Inordinate Love

September.

"Enemies to lovers. Or, more like friends to lovers who think they're enemies. It's a pretty interesting story for you, I think."
Whitney G.

Hermione:

It's a silly thing, my love. And I, Hermione Granger, never dreamed that it would exist for me. Until...

"He looks a bit ill." I said, trying not to show any compassion with my tone, so that Harry would not catch on. "Draco, I mean... don't you think?" I said this while sitting in the great hall, where the voices of my fellow classmates were echoing off the tall concrete and the laughter of the houses was slightly shaking the four walls.

I found myself staring at the boy with the long face—the one who once had bright, gray eyes, but they were now dull from exhaustion.

Harry frowned. "I dunno." He replied, "I guess so. He kind of always looks like that. Why do you care anyways, Mione?" I shook my head.

Of course, Harry didn't see it. His naive "hatred," which started when Malfoy tried to befriend him in the first year, has blinded him. To be fair, it goes a little deeper than that.

Why did I care anyway?

"I don't." I said after a long pause, "I was just observing." I said, shaking my head and getting back into my book, examining the familiar pages.

I was lying if I said I didn't care, though, because I did.

I did care, and I wanted to show him that I cared. He looks so lonely.

So yes, it was a lie. I did care, but I was also "observing." I don't know why I chose to be so observant of everything. Most importantly, I do not know why I chose to be so observant of him.

I wanted to know why his eyes were black, why his skin was pale, and why his expressions were muted.

I always noticed the way he slouched when something was wrong or how he placed his wand on his temple when he was concentrating.

Today, he was doing both.

I tried not to look long, but I couldn't help it. He looks beautiful even when he looks off-putting or in disarray. It didn't matter. His hair is always perfect, and a strand is never out of place.

So I focused on him. The way he has a hunched posture and how his hand is on his cheek, he looks sad. I wanted to know why this was, but maybe I never will.

I peeled my eyes away and put them back to my book, but he saw me staring, and for a second, I thought I saw his expression morph into a half smile.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't too closed off. Perhaps he wasn't a boy who was so far gone that he was beyond helping.

Maybe he just needed someone—someone to talk to.

But I was silly.

It was silly of me to think that I could be the one to help him. Me, Hermione 'mudblood' Granger. I thought I could be the one. The one to bring him the light.

I even sound silly.

I close the book, along with my thoughts. "I'm going to the library if one of you just so happens to need me." I exclaimed to my two best friends. Harry and Ron simply nodded in response. I knew they weren't going to need me, but if they did, they would wait because they hated the library. Also, part of me also hoped they wouldn't need me.

}*{

The library is my favorite spot in the castle. The smell of old books and new books filled my nose as I ran my fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. My hands stopped as they found a recognizable bind.