Mr maybe

Chapter 16

DRACO P.O.V

I don't know where Hermione slept last night but it wasn't in her room. And, no, before you laugh, it isn't sad to spend three or four hours waiting up for her despite the fact that you are practically off your hear. I'm really beginning to regret those last few bottles of Firewhisky, though. You see, I don't get hangovers but I do get headaches.

Really bad headaches.

And, yes, I know I should probably be in bed but, when you're Draco Malfoy, there are always more important things to do.

That is why Blaise, Potter (yes, Potter, don't ask stupid questions) and I are hiding behind a bookshelf at the back of the Library. I am peering through a gap in the shelf at the beautiful, brown haired girl seated a table in the section beyond. My heart is skipping three or four beats more than usual and I keep having to swallow hard in order to keep my dinner down. I can't help but feel a bit disgusted at myself. I mean, Draco Malfoy? Nervous? A month ago, I would have thought anxiety some affliction suffered by everyone but me, but, then again, a month ago I wasn't hopelessly in love with Hermione Granger and I wouldn't have been caught dead with any of Dumbledore's wonder trio.

"Now, remember Draco," Blaise whispers, eyes on the Head Girl, "Don't panic and resort to insults if she's not receptive to you. It won't help your already pathetic case at all."

I give him an incredulous look. Doesn't he know who he's talking to?

"Blaise, really," I reply in a pitying tone," since when do I panic?"

My best friend merely rolls his eyes while Potter snorts in apparent amusement.

"Since you got yourself hung up over my best friend and drank yourself practically into a catatonic coma," he sniggers. So, boy thinks he's got jokes?

"Shut the Hell up, Potter," I say in a quiet, dangerous voice without turning to look at him. He's lucky that he's helping me out or the only way he would've been leaving the Library would've been on a stretcher.

OK, here goes. Taking a deep breath to calm my jumpy nerves, I leave my two companions; walk around the tall shelf and into the section. Hermione is sitting at the longest table in the otherwise deserted section, head bent over her books, biting the tip of her eagle feather quill, a finger running down her page and her bag beside her on the table. The last beams of sunlight stream through the large windows, lighting up the air around her, making her glossy, chocolate waves a shining halo. She looks breathtakingly beautiful and I pause in my tracks for a moment, awestruck.

Seemingly unaware of my entrance, she doesn't even glance up as I sit in the chair directly across from her. This is one of the things that I love about her. The way that she doesn't let anything distract her when she's studying. And the way she bites her lip when she's committing something to memory... even though it's very distracting. As I watch her, entrance, memories of what those lips feel like, how soft they are, come flooding back.

My hands are clammy, my fingers twitching nervously. What do I do now? Maybe I didn't think this through well enough...

HERMIONE P.O.V

What in God's name does Malfoy want? Isn't the fact that, for the past month, I have been publicly humiliating myself, enough for him? Does he have to come and rub it in my face as well? It's so annoying. I can't remember anything from after Neville spilt the potion up till waking up yesterday morning and I don't like it one bit. I'm the only one with no knowledge of what I've been up to under that wretched potion's influence.

Why in God's name is he fidgeting so much? He probably knows that I hate it so he's doing it on purpose just to annoy me? AARGH!

I look up, ready to give him a piece of my mind, only to find that his eyes are already on me. They're oddly disconcerting, as if they know something I don't. Which, considering the recent situation, they probably do.