Childhood

Childhood is a state which ends the moment a puddle is first viewed as an obstacle instead of an opportunity.

Childhood…Why can't we stay in those years forever? Those years when nothing seems to matter, when you are your own boss and when you don't care. You don't care about the consequences of running through the puddle because it seems like a good idea to start with. You don't care that your new pants have grass stains or that your hair isn't lying exactly perfect. You just don't care and you don't have to care. It doesn't matter that no one really things your prefect in that sort of way, because you think all the girls have cooties and all you want to do is pick on them about it. Now, now is so much different.

Now, you start to notice the way that one girl waves, the way she smiles, the way she laughs… You start to notice and it's beautiful. Beauty itself… You notice, but does she? No, all she can remember is that snot-nosed kid, who put gum in her hair, called her names and picked on her friends. She'll never notice and she'll never care.

Draco tapped the libraries oak table, staring out the rain-streaked window into the Forbidden Forest. It was a boring day, just like it usually is on those dreary rainy Sundays. So, he had figured he would catch up on his Potions research project. He glanced down at the open book before him. It had been going well and he had acquired quite a few pages of useful notes on the subject, until she walked in.

Until she walked in, flanked by her bodyguards and laughing as usual. Her brown hair pulled up into a bun, a few fly-away strands coming loose to fall into her eyes, which were alight with joy.

Draco's note taking had ended there. He watched with the fascination of a child fixated on a newly discovered creature. She dropped her books on the table, sitting down and opening the old book. With a glance and a giggle up at her two friends, she pulled out her quill and began to write.

Draco cursed himself for acting stupid. This was Hermione. He didn't know what was the matter with him. It was as if she had changed over the summer, though he saw no change in the mousy young girl. She was her regular bookish self that he had loathed over all of there school years together. Perhaps…

Perhaps, he thought, it was he who had changed. Perhaps it was his cold heart who had melted and warmed, warmed to the idea of being held on the nights when the stars outside are so cold and the wind the moonlight that spills through the window freezes you. Perhaps it was him who wanted now to cuddle with another on those cold nights… who wanted someone there to care… to love… to hold as he had never had the experience of receiving from those he thought close. He needed someone like her. Someone warm, touchable, with comforting brown eyes and soft expressions. Instead of what he had to put up with at the manor… distance, hatred, greed, eyes as cold as stone and sharp, jagged facial features.

Yes, someone like her.

To hold.

Draco stood from his chair, and leaving his book on the table, he walked toward Hermione. He walked towards her to apologize, but as she raised those honey-colored eyes, they froze. They grew cold as the harsh winter wind. His head lowered, with a whispered curse at himself, he brushed right past her out into the darkened hallway, lit only by the flickering torches.

But, he felt his heart had another plan… and he heard it whispering…

Perhaps… another time.

Those problems how they change as you grow up. The simple ones seem to drift away, and no longer are you worried about whether or not to sprinkle grass on your mud pies or whether to add mulch. Instead you worry whether or not, she likes you. Whether or not you look okay. Whether or not this person is the one or maybe they'll just break your heart like the rest of them. But, that's growing up.