Chapter 16: To be or not to be, that is most definitely not the question (1)

I woke up with a headache, the temple-to-temple kind of headache that felt like a drill was slowly drilling into my head. And when I attempted to get out of bed, I felt nauseous. As I was lying in bed with a pillow over my face, I felt someone poking me.

"Are you trying to suffocate yourself?" Ginny said half-jokingly.

"No, I just got curious about how it would feel like if my head is sandwiched between my bed and the pillow," I said in a muffled voice and I heard Ginny laugh, so I continued in a pretended serious voice. "It's not funny, young lady."

"Come on, get up," she pulled the pillow off my face. "Let's go get breakfast. And don't you still have to pack?"

"I have a killer headache," I squinted, the light coming from outside the widow was quite irritating right now. "I can't move. I think I might be dying."

"I'm sorry that you've got a headache," Ginny shook her head, "but you are certainly not dying. Don't be over dramatic, darling. Plus, Malfoy is waiting for you outside our common room."

"What?" I frowned, trying to prompt myself up. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Ginny seemed confused. "He's waiting for you to come out to go to breakfast with him or something, I guess. I don't know what you two are up to these days."

"Don't talk nonsense," I slowly got out of bed and slipped into my shoes. "What business does Malfoy have to do with me?'

I had never seen Ginny looked so puzzled like she was right now. She threw her hands: "Hermione, what now? What did Malfoy do that make you so mad at him overnight? You were all good last night."

"I don't know what you are talking about," I slowly walked a few steps, but the dizziness came back to me, so I sat back on my bed. "Can you please tell him to get lost? I can't deal with him right now. Tell him I'm sick. If he wants trouble-for whatever sick reason-he can come back later."

"I swear some day you have to explain it all to me," Ginny rolled her eyes and began walking to the door. "Fine, I'll tell him to come back later."

"Thank you," I said appreciatively as I put the pillow over my face again.

"Oh, by the way," she stopped and turned around. "Last night you told me to remind you to read the journal on your night stand the moment I see you wake up. So, there's that."

"Thank you?" I didn't know why I would make such a strange request, but I still picked up the journal and turned to the first page.

The remaining color of my face drained rather quickly as I began reading the entries and turning the pages. What did I just read? This was surely my handwriting with no mistake. But what was this? It was as if I wrote a story between Malfoy and me. An insane story of how we signed a contract but ended up ridiculously fall in love but then I was set to forget about him today because of his pathetic ego.

This couldn't be true, could it? Was this the reason Malfoy was waiting for me outside the dorm? And why I was having such an awful headache? But this was just absurd, how could it happen? How did I let it happen with the self-claimed rational and logical mind?

What should I do?

Those words in the journal sincerely expressed the love I had for Malfoy, the kind of love that I didn't feel the tiniest bit at this moment. Reading the entries was like reading someone else's journey of falling in love with that pretentious prick and not one part it felt like it was mine.

After reading the journal, I threw it back onto the nightstand and went back to cover my face with the pillow. Both my mind and my heart were racing. There were few options in front of me:

Pretend that I never read this, and nothing ever happened. And if Malfoy ever came confront me, I would just play the game of being oblivious. Talk to Malfoy and attempt to build a new relationship with him or at least try to resume the one from before. Talk to Malfoy but cut him out of my life. And perhaps get on well again with my friends.

However, I didn't want to choose any of these options. Sure, these ones were simply and could get direct results, but I couldn't help but to think of if they would hurt Malfoy's feelings. Though I didn't remember of what we went through together, it seemed like he did confess that he loved me. How could I be so cold-blooded toward someone who loved me? Even if that person was Malfoy.

In the end, I decided to go talk to him and see where it would go.

After I felt slightly better and was confident that I could get down to the Slytherin common room without passing out somewhere along the way, I once again got out of the bed and slipped into my shoes. I had mixed emotions going on as I was walking down the stairs and turning around the corridors.

What would he say? What should I say?

I asked a Slytherin to see if Malfoy was there and to tell him that I was waiting outside. The minutes that I was waiting for him to come out was nothing but excruciating. I was nervous, confused and stressed as I tried my best to prepare myself to meet the person who I hated for years yet might be the one who I also loved dearly with all my capability to love somebody.

Then I heard footstep, so I turned around. In front of me was Malfoy, who was pale as always and looking at me with melancholy in his gray eyes. Before I could say anything, he swiftly walked up to me, pulled me toward him and hugged me tightly in his arms.