Summary: A smirk worthy of a Slytherin finds its way to her lips. If the word has this much effect on me, maybe it will do something to him. We'll see.

Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I owned Draco Malfoy… sigh… Alas, JKR owns all the characters

Predictable

"Hey, Mione! Want to come down to quiddich practice with us?" Hermione sighs All those two can think about is quiddich. How predictable. "Sorry, Ron, Harry, I have to go to the library. You know you two should really study some more."

She walks away and hears Ron grumble "I told you Harry! She always goes to the library, it's so predictable." She shakes her head and makes her way to the library, unable to erase the word from her mind. Predictable.

She sits at the same table as always, books stacked in alphabetical order on her left, spare quills and parchment on her right. Hermione kicks her bag in frustration. Predictable. The word isn't even an insult, but it stings.

Walking down the corridor on her way to dinner she sees the dreaded flash of white blonde hair out of the corner of her eye. Great, I'm about to get into another fight with Malfoy. How predictable of me.

An evil glint appears in her eye. How predictable of Malfoy. A smirk worthy of a Slytherin finds its way to her lips. If the word has this much effect on me, maybe it will do something to him. We'll see.

"Hey, Draco, do you want to go down to the lake? It's so nice outside!" Pansy looks hopefully at the slouching boy. "No Pansy, maybe some other day. I'm not in the mood." She frowns and angrily makes her way out of the Common Room. "Never in the mood. He's so predictable."

Draco's eyes snap open at the word. "I am not predictable" he mutters and walks over to the bathroom. He fixes his hair, same style every day. His robes on the exact same way as always; slightly undone but still proper. Always the same. Predictable.

He growls and grabs his cloak. Maybe a broom ride will clear my head. Broom in hand, he walks out into the sun and scowls at the voices of Weasleby and Pothead. "The game against Slytherin next week is a definite win." Malfoy hides behind a pillar as the two Gryffyndors come around the corner.

"I mean, with Malfoy as team captain we know exactly what is going to happen. The chasers fight dirty, beaters go for me, and undoubtedly someone will 'sneak' around the action and make a goal." They laugh "That ferret is so predictable."

The Slytherin curses himself and shoves his broom back into the cupboard, knocking a few others over in anger. The two boys of the 'Golden Trio' had just casually recited his entire strategy. I am predictable.

Frustrated, he made his way down to the Great Hall for dinner. In the hustle of students outside the doors Malfoy saw the unmistakable explosion of brown curls. Another fight with Mudblood. How predictable.

Unless… An evil smirk paired with glinting eyes settles onto his face …Unless I make it unpredictable. We'll see.

The two stomp towards each other, matching expressions warning all observers that this isn't going to be another predictable fight between the two. As they get closer to one another, surrounding students back off, while still trying to get a good view of what is promising to be a very exciting fight.

"Malfoy." "Mudblood." She smirks. "Ah, 'Mudblood.' the good old fallback insult. Bound to make anyone give up and run away in tears. However, whenever you say it now, it has no effect. It's too predictable."

Malfoy scowls "Using your brain to cover up your feelings again, Granger? I do believe that I am not the only one being predictable." Hermione's face contorts with rage. "You." she growls, stepping closer. He matches her step a snarl forming on his lips.

With their noses almost touching, eye contact is unavoidable and what Hermione sees in those silver eyes is astonishing. Exactly how she feels, and he sees it in her eyes. His brow raises a millimeter, asking a question, and she nods with a wink.

Their lips crash together and a rush of passion and hate run though them as their arms wrap around each other and their tongues fight for dominance. The two enemies are so caught up in the little world of their own bodies that they don't hear the gasps of the students around them.

They don't hear the yells of outrage as Harry and Ron force their way into the circle. But when they come up for air, they pull apart, smile, smirk, glare, and walk away.

So much for being predictable.

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