No.
No, no, no.
Never.
No.
Just...
Yes.
Wait.
No.
No.
No.
Uh-uh.
Snap out of it.
You've seen pretty girls before.
Pretty?
As if.
No.
She's more...
Beautiful.
Stunning.
Positively striking.
Dazzling.
Amazing.
A mere "pretty" can't suffice for -
Wait.
No.
Stop.
Look at something else.
Anything else.
As if that were possible.
She smiles at him.
No.
No.
My face is hot.
Why him?
Wait.
No.
Stop it.
The ground's suddenly more interesting...
No.
Stupid.
The ground's boring.
What about the ceiling?
Better.
Nope.
Bored.
Where's she now?
He kisses her hand.
She blushes.
I'm angry.
Furious, actually.
What?
Why?
Wait.
No.
He's an idiot.
Yes, of course.
An annoying bastard.
Most definitely.
So why is she dancing with him?
In that amazing dress.
Oh.
Oh.
Wow.
WAIT.
STOP.
NO.
BAD DRACO.
Is that punch over there?
Oh.
How interesting.
Yes, punch.
Delicious punch.
I'll have some punch.
It's red.
Red punch.
Nice color, red is.
Yes.
Red punch.
Nice red punch in nice blue glasses.
Blue.
She's wearing blue.
Where is she?
Oh.
Sitting at that table.
Where's that Bulgarian oaf she's with?
By the punch.
The red punch
The nice red -
You're kidding yourself, Draco.
Groan.
Moan.
Whine.
She's still at the table.
She's frowning.
Why?
Her fingers tap dully along with the music.
The overly large, not even good-looking Quidditch player drops the punch he's carrying.
Or was carrying.
His face is stoic.
Annoyed.
I smirk.
He starts cleaning it.
This is my chance.
I could ask her to dance.
What if -
Wait, what?
No.
No.
No, no, no.
Never.
Well, maybe.
Just...
Maybe.
He's walking back to their table.
He hands her a glass of punch.
It looks like she says thank you.
But she doesn't smile.
Not really.
I grin to myself.
This won't last long...
Maybe.
I'll have a chance again.
Of course.
Then maybe...
But -
No.
She's -
Stop.
She's so beautiful.
So?
She isn't always this -
Obviously, she is.
Wait.
No.
What's wrong with me?
I -
Shut up.
But she's so beautiful.
And the idiot she's with...
He's an idiot.
Idiot.