Essence of Hermione

He was cool, he was calm, he was collected. He was... unsure? He shook his head. Never. Draco Malfoy was never unsure...was he? He shook his head once more as if to shake himself of his disturbing thoughts, and looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms. Her mass of brown curls flowed over one of his arms, and her head was buried in his chest. He longed to run his fingers through those brown curls, to touch them, to feel how soft they were. A look of disgust crossed his face as he realized what he was thinking. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was creating discord among the trio, breaking up the dream team, he was not falling for this... this...witch! But even while denying this adamantly, he could not bring himself to call her anything more filthy then that, could not bring himself to call her his once favored name, Mudblood. He could not and would not. He sighed. He knew he was in too deep. He growled softly through clenched teeth as he leaned back against the wall. This was all her bloody fault. His plan or not, it was she who was causing him all these mixed emotions, she who was interfering with his cold, calculated, cruelty that he needed, she who was messing with his head. He needed to think this through, and to do that he needed to go back to the very beginning. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let his thoughts have free reign.

The Beginning

Ron and Hermione weren't talking. Again. Harry looked from one to the other in exasperation. Ron was being a complete prat yet again. Why couldn't he just deal with his feelings for their best friend? Harry sighed. He wasn't going to interfere this time, if Ron wanted to be a complete idiot that was his business.

"Harry, will you tell Hermione to pass the potatoes?"

"Tell her yourself," Harry growled moodily.

His moods hadn't been great lately, with everything with the Dark Lord coming to a head, and he being right in the middle of it. He knew his two friends wanted to help, but it would be so much better if they could just stop their bickering, at least while they were around him. Hermione, however, refused to let Ron get away with his childishness.

"Tell Ron I can hear him perfectly fine, and here's his stupid potatoes."

Getting up she walked over to him and dumped the potatoes from her plate onto his head. Then, with a shake of her head she stalked out of the hall, leaving a sputtering Ron in her wake. Harry turned to him.

"I don't want to hear it. Why can't you just admit that you like her? It would make everything so much easier."

Ron gaped at him; clearly taken back that he hadn't taken his side. Sighing, Harry got up and left.

A pair of cold, calculating gray eyes watched the scene with interest from across the room and a slight smirk twisted its way onto the watcher's handsome face. Draco Malfoy was bored with Hogwarts, he needed some excitement in his life. He had given up taunting Harry Potter last year. It wasn't that he had suddenly started to like him, he had just realized that childish taunts were, well, childish. He still felt an urge to be better then the boy who lived, to make everyone see just how much of a loser Potter really was, but he had decided that there were better ways of doing it. After all, there's more then one way to kill a cat. Watching this scene, an idea came to him. A brilliantly evil idea. His smirk grew. What better way to denounce Hogwarts' precious hero then to steal his dear little Mudblood right from under his nose. Weasley could only help his plan, being the complete and utter insensitive prat that he was. Oh, and it would work so much better if there was something going on between the stupid little Mudblood and the Weasel. Draco allowed himself a small, self-satisfied chuckle. It was about time he got to have a little fun... and Granger wasn't half bad looking either... certainly better then pug faced Pansy. His mind made up, he stood up. She was more then likely in the library after that little episode, and if he hurried he could catch up to her. He strode quickly out of the hall, whistling a tune under his breath. Maybe this year wouldn't be so boring.