No. Things like this were not supposed to happen to people like him. How could it? He spent his whole life being praised for his aristocratic looks, his money, his talent, everything. He spent his entire childhood perfecting the cold and uncaring mask the Malfoy's were known for, only to have it torn down in a matter of seconds. In only a glimpse.
Only one glimpse of her in Hogsmeade decimated his entire life, what he worked so hard under that bastard Voldemort for. She thought no one could see her, the sly little thing had used a glamour charm to alter her looks. But, one of the perks of being in Voldemort's inner circle was that he learned how to see through glamour charms, among other things.
And she couldn't hide those lustrous bronze curls, wide honey eyes flecked with fragments of spring green, and succinctly swaying hips from him. Vastly different from the owl nest of hair and buckteeth she had during most of their school years. Hermione Granger, the mudblood bookworm of the golden trio, best friend of the late St. Potty and Weasel, was now a bombshell.
She was currently walking down the alley, eyes downcast as to not meet the gaze of Voldemort's lackeys who were hanging around outside the Three Broomsticks. Her gaze stayed on the cobblestone road in front of her, never once thinking that he might be following her.
And, to his surprise, he was. His commanding footfalls followed her own soft ones, the inky cloth of the cloak that currently covered his silver gold hair and slate grey eyes swished around his slim ankles as they walked. She was turning now, away from the populated square of Hogsmeade and towards the shrieking shack. Her milky white skin gleamed like porcelain in the sudden glimpse of sunlight as they came out from under the shade of Hogsmeade. He couldn't help his eyes following the gentile line of her jaw up to her peony pink lips...he stopped suddenly.
What on earth was he doing? She was a mudblood, a creature lesser than him. She was the dirt underneath his italian leather loafers. Yet he had never seen dirt as divine as her.
Even if she was a mudblood, he could always just take what he wanted. He was pureblood, far superior than her. He didn't need her permission. He just needed her.
He walked quickly to catch up for the time he had lost questioning his morals.
