A trio of Gryffindors think Hermione is quite the fanciable witch. I don't own anything you recognize from JK Rowling's world-if I did Hermione would NOT have ended up with Ronald Weasley...

Neville entered the dorm room, sighing and stretching. Seamus and Dean were already in there, whispering as Dean sketched something in charcoal.
"Alright there?" Neville asked, blinking.
Dean flicked his bright eyes up briefly, not bothering to reply more than a a nod. He returned to his sketching where he stretched out on his bed.
Seamus grimaced, turning his bright pale green eyes up to him and hesitating. The man flexed his fist and then swallowed. "Git over 'ere, best be subtle."
The Longbottom furrowed his brow and made his way to the trunk at the end of Dean's bed, taking a seat on it and leaning his elbows on his knees. "What's the issue?" he asked softly, his eyes intent.
Dean snarled, his charcoal pressing harder and breaking.
The trio was silent, Neville waiting for the other two to catch their thoughts. They were good friends, each growing into their relationship with each other and trusting each other. And practicing together.
Dean was usually the observant one, the quiet one. He was the artist with the eye for details and the subtlety to remain unnoticed. Even with his stretch of height that should grant him some attention, he slipped through crowds easily and sat and sketched without being bothered. Seamus and Neville relied on Dean to watch out for them.
Seamus was the attention grabber, the distraction. He could go in and joke around and make a fool of himself without thinking anything of it. He had the personality and boldness that let the other two slip by or that jarred other people into more telling reactions. It also helped that he had a charming grin and Irish accent—with his shorter stockier build and his flirtatious habit with the ladies he found it easy to fluster them.
Neville, tall and barrel chested, was still the most overlooked. His earlier years had left a stamped impression on him, and everyone still saw the bumbling first year who couldn't remember anything important. The other two boys had been the ones to help him with the passwords, to loan him books or socks, and to capture Trevor when the adventurous toad wandered.
He trusted them.
"I've started…noticing something," Dean murmured. His voice was low and dark, angry.
Neville blinked and leaned forward. "Something new?" Their sixth year was full of intrigues, for another conspiracy to be occurring…well it was a little much.
Seamus shook his head, his expression sour.
Neville blinked at his blonde friend before returning his attention to Dean.
Dean sighed, he scratched his fingers through his hair and then let the parchment drift down to reveal a charcoal sketch of a miserable looking Hermione. She still had that beauty to her though, Neville would always be able to see it. He'd been able to see it when she was an itty first year. "Something old…but unnoticed." Dean swallowed and sat up. He looked straight into their eyes, scowling. "Ginny…"
Neville frowned. Both Dean and Neville had felt that girl's claws as she reached for Harry Potter, and Neville knew that Dean hated talking about her.
Seamus jiggled his foot and glanced up at the closed door.
"Ron and Harry are on the pitch," Neville offered to stave off his paranoia.
Dean grumbled. "Ginny…when she broke up with me she said something. It got me thinking. And that got me looking. And then I noticed it."
Seamus looked like he'd taken a bite of a lemon wedge—his angry eyes and puckered expression wasn't something anyone usually saw on the affable Irishman.
Neville felt his stomach drop. "What did you notice?" he asked softly.
"Hermione…"
His breath wooshed out and his stomach turned to lead in his gut. "What about Hermione?" he asked just as softly.
"Have you ever noticed how they treat her?"
"I know Ron puts his foot in his mouth all the time…and has that temper…but they're the Golden Trio."
Seamus grimaced and pushed himself off the nightstand he'd leaned against, pacing the room while aggressively running his fingers through his hair so it stuck up at all angles.
Dean looked like he'd be sick. "They…they're awful to her."
Seamus growled. "Say it straight!" The blonde spun to glare right at Neville. "They string her along and then break her down, and Ron's hit her once or twice that I know for sure, and they use her grossly!"
Neville paled and sat back hard, almost losing his balance on the trunk. "They…surely we'd have noticed something like this? Wouldn't Hermione have defended herself?"
"Hermione didn't have friends," Dean reminded. "Hermione thinks all her worth is in her knowledge. And she wouldn't do anything to wreck what she considered the best she had."
Seamus blinked and then grinned, it was a hard flinty thing. "Why don't we show her the best she could have then, eh boys?"
Dean started to grin, just as dark and promising, and Neville slowly matched them.
It wasn't a secret between the boys, that Hermione Granger was quite the fanciable girl. And they all quite fancied her.

Neville quietly watched from around the stacks as Hermione brought her next tome back for research. It was immediately obvious when she spotted his little gift, and a smile curled his lips as she startled and then blushed.
Her new tome fell to the table with a rather careless thud, definitely not paid her usual attention to books, and instead her fingers picked up the acacia blossom he'd carefully selected from the grounds.
She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply.
Neville's breath caught as her lashes fluttered over her doe eyes.
The dimples on her cheeks…he'd never seen her smile like that before. He grinned fully, hiding the white of his teeth behind his hand so as not to give away his position in the shadows. Hermione ripped parchments and carefully sandwiched the sprig in between two tomes, her hands drifting over the pile pressing down on his gift affectionately.
He quietly backed away from his success.
He'd tell the boys, and they'd plan the next overture.

Seamus bit his lip and grinned as he watched Hermione blink and pull her hand out of her bag. He had his own gaze carefully shielded by his mess of shaggy blond hair as her eyes flicked around the classroom in search of anyone who might be watching her.
She gave up and stared at the bar of chocolate in her hand, biting her own lip and grinning shyly as she peeled the wrapper.
She broke off the tiniest piece possible and slipped it between her lips, her lashes fluttering down as she visibly tested the smooth dark chocolate. He'd dithered over flavours and spices before picking the bar that reminded him of her—dark chocolate with caramel and sea salt. Caramel like her eyes, dark like her hair, sea salt like the waves and curls she couldn't control and the slight surprising twist of humour she let free once in a while.
He grinned and shared a pleased glance with Neville and Dean. The other two boys were just as exultant as they discreetly continued to watch their witch.
She put down her quill and savoured the chocolate bar for the rest of the History lesson.

Dean swallowed as Hermione's lips opened softly, her wide eyes taking in the drawing he'd left on her stack of texts in the common room. She was always up early, and he'd set his alarm even before the Quidditch fanatics just so he could leave the surprise.
It was a sketch of her profile, rough emotive loose lines that centred on her eyes with all the detail and focus. He was rather proud of it, proud of the darkness and mystery and fan of lashes and splash of freckles he'd gotten perfect. It was how he saw her eyes: gorgeous, enthralling.
A blush slowly crept up her cheeks, and Dean grinned lopsidedly from where he was hidden on the stairs.