Whim of the heart
Her head was down and would remain thus as long as Draco would be flying right in front of her. She wouldn't take the risk to raise it, to meet his eyes. Even if he was focused on the game – he'd such a determined expression on his face - she knew he'd instantaneously understand.
Her feelings had to remain secret. She couldn't, wouldn't, tell anybody. Her pride, her sense, the fear she might be rejected after such a confession, were all restraining her from looking away from her knees.
She certainly looked ridiculous right now, with her lowered head when everybody else was focused on the Quidditch match going on.
She shouldn't have yielded to her whim. To observe him in her shelter, the library, where she could hide behind books, should have been enough to satisfy her.
The last time she'd heard him talk about Quidditch, the passion his voice held had roused in her the urge to see him play. And though Hermione Granger wasn't usually present in the pitch, much less when Gryffindor wasn't Slytherin's adversary. She had come to this match.
Her cheeks reddened more. She'd been such a fool to do that! What excuse did she have to be there? None. If she raised her head, met his eyes, if he saw her red cheeks, the feelings in her eyes, she'd be done for.
Because he'd definitely understand.
Cheers coming from the Slytherin's side broke her determination. Were they for him? Her head jerked up, her breath caught up in her throat. Of course, they were for him. Draco was skilfully flying with the golden snitch in his right hand. He was gorgeous... and looking straight at her!
She swallowed hard. He winked at her.
Done for, she was definitely done for.