Her very presence makes you drunk. Padma's like no one you've ever met— just a prissy little Ravenclaw— except she is brilliant and bold and the way she smiles makes you dizzier than you've ever been before.
You know that she drinks pumpkin juice religiously and hates coffee, that her notebooks are meticulously organized by subject and color, that there's a white streak in her hair which she tries to hide.
You've never spoken to her.
You think, maybe, someday, you will. You doodle her name on paper (and then burn it so no one will ever find out, because what kind of pureblood daughter dreams about a girl?). You plan speeches in your mind, pick out exactly the right words to say, and then she walks in and your breath catches and you are speechless. Words? What words? How could anyone think when she's right there?
She is kinder than you, prettier, smarter. Better in every way. You ought not bother her; why would she want anything to do with you?
But you can't bear to give her up, so you dream and sigh and wish for impossible things.
In the end, she asks you out. You are speechless and she laughs at your ridiculous smile.
It's a sunny day in Hogsmeade where you first kiss her. You think you will never be this happy again.