Disclaimer : If I owned HP, it would never have ended.

Rate : R, because I can't do any differently

Hermione was waiting, arms crossed, unmoving, her gaze overlooking the train rails in front of her, rails that went their way, bending around Scottish hills, in the direction of the big city of London.

Her posture seemed calm and meditative, but in reality, her mind was fuming. It was 12 p.m., and the Hogwarts Night Express would be entering the station any moment, with its few passengers, most of them going back in their houses in Hogsmeade, none heading for the well known castle.

It was mid January after all, and all students had been long back from their "Christmas in the family". Hermione had not gone to the dentists' house this year. She had stayed in Hogwarts, because over the last months, she had been planning something that would, well… seem rather hard to believe for most.

Hermione had, in fact, acted rather strangely since the start of autumn term. But her fellow students had not taken time to notice that. Even her two best friends would have, if asked, told that Hermione was being her usual self, studying and helping others in their homework. They were too occupied with Quidditch and girls, anyway, to notice anything wrong about their friend.

But in her free time, however, Hermione was not reading supplementary books or joining in group activities like she would normally have done. She was mooning over someone she really shouldn't. And it had become quite an obsession. Every time that person went by in a corridor, or leaned over on her desk to give her her exam copy ; her face would redden and she would start breathing heavily and uncontrollably, sometimes her hands would shake or her brains would feel like they had just been liquefied, her stomach would knot or her legs would almost give away. It was an unpleasant feeling.

But the worst unpleasant feeling was when she woke up in the morning, after a wonderful dream about green eyes looking down lovingly at her and dark tresses gliding over her chest and stomach, long, agile fingers making love to her and white, sharp teeth scratching her smooth, round shoulder.

Those dreams felt so real to her that when she roused, the loss of this overwhelming feeling brought her to angry tears and made her collapse on her bedroom floor. She would then feebly make her way to the water room and thoroughly rinse every part of her body, as if to wash away the pain and the threatening weight of the oncoming depression.

When she would cross the Gryffindor common room, she would not look at anyone; she would then miss breakfast and linger in the library, pressing her head hard on the bookshelves wanting to hurt herself or just looking absently into the air. She had really become dark during those lonely months, a dementor could have passed her by and not notice her, thinking she was one of his friends. Her soul had been taken away, as her heart. And the innocent Minerva Mcgonnagall did not know a thing about the broken girl she had involuntarily made hers.