The Way You Make Me Feel
Author's Note: Rated PG-13/R It's July 5 and I'm lonely and bored. But. Anyway. Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K. Rowling, so don't sue me.
People often assume that I live a perfect life. They assume that only beautiful, perfect, wealthy people (not unlike myself) surround me; that I live in a plastic doll house fantasy. My life to them is a flawless dream, immortalized by their hero-worship of me. Only once in my life have I ever encountered someone or something that I could not have simply my forcing my lips upward into a smile. And it was her; one Hermione Granger. Who would have ever believed that I, of all people, would be attracted to one such as her? Short, with plain, frizzy brown hair, plain, simple brown eyes, and a nose seemingly glued to a page in a book. There was nothing out of the ordinary about her looks. But her witty retorts, her sharp sarcasm were all new to me. As was the feeling that stirred deep in the pits of my belly every time she walked by.
I was seventeen and it was my seventh and final year in school, and her fourth when I came to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. I saw her in the Great Hall, saw her purple-faced, freckled, ogle-eyed friend gawk at me as I swaggered over to their table and asked for their bouillabaisse. Saw her great look of contempt shoot in my direction like a pointed arrow aimed to kill. I felt my lips naturally raise into a charming smile to blind and stun then, a shadow of a frown flickering across my face as I saw that she was the only one not affected. That she was the only person glaring hatred at me. I felt a tingle in my chest as my eyes locked with hers. Plain, dull, boring yet, the most stunning and dazzling eyes I had ever seen.
I returned that night to the Beauxbatons carriage, feeling light- headed and dazed. I lay in my bed, staring blankly at the roof of the carriage, not beyond wondering if the food had been poisoned or fouled in some manner. And I found myself vaguely wondering why I was so drawn to her. Maybe it was because everyone else loved me. Everyone else's eyes glazed over when I approached them. And all everyone else ever did when I spoke was smile, nod, and stare blankly. Whereas she, Hermione, she hated me, her eyes were always sharply focused, and she has yet to smile at me. It seemed as if she actually heard me when I spoke to her, like her brain was functioning and she could make sense of what I was saying.
I inhaled the lavender smell of my pillow, rolling over restlessly. I forced my eyes to shut and tried to clear my mind of the buzz of thought that filled it. Then my eyes snapped open as I remembered what my grandmother had told to me as a child.
"The one who hates you most is the only one who can truly love you."
Of course. Why had I not realized it before? It was true. The charm affected everyone but her. She was the only one of all of them who ever heard me. It didn't matter to me that she was a girl. I couldn't have cared less. I felt desire burning in me, and clutching at my pillow, I smiled. I wanted her. I had to have her.