One for sorrow, two for mirth

It happened in that goddamn Third year. She was worn to a frazzle by having more hours in her day, yet less time to sleep or even simply take a spare breath. All the studying and the stupid feeling of constantly falling out with Harry and Ron because of her secret weighed her down more and more with each passing day. That is probably why she had given the letter a second thought. Why she followed the instructions in it without talking to her friends. 'Hermione! I must admit, I have always been a secret admirer of yours. If you suppose you could possibly return my feelings, please, come to the Lovers' portrait on the third floor tonight just after curfew.' The letter she found in her Potions textbook self-combusted almost while still in her hands. Hermione dropped it with a short yelp, but before even reaching the floor, the burning paper turned into ashes. She sighed. A love note! Someone fancied her and asked for a meeting in front of the Lovers' portrait — a whimsical painting of two lovers on a swing somewhere in the sunlit woods. That was an 'it' spot for Hogwarts' couples. No chance it would be deserted at any moment of the day. Furthermore, she couldn’t possibly have time for romance with such a tight schedule! And yet… Somehow, it was so nice to feel liked! She rarely felt that. Most of the time it seemed even Harry and Ron — especially Ron — just tolerated her, and as for the girls in her year, she couldn’t yet find any key to befriending at least one of them properly. More so since they started to eagerly indulge themselves in gossip and — as described by Ron — 'girly giggles' and sometimes intentionally left Hermione out of their heated discussions concerning boys. Because they assumed she is too prim and proper for such things. Well, if she landed herself a boyfriend with the help of this letter, all of them would be dying to know the details… Hermione shook her head as if trying to literally throw any doubts out of her mind. Curfew was drawing on. She had to hurry. The Lovers painting was flat out revolting. The girl was giggling in the stupidest manner while her partner hugged her passionately and whispered (very loudly!) some lovebird nonsense into her ear. Hermione could picture herself vomiting just from standing near it for too long. Her self-proclaimed 'secret admirer' was running late. The curfew had already passed, and she was biting her nails nervously, afraid that the only date on her schedule tonight would be one with Filch. Finally, a sound of light steps, positively different from the quaint trodding of Hogwarts' bloodthirsty caretaker, came from around the corner. And with each step, sounding closer and closer, Hermione became more giddy, trying to guess who the boy may be. She had already thought of it. Probably not a fellow Gryffindor, since planting a note in her belongings in their Common room would have been easier for them. Maybe the boy from Ravenclaw, Michael Corner? He had often talked to her between lessons. Of course, mostly about said lessons, but he could have fallen for Hermione’s keen and inquisitive mind, couldn’t he? She was almost on her tiptoes, everything inside thrumming with impatient curiosity, when the boy appeared. She froze on the spot. It was Draco Malfoy. As soon as he saw her, he rose a mocking eyebrow and his lips curled in a vicious smile. 'Waiting for a boyfriend, Granger? ' He couldn’t know she was here because of a love note and its sender didn’t even bother to show up. 'No! ' she hurried to deny Malfoy’s insinuations. His smile grew wider. 'Of course! How could I even presume that Granger the Mudblood Bookworm might catch anyone’s eye as a romantic interest? ' Crap. She fell right into his trap. But suddenly an idea struck her. A whacky one. 'No, Malfoy, I simply corrected you, since it’s a secret admirer that I am waiting for, not a boyfriend. And judging by you being here all alone… I guess the one admiring me and sending me bashful notes must be you.' It worked like a charm. Malfoy’s face reddened with rage. Hermione was so proud of her comeback that she totally missed the steps of some third party. 'You guess? You know it was him, silly, and you are still here, ' a high-pitched voice said scornfully. Its giggling owner, none other than Pansy Parkinson, lazily appeared from around the corner. 'I would’ve never come if I knew', Hermione retorted, her teeth set. Suddenly, Malfoy wasn’t red or furious anymore. 'So what, our know-it-all suddenly forgot how to read, when she reached the end of the note? I clearly stated my name on it, didn’t I? ' he said almost sing-songfully. 'Did not! ' Hermione was on the verge of losing it. There was no time to think of a clever comeback, and she couldn’t prove the letter had been anonymous; it was now ashes! Malfoy just shrugged in an inexplicably irritating manner. 'I get it, Granger, I completely understand.' His tone was almost lulling. 'It’s natural to be attracted to a refined man when you are always surrounded by riffraffs.' The urge to punch him in the face was unbearable. And she would at least try, but a baboonish laughter of Crabbe and Goyle snapped her out of it: she couldn’t understand when they had joined this mocking party. 'At least riffraffs have the courage to write letters that don’t hurry to self-incinerate so much that they explode before being read properly!' she screamed and stormed off, her robe swishing behind her as if she was Severus Snape himself. There had been no name! How could she have missed his name?! Oh, Godric, this — at such a time! For sure, the only thing lacking in her life this insane year was a rumour about her being desperately in love with Draco bloody Malfoy!