A/N: Once again, i do not own these brilliant and awesome peoples, J. K. Rowling does. *sob* ... i'm so jealous of that bish ... :P
Oh, and I know Quality Quidditch Supplies isn't in Hogsmeade. But it fits, so just work with me, huh?
That is all. :) Enjoy and please, please review.
HERMIONE's P.O.V...
Oh, gosh, there he is! Look at him, it's like he's glowing. It's so ... beautiful ... No, Hermione, don't let him catch you staring, don't let anybody catch you! I could imagine the looks on Harry and Ron's faces if they saw me gazing at him ... gazing at his amazing grey eyes, his silver blonde hair ... Stop! Oh, there I go again, wanting things that I shouldn't. But ... Look at him! Whycan't I want him? I don't belong to Harry and Ron; I'm not their doll with a love life for them to interfere with. Psh, what are they going to do if I start dating him? What are they going to do when I become Mrs. Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy – Oh, dear; there I go, yet again, imagining the impossible. As if he could love me. According to him, I'm the know-it-all Mudblood; he wouldn't give me the time of day. And he doesn't. But a girl can wish, can't she? Even if she mustn't, she has every right to dream. Ugh, what is with this silly dispute? No, I don't deny that he's been a bully to Harry and Ron, and even me. But every villain has a good side, too, right? Sigh. I wish.
"—oh, and look, Harry, it's the newest issue of Brooms Weekly; those Siennas are nothing compared to your Firebolt, though, eh?" Ron was babbling eagerly.
We were in Hogsmeade at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Harry and Ron had dragged me away from Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop to goggle at the Quidditch supplies. Seriously, what is with boys and Quidditch? It's like an addiction. No, scratch that; it is an addiction.
"No lie, buddy. Those Siennas look like wooden snails. Although, you have to admit, those Flyers seem quite impressive, even compared to my Firebolt," Harry replied humbly but just as animatedly. They continued to discuss the many broom models, Quidditch, and which of the said sports' teams were the best. They didn't notice that I wasn't paying an ounce of attention, not even when they asked for my opinion on which broomsticks or whether it was obvious that the Chudley Cannons would rise to the top (eventually).
So, anyways, I had spotted Draco Malfoy while I was glancing out the window waiting for the boys to finish their boring conversation make their purchases so that we could leave. He had been walking into Honeydukes, the sweet shop. Sigh. He was alone, and before he had walked in, he glanced around the square. Keeping an eye out for someone? I just stood there, staring out the store window at the front entrance of Honeydukes, waiting for him to come out. Before he did, however, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around. "What?" I demanded.
It was Harry. "We're leaving. What's gotten into you?" he asked as we walked out the door. "We were calling you but you just kept staring out the window."
"Yeah," seconded Ron, grinning as he playfully pounded my back, "If you wanted to go to Honeydukes so badly, you could have just told us, Mya, instead of ignoring us like you did. And you say I'm the rude one!"
"You are, Ronnie," said Harry, laughing, "But he's right, Hermy, that was unusually ignorant of you. Let's say we go now, eh? Off to Honeydukes!"
"Yes! Off to Honeydukes!" Ron cheered, dragging me by the hand. "Indeed!" proclaimed Harry, feeling absolutely frivolous.
I swallowed. That was the exact opposite of how I felt. Draco hadn't left yet. When I step in there, I'll probably freeze up, staring at him, while he puts on that smirk that has gotten me head over heels for a guy that I should hate. Everybody would see that I'm in love with the pulchritudinous git and they would say that I've disappointed them, that I've let the side of good down. They'll kick me out of Gryffindor and the Slytherins will suck me into their evil clan and use the Cruciatus curse on me until I myself turn into a no good Dark-Sider and then I'll be the one alongside Lord Voldemort trying to kill Harry. They'll be saying that I should be happy, because now I'm married to Draco; my evilness and devotion to the Dark Lord has made up for my Muggle background. We now have little blonde- and brown-haired children running around and being evil and such, bullying the other kids, and we'll all live happily – and evilly – ever after in Draco's inherited very large and very pompous manor – which has been painted a bright, cheerful blue by wrongly mistreated house elves – the great Harry Potter dead and the world at the heels of Lord Voldemort, who is invited for dinner over at said manor every week, usually on a Tuesday or a Thursday, depending on when he's not too busy ruling the wizarding world and such to have a nice, warm, slave-cooked dinner with his best and highly honored devotees of Darkness and their beautiful children, all of whom are ready to become loyal Death Eaters in the future.
I blinked. Wow. I never knew I had such an imagination.
In all that haste, I didn't notice that I was already in Honeydukes, or that Ron and Harry were staring at me again, trying to get my attention.
"Hmm. Harry, I think this is getting serious. She's even making faces," Ron speculated. "Have you ever seen her like this? Because I know I haven't." He was standing rather close to me, studying my expression. It really must have been something, because Ron's face looked extremely disturbed, furrowing his eyebrows and biting his lip in thought. Harry's face didn't look much different. His hand was stroking his chin, and his brilliant green eyes had a glint of worry in them. "I can't say that I have, mate. Do you think someone's messed with her pumpkin juice?"
"To tell you the truth, no, I don't. She's been acting weird for a while now, even I noticed that. You don't think she's on narcotics, do you?" Ron said in a low voice. "I hear that Muggle junk is strong. I don't think there's a wizard-made potion strong enough to gum up the brain of Hermione Jean Granger." He leaned in closer to my face; I could see all of his freckles quite clearly. It looked like he was considering poking me again. His face scrunched up. Okay, now this is getting annoying.
"No, I am not on drugs, Ronald," I finally said. Ron yelped loudly and jumped at my sudden revitalization. Harry was also slightly startled, but stayed silent. "And there's nothing wrong with me. Just ... Just a little tired, is all. It's awfully sweet, though, that you care so much. But really, I'm fine," I added as Harry opened his mouth to protest.
"Great! Well, now that that's out of the way, let's get some sweets," Ron said excitedly as he sped to the back of the store, figuring it was nothing and turning his mind back to candy, which was exactly what I was hoping for. I swear; his attention span is smaller than a pink-hatted ten-year-old kid's. Harry didn't seem so convinced, though. Luckily, Ron called, "Harry, Hermione, come here! There's a new flavor of suckers; I can't pronounce it but it looks bloody delicious ..." before Harry could properly interrogate me. Sighing I scuttled to where Ron was examining the so-called delicious suckers. Harry had arrived a couple of seconds later, glancing at me more often than usual and occasionally muttering to no one in particular, nodding when Ron asked him questions that no one could really answer, because he kept talking anyways.
As I was looking at some sugar quills, I saw Draco rush out of the store, looking back only once.
DRACO's P.O.V...
There she is! In that ruddy Quidditch shop, with those dorks, Potter and Weasley. Why in the world would she enjoy the presence of those two? I mean, surely someone like her – highly intelligent, beautiful, charming; much like myself – would prefer better company, like yours truly, for instance. Ack! What is wrong with me? How could I have grown a liking towards Granger? Purebloods like me don't fall for Mudbloods like her. Not even ones with soft, chocolate brown eyes and sweet faces ... No, especially not them. What would father think? That I'm a disgrace to the family name, that's what. Hundreds of generations of purebloods, and then I come along and botch that up. Embarrassing, that's what that is. But... Look at her! Surely a face like that would excuse her Muggle background. Oh! I can't stand it! Draco Malfoy, you are going to ask her out today. You are not going to listen to Crabbe and Goyle. You are to dump Pansy immediately – it's not like you really liked her in the first place anyways – and ask out Hermione. It is a priority, I told myself firmly. I sighed. Good luck, Draco.
Looking around for any closely watching eyes, I ran into Honeydukes. Maybe I can butter her up with a box of Chocolate Cauldrons. I spotted them almost instantly, behind a rather solid crowd of third years. I managed to grab a box as I pushed myself through the gaggle of Ravenclaws – which took a lot longer than I expected – turned around and hid behind a shelf at what I saw. It was Granger, and her two goons. The latter, I could handle, but Hermione... I don't think I'd be able to make it out without staring at her. Oh, bullocks... I waited till they all turned away before I dashed to the cashier, paid, and darted out the door, looking back once or twice. I think I saw her looking at me, I can't tell. Gods, that girl...
A/N: Yeah, Draco's part is small. Deal wid it.
Have a nice day! :)