Title: Contradict
Character(s): Draco; Hermione.
Summary: I hate everything about you; so why do I love you?
Disclaimer: If you think I own HP, you clearly live under a rock.
Dedication: To Tasha, who's too obsessed with DM/HG fanfiction for her own good.
Thanks: My betas - kayp and torikkusuta.
"Only when I stop to think about it; I hate everything about you, why do I love you?"
- Three Days Grace, I Hate Everything About You
Honestly, I hate her.
Professor Snape was right in third year. She is a know-it-all; and she makes sure that everybody knows it - always sticking her hand up every single time a teacher asks a question, and makes sure that everybody is aware of the stupid fact that she's a filthy, disgusting Mudblood who is beating us all. It's a beautiful thing; watching her get frustrated and annoyed over somebody actually being better at her than something - Scarface at DADA (although, let's be honest - that is the stupidest subject on the planet), and, surprisingly, at Potions. I hate the way that, compared to her, I never seem to amount to anything. I hate the way that she so easily gets the marks that I deserve.
Weasel and Potty are her security guards; they're her safety net. I never need to look far to find her - I just follow the bright red hair and the large crowds. Sometimes, I watch them in class - she leans towards them, explaining something; her bushy head bends over their work, and her quill scratches out unnecessary sentences and adds in information they've forgotten. They arrive together for breakfast, lunch, and dinner - and they make her laugh. Something I so desperately want to do, but I can't. She thinks I'm pure evil, nothing but a pure "ferret." I hate the way she makes me feel worthless; almost as much as I hate the way she so effortlessly gains friends.
She acts as if being in Gryffindor means she's already better than the rest of us; because Gryffindors are brave and courageous, almost to the point of being fearless. She will willingly chase after Death Eaters, fight with trolls, and face a reputed escaped murder in order to save the ones that she loves. She rides Thestrals and falls into Devil's Snare. I hate the way that she does the things that I so desperately want to do, but can't. I hate the way I feel useless around her.
I hate the way that she doesn't realise the power she has over people, me in particular. I couldn't help but feel like an idiot at the Yule Ball (with simpering Pansy Parkinson hanging off my arm, no less - euch) as she walked into the Great Hall with Viktor Krum as her date. It seemed to highlight how useless I was - why would she ever go out with me, when she had a famous Quidditch star practically groveling at her feet. So I felt kind of victorious when she began to fight with Weasley over the whole "sordid" affair. But that meant spending the next two years in tormented silence as she and Weasley had this love affair that never really got off the ground; and yet it seemed unspoken that whenever an event came up they would be there, together. That made me feel even more useless - I mean, if she's going to be going out with Weasley, there's absolutely no hope in hell for me.
I hate the way that she's passionate about what she does. She seems to have this... fire inside of her; which spurs her to do things like stand up for House Elves and push others to their absolute limit. She will never, ever take no for an answer; believing that books have the answer to everything; and if you can't find it in the library, you can't find it anywhere. I hate the fact that every time I see her, she's got her head buried in a six hundred page book of some sort. I hate how she ignores people's decisions if she's aware of the fact that theirs is more informed than hers - like with the House Elves. Despite even their protests; she insisted on freeing them all. I hate how Muggle she appears to be; yammering on about walkie talkies and mobile phones and electricity. I hate her habits and her mannerisms and her personality, and yet I'm strangely attracted to it.
I hate how that in her presence, I am no longer the wizard aristocrat that I was bought up to be. My palms begin to sweat and my heart begins to beat faster; and I turn into a nervous wreck. I struggle to come up with an insult; or anything to say, really. I hate the need to know her better. I should hate her with every fibre of my being, but I don't. Quite the opposite, really.
I hate to admit it, but I think that I love her.