Heartchains

Chapter 10

Hermione couldn't focus. Where was she? Hermione watched her leave the table this morning and yet, by potions, Pansy Parkinson was nowhere to be seen. Draco Malfoy as well but that's not Hermione's worry; Harry was doing plenty of the worrying on that subject so Hermoine did the worrying on the disappearance of Pansy. 

Hermione chuckled to herself; The Disappearance of Pansy Parkinson. Sounds like an article in the Daily Profit, which she had been enjoying lately. After the defeat of Voldemort, the Daily Profit's articles had become a lot more readable. No more dwelling on meaningless drivel used to occupy and fill the reader's mind with fuzz. Luna would say that they were Wackspurtz. 

Goodness, Luna. Hermione hadn't even said hi to her once beside's their brief ride to Hogwarts in the carriages. She'd been so busy with schoolwork and studying and Pansy. 

Hermione found herself drifting into blurry day-dreams of the obsidian-haired. She saw the red of her lips and the pale of her skin, how her hair seemed to draw all the light from the billions upon billions of stars, how her cloud-like skin would perfectly compare to the mocha color of Hermione's own skin, how her upturned nose would fit perfectly in the crook of Hermione's neck, how her lips would feel upon Hermione's.

Hermione was overcome with the urge to cry. She passed it off as how one is moved by an especially beautiful piece of art. Which Pansy certainly was. A piece of artwork - no a masterpiece. Beautifully crafted by nature, she was in the same category as a gem or a fresh-water spring. But if she was as such, why did she make Hermione feel so strongly? It was, if she dared to admit, almost the same sensation as her infatuation with Ron. But that couldn't be, Hermione reasoned, for she had no time to entertain such feelings. If the feelings were as they seemed, she'd just have to push them away. Yes, that's what she'll have to do. 

"It's settled then." She muttered and Harry looked over at her. 

"What was that, 'Mione?" Harry asked, only Hermione didn't answer for, at that moment, a burning chill seeped into her hand.

"Damn!" She cursed, extinguishing the flame under her cauldron and charming the mess of her should-be Draught-of-Peace away. She had gotten so carried away with her thoughts that she had forgotten that she was in class - something that never, never happened. 

'It's all Pansy's fault.' Was the excuse she was sticking with. All Pansy's fault for being so god-damned beautiful, all her fault for all the heart-pains and butterflies. It's Pansy's fault, was what reason told her and who was Hermione Granger to question reason. 

Hermione went back to the cupboard to grab a new supply of ingredients. As she was approaching, she tripped over something and was sent to the ground. She scrambled back up, face flaming. She searched the ground for what had caused her to trip. It was a loose notebook. It had no name on it but the second Hermione opened it and admired the perfectly shaped letters, she knew that she would not be returning it. Well, not for a while.