A/N: Another one of my sudden ideas. At the moment an one shot. Maybe writing more for this. But at the moment it is complete.

No warnings.

Beta: The lovely VinoAmore.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The books lay heavily in her arms, the hard covers with their edges pressing into her soft flesh. With difficulty she tries to prevent herself from sneezing, crunching up her nose to get rid of the itch. The dust flying off of the beautiful leather bindings makes it nearly impossible, though. She mumbles under her breath in annoyance, but doesn't curse because her parents always told her that cursing isn't something a good girl does. With a thud the books land on the beautiful table in front of her, in a barely frequented corner and she massages with ink-stained fingertips her hurting shoulders. Taking a breath she sits down.

She feels like crying, if she is honest. Already five weeks into the school year and she wasn't able to make any friends. Her parents always told her that one of these days someone would recognize her worth. They said something along the lines that the truest of hearts would always be remembered or some such nonsense. When her mother told her that she was tugging Hermione into her bed and the young girl tried to hide that she rolled her eyes. Sure, she loved the books of Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters but hearing her mother - a woman who had figured out what she wanted in life and achieved it with flying colors - say something so cheesy made her crunch up her nose.

Thinking now about it while sorting the heavy books into neat piles (first by topic then alphabetically) on the polished library table she wishes that the moment would be already here. That someone - maybe someone nice and intelligent - would recognize that she would be an asset. Maybe even a good friend. A loyal friend with just the right measure of courage, according to the sorting hat. The tiny girl sighs to herself and shakes her head. Fantasies about maybe friends wouldn't get her homework finished for her.

Organizing her working place accordingly - her dad always said that organization is the first step to perfection - she opens a new bottle of ink, careful not to spill it over her clean robes. A cough makes her jump in surprise. Fortunately her robes stay clean, though the ink is coloring her fingertips even more black. Narrowing her eyes she slowly turns around. Behind her is a boy she saw in some of her classes but never talked to. One reason may be that she is a shy child when she doesn't already know someone. The other may be that the boy - 12 years old like she already is - wears the silver and green tie proudly.

His shuffling feet are the first things she sees. His shoes are clean, gleaming in the soft orange light of the candles illuminating the library. One of his hands vanishes into his trouser pockets. Hermione knows it can both be a sign for being relaxed or for hiding oneself from someone. At least that is what the psychology books of her parents taught her. His other hand holds the string of his school bag casually thrown over his shoulder. His sandy brown hair is a bit tousled. His eyes, in contrast, are sharp, calculating. But not unfriendly, she thinks.

"Are you quite finished?" He mutters under his breath, his voice showing the first signs of changing from the high-pitched tones of a child to that of a teenager. Hermione tries to suppress the blush.

"Pardon?" She asks, mindful of their environment and equally soft.

"You have been staring at me for the last two minutes or so." He answers her question, a lilt to his voice that indicates he is quite sure of himself and his assessment. And definitely an aristocrat though she doesn't know if one can call the old pureblood families that. The Gryffindor knows there is no sense in denying it.

"Well, I was a bit surprised." She says, a bit nervous. Before he can say anything else, she tries to smile to relax herself, then speaks up again.

"Can I help you with something?" For a second Hermione thinks he is about to blush and a nervous balling of his hand in his pocket is a bold sign that he suppresses his first reaction. Well, he sure has impressive self-control for someone his age, the young girl thinks.

"May I sit?" He indicates to the chair with a gesture of his chin. Quickly pushing aside some of her collected books, she smiles at him and nods, telling herself to remember the etiquette lessons her grandmother hammered into her brain. She demurely places her hands in her lap, mindful that her skirt looks immaculate and crosses her legs at her ankles.

"I…", he coughs into his hand, "I have a proposition of sorts that I would like to present to you." He says, remembering his own lessons on how to behave when a lady is present - ignoring that his father always said that a witch with her background isn't a lady this behavior should be applied to when meeting. Even being only twelve he still couldn't quite understand what being muggleborn, half-blood or pureblood had anything to do with how to approach a woman, or girl in this case he wasn't officially introduced to. Shaking away his thoughts, he watches her attentive eyes crease a bit with her smile. He takes it as his sign to continue.

"I couldn't fail to notice that you are quite good, if not the best pupil in all of our classes." He begins, to what a pretty little blush dusted over her cheekbones, accentuating her freckles.

"I myself haven't any problems with the things the Professors demand of us. Honestly, I am quite pleased that the standards at Hogwarts are still so high." He watches her nod along, a glint of intelligence and - he suspects - a certain knowledge where this is going entering her eyes.

"But I do not want to waste my time and if possible learn more than the curriculum has in store for us." He adds and inwardly flinches at his arrogant tone. Pressing onward before second thoughts could overwhelm him he leans slightly forward.

"So I would like to… establish, if possible and not inconvenient for you, a study group of sorts. A study group, to be precise, that only we are the members of." Taking a breath he waits for her reaction. A bit fascinated and a bit nervous he watches emotions dancing over her face. His education was thorough and he quite easily can see the list of pros and cons she seems to form mentally. Finally, she looks up.

"I would be open to this. In fact, I find it a lovely idea." Her voice though tinted with a certain happiness still sounds demure. He silently applauds that she even knows how to behave in the presence of a gentleman. Not that he thinks muggles to be savage or anything like that. But his father always gave the impression of muggleborn being woefully uneducated in how to behave in elite society.

"Good. I am glad you seem to see the benefits as clearly as I, Hermione. I hope we both can support each other through these years and help each other developing our skills to the best of our abilities." He formally says.

"As am I…" A sudden frown appears on her face. Then an apologetic look enters her eyes and the formally dusty pink blush forms into a rosy red. When he understands what she is silently asking, his eyes widen slightly. Remembering himself, he stands up then, bowing slightly and taking up her hand.

"Hermione Granger", he mumbles, " my name is Theodore Nott and I am looking forward to working with you."

Thanks for reading. Review please.