I. The Joys of Lovers' Spats
The normally bustling hallways full of frantic first years rushing to their classes and sluggish sixth years dreading exams were deserted as break time came. The lake was packed with picnicking couples and daring second years foolish enough to taunt the giant squid in the merpeople's home. Everyone was peacefully oblivious to the never-ending shouts from the castle that threatened to shatter the enchanted windows. Had someone actually chosen (dared, might be the better word) to venture up to the third floor (which, by the way, was extremely unlikely seeing as the September day was far too beautiful to waste inside), they would have witnessed a scene terrifying enough to scare a boggart itself (which is quite the feat seeing as how a boggart takes on the form of that itself which one fears and all those other technicalities).
The top students in the seventh year and the Heads of Hogwarts were currently involving themselves in a lovers' spat (yes, yes, a lovers' spat : n. a fight between two people who are madly in love with each other and are either a. in denial b. ignorant of such love or c. haven't realized it yet). Heat and electricity seemed to radiate from the two as they glared at each other with such intensity, one might fear a spontaneous combustion. The topic at hand might have seemed irrelevant to someone who knew nothing of the two's past (which was to say, no one considering this was the Princess of Gryffindor and the Prince of Slytherin we are talking about here). Therefore, the discussion was quite childish but entertaining to watch nonetheless.
"S.P.E.W. is for elf rights, Malfoy, and you would understand perfectly well if you were actually kind for once in your life, you slimy git!" the girl snapped. Her hands were balled into fists and she had a murderous glare directed at said Malfoy.
He scowled and replied, malice oozing from every word. "S.P.E.W. Granger, sounds like spew, which reminds me of vomit. Not the best noun one would want to come to mind if you want to liberate grimy house elves from jobs they actually enjoy. Besides, how many members have you got, Granger? Tell me." Hermione opened her mouth to answer when he cut her off. "Other than Potty and Weasel." Ha. He had trumped her there. Malfoy knew that anyone in their right mind wouldn't join that club, even if Granger had them at wand point and threatened to dock all house points (which she would, knowing her character and all). Hell, he knew the The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die and the Weasel had only joined because they felt bad for their bookworm.
Smirking, Hermione crossed her arms in defiance and replied, "At least I have friends."
"And what's that supposed to mean, Granger?" Draco Malfoy was not one for pranks, much less trick questions true, and the Head Girl here had just struck a nerve. Malfoys didn't have friends (acquaintances, sure. Minions? Definitely) but she didn't have to know that. Crabbe and Goyle were his cronies, for lack of a better word. Pansy, Pansy was what others would call "a friend with benefits" but Malfoy had never done that with her and she was most certainly not a friend. She was far too whiny at times to be considered anything other than a fan of his. Blaise was…well, Blaise was as close to Draco as a dog was to a cat. It depended on his mood. He could be considered a friend if Draco was anyone other than himself but seeing as he wasn't, it would ruin Draco's icy façade. But, back to the matter at hand:
Hermione snorted, knowing she had caught Malfoy. "At least Ron and Harry care about me. We're friends because we care about each other."
It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Right. Friends. You, Potty and Weasel, best friends to the death. Well, at least you and Potty. Everyone knows the redhead fancies you. But have you ever noticed how convenient it is for them having you around? Friendship with benefits, really, Granger. If Merlin forbid they can't finish their own homework, they've got the smartest witch in the school to help them out. They're using you." Hermione gaped. Emotions coursed through her until she finally settled on two: anger and shock. When someone insulted her friends, the Head Girl was not easily pacified. She vowed to prove the offender otherwise, usually with a hex or Ginny carrying out a prank. That person usually a. regretted ever speaking b. ran as if dementors were on their tail or c. wished for a lightning bolt to strike them from on high. Malfoy, however, was not threatened. He found her expression quite amusing on the contrary.
After her initial fury, Hermione let herself be overwhelmed by shock. Draco Malfoy had complimented her – accidentally, definitely; effective, very. Hermione knew she was intelligent (now, do not for one minute think Granger was full of herself. It was just a well-known fact and she knew it) but it wasn't every day the bane of your very existence told you so. Then, she realized that the ferret's words had some reasoning behind them. Could it be possible, that maybe, just maybe, the boys took advantage of her intelligence one too many times? Harry, she could understand what with his save the world persona and his hardships at such a young age. Ron though, Ron was a completely different story. Merlin, he even tried to pay Hermione to write his entire essay on the production of a corpeal patronus! The nerve of that boy! And so, unfortunately for our young Miss Granger, she was forced to admit that Draco Malfoy was right. An insufferably slimy git but he was right. Hermione would find a way to prove him wrong (difficult but manageable) and tame that ferret the girls swooned for. Even if she died in the process (which she hoped didn't happen, otherwise a will would be in order, and who would care for Crookshanks? Not Ronald, for sure).