Chapter 8
"Professor", Hermione said, intending to have a word... more than words... with her professor after class, but "Oh no, you won't", Harry and Ron said, dragging her away and out of danger. "But-" "Come on, Hermione!" They were leading her away from the precipice of disaster, two out of three minds spinning out of control.
Hermione's was swimming in a sea of green, green eyes, green robes, green quidditch pitch and their shared laughter after a match, McGonagall's stern criticism of the way the game had been commentated again fading away in victory, and Hermione found herself asking "When is the next quidditch match again?"
Harry and Ron, who had already worn exasperated expressions, now looked at her like she had gone completely mad. "Since when do you care about quidditch?", Ron asked, and Hermione dreamily said "I don't. But she does..."
Ron shook his head, his own mind screaming. Bloody Minerva McFreakinGonagall! Oh, he was going to kill Fred and George for this. Very funny, to have him, OR HERMIONE, roam the school with an uncontrollable desire for their own head of house. He supposed he should be glad the mark hadn't been Harry, but he really couldn't find it in himself to be grateful right then as they sat down to lunch, Hermione's eyes fixed on the staff table, waiting for what she perceived to be the love of her life.
She already was halfway in love, the twins had said... but as he looked from one of his best friends to the other, he thought that Hermione might not be the only one. As much as she was staring in one direction, Harry was staring in another... right across the hall at the Slytherin table.