Chapter TwoThe Burning Desire

Draco twisted and turned in his bed, trying to get rid of the memory. He knew what he had done.

" It's not that big of a deal," he whispered to himself. They had only touched hands. Yet Draco knew that the touch meant more to him than anything. He wondered what she had thought.

Hermione gasped. She looked at Draco, wondering if he had done it on purpose. Draco smiled and was pleased to see her blush. " I-I'm sorry Hermione," he said. She expected him to pull his hand back. He didn't. They stood, and he still held onto her hand as if his life depended on it. " Draco..." she said softly, " what's going on?" He leaned foward. Her eyes glistened and reflected fear and happiness all in one. Their lips almost touched. " What's going on here?!" shouted Professor Snape.

Now rethinking the memory, he wondered why Snape had gotten so angry. Draco checked the clock near his bed. 3:05 it flashed in green. He groaned. He wanted morning to come, but he was afraid of what it would bring.

" ..and that's what happened," Hermione concluded. It was morning. She had not had a good night's sleep. Hermione could still remember what had happened to Draco and herself. Now she had finished telling Harry and Ron, her best friends. Ron looked extremely pale. His hand was clenched into a fist, so that his knuckles were turning white.

" Y-you didn't kiss thought, right?" he asked ( for about the millionth time) .

" NO RON! Geez...how many times do I have to tell you?" she screamed. Ron smiled and grabbed her hand.

" Always one more time," he whispered. Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head.

" Frankly, I'm glad I don't have these kinds of problems. My girlfriend Blossom and I have no problems whatsoever," he said. Hermione laughed.

" That's funny. I thought she didn't like you." Harry sat back up.

" What are you talking about? Of course she does. It's just hard to keep in touch because she lives in America!" said Harry franticly.

" Mail!" shouted Ron.

Sure enough, the owls zoomed in. All three of them recieved mail. Ron tore open his package, and to his dismay, it was a oversized red sweater with a big "R" on the front.

" Mum has got her date's mixed up, because it's not even Christmas yet!" he grumbled, tossing the sweater aside. Harry ignored me, paying attention to his own letter. His eyes lit up as he read the envelope.

" IT'S FROM BLOSSOM!" he shouted happily. He ripped it open, and this is what the letter read:

Dear Harry,

I'm sorry to send this letter, but I think it's neccessary. I am NOT your girlfriend. I don't even really like you that much. I know you are CRAZY about me, and that is why I feel very bad about this. You must try to understand: I DO NOT LOVE YOU! Maybe someday I will, but right now, I want to stay flying solo.

Sincerly,

Blossom

P.S.

Never write to me again.

Harry scanned the paper several times, with Hermione and Ron looking over his shoulder. Harry put the paper down and scratched his head.

" What was that all about?" he asked. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, wondering if Harry was okay. Harry read it again.

"NEVER write back?!?!? WHY!?!?!??!" Harry demanded.
Hermione began to open the envelope. She gasped at what she read:

Dear Hermione,

I love you more than words can describe. I have a feeling that will not go away. You know who I am. I go to Hogwarts. Your admirer is in your midst.
Love,

Your Secret Admirer

Hermione couldn't believe what she read. She knew that Ron had a crush on her, but it didn't look like his handwriting. In fact, she knew it wasn't him, on account that his face was steaming red. She could almost see steam rising from him.

" Who could it be from?" she whispered to herself.
Draco ran into the Great Hall. He was hungry and happy at the same time. The students did not have classes ( which would make sense since it was Saturday). As he walked to the Slytherin table, he wondered if Hermione got the letter. Draco had sent it because of a burning desire he got to love her even more than he already did.