The Heart Wants What It Wants

1

"The heart wants what it wants - or else it does not care." - Emily Dickinson
                                                                       (also)
"The heart wants what it wants." - Selena Gomez

Shopping for shampoo at 8 pm on a Saturday night apparently wasn't exciting enough for anyone else, but Hermione Granger was happy to have an entire Health & Beauty section of the supermarket all to herself.  

There were no loud children being dragged behind weary mothers, kicking her in the leg as they passed.  There was no rush while browsing boxes of hair color she'd never try as another woman waited her turn to have a go at the same ritual.  There were no over-friendly people wanting to talk.  Aisle 9 was simply...empty.

It was a treat to be able to sniff different bottles of shampoo at her leisure.  She was momentarily engrossed with inspecting bottle number four when she realized she no longer had the aisle to herself.  Aware of someone approaching, she flipped the cap shut and lifted her eyes to see who was about to ruin her peace and quiet.

Her gaze landed on a tall, slender man whose attention seemed focused on the shelves.  Instantly surprised over the gender of the intruder, she turned her attention back to the bottles, reached for another one, and nonchalantly flipped open the cap.

Inhaling, she wrinkled her nose and flipped the cap back down noisily, putting it back on the shelf where she'd found it.  Pulling another bottle from nearby, she repeated her actions and found herself unimpressed by its scent as well.  As she set the bottle back in its place and reached for another, she felt as though the man was observing her.  Glancing over briefly, her intuition proved correct.

"Sorry," he paused, bottle in hand.  "I was just trying to figure out if I know you."

Though it wasn't the most innovative line she'd ever heard, he did seem slightly familiar.  She took him in quickly, he and his very pale blonde hair - nearly white.  Suddenly she knew exactly who he was.  Her grip faltered and the bottle nearly slid from her hands.

"Malfoy?"

"Granger, I thought that was you."

He set the bottle back on the shelf, as though he was no longer interested in what he'd come for.  She did the same, eying him cautiously.

"How have you been?" he asked with a strange expression.

She paused.  No one ever really wanted an honest answer to that question, especially if someone had endured something as painful as she had.  Her reply was polite, and a lie.

"Fine, and yourself?" 

He sighed, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked away for a moment. 

"Oh you know, fine, I guess."

Her curiosity was piqued, as his answer didn't seem to be any more truthful than hers had been.  Instead of excusing herself as she'd wanted to do only moments before, she found herself making conversation.

"So I guess I'm not the only one having an exciting Saturday night."

He looked relieved, as though he was eager to talk about something else.

"Everyone needs shampoo, right?  I guess this is as exciting as my life gets."

"I wish I could say I don't know what you mean, but I do."

"Let me guess, you haven't eaten dinner yet either.  You're going to go home, heat something up, and eat it in front of the tv alone...am I right?"