Harry was deep into his Potions essay, sure it was probably close to midnight if not later, when Hermione plopped down into the squishy chair next to his in the common room. He would have worked on it sooner—at least he told himself that—if he hadn't been at Quidditch practice nearly all day. The match was in a week and Harry was still worried about Ron.
"You spelled 'cauldron' wrong, Harry." Hermione was hovering over his shoulder and Harry looked at where her finger was pointing, appalled at himself to find she was right. The words were starting to blur and Harry rubbed his eyes, realizing the extent of his exhaustion.
"Thanks," he muttered to Hermione, dipping his quill in ink to continue writing.
"Harry..." she trailed off, clasping her hands, no longer hovering closely.
With an inward sigh, Harry set his quill down and looked at her. "Whatever you want to ask, just ask it, I need to finish this tonight."
"Sorry," Hermione apologized, though her eyes said she wasn't very sorry. "I just—I've been wondering something?"
"Go on."
"Well, I see you hanging around quite a lot and I just wondered, well, is there something with you and Cedric?" Her last words were rushed and she looked at her hands after she'd finished.
Harry was stunned. He was flabbergasted. He hadn't known what to expect from her but it sure wasn't that. "I—what?"
"I just mean—he said something about you writing to him over summer and I see the way he looks at you sometimes and—"
"Wait, Hermione, what in world are you talking about?"
"You and Cedric!"
Harry gaped at her and then nodded slowly. "Okay, me and Cedric. What about us?"
She let out an exasperated sigh and looked Harry in the eyes. "Are you and Cedric, you know, dating?" The last word was whispered, like it was some big secret.
Harry was silent, eyes wide. "WHAT?" he almost shouted. He took a steadying breath. "What would make you think that?" He was genuinely confused, unable to grasp how Hermione had even come to that conclusion. Sure he and Cedric spent time together whenever they got the chance and Cedric liked to walk him to class sometimes and when they talked Harry's cheeks always hurt because of how much he was smiling but that didn't mean they were more than friends. Right?
As the thoughts passed through his head Harry's hand went to the pendant hanging from his neck, hidden just underneath his shirt. That hadn't been anything special, had it? Cedric had said it was made just for him and Harry didn't even want to ask how much it had cost him, but it didn't mean Cedric—what, had the hots for him? Harry shook his head.
"No, we're not dating. How in bloody hell did you come up with that?" Harry told Hermione, his face drawn into a frown.
Hermione pursed her lips. "It seemed a logical conclusion to me, Harry. Sorry if I've offended you."
"I'm not offended," Harry told her tiredly, his raised hand moving to rest back on his lap. "There's no way a guy like Cedric would date me."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry that's the dumbest thing I think I've heard you say in weeks."
"What d'you mean?"
"Harry, anybody would have to be blind not to see the way he looks at you. It's a wonder you haven't noticed. He gives you that smile he used to use on all the girls." Hermione grinned suddenly at the blush on Harry's cheeks.
"That's not true. Have you been watching him?"
She shrugged. "Observing. I suspected he harbored something for you and I've got to look out for my friends."
