A lock of his thick, wavy hair fell over Oliver's eye. Though it wasn't bothering him as he continued to sleep, Hermione reached out to carefully brush it away from his face. She felt a stirring within her chest that she couldn't quite describe. Something akin to pride, perhaps. She wasn't sure. But she did know that after an entire day and most of the night interviewing another practical child who was thrust into the cruel harshness of their world, she longed to protect him as long as she could. He was the same age she was when she aided her best friend in his mission to keep the Philosopher's Stone out of the hands of the dark wizard she would later pledge her life too. So young and so very innocent, she couldn't have known how difficult the path she would later travel would become. If he was every bit the Gryffindor that she imagined him to be, Oliver would soon find himself in his own noble quest to fight for what was right in a world that was wrong.