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Philosophies

She felt very stupid that night, sneaking into the boy's dormitory and grabbing the Marauder's Map and Invisibility Cloak from Harry Potter's bedside. She'd refused to tell her closest friends about her thoughts of Draco Malfoy, for even they might reject her. But as she walked down the corridor that night under the cloak, she knew that she'd sunk low enough and must end it.

And she knew she would end it when she spotted his dot coming down the stairs towards her very location.

She threw off the cloak and hid the Marauder's Map while Draco came towards her. She had him cornered. Though her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs she thought for sure Draco could hear it.

He noticed her halfway down the steps and froze, eyes wide. "What are you…?"

"What's going on?" Hermione asked in the fiercest voice she could muster. "Tell me!"

Suddenly he was smug. "Don't know what you mean, Hermione," He was teasing her. Teasing her. As if he was in any position to!

She was a bit surprised but didn't back down. "Why are you avoiding me?"

He smirk didn't disappear. "You see, Slytherins usually don't associate with Gryffindors if you know what I mean, we find them quite despicable…"

"Despicable?" She repeated, astounded. "Is that why you helped me, called me my name—"

"I was raised with manners, you know," he cut across her.

"—blushed, and ran away?" Hermione continued as if he said nothing.

This struck a nerve. Draco was suddenly as stiff and tall as a plank of wood. Hermione saw his cheeks turn a vivid red blush.

"I didn't fancy a talk with the likes of you, so I headed off—"

"Quit the act," she interrupted, "and explain." She gave him a long, stern look. "Why." She demanded, not questioning anymore.

"If someone wants to make you jealous, but they can't find a way how, does that make you perfect?" He blurted out quickly.

This was the thing she least expected him to say. "If someone wants to…sorry, what?"

"Parkinson wanted to make you jealous of her. At the Yule ball. But you're more cordial than her, so she couldn't make you jealous of her personality, you're smarter than she'll ever be, so she couldn't make you jealous by showing off her smarts, and—" he stopped.

Hermione had been confused, yet still understanding what he was saying until then. "And?" She urged him on.

The next sentence was much more like one word than a complete thought. "Anyouwerebetterlookinthanher"

"What?"

Draco sighed, a new, more dramatic blush already creeping up onto his cheeks. "And you were more beautiful that her," thought he quickly added, "that night, I mean."

Hermione stood, mesmerized by what he was saying. This was what had been on his mind?

He continued. "So essentially, if you were better than her at everything, were…uh…are you…uh…perfect?"

Hermione stared for what felt like a long time before answering. She, perfect? That's why Draco had been avoiding her, because he believed this…philosophy? Hermione answered his question slowly, never favoring a subject such as philosophy that was based on feelings and principals of uncertainty.

"Beauty is all in opinion, and saying someone is perfect just because they are better than another person…" Hermione stopped. A quote popped into her head. Love isn't finding a perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly.

No. Impossible. Yet gazing at his ever growing blush, Hermione guessed it was so. Love. Draco Malfoy was in love. With her? It was a theory that would perhaps explain his actions…Draco found her perfect because he loved her? It was completely and absolutely ludicrous! And yet, she had to make sure.

So she asked the only thing that came to her mind. "You really think I'm perfect?"

Draco blushed to the point of having burning up but nodded feverishly.

At this point, Hermione Granger looked up into his eyes, and Draco saw on her cheeks a blush so intense it looked as if she had a very serious fever.

Yes, this was a very big assumption on Hermione's part, but a strange thing called a heart told her that she was right about his feelings. And also as she stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek, that she was right about her feelings, too.

And he stood, baffled, while she took the opportunity to grab the cloak and map, and run away. Her hair was swishing gently behind her but her heart screamed loudly because she had wanted to know why he had run away from her.

Well…

She knew.

And she was doing the exact same thing.

Love isn't finding a perfect person. It's seeing an imperfect person perfectly. –Sam Keen