1
Hermione was annoyed. She was sitting by the window during Transfiguration class. She had successfully achieved the ducklifors spell on Neville who back to his human form was desperately trying to turn her into a duck. She was the only one who had managed the NEWT spell and she still had to wait half an hour before the end of the course. Absentmindedly gazing at Neville's vain attempts, she let her thoughts wander. Everything was wrong this year. They may have won the war, but her world was far from being at peace. She was eighteen but she hadn't passed her NEWT yet. Her friends had survived but she was feeling like they were falling apart. Harry was spending most of his time with Ginny or mumbling alone about a clean, white King Cross Station haunted by ghosts from the past. She had a boyfriend, Ron, the boy she wanted to be with since her 14th birthday at least, but she didn't feel loved. Even if they were supposed to date, it seemed that nothing had changed between them, and Ron was always much more excited by a quiddich chat or a game of chess with Harry, Dean or Seamus, than by spending time with her. Honestly, she doubted that she was really infatuated.
Last, but not least, they had beaten Voldemord but she had to face her worst enemy everyday: Draco Malfoy had come back to Hogwarts. Nothing could have been worst. Of course he didn't call her a mudblood anymore. He wouldn't dare. After all, his father was in Azkaban and he had been spared only thanks to his mother's help and to the testimony of Severus's memories. He was regarded innocent and had shamelessly come back to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year like her, Harry, Ron and all the other survivors of their year. Most of the Slytherins hadn't come back though. Some were dead, like Crabbe, other had joined their parents in Azkaban or had emigrated far away from Britain. It didn't seem to disturb Draco. He still roamed through the castle with his arrogant smirk displayed on his oh so taunting lips. No! Not taunting, his disgusting lips, the lips of the most scornful bastard she'd ever known. Guilt was nowhere to be seen on his so-proud-to-be-a-pureblood face. If he had remorse it didn't affect his marks, and Hermione kept struggling to stay at the first rank. She wouldn't give up on her title of 'the brightest witch of her age'. No way. She couldn't lose to the ferret! Hermione hadn't forgiven him years of bullying and his attempt of killing Dumbledore. She couldn't imagine befriending the prat. It may be true that, at the beginning of the year, she had thought that they could get along. They were grown up and had finally found peace. But he has clearly shown that he had no intention of being at least polite with her. If he never said a word against Harry who had saved his life, and only made fun of Ron behind his back, he was awful with her, always teasing her, laughing at the bushy bookworm she was when the boy couldn't notice. Harry had forbidden her to speak ill of Malfoy. He had asked her to make some effort to improve Houses cooperation, lecturing her for her childish resentment toward the ferret. Ron wouldn't listen to her complaint. He hated it when she talked about him. At the beginning of the year, he had gladly gossiped with her. Malfoy was their usual scapegoat: when their conversation tensed or dragged on, they would always broach on Malfoy's despicable behaviour. They would make fun of him and forget how uncomfortable they felt when Harry left them alone. They made such a pathetic couple. However, Ron had soon been fed up with hearing his girlfriend constantly rambling about another boy. He had told her that she had an unhealthy obsession with Malfoy. One day he had flared up and had violently demanded that she would never pronounce the ferret's name in front of him. Ever. Or he would drag to the conclusion that she was much more interested in the blondish git than in him. Now, she was fuming by herself unable to express her anger.
The idea of Malfoy was always on her mind, in a pejorative way of course, and she couldn't release this burden by sharing it with someone. Malfoy was like this song which theme is stuck in your head but that you can't sing out loud. Loathsome, loathsome, loathsome Malfoy. Loathsome, loathsome, handsome. God. She had to admit that the prick was rather good looking. It was impossible for anyone not to notice his refine features, nor his well-shaped body. Well, currently no one would have called him handsome: Blaise had finally managed to turn his mate into a duck which was madly quacking at him. Hermione couldn't help laughing. The duck's tiny eyes turned at her. Despite its short size it clearly looked down on her. She instantly stiffened her wide smile frozen. How could she overreact like this in front of a duck? This was ridiculous. Recovering her spirit, she carefully displayed on her face her most mischievous grin and bravely stared at the duck. At Neville's surprise, she walked toward it, and leaned to get closer to the pissed off mallard. The duck cocked his head in sign of surprise.
"My~ Am I seeing some sparks of wit in those eyes? Did your brain actually get bigger thanks to this form?"
It quacked at her in sign of disapproval.
"I'm Sorry, I don't speak Duck, can you elaborate?"
The mallard silently stared at her, clearly unable to talk.
"Well, I'd love to challenge you to a battle of wits, but I see you are unarmed."
She slowly raised her arm to pat its head with fake empathy, as if he was a stubborn child who refused to answer to a question. The truth is that she wanted to touch the soft green feathers. But her hand stopped midway. This sec of hesitation was long enough for the duck to understand her intentions. It suddenly rose and fiercely pinched her hand.
"WHAT THE FUCK MALFOY!" screamed a shocked Hermione, holding her right bleeding hand to her chest while giving the duck a death glare. The mallard scornfully turned away. Everyone in the class was staring at them astounded to hear the head girl swearing. Professor McGonagall's outraged voice broke the awkward silence:
"Miss Granger, what on earth is going on? I'm aware that you were the first one to achieve the ducklifors spell, however, I assume that it doesn't allow you to insult… Oh dear! What happened to your hand?" Her tone softened immediately as she took Hermione's hand to examine the bloody beak mark.
"You may go to Madam Pomfrey, we don't want this injury to prevent you from holding your wand during this important term, do we?"
Hermione nodded at her headmistress and slowly exited the class room. She silently stopped behind the door to catch a glimpse of a raging McGonagall turning Malfoy to his human form before sternly lecturing him and giving him two hour of detention. Smiling widely Hermione took the way of the Hospital Wing. Nothing could make her happier than the sight of an annoyed Malfoy.
….
Draco was quite upset. He was walking toward the Trophy Room. Not only had he a detention with Filch at nine, but this detention was given to him because of The Mudblood. Granger. He would definitely kill her one day. Figuratively, of course. It would be rather complicated to put an end to the life of the bookworm. He had to admit that she was rather smart and would most certainly detect poison if he put some in her pumpkin juice. Not to mention that he couldn't afford to murder a member of the golden trio, his position in the magical world was rather shaky. Still, this detention had fallen at the worst timing; he had planned to ravish a charming Ravenclaw, Pamela Alton. The 6th year girl was all sweet and naïve. She had just come back from Beaux Batons where she had been sent during the war and had brought from France this delicate touch of exoticism he was longing for. As a Head Boy he had asked her to join him in front of the Head Room to settle some irregularities in her behaviour. Two days ago, he had caught the poor girl parading in her oh so short French uniform in front of her friends. She hadn't seen him, and was gleefully prattling when he had come closer and closer. Slowly, like a hunting panther he was judging his target. Especially her legs. When he had approach close enough for her to feel his breath on her shoulder, he had articulated in a low tone:
"Students shall be in uniform at all times while on Hogwarts grounds. This includes robes, jumper, shirt, tie, slacks/skirt, shoes and socks, and gloves and scarf when necessary. All articles must be kept neat and tidy (i.e. shirt tucked in, tie worn properly, clothing washed and without excessive wrinkles). Would you say that you are wearing Howgarts uniform miss…?"
"Alton, sir, Pamela Alton." She looked at him with wide eyes, afraid to be punished as well as excessively excited to be talked to by the well-known, hot Head Boy. " I'm, I, m sorry, I didn't know that we weren't allowed to wear different uniforms… I, I mean during the Fire Goblet year, the students of Dumtrang and Beaux Batons wore their uniforms, didn'they?" She muttered shyly. She blushed, suddenly aware of his eyes travelling through the offending uniform to her almost bare tights.
"Well Miss Alton, would you say that you currently attend the schools of Dumstrang or Beaux Batons?" He smirked at her.
"No Sir" she admitted sheepishly. Although I used to belong to Beaux batons last year, and that's a thing you seem to notice with pleasure, she thought.
"That's what I guessed. Have you got any idea of how many points such an infringement of the Rules should cost you?" He smirked.
"No, sir, I don't know…. but please sir, don't take points to my house! I'm begging you!" She pouted charmingly.
"You seem to be a good girl, Miss Alton. Would you like us to have a little agreement? I'm sure I could forget your misdemeanor. If I get something in exchange, it goes without saying." He winked at her. "See you on Wednesday, at nine, in front of the Head's room. By the way, you can call me Draco" He had left the girl surrounded by her giggling friends who were obviously very impressed by her interaction with one of the hottest 7th year. She stood dazed, unsure of her situation, had she really managed to arouse DRACO MALFOY's attention?!
Draco smiled to himself. Pamela would be an easy one. It wasn't the first time since the beginning of the year that he took advantage of his Head Boy position to achieve his goals. And by goal you should understand having the best meal at table as well as the best girls in his bed. Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. I was what Malfoys did. But tonight he would be unable to obtain the girl's favors. Because of this Granger bitch. The filthy mudblood had made fun of him during transfiguration. Worst she had tried to touch him. Her filthy hand attempted to stroke his pureblood skin. Well, his pureblood feathers to be more precise. Damned Zabini! But this was not going to happen; he wouldn't let her touch him. Ever. He had grown up and understood that her blood was not actually made of mud. He had already seen her bleeding. Today, he had the proof that her blood was as red as his once again. But it didn't change anything. He still hated her. She was everything that he loathed in a girl: she was a bookworm, an insufferable know-it all who was incapable of shouting her mouth. She was always seeking for teachers 'attention. She had awful bushy hair. She wouldn't dress or make up like a girl. In fact she wasn't acting like a girl at all. Girls were meant to be loveable creatures. They were supposed to do anything to please you, to smile, nod and laugh when they were supposed to. But Granger was a disdainful bitch so proud of herself that she thought that no one could keep up with her. He was yet as smart as she was. His grades were almost as high as hers, and God knew he didn't lift a finger to obtain such performances when she spent her whole time buried in books. Maybe she was the pet of the temporary headmistress, Professor McGonagall, but he used to be professor Snape's favorite student which was equally rewarding. Plus, they were both Heads.
He remembered the moment when she had discovered that he had the same title as her. Granger's face had turned pale. She was obviously angry. She may have expected to work with Potter or her beloved Weasel. He was utterly disgusted to think about them as a couple. It made him want to vomit. Anyway, seeing Granger's annoyance was worth of the boredom of Head Boy's tasks. He expected Potter to be granted the pompous title. After all he had defeated the Dark Lord and deserved this small reward, didn't he? But to everyone's astonishment, Draco bloody Malfoy received this honor. There was a rumor that Harry had declined McGonagall's offer and suggested Draco's name to improve houses' cooperation. Others said that it was Dumbledore's portrait who had spoken in his favor. In fact, Malfoy's appointment had become a symbol: the symbol of reconciliation. His story was rewritten to fit in the Golden Legend of the war. He was a poor boy, brought up by a devil father, forced to join Voldemord's army. Innocent Draco was saved by brave Snape and his mother's love (doesn't it remind you of someone?). At the end of the war, the poor victim of Tom Jedusor could celebrate the victory of Light with the Order of Phoenix. After all, it was not only the victory of an order but the victory of the whole magical world against Evil. This candid rhetoric had led him to be Head Boy. If the son of Lucius could be Head Boy, people could forgive each other and the world would be at peace again. It was a pain in the ass. Draco hated to be seen as a victim. He hated to have been appointed prefect out of pity. He would have rather die than admit it but that was why he kept quarrelling with Granger. She didn't pity him. She hated him as an equal. He was arrived to the Trophy Room. Seeing the huge amount of cups that Filch had prepared for him to scrub remembered him how much he hated Granger back. He would definitely take his revenge for this detention. He would make her life a hell.