OMG is it sad that I really love this chapter? Because I do and it's kind of sad XD

And THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! PLEASE keep them up, guys, they mean so much to me!

Lastly, I'd like to apologize for whenever you get a notification that says this story has been updated when it's just me trying to get the story on the archive page. It's really irritating because I'll, like, update the story, but it'll continue to say that it was last updated the time before and so the story won't pop up on the HP most recently updated page, you know? So sorry if you keep getting stupid notifications for it, I'm just trying to get it to show up as updated XD

Love you all!


Hermione sat in Potions class, doing her very best to avert her eyes from the boy sitting next to her. It was several weeks after she had seen Malfoy dueling with Harry and Ron and things between the two Potions partners had gotten no better. He still sat next to her, as useless as a bump on a log, only moving or talking when he felt like humiliating her.

The thing that really infuriated Hermione, though, was the fact that he had been right when he said she wouldn't tell the headmaster about the incident in the halls. She wished desperately that he would get the punishment he deserved, but if pulling Harry, Ron, and therefore her house down with him was the consequence, then the prefect had to admit that it just wasn't worth it.

And the fact made her quite peeved off, not only at Malfoy for bending the rules, for finding a loophole, but at herself for giving in so easily. She was a prefect, for God's sake! She wasn't supposed to act out of her own self benefit! She was supposed to hand out punishments to any and all who deserved them, no matter who they were and what they meant to her.

Besides, she knew that had the three dueling students been anyone else, she would've sent them to detention before they could say "they started it!"

Setting aside her angry thoughts, Hermione decided to try to focus on her current potion instead. Professor Slughorn had instructed them to make Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. So there she sat, adding a drop of this and a pinch of that, but she found her mind wandering all the same.

And perhaps it was the scents of him that wafted their way into her nose, but Hermione couldn't help thinking about a certain redheaded boy. Ronald Weasley had been her best friend, along with Harry, of course, for the past five years, and recently she'd begun to find him quite a bit more attractive. Maybe it was the brightness of his hair, or his goofy little grin, but she just couldn't get him out of her head.

And the damn potion that sat bubbling on the table in front of her was doing her no help in keeping him from her mind.

Yes, she was still confused about what she thought about Harry and Ron as far as how they were perceived by others and whether or not they really were the "good" guys after all, but those ideas didn't have to get in the way of her feelings for Ron. Whether or not he was what a protagonist usually consisted of had nothing to do with the matter because either way, she still liked him.

She shot him a quick look, and was embarrassed to catch his eye almost immediately. Simultaneously, they both looked away, faces turning red.

Hermione and Ron, and Harry, too, had made up immediately after their feud with Malfoy. Hermione had apologized, the very thing she hadn't wanted to do in the situation, but she decided to set aside her pride as she usually did and put the past behind them. Harry and Ron had apologized, too, telling her that they shouldn't have gotten so short with her so quickly, and the three's friendship had been restored.

So here they were, weeks later, better than ever.

And as she sat in Potions, smelling the Amortentia, she couldn't help but wonder what Ron smelled and hoping that it was of her perfume and favorite quill.

Oh, stop being silly, Hermione, she thought to herself. Now isn't the time to think about him! You have better things to do with your time than obsess over a boy, after all.

But maybe, just maybe, she wanted to be like a normal teenage girl for once and let herself have a crush, dare she say it.

And maybe it was the fumes getting to her head, but she had a feeling that maybe he felt the same for her, in the way she felt for him.

And the thought made her happy.

But now wasn't the time to think about that. She shook her head slightly, looking back to the potion that she wished so desperately that she could use.

. . . ….. . . .

Draco sat next to the mudblood, throwing a bit of herbs into his potion emotionlessly. He watched with a blank expression as they melted into the liquid, turning a dark pink. A light red smoke drifted up from the concoction, and Draco was surprised to smell what he did:

Nothing.

He groaned inwardly, rolling his eyes and sighing. Awesome. His life had become so humiliatingly lonely and painful that he was no longer attracted to anyone or anything. He just didn't care about anything anymore, and this God-awful potion proved it to him.

For in the few weeks since Zabini had ditched him, his life had become what he'd expected it to turn into: a pathetically isolated asylum of self-hate and turmoil.

Because he found that he did dislike himself in some circumstances. He hated himself for letting the only "friends" he had ever had go so easily, without even trying to keep them. Zabini had been right when he'd told Draco that Crabbe and Goyle would side with him and ditch the blonde. And Parkinson…she had simple needs, which could be dealt with simply and quickly. Not to mention that Zabini wasn't a bad looking guy, and Parkinson would settle for him any day.

Before, maybe, he hadn't been quite as devilishly handsome as Draco was, but things had definitely changed in his favor recently. Draco's newfound dislike of himself had led to his lack of eating and social contact. He much preferred to stay inside, holed up in his bed, than going outside or even moving enough to go to the Great Hall for a quick bite. Since there was no longer anyone to sit with, why go at all? He'd just look like an antisocial outsider sitting by himself at the end of the long table.

Of course he did eat sometimes, but usually just enough to get him through the day. A quick bite at breakfast or dinner would suffice, then he'd be off to his dorm or his next class.

Still, he was Draco Malfoy, so his self-loathing didn't venture past about that level. He hated that he had let his friends go and that had resulted in some health problems, but aside from that, he was still the same proud, smart, and stubborn boy. He would never admit to anyone how broken he would sometimes feel, for that was a weakness, and Malfoys never showed weakness.

And, he consoled himself, it's not like any changes with me have been that noticeable. Sure, I've lost a few pounds, but it's not like anyone pays enough attention to me, anyways. I'm still the same person.

He sighed quietly as he stirred his potion, watching it turn a dark red. He couldn't help but feel sad, of course, that he no longer had anyone to talk to, but he'd get over it. He always did.

Who needs them, anyways? It's not like they ever contributed much. All they ever did was do what I told them, and I could have always done those things myself. I don't need them. I've never needed them.

He blinked in surprise at the thought. Yeah. Yeah, he was right! He didn't need the blundering buffoons! They'd never done anything that he couldn't have managed on his own. In fact, he was starting to wonder why he'd kept them around at all in the first place.

Good for nothing fools, he thought, smirking. I'll show them. I don't need anyone.

He'd show them all right. He'd show them all. He needed absolutely no one. He was self-dependent, after all, and he would no longer allow this self-pity to rule over his life. He resolved in that moment to walk with his head held high and no longer hide from the world.

He was Draco Malfoy. Anyone who dared to cross his path who had the temerity to even think anything low of him would be sorry.

Smirking, he looked up from his potion to see the mudblood, her face screwed up in concentration as she watched the simmering pot beneath her frizzy brown hair. Her brown eyes were intense beneath her frown of concentration and she bit her bottom lip as she watched the cauldron.

Wow, he hated her. She was such a teachers' pet, such a know-it-all. A goody two shoes, a wimpy little school girl. She didn't deserve the honor of sitting next to him, him, in any of her classes for any reason whatsoever.

Well, then? he questioned himself. What are you going to do about the filthy little mudblood?

Smirking, he raised his wand beneath the table, pointing it at her robes. Smiling slightly, he whispered, "Incendio."

The words were hardly hearable, but they had the desired effect. Instantly, flames sprung from his wand and jumped to her black robes, growing larger by the second.

It took the mudblood several moments before she even noticed that anything at all was wrong. Obviously feeling the heat, though, she eventually looked down and immediately let out a shriek of shock, springing back from the table, knocking her chair over in the process. She batted at the fire, forgetting of her wand in her desperation. Her attempts were entirely fruitless, however, and the flames only grew, eventually encasing her as she screamed in pain and fear.

By now, the entire class's attention was on her. Everyone was out of their seats, mouths agape and gasps filling the room. It seemed as if everyone was paralyzed, too confused and surprised to do anything.

"Please!" the mudblood screeched as she fell to the floor, trying to claw her way to her table and wand. The fire swept over her chest, close to catching her hair in its clutches. Her terrified eyes shot up and instantly connected with Draco's, the person closest to her. "Help me!"

But he just laughed, trying his hardest not to double over from the humor of it all. This was the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks! How could she possibly think that he'd stop the entertainment?

"AQUAMENTI!" the voice screamed, terror making the words unnaturally loud. Water spurted from the person's wand and drenched the mudblood, putting out the flames. She gasped in relief, falling entirely back to the ground, shaking with sobs and gasps of agony. A few wisps of smoke floated in the air around her, highlighting the bursts of red, burnt skin.

The Weasel and Pothead rushed to her side instantly, the latter stashing his wand back into his pocket after he'd extinguished the flames. As he tried to talk to her, the redhead turned to Draco, eyes as lit with anger as the fire had just been with Draco's entertainment.

"What the bloody hell?!" he yelled. "How could you? How could you?! Are you really so heartless to just stand there and watch her burn?"

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The bloody idiot shouldn't have gotten herself on fire. That's not my fault."

"Yeah, and I bet you set her on fire, didn't you?! 'Cauldron fire' my ass!"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "How dare you accuse me of—?"

"Oh, please!" Weasel shouted. "As if it's so far-fetched for you to have done this to her! It's no wonder you haven't any friends, Malfoy, no one likes you! And you think it's because you're so high and mighty! Well why don't you get your head out of your ass and realize that you repel people! No one wants to be friends with such a selfish, stuck up, arrogant git like yourself!"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as Slughorn intervened. He directed Potter and Weaselby to take the burnt mudblood to the hospital, and they quickly obliged. He then dismissed the rest of the class, saying he had to report this to the headmaster.

As he hurried from the classroom, fuming as he left quickly so that he couldn't be called back by the somewhat oblivious teacher, Draco couldn't help but swallow his rising sense of guilt. The scene that had just played out had been hilarious, he couldn't deny that…

But was it too low? Even for him?

He shook his head, scoffing. No, no way. The mudblood deserved it. She was a snobbish Gryffindor, she deserved anything that came her way.

But what if the Weasel was right? That he really was all of those things…

No. No, he couldn't be. He wasn't heartless. He just really hated the mudblood.

Yet he couldn't keep one thought from his head as he walked to the Slytherin common room and shut himself in his dorm: most people didn't light others on fire just for entertainment, even if they were their enemy.


2175 words. Nice XD

OK, the new chapter will be up when I get like 5-7 reviews I guess. IDK :/

Love you lots!