It happens in the library, because of course it does. You’ve been studying, half-asleep, parchment everywhere, when someone sits down across from you.

You don’t look up.

You just groan dramatically. “I swear, if Oliver Wood walks past me one more time with his stupid muscles, I’m going to combust.”

There is silence.

Suspicious silence.

You continue, because apparently you hate yourself.

“And his smile? Illegal. Completely illegal. And the way he talks about Quidditch? Honestly, I’d let him—”

A small cough.

A very familiar small cough.

You freeze.

Slowly… very slowly… you lift your head.

Hermione Granger is staring at you.

Her eyebrows are raised so high they might detach from her face.

“Good afternoon,” she says, voice way too calm.

Your soul leaves your body.

She folds her hands neatly on the table. “So,” she begins, “You have a crush on Oliver Wood.”

“I—I—No—Well—I—Maybe—No—YES—NO—”

Hermione tilts her head. “You said—and I quote—‘I’m going to combust if he walks past me again.’”

“I WAS TIRED. AND HUNGRY. AND DELIRIOUS.”

Hermione purses her lips. “You were also very… descriptive.”

You cover your face with your hands. “Please forget anything I said. Obliviate yourself. Hit your head on the bookshelf. I don’t care.”

Hermione snorts. “No. Absolutely not. This is too good.”

“You’re enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

She scoots closer, eyes sparkling with mischief you’ve never seen in her before.

“So… what exactly makes Oliver Wood ‘illegal’?”

“HERMIONE.”

“Is it the smile? The jawline? The arms?”

“You’re evil.”

She beams. “Just curious!”

You groan. “He’s just… cute. Okay? And he’s so focused and hardworking and—ugh—whatever.”

Hermione’s expression softens for a moment. “You could always talk to him, you know.”

Immediately you panic. “No. Absolutely not. I cannot speak to him. I’ll die.”

Hermione smirks. “I could introduce you"