Tom flashed her a lazy, crooked smile that made butterflies flit inside her chest. She would never let Tom know just how much she felt his allure, more so than she felt Draco’s. If they hadn’t been lovers, they would have never been friends; for Hermione saw how others wanted Tom, and would have never allowed herself to be like them. She would have rather been his rival than part of his simpering followers, the same as she would never act like Parkinson did, toward Draco. As it was, she had them both -