A long time ago in a castle far, far away – okay in the Highlands of Scotland – there lived a bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all named Hermione Granger. She was the embodiment of the eternal bookworm; her nose was always stuck in a book. Every woman who met her didn't give her a second glance or another thought, she was not considered competition.

Not only was she a bookworm, she had a heart of gold. In the small village outside the castle where she studied, she served hot meals to the hungry, handed blankets to the poor, and she left clothing out for the homeless house-elves.

Hermione Granger was the darling of Gryffindor house and as such the head of her house and the school headmaster combined forces to protect her. They sought to do what no school had ever successfully done; let alone any parent. They sought to protect her from Cupid's poisonous arrows. They encouraged her friendship with two chaste companions and a special troop of men and women protected the three against the evils of darkness that lurked at the edge of their society.

Hermione lived an insulated life, men were discouraged from approaching her, love songs were not permitted within the confines of the castle, and all romantic stories were removed from the library.

In short, she was to be kept as pure as freshly fallen snow, as innocent as a new-born fawn until her kindness, purity and intellect attracted a worthy husband – preferably a prince. They hoped such a union would not only make her happy but would bring joy to their small corner of the United Kingdom chasing away the darkness that loomed.

By the time Hermione was seventeen, the headmasters plans seemed to have worked. Three men had asked for her hand in marriage. The king had rejected all but one: Prince Draco from a well to do family who had funded the school heavily over the years. Everything was going well – Hermione's gilded cage remained intact – until one morning she arrived for breakfast in the Great Hall, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Immediately, her head of house stepped down from the teachers table and questioned the young girl.

"Why are you so tired? Did you not sleep well, my dear?"

"It's my bed," Hermione answered drowsily. "There was a lump under my rump all night!"

"A lump?" said the headmaster who had joined them at the Gryffindor table. He couldn't bear to see his top student suffer the slightest discomfort. "That is entirely unacceptable. I'll have Filch replace your mattress immediately."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione replied as she gently massaged her backside.

The next morning, Hermione entered the Great Hall with the same look of sleepy discomfort on her face.

"What's wrong, my child," asked her head of house Minerva McGonagall.

"It was the lump again, Professor," answered the young woman. "It seems to poke and prod me from dusk until dawn."

"That's strange," said headmaster Dumbledore. "I thought Filch replaced your mattress."

"He did, Headmaster."

"Hmmm...Perhaps it's the beds frame. I'll have him replace that, too. You must look rested for the Ministry Ball when you will meet Prince Draco."

Hermione felt utterly discomforted. She was not looking forward to meeting the prince. Her sheltered life meant that she had to draw her knowledge of men from a protected distance. As such, she had two conflicted views of men. The noblemen visiting the castle always seemed far too shiny and sure of themselves, they certainly didn't need trumpeters to announce their arrival. She'd concluded that since all you needed to do to converse with them was to smile and nod your head that they were not worth her time. On the other hand, the men in the village seemed to spend all their time supping Butterbeer or downing shots of Firewhisky, they mumbled a great deal whenever they sometimes fell asleep seated. To communicate with them, the women folk often stood close to them, yelling as loud as they could and sometimes resorted to poking them brutally in the chest. Now, Draco was an infamous prince, so she concluded that he would require a lot of smiling and nodding, but she'd also observed that even noblewoman had to shout at their men sometimes, she was unsure of when to make the switch.

She also wasn't sure what to do with a man other than converse with him. She'd mostly observed men during Tournaments organised by the school were the men folk demonstrated their strategic battling skills with wands and non-verbal magic before spending the night carousing with one another. But she didn't partake in foolish wand waving nor did she drink or carouse, she failed to envisage much of a role for herself.

Then there was the stomaching-churning thing she's witnessed at two separate Yule feasts, when a man and woman had pressed their mouths together and appeared to be chewing the same piece of food. She'd never witness such gauche behaviour before so she hoped that she wouldn't be expected to partake of such a thing with Prince Draco, but she wasn't certain.

It was all utterly confusing; she wanted so much to talk with her fellow students about it. That wasn't permitted. Besides, at the moment, she was far too distracted by the current pain in her arse to discuss her intended bond mate.

At the following breakfast, she complained, yet again, of the uncomfortable lump.

"I thought Filch replaced your entire bed," lamented the headmaster.

"He did," said McGonagall, appearing vexed. "Perhaps the lump's not in the bed."

It took a moment for the comment to register in the headmasters lemon drop addled brain. When it did, he jumped to his feet. "Phoenix's!" he bellowed, his voice resonating from within his snow-white beard like thunder. "Fetch the Mediwitch!"

Moments later, the schools Mediwitch appeared. The Mediwitch, McGonagall and Hermione retired to a private chamber. The headmaster paced outside the door. After a few minutes everyone emerged smiling and relieved.

"All is as it should be, Headmaster," Mediwitch Pomfrey stated. "Miss Granger's behind is as round and soft as a lamb's."

"Thank goodness!" replied the headmaster. "So what's causing the sleepless nights?"

"I don't know, Headmaster. Perhaps it's the way she's sleeping."

Overhearing this, Hermione smiled. "No problem. I'll try to sleep differently tonight."

The next morning, Hermione's backside was as sore as ever, though only one cheek was affected since she had slept on her side.

"Impossibly!" rallied the headmaster, completely perplexed. "She has a new mattress, a new frame, and her bottom is as round and soft as a lamb's. Where in Merlin's name is the lump coming from?"

"There's something else," murmured Hermione as her cheeks coloured slightly. "It's no longer just a lump. Last night, I felt to see what it might be, and it began to grow. In fact, the more I felt it, the more it grew, until it became a most irregular shape."

"What kind of shape?" asked McGonagall, now more concerned than ever before.

Hermione looked around and picked up one of the large candles from the breakfast table. "Well, it was long and hard like this, except much thicker. And it was larger at the top, almost like a mushroom. And here, at the base, it had what felt like two apples, one on either side."

McGonagall dropped her fork onto her plate. The headmaster nearly choked on his buttered scone. As soon as he recovered, he stood and yelled, "Phoenix's, Fetch Auror Shacklebolt!"