Intensity
There is such within her eyes. Like glowing embers. Burning. Scorching hot. Hot enough to damn me to Hell (which she constantly does). It is not a pretty thing.
She is not beautiful. Intensity is too much to ever be called beautiful. And she is much too intense. Enough to make anyone uneasy; intimidated; frightened. But not me. I'm too smug (or stupid) for that.
It's not just her eyes, either. Her whole being just hums with intensity. It's the way she tilts her head while reading, the she holds herself, the way she always knows the answer. It's the way she moves her hair out of her face, treating it as the hindrance that it is, throwing it back.
You could never call her gorgeous. Gorgeous and intense don't mix (except in the world of fashion – which she is definitely not part of). They tell her she is, but she's too smart to believe them. She knows it's a lie and she's too intense to let it bother her.
She is too nice to be so intense and I don't see how she manages it, but it she does. She's only so nice though, before you push her too far – but what did you expect? She's intense. The very definition of the word, and it's why I love her.
I'm back! At least a little bit, if not all the way. I hadn't felt the desire to write in such a long time, and then this popped into my head shortly after moving to a new city. I hope you enjoy it. Draco/Hermione forever!!!!
Dizzy