She was crying.
Because of Draco Malfoy.
Again.
And she hated it.
She couldn't figure it out. The brightest witch in their year, couldn't figure it out. How was he able to make her lose it so fast? He was always doing that, in class, in the Great Hall, in the corridors—everywhere. But she supposed that it was because she cared for him. Yes. She admitted to herself. She did care for the blonde Slytherin, who was sneering in front of her.
He was standing in the way of a ray of sunshine, which was sparkling through one of the many windows in the corridor. It bounced off his hair, and contrasted with his pale skin, making him look like an angel.
She tried desperately to keep back the tears that were threatening to over-whelm her. They always came, but she never allowed them to fall in front of him. She knew it would only make him laugh. She wouldn't give him that pleasure. She had already given him her heart, although unwillingly.
He tormented her. Ever since they first met at Hogwarts in their first year. Maybe things would've been different if she wasn't a muggleborn. But it wasn't. Andshe had still managed to fall in love with him. She hated herself for it, and sometimes hated him for it as well.
She sometimes took a glance at him during class, just to take in his strong jaw, the way he slightly tilted his head in concentration, how his icy grey eyes softened whenever he relaxed in his chair, and how even when he smirked, there was always a little laughter in his gaze, as though he knew a joke that no one else did, and he was having a private laugh about it.
But she always had to look away, because he would turn his head in her direction. She would lower her head closer to her work, so he wouldn't catch the slight blush that always crept up onto her face.
He must have noticed her trembling, because he spat out, "What's the matter Granger? Can't take my insults?"
God, if only he knew what he made her feel. Every time she saw him, her stomach would do cartwheels, and feel as though fairies were fluttering around inside it. Even if he was a pureblood, and thought himself too good to be with her, she wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to touch her without flinching away. But she restrained herself from telling him her feelings. She knew he would laugh at her, mock her ruthlessly, do everything in his power to make her miserable.
So instead she slapped him, could feel his skin under her palm for a split second. She had hit him as hard as she possibly could. And felt horrible about it afterwards.
She knew that she would go off to fight Voldemort with Harry and Ron soon, would be fighting against Draco's master. What did she expect him to do? Throw himself in front of her if a spell was aimed her way? She could fantasize about that, but to actually believe that could happen would be to condemn herself to despair when HE turned out to be the one throwing a spell her way.
If Harry won and Voldemort was destroyed, maybe she could convince him to let Malfoy live. She would tell him that she would watch him, keep him in check. But here she stopped herself and laughed to herself grimly. Malfoy wasn't an animal that she could tame. No one could tame his sharp tongue, or pureblood ways. The sarcastic boy was no one's but his own.
And that's what Hermione loved about him. It wasn't just about his looks, God no, not just his looks. He was hot, even she had to admit it, but there was more to him then that. He talked back to teachers, something she wouldn't dream of doing; caused chaos and discord every chance he got, and had still had time to spare. He answered to no one but his master, and even then, he probably only half-assed it.
"Malfoy—you're just like your father. You're a cold, heartless bastard. You hate muggle-borns just because they aren't purebloods, and you call them harsh names. But let me tell you something. If you pricked my finger, I wouldn't bleed mud. I would bleed red drops, just like you. Though I doubt you would care if I was bleeding." She could tell her voice was quivering as she told him that, but she was far past trying to keep it even. She made a fist at her side and she could feel the unshed tears starting to well up, but she wouldn't cry until she had left and gotten to the sanctuary of the library. There she could have a nice long cry, and no one would bother her.
She turned on her heel and started to storm off, but when she heard Malfoy's next words, she stopped, struck dumb.
"If only you knew Granger. If only you knew how much I would care. "
She stood there, not knowing what to say. But her body seemed to move of its own accord, and slowly, ever so slowly, she turned. Instead of slapping him again, like she knew she should have, she walked up to him.
As quick as she could, she threw her arms around his neck, stood on tip toe, and kissed his lips softly. An electric jolt swept through them both, and she was about to pull away in shock at what she had done, when she felt something shock her even more—Malfoy started to kiss her back. She closed her eyes, enjoying her first ever kiss (with Malfoy at that!), and when they both needed air, she put her forehead against his.
"This could have happened sooner—if only you had known before," she breathed, opening her eyes. Malfoy did the same, but slowly withdrew from her. "I'm sorry Hermione. But—we can't be together. I won't risk you being hurt. If I had known before—"
"Yes…if only you had known." Hermione responded sadly. She turned, and without another word, made her way to the library, where, for the first time, she would cry, not because of his hurtful words, but because of how soft his lips were, of how much she had loved their kiss…and how they would never be together.