QLFC:

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Chaser 3

Main prompt: Baby Jane Hudson (Whatever Happened to Baby Jane) - Write about someone who lashes out because of jealousy.

Other prompts: [Colour] Jet black, [Word] Unforgettable, [Dialogue] "It isn't that simple."

Story Title: Jealousy (Because of a Crush)

Wordcount: 1746

A/N: This story was inspired by the song "Knocking at the Door" by Arkells, and I found the lyrics fit the feeling I wanted to get across.

It was Monday morning, and Potions was the Slytherin's first class; they were making the Pompion Potion. As Draco stirred the mixture clockwise, the edge of his black robes brushed against his book bag. The brown dragon hide material protected the books from almost everything, and Draco's father had spent a fortune on it.

Draco ground the Bouncing Bulb into dust more forcefully than he really had to. He would show the Mudblood. He would show them all that he was better than her at something. The Bouncing Bulb was ground into an extremely fine powder by the time Draco pulled himself out of his thoughts. As he poured the dust into the cauldron, Draco let his mind wander.

He had become more impulsive, more like his father - was that a bad thing? Draco had always aspired to be more like Lucius Malfoy, the epitome of a Pureblood. He was rich, well-mannered and successful in anything that he did, yet Draco couldn't help but think that being like his father was a good thing. He wanted to be his own person, and not just another, yet younger, version of his father.

The young Slytherin ground his teeth together as he glanced through the classroom. The air was thick with heavy steam rising from cauldrons. He didn't need to look for long until he found the bushy hair of the Mudblood. He'd show her! Draco nodded at Blaise, smirking. He watched in pure delight as his classmate set off a Dr Filibuster's Whirling Cracker, which was aimed at Hermione Granger's cauldron. It launched into the air and let out shamrock green sparks before falling into the girl's cauldron, making the potion react to the unexpected ingredients. The red liquid started bubbling and, much to the two Slytherins' disappointment, Granger just managed to duck in time as the potion erupted, covering the students around it.

As the Gryffindors' heads turned to pumpkins, the Slytherins continued making their Pompion Potions in peace, innocent, yet slightly confused expressions on their faces. Professor Snape had noticed the change immediately, but let the Gryffindors have pumpkin heads for a while before he pretended to notice and sent them up to the Hospital Wing. The Slytherins' smirks couldn't be wider.

He really didn't like Defence against the Dark Arts, he thought begrudgingly, as he sent a curse Goyle's way, throwing him backwards, causing him to slam into the pile of pillows behind him. Yet, he had to admit, it was a nice feeling once you got the hang of a curse. It was Draco's tenth try and he only just got it, as opposed to his first try like Granger. The yellow light that had come out of her wand was extremely bright, almost fluorescent. The desire to prove himself better than Granger was strong; a burning desire, really.

It's the fire burning inside of me.

Draco's pincushion was by no means the most detailed, but it was distinctly him. The jet-black cushion was decorated with emerald green and white swirls, and had silver detailing. Being one of the first to successfully cast the spell, Draco had time on his hands, unfortunately, he couldn't relax; he couldn't stop thinking about how much he wanted the same magical abilities as Granger. He'd never admit that, though - of course not. Yet it irked him that someone like Granger constantly bested him, over and over again.

The light blue pincushion Granger had turned her rat into was decorated with beautiful pale yellow flowers, which were rimmed in an almost-white shade of pink. The centers of the flowers had a slightly bolder yellow, dotted with a brighter pink.

The whole design seemed to be very her, so Draco didn't question it. It looked good and that annoyed the heck out of him. Yet, he didn't notice the light green stems poking out of the flowers or the seven crows that could be seen outside the window.

"Incendio."

Draco had whispered the spell, and an orange bullet shot out of the tip of his wand, heading straight for the Mudblood's pincushion. On impact, the object burst into flames and the girl jumped backward while Professor McGonagall sent a jet of water to the flaming item, putting it out instantly.

The speed at which she could master a spell, the intelligence she showed time and time again; all of it was breathtaking. Hermione Granger was a remarkable witch; just as remarkable as some of the most famous witches and wizards - Merlin, Morgana, the Founders, Dumbledore, even!

She was as smart as humanly possible, and had reflexes that rivalled those of a cat; there was so much good in her, Draco couldn't believe she was real. Someone as annoyingly and frustratingly perfect like her couldn't exist. How in the name of Merlin should he ever be better than her if she literally made it impossible.

Draco was confused, which was unusual. Sure, he had made hard decisions before, but never before had he admired someone's magical ability as he did Hermione Granger's. The Muggle-born witch had the amount of power any Pureblood would wish for. If only he could be that powerful and skilled… Wait, what?

Watching the 'Golden Trio' - which was a stupid nickname, really - talk about how they did on the exams, Draco got distracted by Granger. It really wasn't his fault she was so beautiful – no, he couldn't think like that. Sitting in the only tree in the courtyard, he watched from a distance as the three Gryffindors descended the stairs, acting like siblings rather than friends.

Hermione - no, the Mudblood - chattered on, and Draco's rage was building. The report cards that were distributed at the end of each year were going to come out soon, and it would take a miracle for Draco to get the marks he was hoping for.

No, I don't need a miracle. I've got something far more powerful.

"Oh, I hope I get good grades! It would be amazing!"

"Sure, you would want good grades on the exams, but it's also good to be able to use the spells well in hard situations than have the ability to do all the spells in controlled environments but not be able to do them under pressure. Surely you would know that, Granger."

"Oh, shut the bloody hell up, Malfoy!"

Professor Snape had come up the stairs and heard what Weasley had said. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, for that vulgar language."

"What?"

"Weasley, I'm sure your mother taught you it is unbecoming of a Pureblood to use such vulgar language. Then again, with the amount of children she had, I wouldn't be surprised if she forgot while chasing after them all!"

Draco burst out laughing; a loud, hateful, unforgettable laugh.

Some news that might break the tension, can't walk on water.

"It isn't that simple, Malfoy! Fred and George are a lot; they were harder to handle when they were younger. And we were taught that, just never with those terms! Can't you see that Purebloods are no better than Muggle-borns?"

"Colovaria."

The box Granger was using changed colour, fading to a light blue. When Draco cast the spell for the fifth time, his box darkened until it was jet black.

Draco had spent hours practicing the spells from first year, and even some from second year. Yet Hermione Granger, the mudblood, was better than him. His father would never let him forget it if he was beat by a muggle-born. Seven crows could be seen through the window, and Draco sucked in a breath, eyebrows shooting upwards.

I regret the hours that were stolen.

The grade reports were out, and Draco was annoyed that someone, probably the Mudblood, had beaten him.

He wasn't jealous of the girl; no, that would be unbecoming. But he was envious of her abilities.

He would continue being the perfect pureblood prince, which is what he was. He got the second highest scores in the grade, and that was nothing to scoff at.

I hold me head high.

As Draco walked down the train he held his head high, only to see Granger flitting from compartment to compartment, trying to find out others' grades. The curiosity of the girl was going to get her killed, and Draco wouldn't be surprised if she died before she reached the age of thirty. But Draco had the unexplainable urge, the unforgettable feeling of intrigue - he wanted to get to know her.

I'm thirsty. For more, for more, for more.

Draco was not stupid. The thought of being made a fool of made his blood boil, and his heart rate sped up. So maybe he was jealous of Granger, but was that really a bad thing? It wasn't like anyone was going to know.

"Seriously, Granger, are you trying to find a date? Because I don't think you'll find anyone willing to date you."

"Oh, shove off, Malfoy. Why aren't you with your little cronies?"

"I'm not with them because I wanted to go for a walk. Now, I'm wishing I had stayed in my compartment."

Granger tried to move past him but he blocked the path. She wouldn't be able to win at this; she might have more book smarts than him, but she wasn't physically stronger than him. He was on the Quidditch team after all.

"Move, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. Though he might be jealous of this Mudblood's intelligence and wanted to spend time with her; he couldn't. He was the perfect pureblood prince, he had expectations to live up to.

Granger tried to move past him, but Draco found himself using his elbow to show her backwards. Surprise filled him with how warm her body felt with that short contact - almost as if he just realised she was real. Instantly, he put on a sneer. "Filthy Mudblood," he commented cruelly before shoving past her. "Learn your place."

He heard voices behind his as he joined his Slytherin friends and ducked his head down. Why did he do that? He wanted to spend more time with her, but instead he let the jealousy take over and lashed out. He had to control his emotions. After all, he was a Malfoy. Things were expected of him.

Seven crows kept popping up around the school, and most couldn't figure out why. Those who knew the crow counting rhyme, however, knew someone was hiding something. Something they didn't want anyone else to know.