Nobody ever asked my birthday


Hermione had seemed quiet, if not a bit paranoid, for the past two days. Harry, thus, had relegated her (obvious) mental distress to "slightly normal" - he was listening instead to the Quiddich discussion that Ron was leading - Ron was currently gesturing with his chicken's thighbone to prove a point.

Hermione hissed, "It has to be Malfoy. He's the only one that fits."

Harry, still keeping his eyes on Ron, nodded, and responded quietly, "Yeah, that makes sense."

"Wait," Hermione said, her eyes flaring out of the corner of his eye. "You knew?!" Hermione managed that in a quiet voice, and then threw her hands onto the table and stood, leaning over it as if she was about to flying tackle him into Hufflepuff.

Harry shrugged, "Not really." He struggled to feel as if Hermione, his friend Hermione, wasn't just another teacher upset at him and unwilling to listen. Feelings were hard.

"How dare he," Hermione hissed. "Oh, he is so going to pay." Hermione gathered her things and stalked off out of the Great Hall, unaware of how many eyes followed her.

Harry, as discretely as he could, followed a few minutes later, taking a few shortcuts to meet Hermione before she actually entered the library. "Hermione -"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of lightning and fire.

"I didn't know, I suspected." Harry Potter began. "I'm sorry for not telling you-"

"Harry, I don't care that you didn't tell me!" Hermione hissed. "I'm surprised you aren't hunting him down yourself."

Harry Potter shifted, awkwardly, guilt bubbling up. "I may have suggested that he confine whatever pranks he wanted to pull to the weekend."

Hermione seemed to deflate, looking at Harry, and smiled, "Oh, Harry! You're so sweet."

Harry shifted, again, "Try not to disrupt his studies?" he asked hopefully.

Hermione laughed, as bright as falcon's gold. "You know me better than that!" she cried, swiping at him. "Now come on and help me get revenge!" Hermione laughed and tugged Harry towards the library.

Hermione with a destination in mind was about as subtle as a freight train - no one could move her from something she wanted to do. Harry preferred her that way, truth be told. It was better than her turning into an Undine, the watery sort that would draw everyone around them into their misery. That... that wasn't good for anyone.

Harry sighed at the thought of most of his day spent working on "Helping Hermione." - He'd been supposed to be reading Transfiguration Texts!

[a/n: Up Next: McGonagall is a Transfiguration Master. Please review, tell me how you liked this chapter!]