There she is again, laughing with that sweet laugh of hers. She looks innocent and sweet… as if she hasn't got any problems. Whenever she smiles, it's as if the moment stops. If I could just hold her in my arms and tell her how crazy she makes me. But I can't. And I mustn't. We're both from different worlds. I, born amongst the prejudiced purebloods, the death eater's son. But her, my dear sweet Hermione, a mudblood, but.. pure than most purebloods. Her beauty is like a flower, so different, so.. so fragile. If I could just tell her that I love her but, alas, I'm a coward. I have tortured her and her friends since we were eleven years old, so why should she believe me if I told her?
If I could, If I could just tell her, I would.
But, I guess, my dreams will stay as my dreams.