Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am NOT J.K Rowling. Wish I was, but I'm not. I'm making no money from this. Again, wish I was. 'Cause then I'd be a very wealthy lady. Tee hee.
A/N: Okay. This is a Dramione. Obviously. A little different to my previous ones. Won't be a oneshot. DYBIM [Do you believe in magic is on hiatus, not abandoned. If you have any ideas for me, for this series or that one, message them to me, or send them to me in a review. Much appreciated, my dears.
I'll not be writing a second chapter without at least two reviews though. Not many. Come on, you can do it!
Is love true when his arms refuse to hold you?
Is love true when his lips curl into a sneer whenever your eyes meet?
Is love true when every meeting is a battle of words, of wits?
The answer, my dear, is yes. Purely and simply, yes.
Passion is passion. No matter what form.
"I hate him, I hate him! Merlin's baggy tighty-whiteys, he knows. Ron, you couldn't have kept your mouth closed for a minute, could you?!" exclaimed Hermione as she paced the Common Room. She paced swiftly from one wall to the opposite, her bushy hair seemed to crackle with electricity. Her chocolate eyes lit up angrily, firey amber tones shining.
She tried to rake a hand through the mess of tangles and snarls. Her hand stopped, its way blocked by a knot. She groaned, tugged her hand out from her hair and angrily kicked out at the thing nearest. It just happened to be the bottom of the chair Ron was sitting in.
Ron whimpered and lifted his feet up to his chest and out of harms way. He wasn't usually frightened of Hermione. But this moment just happened to be an exception. Hermione kicked out repeatedly, each time hitting cushion. Kick. Kick. Kick. Kick. Then she did a fifth. Her foot missed the cushioning and hit the wood. She yelped and jumped backwards, her other leg catching on the coffee table behind her, and sending her tumbling over the table and to the ground. Her head hit a wizard-chess case and she let out the softest moan. Darkness descended over her world, and before her eyes, a new scene formed.
She saw...the Great Hall. And the scene from before unfolded. She saw herself sitting at the Gryffindor table, eating a Christmas Holiday breakfast of a croissant. She was sitting alone. By that, of course, I mean that neither Harry nor Ron were there. Ginny, however, was.
"You're not serious, are you, Hermione? I mean...you could like anyone...but him? Why? He's always so mean to you. And he's a royal buttplug!" Ginny whispered, a tone of amusement evident.
Hermione gasped. "Ginny! Language! Anyway, I know he's mean, but...he's so cute too. And that whole fighting thing...mmm. Firey. Really firey..."
Ginny laughed. "But it's Draco, Hermione. Draco. I mean, what would Harry and Ron do if they found out that you had a crush on Draco Malfoy?"
"WHAT?! You like Malfoy?!" yelled an outraged voice from behind them. And there, with his ears bright red, was Ron. Next to him stood Harry, whose mouth was agape.
Hermione blushed. "Shut up, Ron! And honestly, close your mouth, Harry or you'll swallow a fly...oh no, oh no..." she said, her eyes wide. She'd been glancing about when she spotted Draco talking feveredly with his friends.
Draco got to his feet and strode over, his eyes sparkling mischeviously. He winked and ran his index finger down her back as he passed. Hermione shivered. Draco smirked and continued out of the Hall, as the other Gryffindors restrained Ron and, to a lesser extent, Harry.