One With Their Intentions

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, sadly. Credit goes to JK Rowling for the series, of course.

A/N: This is not the first fic I have written, but it is the first that I have published. So any sort of constructive criticism is highly appreciated.

The first part is set during Hermione's sixth year, but I'm toying with the idea of writing about their seventh year and a potential eighth year, therefore later on in the story there may be some explicit scenes. If scenes of violence, angst and a little bit of smut aren't really your thing, then thanks for stopping by but this fic may not be your cup of tea :)

Anyways, enough babbling from me, on with the story!

~Mary-Anne xx

                                                                                         oooOooo

Hermione climbed through the hole in the stone wall, hearing the portrait swing shut softly behind her. The common room was full of people celebrating, loud music blaring from the other end of the room, and she wondered briefly how the music was playing as muggle devices wouldn't work in the castle. The rumours of a party being held in the common room were obviously correct; the rowdy students were celebrating Gryffindor's latest win on the Quidditch pitch.

She can admit to enjoying the novelty of witches and wizards flying around on broomsticks when she had first learnt about the existence of magic — she thought it amusingly ironic from a muggle perspective. But she had never really cared for Quidditch, at least not as much as her classmates, so a loud and raucous party like this was more of a disturbance of her usual routine of some studying and light reading before settling into bed.

Her eyes scanned the many bodies squashed together in the common room for Harry and Ron, I can at least smile and congratulate them for such a good game, even with that admittedly brilliant stunt Harry pulled with the Felix Felicis.

Her gaze landed upon flame coloured hair and she started towards it automatically, until her line of sight continued to the small girl somehow attached to her friend's face. It took a second for her usually sharp brain to comprehend what was going on.

Lavender. Ron is... snogging Lavender? Hermione's body had frozen in shock and disbelief. He wouldn't, my Ron would never — her thoughts trailed off as she belatedly realised that there is no, and probably would never be, my Ron.

Hurt and confusion and... and anger warred in the pit of her stomach, and she turned and ran back through the portrait hole, hoping no one saw the beginnings of tears as they streamed down her face.

She had never felt pain like this: an incessant, sickening throb in her gut, causing unstoppable racking sobs to shake her to her core, and the need to vomit was creeping from her stomach up her throat. Swallowing back the taste of bile, Hermione found herself in an empty classroom. She leaned against the closed door as she tried to take some calming breaths, but nothing could put an end to the dull ache in her chest.

Sitting on the nearest desk, which just so happened to be the teacher's, she pulled out her wand. It would be wrong to hex him, it would be wrong to hex him, I'm better than that, the thoughts swirled around in her head like a mantra, I will not hex him.

She needed a distraction. Who cares if he wants to be with a superficial, giggling, dim-witted... Hermione stopped her very un-Hermione-ish thoughts. How dare he! How dare he cause me this... this pain!

Deciding to channel her rage into something more productive, she waved her wand and conjured the little yellow birds they had been practicing earlier that week. The little birds fluttered lazily in the space around her head, and she thought it a fitting image depicting her hurt and confusion over something her logical, rational mind should find so trivial.