Chapter 3 : Unnoticed Apologies
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Hermione ended up sitting with Ginny and Dean for breakfast. Harry left her to sit with Ron, and she just couldn’t stand being near him with Lavender forcing her face down Ron’s throat.
Ginny understood though. Being Ron’s sister, she totally understood the prat Ron was. Hermione glared sourly at Ron, while trying to eat her toast. Still continuing to snog each other’s faces off, Ron and Lavender, whose curly hair that was tied up in a bun was threatening to loosen, were leaving all the Gryffindor’s around them extremely uncomfortable.
Breaking away from her conversation with Dean, Ginny leaned towards Hermione, and whispered, “She won’t even let him eat eh? Not eating... Must be a first for Ron.”
Harry, who had been listening to what Ginny was saying chortled, then flushed when his presence was acknowledged. Hermione internally raised her eyebrows.
Boys, so pathetic.
Talk about pathetic boys. Draco Malfoy had just entered the Great Hall, his usual cronies following him in his wake.
His eyes were looking around, dancing throughout the room. Hermione watched him, and for a mere second their eyes met. She could see his gray eyes clearly; they were fearful, and guilty. Guilt? Could he even feel that? Tearing away her gaze away from his eyes, she could’ve sworn she saw the corners of his mouth twitch when their eyes locked. Rubbish... It can’t have been. ...
“WON WON!” yelled Lavender, “Once you’re done come back for more!”
Ginny shot Hermione a look, pretending to gag. Hermione returned a grimace.
Won Won? Pathetic.
“Hey Gin, I think I’ll head off to Potions, I don’t fancy seeing Lavender eating Won Won’s face off.” Gathering her bags, she left the Great Hall, its illuminating lights fading as she walked, as Harry followed her. But little did she know, someone else was following her too.
“Malfoy, pass the soup,” said Goyle. “Please,” he added.
“Blimey Goyle, soup for breakfast? If you got any bigger, you’d be twice as wide as you are tall,” he replied, a little harshly.
Goyle turned red like the soup itself, whether in embarrassment or fury, Draco did not know. Crabbe passed the flushing boy the soup, as Zabini sniggered, taking a bite.
Swallowing he said, “Aren’t you going to have anything?”
”No,” answered Draco, staring at the back of Hermione’s head from the Slytherin table.
“ ‘K,” and Zabini left his seat, which was immediately taken by Pansy Parkinson.
“Draaaaaaaacooo!” sang Pansy. Troll. What a troll. She then began stroking Draco’s hair, telling him about Padma Patil’s ridiculous hair, when Draco saw Hermione collect her things. Jerking up out of his seat, and out of Pansy’s grasp (who was trying to snog him yet again.) and followed the bushy mane of hair that had flashed hastily out of the hall, the note feeling heavy in his shirt pocket.
As Draco entered the classroom inside the dungeon, he saw Potter and Hermione at their usual table. Potty. Potion Prince Potty. The Boy Who Brewed, or whatever the hell they called him anyways. But Draco’s attention was quickly diverted as Ronald Weasley strutted into the class. Draco noticed that Hermione had also seen the Weasel and flushed purple.
Draco clutched his fist.
Weasel. Is. Dead.
But before his fist could make contact with the git’s face (or any part really) Professor Slughorn’s belly entered the room.
“Mornin’ class...” Slughorn began. Draco glared as Ron pulled a chair beside Hermione, and then instantly smirked when Hermione quickly moved to sit beside the Hufflepuff Ernie.
After countless hours of snogging that bloody Lavender, Ronald thinks he can sit beside me? Not in the name of Merlin’s baggy Y fronts...
Suddenly, her eyes moved to Malfoy, almost as if it were a natural thing to do. But that couldn’t be, right? She saw that he was looking... dead really. As if he hadn’t eaten in days. Sighing she turned her attention to Professor Slughorn, who was now telling them to open to page 69. Today they were using bicorn hair to make a poison antidote.
“Okay,” thought Hermione aloud, as she readied her cauldron, determined to outshine Harry and his Half-Blood Prince.
Bicorn hair? Could Potions be any more useless? Draco wasn’t even going to try, he was too busy thinking furiously of how to fix the vanishing cabinet.
But he found it hard to even concentrate on that too, because he was fighting the urge to look at Hermione, whose potion was glimmering teal – as described in the textbook. Her brows were narrowed, and her lip bitten, as she concentrated on the potion. Draco thought she looked cute, and why on earth had he not noticed it before?
By the time Slughorn came around to evaluate everyone’s brew, Draco had just realized that he hadn’t put the note Hermione’s bag.
He hastily muttered “Locomotor note,” and the piece of parchment drifted onto Ernie’s working space. Thank Salazar Ernie was still trying to cram ingredients into his potion, and hadn’t noticed. With one final spell, “Wingardium Leviosa!” he managed to get it into her bag, barely, because Slughorn had now reached his cauldron.
“Mister Malfoy, let’s see what you have for us today,” said the Professor, tiredly.
With one deep whiff, he graded it “Acceptable.” Draco wondered how he’d managed it with the Dark Lord, and more importantly, Hermione on his mind.
Hermione was still trying to make her potion paler, as she turned to see Harry’s potion, which was an immensely light mint coloured brew simmering in his cauldron.
Bitterly she turned away, as Slughorn reached their table. “Well, well, Miss Granger! I must say this is by far the best brew I’ve seen! Exceeds Expectations of course... Just a little shy of Outstanding... I’ll have to see young Mr. Potter for that! Oho!” chuckled the pot bellied wizard, as he went to Ernie. Hermione’s face contorted, as Harry received an undeserved “Outstanding”.
Hermione quickly turned to get her bag as soon as the class was dismissed. “Ernie! Watch where you’re going will you!” she hissed, as the stout boy stepped on her now throbbing foot.
“Sorry Hermione, won’t happen again!” he replied in his usual pompous manner.
And with that, her mane of bushy hair left the room. What she didn’t notice was that a small, piece of parchment fell silently, and unnoticed, on the cold dungeon floor.
Malfoy bent down and picked up the note. He opened it slowly, wishing that maybe this was a different scrap.
Draco swore. Putting the parchment back in his robes, he went to the Room of Requirement, to an usual day’s work.
AN: As always, whatever you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. If you have time, please leave a review :) It'd make me really happy!
Edited on 28/11/2013 - typos
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