AN: As usual, not my characters.
"Oh, Hermione!"
He groans in my ear, and I smile, repeating the action that made him react like that. Our meeting is as short as ever, he comes all over my stomach, cleans himself up and walks out. Today, it was barely fifteen minutes. I didn't get anything out of it, but he's promised it's my turn next time. We'll see.
Cleaning myself quickly with a spell, I lean against the wall and wait. Eventually, the figure of Hermione Granger morphs into that of someone else. Taller, slimmer, with short dark hair. Not that I'm boasting, you understand, but that's what I really look like. Checking my appearance in the mirror, I scowl at the uniform I'm wearing, and change the colours back to the original ones. Straightening my robes, I'm ready to face the rest of the school again.
I live in fear that someone will find out about our little rendezvous, but Malfoy just laughs it off every time.
"I hope they do," he says. "It'd be hilarious to see what they made of me and her together."
"And what if it is her?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
Still, if pretending to be Hermione Granger is the only way I can have him, I'll take it. For now, anyway. Then I'll have to give it up and make a good marriage, like a proper pureblooded witch.
But I'm Pansy Parkinson. I can have just about anyone I want. Except for him. I like to pretend he actually cares, when we're together. But as soon as it's over, he goes cold.
He loves me, he loves me not.
Like that game, where you pluck the petals off a flower, and see which one you end up with.
He loves me, he loves me not.
I always end up with "he loves me not". Hermione wouldn't, though. In his own sick, twisted way he does love her, I'm sure.
He loves me, he loves me not.
Loves me not.
AN: Over to you, darlings. Read and Review.