~Chapter 5: Thoughts of Betrayal~
Hermione didn’t feel like a Gryffindor. She felt like a traitor. She felt like Benedict bloody Arnold. She felt like a…like a Slytherin.
She tossed in her bed for the hundreth time. The Sorting Hat had surely made a mistake. She belonged in Slytherin, not Gryffindor. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t loyal. She was the scum of the Earth. She was lower than the lowest dirt. She was a traitor. A traitor.
The words kept getting louder in her head. Traitor…TRAITOR…she would be lucky if there was a snowflake’s chance in hell that she could fall asleep tonight.
She had supported Slytherin in Quidditch. SUPPORTED SLYTHERIN. If anyone in Gryffindor had known what she had been thinking at the end of that match, she most likely wouldn’t be alive right now.
But, God, why had she thought those things? She couldn’t help it, the words had just formed in her head. And she didn’t know why.
Hermione thought she knew, but it just couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. It wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t, well, it just wasn’t right.
It was impossible. Imposible. No, no, no , no, NO.
She couldn’t like Draco Malfoy.
It was wrong. It was so utterly and terribly wrong.
She felt as if she was siding with Voldemort. Well, hell, liking Malfoy would be just as good as siding with him. His dad was a DEATH EATER. Draco would turn into a DEATH EATER.
And, Hermione, have you forgotten who your best friend is? He’s Harry freaking Potter, you know, Voldemort’s worst enemy.
Best friend? Lately, Hermione was lucky if she got two bloody words out of the boy-who-lived-to-worship-Danielle. Not to mention Ron, who had been hanging out with the girl so much that Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if he started talking with an American accent.
But then again, they had been friends since they were eleven. It’s not that easy to forget.
Hermione lay there, facing the ceiling, for what seemed like hours, just thinking.
And when summarized, it boiled down to two choices: she could forget about Draco, and about how she’d been feeling about him lately.
Or, she could forget about remaining loyal to her friends, because they were completely and utterly ignoring her, and it hurt.
She sighed. This was going to be a tough decision.
Draco’s upper half was so close to his Nimbus that it was as if he were laying rather than sitting on it. The wind whipped his face and his silver hair so fiercly that it kept him wide-eyed and awake. Then again, if he had been lying in his bed at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to close an eyelid, let alone sleep.
Why now? Why did he have to start to like her now?
He was most definitely not a Slytherin. He didn’t care who his father was, or his family’s relations with Voldemort. He was a Gryffindor. There was no other way.
How could he? Really…
She was just a stupid Mudblood. Just an idiot know-it-all. Just a loser Gryffindor. She wasn’t anything to him. She wasn’t a Pureblood. She wasn’t rich. He couldn’t fancy her.
It wasn’t possible, actually. Not right. Wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work.
No, no, no, no, NO.
What would his father think? No, he couldn’t tell his father. Lucius would kill her. He’d just have to, well, stop liking the girl. That’s all.
It was so simple. Just don’t like her. Brilliant.
He’d just go back to how he normally treated her. Yeah, that would work. And he could start going out with Pansy again. Yeah.
Feeling better, Draco landed his broom and started to make his way back to the common room. He would just have to ask Pansy out in the morning. It would have to do.
A/N: Sorry about the short chapter, but the next chapter’s gonna be a long one I think (it's called "Halloween in Hogsmeade"), so I'll try to have that up as soon as possible.
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