Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and indicia are trademarks and copyright to Warner Brothers and JK Rowling. All events and actions contained here within are fictional works of the author herself, unless otherwise stated; this is purely in the author's mind.

Warnings: None

Pairings: Colin/Hermione

Spoilers: All published works. This is a Seventh Year fic, all of the years are bound to come up some time.

A/N: Written for The Pimp Cane's Rare Pairings Month. Also doubles up for Slashers Do Het.


He follows them around. He has the world believing that he is an obsessed Potter fan-boy, constantly trailing the Golden Trio. He has fooled Hogwarts. He has fooled the world.

Admittedly, it had started by his excitement at meeting a celebrity. His love for photography and the need to show his mother more about the world he now lived in had had him stalking the Boy Who Lived – the hero and saviour of the Wizarding World.

But soon, that changed.

It had been a gradual process. The pictures of Harry Potter began to decrease in numbers, and pictures of the whole trio increased. Then the trio pictures became slanted – towards her.

He never understood how she could stand being with them all the time. She was so different from them. She should have been a Ravenclaw: smart, studious, diligent – stunning.

Okay, so, maybe stunning wasn't the word for it. She was short. She had bushy hair and large beaver teeth. She was an annoying know-it-all. He didn't care: he thought she was stunning.

But she never looked twice at him, unless it was a glance of annoyance at him stalking them, taking pictures of Harry (or so they believed), and generally being over-excited. He cherished those times – they were the only times she ever acknowledged him. He lived for them – them, and his dreams.

He had a personal shrine to her, tucked away in the recesses of his trunk, where he had collected picture after picture of her.

Her: in her second year, looking worried and haggard when she fretted about the basilisk's attacks.

Her: in her third year, looking worn and troubled, wondering about Sirius Black's escape and the safety of her friends – and after their fight.

Her: in her fourth year, hanging onto Viktor Krum's arm, looking more beautiful than ever, with her teeth corrected, all dressed up for the Ball.

Her: in her fifth year, determined and strong, at Harry's side, leading the DA.

Oh yes, he had been there for it all.

But she had never noticed. She had never cared to notice.

She was far too busy pining away after Weasley. Weasley, who had his head screwed on the wrong way and was far too dim to notice; Weasley, who never appreciated her presence; Weasley who'd never understand.

Weasley and Potter would always outshine him. He'd never be good enough in her eyes. He'd never be her hero.

Not like this.

All these thoughts flitted through his mind as he knelt, kissing the hem of his Master's robe.

No, she'd never notice him that way, but now – maybe now she would. If he couldn't get her to notice him by playing fair, then he'd make her notice him.

She'd be his in the end. He would see to that.

Finite Incatatum

A/N: Many thanks to S_Star and Smashing Sugar for beta-ing and thank you all for reading!

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