The Pureblood Exchange
By Clementine Angst
Chapter One—Catch My Disease
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, any of the characters in the book, or anything else related to the book.
Description: A post war story about pureblood exchange programs, magical handcuffs, red and gold scarves, enchanted cabins, the holiday season and secret affairs.
A/N: This story is AU. I'm going to do the whole "Draco switched to the light side during the war" ordeal. Ron and Hermione still kissed during the final battle. Fred is dead. Harry and Ginny aren't together right now. Uh, and just because I feel like it…it was Snape and not Draco that had to do with that stupid cupboard thing in the room of requirement.
In response to the aged poll in my profile, my next story is to be Draco/Hermione. So here it is.
"My head is a box filled with nothing, and that's the way I like it."
-- -- -- -- -- --
Mrs. Malfoy was in a spectacular mood this morning. Her favorite Owl had returned with a very important letter. Due to the unfortunate death of her husband, things had been quite the mess lately. The war had ended around eighteen months ago and already the Malfoy name was not reputable. She intended to fix that, using her darling young son, of course. He could be both handsome and charismatic if he tried, so it was best he suck it up and do this for their family.
In her hands was a letter, written in neat script, from the Ministry. Her destination was the neat, tidy room of Draco, where he currently slept. She had encouraged him to go out and get a job, but he continued to sleep in. It was already November and she had had no success in adjusting his daily routine. This piece of news would surely get him up.
"Dear," she spoke softly against the manicured wood of his door. When a reply was lacking, she knocked heavily. Draco, on the other side, heard only repetitive thuds in his dream, causing him to open his eyes to reality.
With the sudden urge to snap at his mother and curse her for the interruption, he sighed. Grinding his teeth and becoming the respectful young man he was bred to be, he asked, "What, mother?"
"The letter has returned. You'll be leaving tomorrow morning!"
"What?!" this time he did snap, disregarding the admiration he always showed his mother. "You actually signed me up for that dreaded program?"
"Yes, son." She exhaled noisily, "Get out here."
Soon enough, he stood beside her as they walked down the corridors of the Malfoy Manner. Lit by decorative candles and small ceiling lights, he could barely hide the disgust that paralyzed his features.
"So what pig pen will I be residing in?"
"The point of this program, Draco, is to learn and shed a good light on our name. You'll be staying with the Weaselys."
"How did they get put in the mix?"
"Because many people, mostly Death Eaters, viewed them as blood traitors. Plus, the point of the Pureblood Exchange is to exchange a pureblood with hospitality, generally and stay for the holidays. So in turn, you must be nice to them."
"I still don't understand how they qualify." He protested sourly, kicking at the air ahead of them and glaring at the sleeping portraits on the wall.
"Draco, even though they are, technically, pure, they have a bad reputation amongst many people for their love for muggle things. I know you expected some muggle household or half-blooded family, but dear, this will be better. At least their home operates fully on magic."
"Better? You seriously believe this will be better for me?" he cried, "I bet that joke, Potter, will be there."
"Joke? Son, he did save the wizard populace from evil."
"So what? Have you seen the press lately? They're all over Granger, too. Stupid mudblood, she better not be there either."
"Draco," his mother shook her head, "When will you change? You're so bitter."
"Life is the determining factor in my bitterness. It has starved me of all joy, Mother. Unless I see happiness soon, that bed will be my only home."
She snorted absently before commanding him, "Pack your things."
"Yes, Mother."
-- -- -- -- -- --
"Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad." She smiled through pointless tears. "I've just got you back and you're already leaving."
"Dear," her mother started, "Hermione, we want to go back to Australia, just for the holidays. Plus, you said it yourself; you want to stay somewhere magical until you can get your own place. Going and staying with the Weaselys will be good. Before you know it, you'll have a job and a house and we'll be back from Australia. So don't worry."
She had relocated her parents only four months ago. They were really far into Australia; farther than she had placed them. In the very moment they had gotten settled in, they decided that a vacation back to Australia would be necessary. Of course, Hermione had smiled and agreed. But her idea of fun was not taking a really long airplane flight and spending quality time with her parents, even though she missed them so much. She needed to start her life. She had wasted enough time already.
She hugged both her parents once more as they got in the car and rode off towards the airport. Her heart pounded hopelessly. She would be going to the Weasely's tomorrow to stay there until she got on her feet, preferably until the holiday season was finished.
-- -- -- -- -- --
A hooting owl flew through her window and onto her table. Anxious for the sudden news, Luna untied the letter and opened it. There, in scripted print, was her invitation to stay at the Burrow for the holidays. Her main reason for signing up for the pureblood exchange was the idea of living her house alone, all through the holidays, while her father went hunting for one of his new ideas. He was in Africa, now, and by the end of December would be in mountains in Russia or some other place. Luna wasn't keen on remembering these things, lately. Her mind tended to wander.
She was happy, she decided, that the letter was signed by the minister himself. Gleeful at the thought that she would be engaging in a new, rather different program, she quickly became excited and hurried to start packing. She was all about abolishing all the blood related discrimination around the world—probably the only thing she and Hermione agreed on.
Searching for someone to tell of the great news, she stumbled into her room and decided that it would be a proper time to start packing. Since the house was empty, her good news went unnoticed.
-- -- -- -- -- --
The two Weasely parents received an interesting letter that morning, one confirming their participation in the new Pureblood Exchange program and a request that they house more than one applicant. Molly was a tad worried, due to the fact that their house was rather small, "Where will we fit them all, Arthur?"
"Dear, it's fine. Draco can stay with George, Luna with Ginny and Hermione and Harry and Ron in Ron's room."
"But don't you think having the girls in one room—"
"They'll fit; there are three beds in that room."
"Fine, I'll send our reply. I'm guessing it's a yes."
"Yes. Plus, the Ministry is giving financial aid to help compensate for the additions to the families. That's not so bad, is it?" he chuckled. Her only retort was a sly smile before she retreated to the affirming lines of her letter.
-- -- -- -- -- --
"I can't believe it!" Ron shouted at Harry, who sat on a bed looking rather defeated. "Loony and the Ferret! What is this world coming to?"
"Ron, keep your voice down. Plus, it's not that bad." He had attempted to reason with Ron. Usually this would end in a horrible fight with Ron storming out or Harry falling suddenly silent. Hoping in his head that he didn't step out of line, Harry smiled weakly.
"Right. Okay. Luna is alright. I don't mind her," Ron concluded as he exhaled, "But it's that stupid, slimy, disgusting—"
"—hero that fought on our side during the war." Harry finished.
"So just because he saved lives I have to like him. I see how it is."
"That's not what I'm saying. Just be nice. I sound like a parent, but just behave."
"At least Hermione will be here." Ron added on a lighter note, the gears shifting in his head. He really missed her. All this time, being Hermione-deprived, was passing slower than normal.
Harry sighed, "Nothing's happened with you guys yet, has it?"
"No. She was busy looking for her parents and then she wanted to spend time with them. But I can see it in the near future. I can see plenty of romance, right here in the burrow."
"Since when did you become a divination expert?"
"Since I've wanted to date Hermione." He smiled generously before nodding and going to get lunch. Harry followed suit.
"Has she said that she wants to date you?"
"We haven't talked about it, Harry."
Harry shrugged as he sat down, "She didn't say anything in her owls?"
"Owls? What do you mean?" he chuckled as he made himself a sandwich.
Harry practically choked on his drink, "Are you trying to tell me you didn't contact her while she was away?"
"Whose owls can fly all that way?"
"She's been back for months, Ron." Harry snapped, immediately becoming defensive. "I can't believe you."
"What are you on about, Harry?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing but the fact that you've completely neglected your best friend: the one you want to date, that is. Do you seriously expect her to return and run into your arms?"
Ron's mouth, overflowing with food, moved up and down in an attempt to form the words: "Of course not Harry," but instead came out like a muddle of noises. He started again when the food had safely been swallowed. "Of course not, Harry. More like jump into my arms and snog me right on the spot."
Harry laughed quietly, "With that attitude you won't get to date her."
"She'll date me. I have no doubts. Plus, she has no one else."
"Excuse me, Ron? She has everyone else. If you can't see how great Hermione is and how plenty of other guys like her, you don't deserve her."
Ron, with his overactive imagination suddenly picturing Harry and Hermione together, yelled, "I thought you said you two were just friends; like brother and sister."
"We are, Ron. I'm just saying," Harry started, attempting to choose his words carefully, "that if you keep acting like this, she'll probably date Malfoy before she dates you."
-- -- -- -- -- -- --
The next day was upon the world swiftly. Hermione was the first to arrive, her bags sparse and her smile heavy. "Hey!" she yelled. It was early in the morning, around seven, and she assumed everyone was sleeping. But her presence was deserving of a proper greeting. Mrs. Weasely came into the room, holding a finger to her mouth.
"Shush. They're sleeping." Grinning broadly, she took Hermione into her arms. "Welcome home. We'll take your bags up to Ginny's room when everyone's up."
"Okay, but do you mind if I go upstairs really quickly?" Mrs. Weasely shrugged in affirmation. The stairs creaked charitably while she climbed them. Arriving right outside Harry and Ron's door, she abandoned her sudden urge to knock and walked right in. Obviously, Ron and Harry had slept through her quiet ruckus. She walked over to Ron's bed and shook his shoulder dramatically. "Ron, Ronald, wake up," she whispered, gradually becoming louder, "It's Hermione—" there was still no answer so she went over to Harry, who had woken up in her arrival and bent down to hug him, "Harry!" she squealed as he pulled her onto the bed in an embrace.
"Hermione, I haven't seen you in months!" his words were muffled in the fluff of her hair, "Did you get my letter about Malfoy and Luna?"
"Yes," she smiled, tugging him closer, "I'm going to be nice to him—"
"Am I interrupting something?" Ron asked from the other side of the room, glancing at their embrace.
Hermione jumped up and hurried to him, granting him a brief hug and adding, as an afterthought, "Of course not."
They rushed down the stairs to breakfast. Ginny was seated at the table, with George, and the pair immediately got up to greet Hermione with hugs. When everyone was settled down there was a small knock on the door. Opening it to a perky Luna, Mrs. Weasely ushered her inside and then ordered Fred, Ron and Harry to get Hermione and Luna's bags. They grumbled and groaned, but brought them upstairs anyway.
"So this ought to be an interesting holiday," Ginny offered, "seeing as Malfoy will be joining us."
Luna gasped slightly, "Really, he is?"
"Yes," Hermione nodded, "And I, for one, am going to attempt to be nice and not start any arguments. But if he starts it, that's a completely different story."
Ginny laughed slightly before they were intruded with a crack. Mrs. Malfoy, Draco, a man with a camera and a reporter bearing a quill and pad, arrived. After a brief photo shoot and interview, Draco bid his mother farewell and sat down next to Hermione.
"I was hoping the Mudblood wouldn't be here."
Hermione snorted, "That's rather unfortunate. I'm here to stay, Malfoy, get used to it."
"Oh, I forgot. You're Weasel's girlfriend, aren't you? That explains the living arrangements. You two share a room?"
"No, but if you don't watch out, we'll make you stay with him."
He looked absolutely disgusted as he glanced at her plate. "Are you going to finish that?"
"My food?" she looked appalled. "Yes, I am."
He grumbled something about not eating breakfast and being really hungry before speaking louder and clearer, "Sorry, I forgot you were one of those women."
"Those women?"
"Yes. The ones who eat like starved men. The animalistic ones. I'm surprised I didn't figure this out earlier. It would have been so much easier to come up with names. Granger the cannibal—"
"Where did you ever get cabbalism from the fact that I want to eat my decent sized breakfast?"
"Well, it's quite obvious—"
"I don't want to hear it!" she snapped.
"Fine, now you're just acting barbaric. Like a caveman—err cavewoman."
"That's original, really, Malfoy." Hermione retorted sarcastically. "You're amazing when it comes to these insults."
"I'd like to say that I'm a genius. But it's assumed with my blood status and all."
Hermione, in a huff, got in his face and exclaimed, "If you care nothing about changing, then why did you join this bloody program?"
"PR, Granger. That's it. The reputation of my fine, wealthy, pureblood name."
Backing away hesitantly, she spoke once more, "But won't they hate you more, for associating with muggle-borns and blood-traitors."
"They are less important then I. They died with the Dark Lord. I am trying to make my name more respectable throughout the rest of the populace. Most of the purebloods died, in prison, or in hiding. I, on the other hand, justified myself by helping out you lot during the war. But apparently, that isn't enough to make one's name reputable in this depleting and disgraceful society."
-- -- -- -- -- --
A solitary day passed, one with a constant stream of Hermione yelling. Whether it was Ron or Malfoy, she was always angry. The two of them combined would surely shave years off her life. It was breakfast again, though this time Malfoy received his own plate. Picking at the eggs and sausage, he groaned under his breath. Hermione—just about to go on a rant about respecting what you have—was then interrupted by an enthusiastic George Weasely.
"I've got the greatest idea!" he exclaimed.
Hermione, instantly hesitant, stood up to face him, "And what kind of idea might this be?"
"An ingenious one! One created by Ronald, himself. It's a product for the shop—"
"If he created it, there's no way in hell you should even consider it." Malfoy spat.
Hermione gasped animatedly, "Is this reality? Did Malfoy actually say something I agree with?"
"Very funny, Hermione." Ron glared. Harry and Ginny sniggered while Luna just shrugged her head. "But we need to test it out before it goes to the store."
"And who better to test it on than the two very stubborn protestors of this fine product?" George beamed, "Stand up!" he commanded. Malfoy shook his head before standing next to Hermione.
"I don't trust him." Malfoy sneered.
"Just stick out your left hand, Malfoy, and you stick out your right one, Hermione." As they complied, their wrists were met with the opposing ends of a very magical pair of handcuffs. They gasped in unison, looking over at the metal chain that bound their wrists together. "Ah, see, we've had a shortage at the store since Fred's rather unhappy demise—"George often tried his best to lighten the subject of his twins death, hoping it would also lighten the mood, "—so Ron decided to come and help out. Due to his new status, I thought it beneficial to have him make something from scratch."
Ron was scowling at his brother with new found disgust, "George—you idiot—I haven't finished them yet!"
"What do you mean you haven't finished them yet?"
"I haven't tested them out."
George nodded, "Ah, new comers. Obviously Hermione and Draco are the testers. Just look at their wrists and see for yourself."
"That's not what I mean!" Ron hissed, "I don't know…"
Hermione snapped instantaneously, "What don't you know?"
"He doesn't know anything," Malfoy smirked, earning him a disapproving glare from Hermione and a laugh from Harry.
Ron whipped his head around to face Malfoy, glaring evenly at his features, "I don't know how to get them off."
"What?" Malfoy shouted, lunging at Ron and bringing Hermione along.
"Sit down!" she commanded, yanking his wrist by the chain.
"I can't be connected to her," he complained, "She's a madwoman."
"Don't call her that!" Ron bellowed as he advanced on the now-seated Malfoy.
Hermione inhaled noisily, "Ronald! Go take a walk or something."
Ron fumed, grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him outside. When they were out of earshot and strolling near the garden he started to talk, "I can't believe this, Harry. I should have done something beforehand!"
"Ron, it's alright. When we figure out how—"
"They were for the love section of the store. The love section; for desperate, loveless people who want Valentine's Day to be year-round."
"Quit complaining, Ron."
"No. I can't. It's horrible. Look what I've done. Until we get them out of those handcuffs, they'll be stuck together. So she'll have to spend every second of her life with him. She'll hate me. It's inevitable."
Carefully considering the circumstances, Harry spoke slowly and clearly, "Maybe it just requires a mutual friendship."
Groaning loudly, Ron growled, "Hopefully, or that Ferret is dead meat—literally."
"C'mon, let's go back inside."
Immediately, Ron protested, "No, I'd rather they shun me. Harry, we can't—"
Harry grasped his arm and thrust him towards the direction of the door, egging him on with his eyebrows. "If you don't go in there, I will. And I'll say a bunch of stuff about how much you support Malfoy and Hermione's union. Then she'll hate you."
"Fine," he offered, struggling to the Burrow. When they were back inside, Hermione and Draco were bickering while trying to eat their breakfasts.
"Do you have to eat with the chained hand, Malfoy?" Hermione whined, "You're dragging my arm around with you. It's annoying."
"Well, I'm sorry. I happen to like eating my food with my left hand."
"Is a knife really necessary for eggs and bacon?" she sniped back.
"Yes. It is. I highly recommend it!" he spat back, turning to his plate.
She, suddenly becoming testy, huffed back, "So you won't mind if I use a knife, too, right?"
"You aren't allowed to use knives."
"Why is that?" she exhaled.
Malfoy scoffed, "Your blood status, obviously. You're too savage to use utensils. Put down that fork and use your hands, you know you want to."
"Stuff it," she snapped, jabbing the fork into his ribs.
"Ouch! That hurts," said Malfoy as he poked her forearm with the tip of his butter knife, "You're lucky that's not sharp, Granger."
"What's not sharp?" she asked innocently, briefly glancing down at her forearm.
"The knife."
"The what?"
"Knife, Granger. Surely you know—"
Hermione, suddenly overcome with confidence, interrupted with a happy, "Sorry, but my people have never heard of that word before. Perhaps you can clarify," she glared, setting her fork and knife down with a clatter and plunging her left hand (the unchained one) at her eggs. Picking up a small handful, she smashed it into her mouth.
"Completely barbaric. Are currently in the caveman era or something? Pick up the fork—"
"The what?" she asked, cocking her head to the side and playing up an expression of fake confusion.
Pointing to the fork, he restated, "The fork, pick up the fork."
"The fuck?" she questioned loudly as Mrs. Weasely entered the room. Promptly dropping her bags on the ground, she hurried over to scold Hermione.
"You better clean that mouth out, dear. No language like that in my home," she started. Hermione yanked the hand with the handcuffs beneath the table. Malfoy's hand followed suit as Molly continued, "I'd never think that word would come from your mouth. Totally unexpected. You have a good vocabulary, Hermione. Surely there are better words to express your feelings than that one."
Malfoy, finding this the best time to butt in, said rather cheerily: "Such as the word fork. I believe it fits perfectly."
Furrowing her brow slightly, Molly glanced at him, trying to figure out whether he was serious or joking around. In a sweet voice easily showing she knew they were up to something, she said, "Exactly, Draco. See, Hermione, you can learn from his…extensive vocabulary."
-- -- -- -- -- --
When night time arrived and George had triple checked to make sure their parents were sleeping, they adjusted his room. Ron, he, and Harry were carrying Hermione's bed into the room he was sharing with Malfoy. When they set it down next to Malfoy's, Harry let out a long, exasperated sigh, "Tell me again why we couldn't just levitate it."
"Because the sheer potential of you getting a hernia could translate into comic relief, Potter." Draco quipped as he and Hermione sat at the end of George's bed.
"Actually," George hesitated, "His reason is good enough. But seriously, getting it through the door would have been less accurate. It would have hit the trim at least ten times."
"So much better than the five times it did while we were carrying it," Ron mused sarcastically.
Snorting obviously, Malfoy turned to them. "I have to pee."
"Then go, Malfoy. Where do you get off just telling—" Ron started, but then it dawned on him, "You're not going to take her with you."
"Would you rather me urinate in your bed?" Malfoy suggested, standing up and dragging Hermione to the door.
"No!" he protested in a harsh whisper.
Harry, being the sudden mediator as George watched with amusement, retorted, "Back off, Ron. Go to bed. It'll be fine. I'll handle it."
Ron walked out the door, hanging his shoulders in defeat, only to pop his head in a few seconds later to say, "You better not let them go in the bathroom together, Harry. I trust you! This is our friendship on the line, here." He nodded at Harry and then departed.
Harry shrugged, "Go. She probably has to go, too. Right, Hermione?"
"Ugh, like crazy," she groaned.
Harry and George laughed heartedly, "I'm going to sleep," George suggested as Harry left. "Go pee."
Heading into the bathroom, Hermione shuddered as he eyed her.
"Turn around, Granger. I know, your virgin eyes will be curious, but you've got to turn around."
Blushing madly, she turned to face him, "Sod off, slimy cockroach."
"You didn't deny it."
"I don't have to justify anything to you,"
Malfoy twisted his head and narrowed his eyes, "So you're trying to say that you aren't a virgin?"
"I'm simply avoiding the question. Whether I am a virgin, or not, it is no business of yours. Can't you just take a piss already?"
"When you turn around," he said snidely. She complied, studying the tiled wall until it was her turn. It was more awkward and probably the longest she had blushed, ever.
When it came time to wash their hands, they began to fight. "You're hurting my wrist," she spat.
"Quiet down, you'll wake someone." He corrected her, acting both innocent and vindictive.
"Just hurry up," she winced as he drastically pulled on her hand. She was practically standing on top of him, trying hard to maintain a decent amount of personal space. She then washed her hands, making sure to cause him an equal, if not larger, amount of pain.
"Aren't you going to change?" he questioned as he pulled off his pants, revealing shimmering green boxers. When it came to removing his shirt, he struggled before realizing it was impossible.
"I guess I'll just change my pants, if you don't mind." He rolled his eyes as she searched her clothes for pajama pants. He watched with interest, closing his eyes tightly when she changed. As she pulled her pants up, he felt the flesh of his wrist involuntarily skim the skin of her leg, sending tingles up his spine. He concluded that the phenomenon must be the fact of her blood contaminating her skin, or something. But even he knew that theory was completely ridiculous.
The lights were out and the moon shone through the window, gliding against their wide-awake features. Even though they had pushed the two beds together and the sheets were laid over the whole thing, they still had trouble sleeping. Every time they rustled about and landed on someone's hand, there were two equal gasps and then a few grumbles and curse words. Settling on the idea of annoyance, Draco spoke in a small whisper that barely conquered George's snoring, "So, Granger, you never answered my question before."
"What question?" she asked with feigned innocence.
"About your virtue." Heaving a sigh, she faced him directly. The moonlight looked so sincere against his features, but it was immediately corrupted when he spoke once more. "Are you pure still? I don't know who would want to do anything like you. Your blood is an immediate turn-off," he started, knowing that if he riled her up enough she would confess, "and then there's your hair. How'd they manage to untangle their hands from that mess? Or was it not that elaborate? I'd like to meet this guy, if he exists of course, and proclaim him my hero. If he touched you more than once I'm surprised he hasn't been hospitalized. Or has he?"
"Malfoy," she growled, ready to hurt him, "Stop talking like that."
"Oh," he drawled, "no. Never. I'm going to go all night. So was it bad? Really bad? Did he talk to you afterwards? Or did he ignore you and never speak to you again?"
"Please shut up,"
Malfoy laughed, "Begging me already, is that how you got him in bed?" he locked eyes with her and maintained eye contact as he continued, "Or there was never someone and you've got this silenced lull in the back of your brain: the knowledge no one will ever want you like that and you'll stay pure forever. How's it feel to know no one wants you? That no one will ever want to love you or feel you?" he taunted evilly, seeing her clench her jaw subconsciously as she looked away.
"I'm not giving in to your taunting. I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to get me upset so I'll tell you."
"So is it working?" he offered.
"No," she boasted unconvincingly, "But I just don't understand why you want to know?"
Looking confused, he retorted, "It's another obvious contribution to my ever growing list of insults."
"Like I assumed, you plan on using it to verbally torture me."
He scoffed, "What else would you expect? People like you don't deserve to be in the same bed as people like me."
"Tell me, Malfoy," she spoke into the darkness as she adjusted the sheets, "what exactly separates people like you from people like me?"
He responded almost instantly, "Blood status."
"Is that it?" she grinned. He saw the subtle challenge in her eyes.
"The reputation of our names—"
"But that's why you're here, Malfoy, because your name isn't good enough anymore. People look down on you. So now, my kind of people seem to be on top."
"Because this society is completely ruined, because now it's horrible if I want to marry someone pureblood. Because of all these protests and all these laws, it's made me have to earn something that is rightfully mine. You think it is better now, that mudbloods and half-bloods, blood traitors, are expected? But now the discrimination is with purebloods—the ones who deserve all the better treatment."
"That's where you're wrong. Better treatment is completely individual—"
He chuckled, "Coming from the person who helped save the world from Evil. Completely individual, you say? That's how you justify the way people treat you? You believe that because you're so vocal and you attempt to treat people fairly, you deserve good treatment. But you've earned it just as much as I."
"Are you implying that I abuse the fact that I helped defeat the Dark Lord and Harry's friendship?"
"Simply stating that your status in relation to Potter is comparable to the way Purebloods were looked at in society previous to the war." He sighed, "But you can't deny it, the discrimination has reversed. There will never be a place where blood status is not an issue until we have officially destroyed all the pureblood families and tainted them and transformed them into Half-bloods."
Quietly, she concurred, "You have a point, Malfoy."
"Honestly," he started, "Is it such a sin to wish my family stay pure? Is it that negative that I want the blood of my children to remain as pure as mine?"
Thoughtfully, she replied, "I guess not,"
"Speaking of purity…" He smirked at her, "Ever going to answer my question?"
"It is personal." She snapped. "How would you like it if I went around asking you about your—"
"Not a virgin," he grinned.
"It's not as if I didn't see that coming." She admitted, "You had quite the reputation back in Hogwarts."
"Half, if not more, of it was lies." He objected.
"Lavender Brown."
"No." he shuddered.
"Parkinson."
"Yes."
"Ew,"
"I know," he sighed.
"I'm guessing you stayed strictly in Slytherin."
"You guessed almost correctly. There were a few times when my desires wandered to the nearest, mildly attractive female."
She didn't respond. There was a sudden drop of her stomach as she thought of Malfoy with another girl. Commonly addressed as jealously, Hermione concluded it was either a stomach ache or pure disgust. There was a couple minutes of silence in which Malfoy began to think of Granger and the awkward guy that she lost her virginity to. He was pretty sure that she was resisting his bait to answer his inquiry because it would result in her reveal of not being a virgin and then he would pester her about who it was.
"So now that you know that I haven't done Brown, I believe you should tell me who you haven't done."
Hermione, slightly amused at his immaturely, sighed helplessly, "I haven't done Ron."
"Obviously." He rolled his eyes before gasping animatedly, "But instead of saying you haven't done anyone, you said you haven't done Weasel, meaning you have slept with a guy, which means I was right."
"You were right?" she sneered.
"Well, had I said my prediction aloud, you would be agreeing with my sudden proclamation of accuracy."
"Shut up, will you?" she had become very irate, glaring at him from across the pillow that they had suddenly begun to share.
"Make me," he whispered into her ear, sending an array of tingles throughout her body.
In affirmation of his request, she kicked him in the shin, causing him to let out a loud holler. From across the room, George grumbled before yelling something very muffled back at them that sounded much like, "Stop with the lover's quarrel, I'm trying to get some sleep."
"Goodnight, Granger." Malfoy spat, attempting to clutch his calve but failing due to the handcuffs.
"Piss off."
-- -- -- -- -- --
Eating breakfast the next morning ran a bit smoother than the previous day, due to the fact Mrs. Weasely and Mr. Weasely were eating with them. Their chairs were touching as they hid their hands in their laps, respectively. Across from Hermione sat Ginny, across from Malfoy sat Harry, the rest of the Weaselys (plus Luna) were scattered about the table. Mrs. Weasely, finally finishing with the breakfast, set the plates in front of them. Arriving between Malfoy and Hermione, attempting to give Malfoy his plate, caused her to let out a frustrated sigh, "Why are you two sitting so close together?" she hissed as she practically elbowed Hermione in the face in the process of setting Malfoy's dish down with a clatter.
"We've learned that to build tolerance we must decrease our proximity." Hermione explained.
Malfoy, picking up the idea of what she was saying, tried to hide the disgust from his features as he agreed with her, "Yes, see, by being this close to her I display my comfort level with the fact she is both a muggle born witch and an annoying know-it-all."
"Well, it goes two ways. I am indeed accepting his arrogant pureblood ways and ignoring the fact that he decided to insult me. The dissolving of proximity shows how we've begun to tolerate each other, especially Malfoy's issues with insult-throwing." Mrs. Weasely just smiled in response, sitting down. Hermione, unsatisfied with her reaction, continued, "Like George and Luna," she beamed, gesturing towards the pair, "They're sitting almost as close as us."
Perfectly content in the fact that the whole table had adjusted their attention to Luna and George, she turned to the right to face Malfoy. "You know, Granger, you just couldn't stop, could you? Always have to come out on top, don't you?" he sneered in her ear, "On top, all the time. Does your father know you like to be on top, mudblood?"
Catching the reference to the topic of their late night discussion, she shoved him away and returned to her breakfast.
"Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasely started, "Weren't you wearing that shirt yesterday?"
Ginny, finding this the appropriate time to interject, said in a very happy voice, "It's all the rage these days, to wear the same shirt for two, three, even four, days."
Mr. Weasely's interest had been peaked, "Is it a muggle thing?"
"Yes, Dad." Ginny beamed.
"Nice one," Harry whispered into her ear, "Hopefully she doesn't pick up on it."
Ginny giggled in response, lightly kicking Harry in the shin. He kicked her back, and her retort was introducing a game of footsie, until their entangled feet accidently hit Malfoy, who flinched and turned to Hermione and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Kicking me again? If you wanted to play footsie, all you had to do was ask," he paused to recollect his thoughts, "You know, I think you bruised my shin."
Ron coughed loudly and turned red, embarrassed enough for Hermione. Confused as to why he, of all people was red, shot him a look before confronting Malfoy, "You rightly deserved it, didn't you?"
"The flirty foot games or the kick? Because I don't appreciate the fact you keep trying to come on to me. A part of becoming tolerant is recognizing both personal space and individual boundaries. Now, you may believe that slowly gracing someone's shoe-less foot with yours is not intimate or flirty, but footsie is a big step for me. I only take that step with girls after I'm sure that they care about me sincerely, and you, well, you'll have to convince me of your love before we play any other foot games."
Hermione retorted bitterly, "Thanks for the fair warning. Next time I'll make sure to ask you beforehand."
-- -- -- -- -- --
"Malfoy," she groaned, "Now you're the one playing footsie. Will you please stop?" she begged, tugging on the sheets of their bed. He laughed maniacally before kicking her in the shin. She coughed loudly before bellowing, "Are you serious?"
"You rightly deserved it, didn't you?"
"No," she spat, "I'm just trying to get to you stop with the conscious caressing of my foot with yours.
"I can't help it. It's a habit."
"That's funny. It wasn't a habit last night."
Malfoy, chuckled and started to retort when there was a loud thump in the hallway. Unintentionally, she moved into his arms. He sighed and rolled his eyes, as he whispered, "People live here, you know? George hasn't even come to bed yet, maybe it's him."
"That's right. He hasn't come to bed and it's already," she glanced down at her digital clock. Putting it near their bed had been quite the commotion earlier in the day. He seemed to ask her a bunch of questions about it, inquiring if the digital clock was a bomb of some sorts. She chuckled and told him it told time. He retorted that he had only seen traditional clocks. Awestruck that he knew of muggle weaponry, she left it at that. "It's three AM, gosh!"
There was another loud noise in the hallway, this one resembling footsteps. It was approaching their door and Hermione tightened her grip around his waist. She was up against the wall, lying on her and his handcuffed wrists. As he tried to hide her from view, the door of their room creaked open and Hermione buried herself in Malfoy's chest. "Draco?"
The voice was easily identified as Mr. Weasely's. Malfoy responded swiftly in a voice he hoped sounded like he had been woken up, "Yes?"
"Sorry," Arthur apologized, "I heard some noises up here. I was just making sure everything was alright."
"Mhm," he grumbled as the door clicked shut. When they heard him retreat down the stairs, Malfoy pried Hermione's tense figure from his and said, "I want to go check out those noises. Maybe it's George pranking someone or—"
He was cut off with another thump, this one really pissing him off. Throwing off the sheets and dragging Hermione with him, he entered the hallway. They attempted to be light on their feet by walking slowly and towards the reoccurring thump.
"Draco," Hermione hissed, "This isn't—"
"Shut your trap, woman. They can't hear us coming! It defeats the purpose of sneaking around in the dark like this," he chastised. "Being the 'smartest witch of our year' should at least grant you some common sense, Granger."
She chose not to reply as they approached Harry's door. Ajar slightly, a sliver of light peaking through: Ginny stood across from Harry, plummeting books at his head. His hands were held up in defeat as he pleaded with her to cease the torrential plights of hardcover novels and Hogwarts textbooks.
"Bloody hell," Malfoy snorted, "a cute, little lover's spat. They'll pay for keeping me up this late. I'm sure Potter doesn't want his best friend hearing about his obviously inappropriate affair with his sister."
Hermione sighed, "Next time you formulate one of your evil plans, make sure not to disclose it in the presence of your enemy."
"Granger, Granger. You are not an enemy, nor a foe—simply a nuisance attached to my arm. After all, this pureblood exchange is all about tightening the bonds between different blood types, thus my inclusion of my plan clearly—"
"Stuff it, will you?" she spat while tugging mercilessly at his wrist. Whining benevolently, briefly, "I want to go back, I want to sleep."
He stiffened his posture, "And I don't? Stop acting like the world revolves around you, it isn't very becoming."
"Opposed to acting as arrogant and egotistical as you? No thanks."
Then, in the midst of a compelling bickering between Draco and Hermione, the door before them creaked open revealing a much disheveled Harry with an equally irate Ginny by his side.
-- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - --
A/N: Title of the chapter/quote at the beginning goes to Ben Lee's Catch My Disease.