CHAPTER 10

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters and core personality traits are the property of J.K. I own nothing, nor do I plan on profiting from using her work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was a sweet, chest-warming scene to the unbiased eye.

But his chest wasn't warmed nor were his grey eyes unbiased.

Two childhood mates slipping into an innocent awareness of one another. A pretty little girl, doe eyed and shy, only for him. A gangly boy, with freckled cheeks as red as his hair, only for her. They sat on a conjured blanket, at least a dozen library books spread out around them as she studied for her classes and he studied her with pathetic stealth.

The young non-couple were a small spot on the Hogwarts grounds, hardly noticeable to the hoards of busy students, but nearly the only thing Draco could focus on as he spied from the shadows of the courtyard.

Every day it grew a little worse and the pureblood's mood a little darker. It was impossible to say what vexed him more; that the pauper had taken so long to notice the person he'd been using for homework answers all these years was actually a priceless witch, or that she was so quick to bask in his delayed attentions.

Weasley, in addition to being entirely unworthy, brought out the worst in her.

She was fire around Draco. Flashing eyes and sharp retorts and lovely, slender fingers that tightened around her wand. The first strike to his perfect face he'd ever received, from man or woman, in his privileged life.

Magnificent.

Over the last few months though, he watched her begin to look at the youngest male from the Weasley litter with the same unsure, starry-eyes the Slytherin witches sent his way.

And insecurity didn't suit her.

But Draco wasn't on the grounds that day to torment himself by watching his subpar adversary string together the courage to court the witch of his dreams. An opportunity to end his suffering had recently presented itself and he wouldn't be worth the Malfoy name if he passed it up.

An opportunity in the form of a loose-legged, chubby faced Gryffindor that looked about as pleased as he at Hermione and Weasley's morphing relationship.

Lavender Brown yelped like a witch up to no good when the Slytherin announced his presence with a lazy drawl, "Enjoying the view?"

The startled girl followed his gaze to the couple half a field away, flushing with embarrassment at getting caught snooping.

"Not particularly," she confessed sullenly.

The Hogwart's broomstick had snogged enough of his housemates to easily accept his company when a one-on-one in the shadows with any other Gryffindor would have ended in a heated duel. He watched as she discretely primed her hair smoothed her robes over ample bust.

"I understand why," he nodded slowly, "Disgusting isn't it?"

Her eyes widened, "Ron and Hermione?"

"A pureblood courting one of them," Draco gave his famous sneer of superiority. His feelings for the little Muggle-born aside, it wasn't hard for him to keep distain in his voice. He held her brilliance as the exception, not the rule.

Brown looked around warily, not eager to be caught involved in such a conversation. Blood status wasn't supposed to matter to the house of red and gold. "You hate Ronald. I would have thought you'd consider them the perfect match."

He shrugged noncommittally, "He's not worth the blood in his veins, but that doesn't mean I enjoy watching our race continue to dilute into filth."

"'Mione's my roommate," she stated softly, but didn't disagree.

"My condolences."

Draco backed off for a moment, skillfully waiting for the dull chit to come around to his implied conclusions. He grimaced as his searching eyes spotted the ginger playfully tickle Hermione's sides in an attempt to pull her attention away from her book. Heaven forbid the idiot bore enough to resort to reading one himself.

They were wrong. All wrong.

He only waited minutes before she predictably continued the conversation. "It doesn't really matter now, does it?" she sighed, watching the same scene with equal annoyance. "He only has eyes for her."

Draco barked a laugh, earning her full attention. It fell short of his typical standard of subtlety but was acceptable for his current audience.

"He hardly has witches lining up for him," he snorted, though it wasn't exactly true. As Potter's lackey, the blood-traitor had his far share of interested followers. "From his position, the little prude probably seems worth the thorough cockteasing he'll get from her."

He could practically hear the schemes churning inside her simple little mind.

"Yeah," she nodded with increasing awareness, "Granger would rather spend her time with Madam Pince than a wizard." Lavender sniffed, offended by the very notion.

Draco didn't have the restraint to listen to the troll delude herself with the idea of being superior to Hermione Granger in anyway. Brown fell flat in every area the Gryffindor princess shined; being of unimpressive beauty, lackluster magical ability and dubious intelligence. Her blood was the only thing pure about the girl.

She was perfect for Weasley.

The jealousy-blind wizard held back his triumphant smirk as he gave her the piece that was sure to secure her crush's affections.

"Trust me, Brown. He'll leave her for the first witch that shows him a good time." He gave her a pointed wink before walking casually back into the castle.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

But two weeks later when Gryffindor lost fifty points for Ron and Lavender's snogging session in the middle of Transfiguration and then another twenty-five when Hermione rushed, unexcused from the room; Draco felt nothing but hollow-souled misery.

Because as it turned out, insecurity suited her a great deal better than heartbreak.