Bittersweet

Hermione was still walking on air.



She had been in such a daze since she and Ron had become ‘official’ that while in the library she had glanced up to note the time and realized she had been there for almost an hour!



I guess this is what they mean when love turns one into a fool.



Hermione concluded she was done for—this was only day one and she was losing her mind already!



Sighing, albeit achy—perhaps all the excitement was adversely affecting her?—she made her way to the hall for dinner and was met by Ron, who smiled just as bashfully at her.



Biting her lip, she shyly took his hand and together they strolled to the table where Harry was already eating.



“I think Malfoy is up to something,” Harry said, his eyes on the trios ‘everyday’ adversary, “He keeps behaving like he’s got something dark up his sleeve.”



“Hmm—“ Hermione was too busy savoring the sensation of Ron’s arm around her waist—she positively went to mush at his touch, and flushed as she looked at Harry who was clearly irritated.



Trying for a normal tone, she said, “I can’t imagine it is anything serious, Harry. I mean, what could he actually do here at Hogwarts? Even the Dark Lord is too afraid to try anything with Dumbledore here.”



“Yeah,” Ron said from around a bite of food, “the slimy git can’t do anything, and if he were to try, it would probably not be anything we can’t handle.”



Harry rolled his eyes, “Forget it.”



Hermione wished she could comfort Harry, but at the moment she could only think of Ron and how right this all felt.



_



Malfoy glanced up occasionally to study Granger with Weasley and was quite proud of his handiwork—she had completely forgotten there brief little interlude and had quite easily accepted his new memory.



He stabbed his food, irritated inexplicably by how bloody happy the two of them looked together.



Yes, he could give her the gift of his pureblood seed and she could reject it like the filthy mudblood she was but he had done her a favor by letting her think she was still a little mudblood virgin.



Weasley touched her lip, and Malfoy felt like gagging—to see a Weasley in season was like watching something terribly wrong and unclean.



She laughed at something he said and he felt a scowl touch his face.



Why was she so fucking happy?



“Problems, Malfoy?” A smooth voice said from beside him.



“It’s disgusting to be witness to such a spectacle.”



Zabini followed Malfoy’s gaze and smiled slightly, “Ah, the shame of all purebloods is courting a mudblood. I think they suit rather well since neither will make it to see their progeny.”



Malfoy’s face twisted into a strange semblance of a smile, “I would kill them myself before bearing witness to such a travesty.”



Zabini chuckled softly, “Hopefully it will be sooner rather than later.”



Malfoy did not reply—he doubted he would have little trouble ending the lives of such annoying thorns.