So, a general warning for all the followers of my other story... this one is going to be a lot different. :) But hopefully everyone likes it!
I had two different ideas swimming in my head, so I decided to work with it instead of letting myself accidentally mix the two. 3
September 1st: Beginning of term.
The war was finally over, and suddenly, Hermione Granger saw the rest of the world trying to return to normal. As if they could actually throw a bunch of teenagers back into school immediately after they saved the whole bloody wizarding world? Nothing was going back to normal, because normal didn't exist anymore. That much was for certain.
Just looking around her, Hermione could see the way the war had changed her friends. Anyone could see it. Take Harry for instance... Harry was still one of Hermione's very best friends, but half of the time now she found him completely unbearable. Sometimes she expected him to run around screaming "Hey, Guess What?! He tried once... Faaaiiilll. Shot number two? GOT HIM!" His ego had already gotten out of hand in more subtle ways, but she couldn't wait until he went over the deep end.
More entertaining was certainly Ronald Weasley. None of them denied that Ron was entirely their own fault. They'd created a monster. He was just so simply, Ron. He had his jealous streaks, especially when it came to Harry's exponentially growing popularity, and if he didn't feel involved, he had a history of becoming more self-conscious than a 12 year old girl. So, they'd given him an exaggerated amount of credit during the war to keep his spirits up. Only little things, here and there... Casting hexes and giving him credit, convincing him he'd known parseltongue in second year... It was something like muggle children with Santa Claus, along with a perfected version of subliminal messages on Hermione and Harry's parts. He was definitely their own doing, but as he typically just followed Harry in circles to bask in any glow possible, and remind Harry that he had been there too... it was at least standable.
Neville. Neville was practically in a mid-life crisis at 18. The big false alarm of 'Oh-Hi-Neville, You-might-be-the-special-one-and-not-Harry' had done a number on the poor bloke's confidence, and so he had overcompensated a bit during the war. Not that anyone was complaining... He'd slayed a good number of the bad guys, even if they all found his wielding a sword to be on the barbaric side and not the most civilized. It was still highly appreciated. The aftermath hadn't been pretty, though. Suddenly, Neville was obsessed with muggle body-building, protein shakes, and beef-me-up charms of some variety to an extent of unrecognizable. Hermione couldn't help but shake her head and wish someone had seen the blatant cry for help. Other than her, of course. She simply didn't have it in her for all that.
All of the muggleborn children were trying to claim Luna just had a horrible case of PTSD, as if she hadn't been completely mad before the war. Hell, as far as logic went, Luna was practically the only real 'normal' one.
Hermione was convinced, there was simply no way the 'saviors' of the Wizarding World, or really any participant in the war, could be expected to act normally in school. Any bad jokes or insults about their personalities could basically be multiplied tenfold and be actual truth now... and she couldn't say she was any better. Not in the least. They had all changed, and Hermione was no different. The war had made one thing clear to the brunette: She was more or less... a badass. She had had her fill of confidence issues in the past, but she realized that she had come a good long way, and now... she had more self confidence than she assumed Draco Malfoy claimed. More so, she had taken it as a privilege. Harry might have been the face of the war, but she was the brains, and she had no intention of letting anything get in her way this year. The thought of completing a 7th year seemed absolutely ridiculous to her as it was, but if it had to be done... it was going to be done her way.
If I want to hex Ron's drunk ass... I'm going to do it. If I feel like punching Malfoy in his little ferret face... I'm going to bloody do it. She'd told herself in a moment of clarity.
September 1st
Hermione was on the verge of losing her mind. She would have liked to have said that her day started off fine... But really, she hadn't made it past getting up and finding clothes to throw on before her sanity took a dive out the window. They had all stayed at the burrow the night before the trip to King's Cross, so naturally, the second she opened the door to Ginny's room she was granted the joy of hearing Harry and Ron discussing their plans for the year. She had never wanted brothers. It was amazing when they were just friends, but now that her parents were missing in Australia, and Harry was obviously still orphaned... they were basically siblings. The entire Ron-Hermione rumor was what Hermione liked to refer to as 'complete bullshit', infuriating the both of them every time it was mentioned. Especially while Hermione listened to him talk about every girl he wanted to shag that year. Instead, it was simple sibling rivalry between the three of them now.
Despite making it safely to King's Cross that day, leaving the burrow on time... They were still late making it to the train, as a complete baggage inventory had to be performed before they'd even made it to 9 3/4. She could never understand how the Weasley family handled it, and now she found she didn't have much patience left for it.
By the time they'd had to scare a bunch of first years out of their train compartment, Hermione was beside herself. Is there NO respect?! This is Harry Bloody Potter we're talking about!
She'd be the first to admit that although Harry's ego annoyed the hell out of her, it also made things a good deal easier when you were trying to get things done. Sometimes, she was actually offended for him.
After finally getting settled, one of the prefects from the previous year unceremoniously popped into the compartment, handing Hermione an addressed envelope and quickly leaving. There was no doubt about the envelopes contents... It was her invitation to accept the role of Head Girl, the letter she had waited her entire Hogwart's career for.
Cheers and applauds broke out around the compartment, immediately gathering her attention with furrowed brows. Why do they find that necessary? Things have changed... She wondered, perturbed with everyone's automatic assumptions.
"I was pretty sure that I was going to get it..." She said, attempting to interject modesty into her voice. Of course she was going to get it! "I don't think I'm going to take it though."
Suddenly, the crowd went silent. Dead silent.
Ginny was the first to question, looking towards her friend as if she had a fever. "Didn't you want this?" She asked, taking the letter from the other girl's hands and shaking it around a bit.
"We were all afraid of what would happen if you didn't get it..." Harry added cautiously.
Hermione only shook her head. "I got it for a reason, you know. It's because I have the best marks... Now, you all might be missing the bigger picture, but I'm not. As much as I wish that one of you had paid as much attention as I have for the past 6 years, so as to come in second and share that giant suite with me... I know you didn't. All things considered, I think I deserve to waive my punishment onto the next sorry bookworm."
Again, they were looking at her with confusion on their faces. Sometimes she couldn't get around how thick her friends could be. While they were undeniably slow, unfortunately, Hermione's least favorite person at the school was the opposite of just that. He was actually rather intelligent, as much as she hated to admit it.
"Why would you call it a punishment? You said yourself, 'Mione. Suite! Does it get any better than your own suite?" Ron asked.
"Ronald, Its a shared suite. Head Girl, Head Boy."
Suddenly, another voice entered the conversation. "I hear as of yet, it's actually a private suite. Apparently the Head Girl candidate hasn't accepted her position yet."
Well, if it isn't the Slimy git himself. She thought, glancing up to watch as the blonde slid the door to the compartment open, sliding himself in with an almost reptilian grace. To Hermione's horror, she found herself talking herself out of staring. The object at the center of all of her irritation and hate was waltzing right into her private area, tall, lightly muscled and with platinum blonde hair hanging effortless but cleanly around his face. It was messy, but not shaggy or long, brought out perfectly by the metallic blue that peeked out from under some strands.
A momentary distraction was all that was in order, just long enough that she could force herself to stop staring while he was aware. She could do that later.
"Save it, Malfoy. I haven't gotten around to it yet."
"It's not very nice of you to keep McGonagall waiting. She might reconsider waiving your inferiority, you know." He smirked back at her.
She could see the wheels in Ginny's head moving as she glanced back and forth between the two... and wasn't happy about it.
"But... I thought you -"
"It's not like McGonagall doesn't know that I'm going to accept the damn thing." Hermione rushed, effectively cutting off the red head while cursing her internally.
"I suppose you have a point. She would expect you to take it. Though just to be clear, none of this lot is stepping foot in our room." He glared at them each for the briefest second, before his eyes settled on Ginny. "Except maybe the Weaslette. We could make some conditions for her." The smirk across his face spoke malice, and yet, Hermione still found herself staring after him as he snaked back out of the compartment.
She was distinctly aware that Harry and Ron had immediately begun a Malfoy-Bitchfest, but she could only focus on ever-so-discreetly signing the accept line on her letter, and passing it back out into the hallway to a waiting prefect. All she knew was that she had other things to worry about, such as what the hell had happened to Draco Malfoy over the summer, and why she suddenly wanted to corner him in an empty compartment.
It had taken what seemed like forever for Hermione to get away from the rest of the Golden Trio and companions, but somehow she had managed to throw robes over her ordinary clothing, and lose them in the shuffle. She had only one goal: Getting to the head suite and seeing what there was to see. Ha. Hopefully catch Malfoy getting out of the shower, more like. She corrected herself.
She knew it was crazy, and something she would have to keep to herself... She couldn't even say she was proud of herself for the thoughts and behavior that were about to ensue, but she couldn't deny that something had gone terribly right for one Draco Malfoy over the summer. Placing it was impossible, as he was the same unbearable git. He hadn't even changed that much physically, minus styling his hair a bit different, and the tiny bit of extra height he had gained. At no point in their history had Hermione ever been attracted to him, even for bad boy qualities, much to the intrigue of the other Hogwarts girls. Even if his personality was loathesome, no one had ever denied that Malfoy could make any girl weak in the knees... except for her. Until now.
The suite was nice, with tons of living space, a bathroom attached, and the Head Boy and Girl rooms connected to both the living and bathroom. It even had a little kitchen space, and a tiny office niche. It was pretty comical to her considering they were the two smartest people in the school. She could at least use that to make herself feel better about her raging new-found attraction the bastard.
A slam from the door behind her caused her to jump visibly, swinging around quickly to catch sight of her target entering the room, shooting a knowing smirk in her direction while dropping his trunk carelessly in the corner of the room.
He'd better not be messy... She thought, glancing over to his trunks. My OCD is going to make me fly off the bloody handle if he is. I don't care how hot he is.
"You seem different." He said, crossing his arms and causing her to groan. Blunt. And he wants to talk about me being different. Funny.
It was true, however, that Hermione had changed a great deal with the conclusion of the war. She had transformed herself to meet in the middle with her new confidence, and more importantly... her new attitude towards life.
Since she began at Hogwarts, she had busted her ass on a daily basis to prove that she belonged there. Not specifically because the purebloods thought she didn't belong, but because she understood that she needed to prove herself. They only gave her more incentive. She had to defend her origins, make her magic the strongest, get the best grades, protect her friends... If she didn't stay ahead of everything else, who would? She knew that when it came down to it, she was the reason they weren't dead. Now, she felt she had proved herself. Hermione Granger genuinely believed that she deserved every little thing she had, and now... she could focus on other things, like being a girl for once.
The first thing to change had been her appearance, actually taking the time to defrizz her hair and even change its color to a slightly more auburn and honey laced hue. She had finished shrinking and straightening her teeth, as Madame Pomphrey had only done enough to make them bearable, but not desirable in Hermione's mind. Add in buying actual clothes for herself. That had been more necessity than anything, now that her parents were missing and not purchasing her attire... The difference was in learning what she did and didn't like to wear. Rather surprisingly to most, she had realized that she favored black and white on herself, with the occassional crimson or shades of grey. Trading in pink track sweaters for form fitting black hoodies and jeans with studded belts had shocked her friends, but they had understood the need for change.
After that, she had discovered make up, and the fact that it suited her. Another big shocker.
The biggest change had come from her ideology and personality. She was sick of being the one to worry and fret over everyone else. It was taxing, frustrating, and now that no one was in mortal danger... She found it pointless. They had to learn to take care of themselves at some point, and if they hadn't done it while a dark wizard was trying to take over the world... they had some serious problems. So, she'd taken a step back, realizing that she was vastly more intelligent than those around her, and could scale back on having her nose constantly in books and other people's business. Instead, she studied those around her, distinguishing ever little thing about their personalities that made them likeable, or... in most cases, irritating as all hell.
Leaning against the couch cushion safely, she tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in the male's direction. "Why is that?"
He shrugged. "Something. Maybe it's your attitude. If I didn't know you and what you are, I'd be tempted to think you might have become somewhat tolerable."
That hurts, Hot-stuff. That hurts.
"I think you're an insufferable jackass, personally... So I'm a little curious as to what would make me 'somewhat tolerable' to you."
"Well, for starters..." He responded, taking a few steps forward mischievously. "Where's the truth behind the Weasel rumor? Furry animals get you hot, mudblood?"
"I don't know, Ferret. Have I come onto you yet?" Oh, the irony. She thought, attempting to ignore the twitch that hit her as his favorite insult seeped from his lips. At first, the continued presence of care over blood status after the war had confused her... But after a while, she realized that it had never really been about blood to Voldemort. Adding in that she could somewhat understand their frustration... but that was something she was still trying to come to terms with, and likely wouldn't until she could figure out how not to feel like a traitor.
Conveniently, he only laughed off her retort. "Seriously though. You and Weaslebee?"
That's fuckin' it... That blasted rumor needs to go. Before she knew it, she was inches from him, anger seething from her voice like venom. "Not a chance in hell. But, seriously though, who keeps spreading that?" She interrogated, mimicking his snarky response. "I'd like to personally put my boot up their ass."
"I wish I could tell you, but alas, I don't know." He returned, putting a hand on her shoulder to push her away, clearly fighting between disgust at the contact and the urge to bust out laughing at her temper tantrum.
"What's so funny?"
"You can't even stand him, can you?"
She shook her head, stepping backwards. While touching her had seemed like sticking his hand in fire to him, it had sent shivers up her back. "It's not that I can't stand him... He's my friend. I can. But I don't understand why this bloody school can't grasp the concept of 'standards'. I, happen to have some."
"And Weasel is below them?"
He's joking, right? "Have you seen him? ...Actually, don't answer that. I know you have. He's your prime target for ridicule."
"You have a point, but he's your friend, not mine. Plus, you're the one that makes him our 'prime target'. He's a blood traitor, who is constantly defended by a muggleborn because he can't handle his own shit. Top it off with the fact that now, that same mudblood considers him below her standards. Quite the insult for poor Ronaldo."
"That all seems to be his fault, not mine." She shot, placing her hands on the couch arm and sitting back against it again. "I don't feel bad for him, that was his damn choice. And just because he's below my standards... Also not my fault. Why would anyone subject themselves to a relationship with that? Say what you will about my blood, but I've already proved I'm smarter than you and your lot. Basic intelligence would tell a girl to stay away from him, or even Harry's pompous ass."
He had paused, aiming one of the most entertained smirks she'd every seen on him at her. "Granger, if I wanted to find you in any way tolerable, you'd have to adopt some of my ideas. You can't hide what you are, and book smarts are different from intelligence... but I daresay you might be proving you actually have a brain." He snickered, picking up his bag and heading towards one of the rooms. That certainly wouldn't do for her.
There was no way she was allowing him to barricade himself in his room yet... not before she guaranteed his presence in the suite. "Hey, Malfoy..."
"Hm?" It caught his attention enough to make him stop.
"Just leave me the hell alone this year, got it? The less I have to talk to you, the better."
Of course, he turned to gawk at her, clearly amused with his coming upper hand. "Not likely. You moved in with the enemy, you better be prepared for the assault." He fired back maliciously, vanishing into the room.
He's so damn predictable.
She went ahead and chalked this up a victory, knowing that he would make a goal out of annoying the living shit out of her for at least the next week. She didn't mind. He had to be around her to do such, and as long as he was around her, she could work out some plan of action for such a delicate and uncalled for situation.
Hermione knew that she should probably start concocting that plan, and that planning took concentration, so she yanked her mp3 player out of a stash pocket from her bag on the counter, returning immediately to throw herself across the couch. Unfortunately, her walking turn-on decided to come strolling back out at this point, right as she was unwrapping the headphones from their place around the player.
"What's that Granger? Already pulling out the vibrator? Couldn't wait for me to leave?"
"It's an mp3 player, you ass..." She hissed in response, trying her hardest to keep the color off of her cheeks. She had half a mind to ask where he'd learned the name of that muggle contraption, but was cut off by his voice.
"Never heard of it." Clearly, he was set on being a dick this evening. Leaning up, she caught a look at him over the couch, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He had obviously gone to his room for the sole purpose of changing, but she couldn't help but wonder why, despite enjoying the view. Somehow, even something as simple as the pair of black jeans he had hanging loosely on his hips and the matching button up that rolled up to his elbows looked absurdly hot on him, despite the simplicity. The hair certainly helped, no longer holding all the gel... I don't want to know how many baby seals had to give up their fat in the past to deal with his damn hair.
"No robes? It's pretty late... isn't it?"
"Who are you, My Mother?" he asked, glancing back at her with those smouldering metallic eyes. "These are comfortable, and if you must know, I'm male. I have needs."
With that he was gone again, leaving Hermione pretending to vomit. I certainly didn't need to know that. Nor did she want to imagine where he was going to fulfill those needs. Gross. She would just go ahead and keep those thoughts out of her head. Little does he know that I'd be willing and eager to volunteer my service. She sighed, grabbing one of the couch pillows to smack herself in the face.
This was going to be a terrible arrangement. She needed to infiltrate... even if just so as to be the one he was using at night. She could deal with that...
And then a thought struck her... All I have to do is make myself desirable. It's not like I'm ugly. Plenty of guys have been after me in the past without me even trying... Malfoy just has a bit more experience. She knew he could get anyone he wanted.. if she wanted him... she was going to have to fight dirty, and show him why he wanted her. Without his knowledge of course.
Knowing that he had to come back sooner or later, she ran off to the bathroom, throwing a straightening charm over her hair and admiring the auburn glow to it. Shaving, putting on some lotion, and adding a charm to keep everything away longer, she searched her closet. Luckily, the house elves had already put away all of her clothes, and she pulled a pair of short, tight black pajama shorts and a white tank top out. It was an incredibly simple ensemble, but she was satisfied as she looked in the mirror. Every curve of her body showed from the tightness of the attire, and her legs were exposed. She had decided over the summer that they were her best trait, long and slender. Grabbing one of her books and the discarded mp3 player, she retreated back to the couch. All she had to do was stay here, and awake... until he came back.
He hadn't intended to stay out until 3:30 in the morning, but... sometimes shit happens. He hadn't decided how he felt about being in his own room yet, either. Of course, Draco Malfoy knew that Granger was going to be head girl, but his intentions had only been to make her life miserable. Now, he was forced to reevaluate his methods of humiliation due to the fact that she had changed so considerably over the summer. He didn't want to quote some sappy bullshit from a romance novel and claims she had 'bloomed' over the summer, but it was almost how he felt. It wasn't all her appearance... Granger had never been completely hideous, but between the dirty blood and her detestable goody-two-shoes personality, he couldn't have told the difference.
She had always made it too easy. It was as if she knew that she was inferior. Or did, at least. At first, being beaten in marks by someone like her had bothered the hell out of him... But he had come to terms with it, and wasn't too surprised anymore. She didn't belong, and she knew it. There was an undeniable urge to try to prove otherwise, and he knew she worked harder because of it. Draco's marks were second highest in Hogwarts, and he had never needed to put much effort into them. He played quidditch, had his trysts and flings, and got all the sleep in the world (for the most part).
To make hating her even easier for him, she was obviously delusional. He had always assumed that she befriended Potter to try to gain some sort of leverage, some sway in the world since she was essentially just a muggle. Hell, he had tried to befriend him simply because of who he was... but then it had become apparent that Granger actually enjoyed Pothead's company. Strike two was six years of defending Weasel. He should be ashamed. Albeit, it made ridiculing him a bit more entertaining, since Granger at least came up with intelligent comebacks... but still, pathetic. Add in that the girl never had a bit of femininity to her. Had she ever even been interested in men? All girls knew that frumpy sweaters, long skirts, and over-sized robes were not sexy. Nor was the mess on her head. Then there was the blood, which sealed it in a nice ugly ribbon. All in all, he had never even needed to see her as female.
His surprise can only be imagined, when he opened their train compartment to humiliate the girl, and had to pause for a minute. He had recovered quickly enough, but could tell immediately that he was going to hate this year. She was busy looking at the people in her compartment in a way that might have had him thinking her a pureblood if he didn't know better. Any question of whether she thought she belonged in the wizarding world was gone, and she was looking down at people. For half a second, he thought someone was using a polyjuice potion... someone who hadn't studied their victim first. Form fitting clothes, make up, hair pulled back... It was the first time he realized that she wasn't a complete troll.
The second time around when he walked into their suite and found her, only made it worse. Talking about standards and making it evident that she disliked her mates and much as he did had something almost Slytherin to it. Her voice and mannerisms had him trying his hardest not to panic. So what did he do? Got the hell out of their as quickly as possible.
Now he was sneaking back in, still unsure of how he wanted to handle living with such an atrocity.
All the lights were still on, making him freeze in the doorway and glance around for a moment, but everything seemed still.
He should have stayed out. He knew that the moment he caught sight of one of her hands lying loosely over the closer couch arm, along with a blur of golden and copper that lacked the unsightly curls he remembered. If he had been smart, he would have realized that he wasn't as disgusted as usual. Instead, he caught himself deciding to step closer so that he could spy on the sleeping girl. What he ran into had him staring, suddenly nervous and horrified.
I can't share a room with this. He thought. Not scary-new-mudblood-Granger. She seems to have forgotten how to be repulsive, and that sure as shit isn't going to work for me. The fact that he was staring at her bare legs and reminding himself that he wanted to be as far from them as possible, wasn't okay with him.
Looking to his left, he saw a blanket on one of the side chairs. Perfect. He picked it up, fluffing it open and throwing it over her. The mp3 player she had been playing with earlier was lying discarded on the floor, so he picked it up to examine it. There were buttons, but he couldn't bring himself to go that in depth, instead putting the end of the wire to his ear to catch the sound of music. Something indistinguishable, but very punk-rock was emitting from the machine, which he dropped in disgust. He had always assumed she would be into some riverdancish bullshit.
Locking himself in his room was obviously going to be the best decision he could make at the moment, so he headed off to write down 101 reasons why Hermione Granger was nauseating.