Choosing not to answer her own question, she let her eyes follow the pale shadow of Harry's shoulders back and forth. After a few minutes of the hypnotic motion, her thoughts began to wander.

Her relationships with Harry and Ron had changed much since they first met on the Hogwarts Express. No longer simply schoolmates, they were a close-knit Trio, and she was better friends with them than she had ever been with any girl. Sometimes she wondered if this was wrong and if she should invest more non-homework time gossiping with Lavender or Parvati. Most of the time, however, she knew that the two girls, though sweet and fun to be around, couldn't offer her the same familial relationship that Harry and Ron did. They were like the brothers she didn't really have.

It was the kind of perfect union that she didn't want to risk losing, even though it meant breaking her heart. If she chose to follow her emotion's direction, it would send her straight into isolation. He probably wouldn't love her back, anyway, and either way her friendships with the boys would be forever changed...maybe not for the better.

Hermione shook herself awake from her thoughts. Harry had already gone inside- in fact, she could hear him coming in the Common Room, though she couldn't see him with her back to the portrait hole. She couldn't let him catch her like this. She was the workaholic, the unstoppable studier, and she wouldn't let a little fantasy get in her way.

As she picked up her quill in preparation for more writer's block, she let go a little and allowed herself a fleeting moment of daydreaming. She imagined his soft kiss, lithe body, gentle touch...the moments she desperately wanted and would never have. She wanted to know the feeling of his hands cupping her chin and the feeling of her hands running through his pale, silky blond hair. Just the idea made her whole body feel warm and her cheeks glow. Then she sighed, remembering that it wasn't to be, and went back to work.