Her mother always said that she would fall for one of her boys. And she had been right. Hermione had fallen for one of her boys, and quite frankly there had never been anyone else to fall for. The choice had always been Harry, that much was certain. But the two had been so shy, so naïve, that they had danced on eggshells around each other for years.

Ring around the Rosy

Then something had changed. Physically or mentally, she was not sure, but something had differed and it was for the better. They began to interact on a more personal level, almost intimate. Hands would touch and there would be blushing but neither would jerk away as if hit with scalding water. The touch would linger and be warm, sometimes sweaty and nervous, and make her feel alive. It would make her feel giddy and even aroused. It was the first time in her life where she wanted to giggle, though she absolutely refused (although sometimes at night, when no one was awake or could listen in, she would give into that temptation. And it would be oh-so-sweet).

Pocket full of Posy

And it had continued down that path for well over two years. She was becoming tired of their dance though. She wanted to waltz when he tangoed. She wanted to be grabbed and never let go, with warm arms on cold nights and cold hands in sweltering summers. She wanted it to be real, not a game. Not a round of tag or hide-and-seek. No. She wanted to be Harry Potter's with a big PROPERTY OF stamp on her backside.

Ashes-Ashes

One day, it had happened. There had been a fight with Ron, a rather nasty, hurtful fight. He had been left with a swollen cheek and her with a slice in her heart. He'll never love you like you do him. The words had rung through her ears like the tolling of the bells. Her hand moved fast and hard, cracking like a whip from hell, and sent his head reeling to the sided. And then she ran. She ran and ran and ran until she could run no more. Then she collapsed and she cried.

We all fall down

Only he was there to pick her up. There were those warm arms she'd longed for. He held her tightly to his chest as she sobbed, trembling in anger and hurt… and fear. She remembered what the asshole had said and she cried harder, only this time she fought to get away. She was scandalized; embarrassed that he had heard those words too. But he just held fast and his grip tightened as she struggled and writhed, trying to slip from his grip as a fish does from the eagle's talons. Still, he held fast. He was too strong and she was too weak. Weak and pathetic, a sight for sore eyes; a lonely loser, destined to be alone in the world for the man she loved would never love her back and she would love no other, refused to love another. There was only one Harry.

And he said, But I do.

And she broke.

And she screamed inside, screamed from the top of Mt. Olympus. Screamed so all of Valhalla could hear. She loved Harry Potter, and he loved her back!

Ring around the Rosy-Pocket full of Posy

And her mother smiled at her over tea, the way mother's do when they are proven right, as Harry and her father talked in the kitchen. It was a smile that said, Told you so, but not condescendingly. It was a happy smile, one that told Hermione all she needed to know. Oh yes, that's exactly what it said.

Ashes-Ashes

Hermione had fallen for one of her boys. She smiled back at her mother and then down at her ring. And he would always be there to pick her up.

Oh yes, my boy.