He processed what Pansy had said. Admit his feelings? What were his feelings? Could he even say? He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. He fucking loved her. He loved Hermione Fucking Granger. He loved the way she sketched tiny mountain ranges in the margins of her parchments and notes. He loved the way she smelled like spring. He loved her brilliant mind and how she always pushed herself to know more. He loved that she was willing to die to protect anyone lucky enough to be loved by her. He loved the way she’d argue with him, roll her eyes at him, and fight back with him. He loved the way she sounded in the morning when her voice was scratchy with sleep. He loved the way her wild hair had a mind of its own. He’d loved her since their third year when she broke his nose. And he’d made it his mission to absorb every scrap of information about her since then.