Hermione knew she was pretty. Maybe not beautiful, in her opinion, but she was still satisfied with her looks. However, every girl occasionally dreams about being so drop-dead gorgeous that all boys fall at her feet. She dreams about having everything she wants without even having to try for it, including something like love. Hermione was definitely guilty of this kind of fantasizing. So when she put on that scarf and suddenly felt more beautiful and desirable and confident, and her own natural attraction to Paul was stirred up--she was easily overcome by the magic. She smiled flirtatiously and approached him. Willingly, he embraced her and kissed her. So amazing! Why hadn't they done this before? She put her arms around his shoulders and rose up on her toes, kissing him back for all she was worth. Willingly. It was a fairy tale and she wanted it to be real. 

But in an instant it was all over. Her heart seized with a sudden intense pain and she jerked slightly away from him. Her hand flew to her heart, clutching. But the the pain passed and she came back to herself, still being held. Then she gasped, her eyes flying to his face with realization. She covered her mouth with her hand, dropping her gaze. "Oh, gods," she whispered. 

He released her, but she looked up again and reached out imploringly, her hands just hovering over him though, not touching. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Paul." She bit down hard on her lip. Then she looked at the floor and kicked the scarf. "Yeah," she murmured. "Let's not do that." Her shoulders slumped and she walked dejectedly toward the ladder.