Weakness in Me (How Cliche)

My Mama said to stay away from guys like you

She said they were nasty

Make me do things I don’t want to do

Stay away from bad boys

They’ve got one thing on their mind

Their hormones are raging

And they want it, all the time

- "I Know" Save Ferris

~-*-~

Strict to the pattern it had become, it was another usual day in the life of a seventeen-year-old Hermione Granger. The main hall of Hogwarts was buzzing with the conversation and laughter of adolescents and professors alike. The food was per usual that of a Hogwarts breakfast, delicious and positively spoiling to the appetites of the students. And also usual to any morning, her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were completely enraptured in a conversation discussing Quidditch.

But despite it’s normalcy, something was definitely not normal for Hermione this morning. He was staring at her again. "He" meaning of course the repulsive reptile that she had come to revere one Draco Malfoy as over the years; and with good reason. After becoming a self-proclaimed enemy to Harry, and utter, complete, and sexy prat (sexy?).

She first noticed his unwavering gaze a few weeks ago during a particularly monotonous and tedious Potions session. And ever since, whenever she felt a tingle down her spine and the air on the back of her neck standing up, all she had to do was turn and find they steely gray eyes directed undeviating at her. It wasn’t a particularly hateful gaze, which was probably what made it so unnerving after having come to expect it from Malfoy. But it seemed as if he was trying to figure out something, and didn’t have any idea what to do with himself (or with her she sometimes thought from the way his gaze was directed).

Now, this behavior, when directed towards anyone but herself, would have been somewhat amusing; but as it was, it was not someone else, and it was unnerving. For besides the business with Viktor Krum in her fourth year, Hermione was quite unused to attention besides that of friendship directed towards her from the opposite sex.

And dammit, she liked it that way. Well, at least in concerns to Malfoy. The boy had a reputation. But that simply wasn’t the reason. However more mild mannered (well, as mild mannered Malfoy could ever become) during fifth year, and his outright condemnation of Voldemort (much to his Father’s dismay), Malfoy was still a git. Big, annoying, angsty, snarky git. Well okay, he did have a nice ass, but that was NOT THE POINT HERE, Hermione reminded herself vehemently.

Well, maybe it was. Perhaps Malfoy was a victim of hormones. Pheromones and all that. For Hermione really couldn’t see any reason as to why a boy would be interested in her after her carefully set plans and defenses against any distracting romantic intricacies. She obviously had no time for it outside of being Head Girl, top student, and her Advanced Arithmancy independent study. Krum at one silly Ball was one thing- a boyfriend was quite another.

Besides, he might expect commitment, and well, Hermione didn’t do commitment very well at all. Just ask Crookshanks.

"…And then Snape said I would look absolutely wonderful in pink taffeta, and I have to say I agree. Don’t you Hermione?" was the last of the sentences Hermione had dubiously been ignoring from the conversations she had assumed to be about Quidittch between Ron and Harry.

"No. It would clash horribly with you hair, and the freckles would off-set the texture of the taffeta disgustingly." She replied with a smirk, and the two boys rolled their eyes predictably.

"Well, we’ve found the true conversation topic to keep Hermione interested Harry- fashion. And who would’ve thought, our little bookworm, a fashion freak!" Ron clutched his heart dramatically, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think the world shall end at the very revelation."

"No, no," Harry dismissed the idea nonchalantly with the very wave of his hand. "That would happen if our kid Hermione was madly in love with, oh let’s say Malfoy or some insufferable git like that." Ron and Harry exchanged good-natured chuckles while Hermione laughed a bit nervously.

"Yeah, well, uh, I think I better get to the library and start on that Potions essay assigned yesterday." She rose in a bit of a hurry, and became a bit light-headed.

Her two best friends glanced curiously at her. "But Hermione, that’s not due for a month. And you haven’t eaten your tapioca pudding. You love tapioca pudding." Ron wheedled a bit at loosing an audience member to his good-natured remarks and dramatizations. She swore he was more and more like Fred and George everyday-how ever without the annoying pranks everyone was relieved have gotten rid of as the aforementioned twins graduated.

"Uh, yeah well, busy bee, top student, Head Girl, good example, all that."

Their faces crestfallen, they nodded solemnly, but she could have sworn she heard the continuation of a conversation about Quidittch the moment she had reached a meter's length away. She rolled her eyes. Boys.

~-*-~

Hermione, was not by nature, a paranoid sort of person. However, the constant sound of footsteps other than her own upon the cobbled floor of the hallway that stopped every time she halted her motions, coupled with the tension she had already been facing with the round of "amorous" glances from Malfoy (as close as amorous Malfoy could come to she guessed), was enough to make her suspicious.

However, ascending the stair case to the library, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the double doors. A long time master at losing herself among the shelves of magnificent books was a wondrous comfort for Hermione to have.

Or course it would have been if she hadn’t noticed moments after her arrival into the library and the all-knowing look of Madame Pince at her presence (it certainly wasn’t a normal day without Hermione making an appearance within the tomes of forgotten lore), she spied the familiar pale-blonde head of hair, the arrogant saunter, and sexy (don’t use that word she reminded herself)- somewhat good looking physique of Draco Malfoy. So he was stalking her. It was enough to make her want to join a nunnery.

She sighed, and slunk back in between some familiar bookshelves (what bookshelves weren’t familiar to her?). Maybe she should have stayed in the Great Hall, safety in numbers. Well, safety in the over-protective relationship of two male best friends. However, she couldn’t retreat now. That could lead to an encounter in the hallway, or something worse.

She sighed in resignation. Perhaps he really wasn’t here to see her a little voice in the back of her head said hopefully. Fat chance the more dominant side squashed the very idea. She began walking towards the back of the library at the customary table she had over the years, come to call her own piece of the place.

Minutes later, she heard the shuffling of a pair of feet, and looked out of the corner of her eye at the expensive loafers that were placed upon the expensive feet of the expensive Draco Malfoy. Who at this very moment was browsing the section of shelves dedicated to the more difficult of Artithmancy theoretical volumes.

That’s odd, she never remembered seeing her in any of her Arithmancy classes. Then she remembered she had that particular study with the Ravenclaws. Still odd, she would never have thought him one for the difficult intellectual area. But then again, she had never really wondered at his academic status. Actually, she had never really wondered about anything about him except for if he was an evil Dark Lord in waiting, or her new stalker in waiting. She couldn’t tell which was the worst truth.

Her heart almost stopped as she saw him turn towards her in her peripheral vision, and the soft sound his rubber soles made upon the tile with his arrogant, but casually elegant saunter (one she secretly found dead sexy- though she would never tell anyone) as he walked towards her. Then her mind took on the instinctual habit of a small, scared furry thing cornered by a hungry wolf. And just as he was pulling the chair across from her to sit down, she shot up in a woozy hurry, and speed walked in the opposite direction to which he had come.

She really didn’t know where she was going, and didn’t care. But when she was sure she heard no following footsteps, she stopped in a sigh of relief.

God, I’m acting ridiculous. She thought distastefully as she replayed the immediate events of the past few minutes in her head once again. It wasn’t that Hermione was nervous around boys, it was just that- oh wait, no that was it completely. Very nervous actually. It bordered on a medical condition.

Sure she dreamed of her knight in shining armor (but it always ended with them getting divorced and him neglecting to pay the child support payments- the bastard), but Hermione was somewhat of a reluctant pessimist in romantic matters. And she didn’t have much practice in the area of snogging either. She rather thought that would put a damper in any teenage relationship (all of which were fueled by the rampant hormones she thought).

However, Hermione thought herself a sensible girl, and realized it was time she acted like it. So, she set her shoulders, held her head high, and tried to emulate the confident saunter of her romantic opponent, however, she just earned some stares from the underclassman for her unusual walk.

~-*-~

Minutes later, she rounded the bookshelf, and found herself at the mercy of the gray gaze from the sexy beast that was Malfoy. Sitting in her chair no less. With his left leg over one arm of the chair, chin in right palm, and book in lap, he was a bookworm’s dream. Or any girls (and some boys no less) dream.

The slight smirk she had found herself so accustomed to graced his Greek God-like features. "Hermione." Was the simple greeting.

She tried to make a discreet motion of wiping her sweaty palms upon her robes, but mentally kicked herself for it didn’t seem to be discreet enough as it drew his eyes to the action. "Malfoy." Pause. Now what? She really wasn’t good at this whole new fangled "conversation" thing. "Uh, you’re in my chair." Good one Granger one fraction of her subconscious taunted. Shut up, shut up, she mentally replied to herself. Pause in thought- I really do need to get out more.

Draco rewarded her with a widened smirk and the raising of one eyebrow. "Your chair. Hmm," Once again in the familiar, and familiarly irritating drawl that all at once annoyed and seduced (or so she had heard).

"Uh, yeah." Was all she could bring herself to reply with. So much for bright intellect.

Then came the uncomfortable silence. He obviously wasn’t giving up the chair, and was also obviously intent on at least annoying her, but Hermione suspected a deeper menace. Might as well be forward- which is what Hermione did best.

"And you’re stalking me." There she said it, and felt the slightest bit silly. What if it really was a big misconception and he really just wanted to annoy her for the fun of it, and had no romantic feelings for her, and didn’t think her cute at all, and she thought she would cry if he didn’t- whoa, where did that last one come from? I really, really, need to get out more.

Now he raised both eyebrows, but the infuriating smirk was gone. "I don’t stalk." He said simply. But however, no denial of any feelings towards her, and she almost unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief at the thought. So okay, maybe he’s cute, and he might be more interesting than originally expected. That didn’t change the fact that he was still stalking her.

"Um, so you just like to stare at people at any chance you get and follow them around, even to their own private little sanctuary of the library where they wanted to do that Potions essay assigned yesterday?" She exhaled sharply after the long sentence, and almost ended the last word in a shriek her nerves were so jumbled. Maybe she should get something prescribed for this affliction. But then again what would she tell the doctor her problem was? She certainly didn’t think they had a drug to cure one of their allergy to boys.

He laughed. He actually laughed. Not the sarcastic, taunting laugh of her earlier secondary school days. A carefree, flirtatious laugh.

Then his eyes lightened as if he caught on to some big secret of the universe. Closing the book, he sat up and leaned forward, intent gaze stuck on her. "You’re nervous."

She grumbled and looked to her feet. "No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

She sighed. And realized she’d been standing while her knees threatened to give out from the rush of adrenaline to her overly anxious self. Taking a seat at the table where her bag and papers had been haphazardly lain out, she sighed once again.

He was still looking at her. Studying her once again with that gaze of his she thought he should patent.

The uncomfortable silence once again descended upon them. She usually liked silence- in the presence of Ron and Harry. She loved them dearly, but sometimes they could be so, well, boyish. Big surprise Granger, they are boys.

"I never would have thought you a modern muggle fiction reader." The silence broke, and for once his gaze was not upon her, but rather the paperback science fiction novel half way out of the confines of her bag.

"Why not?" So she sounded defensive. What right did he have to assume anything about her? The same right you claimed to have never assumed him interested in Arithmancy she reminded herself testily. What was it about him that made her irrational and an utter prat?

He shrugged nonchalantly, ignoring her somewhat corrosive tone. "You always seemed so logical that I thought you only ever read nonfiction."

Good answer. She smiled a bit. "I’d only consider it irrational if I started borrowing Lavender and Parvati’s romance novels." Leaning her cheek into her hand, she lost herself for a moment in a somewhat more relaxing atmosphere. She hardly ever got to talk about anything other than wizarding things at Hogwarts. And with the purest of pure bloods she found her outlet on muggle affairs. How ironic.

He smiled back. It was then Hermione finally noticed the title of the book her was reading. In fact it was one she had recently checked out herself for her Arithmancy independent study. Her brow furrowed a bit, and forgot all her uneasiness at the curiosity too easily embedded within her attitude.

"I thought I was the only one to have read that book in the last century." His brow furrowed for a moment at the statement, then with her nod towards his lap, he smiled again in comprehension. Once again one of those relaxed, nice smiles. She had never seen one on his face before today. But then again, before today, she hadn’t known or seen a lot about him.

"Ah, my weakness." Words straight to her heart. In a few short minutes she had gone from thinking him disdainfully as a stalker to now her long lost love and soul mate (well, she could dream couldn’t she?).

She smiled. "Really? Here I was thinking myself the only one insane enough to love such a subject."

He waved at the comment. "Insane? Perhaps. But how could you not be with it all?"

She leaned forward, interested and having forgotten all of her former agitation completely. "Yes." She breathed, and found herself engrossed in the intellectually stimulating conversation she had found herself lacking in the years preceding her.

~-*-~

Walking back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was humming pleasantly. Of course she had yet to still start on her Potions essay, but she waved it off easily. Small price to pay for such a wonderful conversation she would never have expected.

Of course, her mood dampened somewhat as she entered through the portrait (The Fat Lady chittering anxiously at the supposed "happy glow" upon her face that "must be from a boy."). There sat Lavender, Parvati, Ginny, and the few female acquaintances she had made over the years in the dormitory.

"Hermione," Lavender sat up, shark-like smile upon her face, and Hermione instantly regretted coming back.

"Tell us all of it." Ginny demanded a second later, knowing smile upon her face.

"Uh, tell all of what?"

Parvti volunteered the next piece of information. "Well, I heard from Padma, that heard it from Susan Bones, that heard it from a second year Ravenclaw, whose sister’s friend’s cousin’s boyfriend’s brother saw you and Draco Malfoy snogging- in the library no less!" She said excitedly, and the other girls swarmed around the exasperated Hermione.

"What?" She hissed vehemently at the statement.

"Oh Hermione, don’t sound so surprised! We all knew from the beginning of the year he had a big crush on you." She rolled her eyes as if it was the most obvious piece of information in the world.

"We were not, I repeat, not, snogging. We were talking." She sniffed disdainfully.

Some giggles. "Right, talking." A sixth year girl with auburn braids and a pig nose said.

"About Arithmancy." The dreaded word had its effect, and the girls’ faces fell. They quickly dispelled with mutterings about the injustice of it all.

She smiled, and plopped down in front of the dying embers of the fire. Gazing into the sparks however, the disturbing thought came into her mind. Did she want to snog Draco Malfoy?