/Standard disclaimer and all... I own none of J.K.Rowling's characters or her wonderful wizarding world, nor do I own any of the Very Bad Things that are about to happen... you've seen them before.../
S.W.E.AT.S.
Chapter 1
"Oh! Raido makes sense."
Hermione Granger put the finishing touches on her Ancient Runes assignment, wishing for the thousandth time that she wasn't the only person at Hogwarts taking Ancient Runes.
It was the beginning of her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione was sitting on the plush couch by the fire in her new common room, doing her homework. Fascinating subject, Runes. /A/N: Yes, we know, Hermione. Anyway/ She had been made Head Girl that year, and along with all the responsibilities that entailed came the privilege of having her own room that shared a common room with the Head Boy. She missed Gryffindor Tower, to be sure, sitting with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her two best friends, chatting and playing wizard's chess into the night. But she didn't miss being kept awake by Lavender and Parvati's inane giggling and never having any quiet time to herself. (Even though they'd shown her at the end of her third year how to style her chocolate-brown hair curly instead of bushy and she was feeling much prettier now, she still didn't miss them.) Having her own room was perfect, except...
"Blaise, darling, can't you leave me alone for once?" a voice drawled from near the portrait-hole.
Except for Draco Malfoy.
Draco, as the Head Boy, shared this cozy little suite with her. Draco, whom she hated and who returned her hate with the deepest of intensity. Putting the two of them together like this was like oil and water, vinegar and baking soda, Snape and shampoo, leather and libraries...
Oh wait, no, that one's not so bad.
/ Draco/Hermione Shippers: (punch air) /
/ WIKTTers: Oh really/
/ Everyone else: (in a whiny voice) Is it going to be this kind of story? (groan) /
/ A/N: Just wait! ;) /
Well, anyway, what should have been a great setup for Hermione now put her in contact with the Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy—much more than what was advisable for her health.
"It's really not the best time for you to be like this," Draco's voice drawled.
Hermione peeked out over the back of the couch. Draco had brought a blonde girl into the common room, well, more like she followed himin like a sick puppy, and he was trying to push her away, his mercury eyes flashing dangerously.
"But, Draco..."
"No 'buts' Blaise, I have important things to do."
Blaise? Wait a minute... Blaise Zabini? Blaise is a boy. I think I've been studying runes too hard tonight... Hermione thought.
While Hermione pondered the identity of Blaise Zabini, and twirled her long, curly, cinnamony hair, she covertly watched as Draco was coaxed into his bedroom by his guest.
Oh well. Maybe Blaise has been hitting the Polyjuice Potion. I hear the Malfoys like that sort of thing.
An hour later, as Hermione was wrapping up her Care of Magical Creatures essay on shapeshifters, Blaise emerged from Draco's room, running her hands through her long, shiny, golden-red hair with lavender highlights. Fortunately, she didn't notice Hermione sitting on the couch, and slipped out through the portrait hole.
This makes no sense! I saw Blaise yesterday in Potions. HE has dark hair and is definitely a boy. Definitely! This person is not him... Wait, wasn't she blonde earlier?
As Hermione chewed her lip innocently and considered the befuddling person who left her common room, Draco sauntered in, wearing nothing but silk black pajama bottoms. The firelight caused his silvery locks to glow. Lavender has always said that he looks like a fallen angel, Hermione thought. What a ridiculous comparison! It's so very cliché. He doesn't fit Milton's description at all. And I know the truth about Malfoy...
"You really need to work hard don't you Granger? I mean, wizarding subjects just don't come as easy to mudbloods, do they?"
Hermione, used to such insults, ignored him. It wasn't worth getting upset over.
"Who was that?" she demanded, changing the subject and pushing her shiny brown curls out of her face. She knew she shouldn't delve into his private life, because he tended to get violently defensive whenever she did, but her curiosity about the strange girl who'd just left was too great.
"That? That was Blaise Zabini. Don't you pay attention at all, Granger?"
"That was not Blaise. Blaise is tall dark and hand- I mean, male, for one thing."
"Not today. He changes. It's really out of his control. He just goes back and forth from boy to girl all the time..." Draco informed her, but with a distant, quizzical look on his very-aristocratic-looking face.
"That's strange." Hermione observed, rather astutely.
"Yes, no one knows why it happens. It's like there's some invisible being out there still making up their mind about whether Blaise should be a boy or a girl."
Hermione's let her eyes unfocus as she pondered the mystery of Blaise Zabini's gender and completely missed the smirk rising on Draco's pale, pointed face.
"Like what you see, don't you, mudblood?"
"What? Oh!" Hermione blushed as she realized she'd been staring directly at his chest. "Malfoy, honestly , why do you never wear a pajama top around here? It's quite disturbing."
"I always seem to lose them some how. It must be the laundry gnomes stealing them." He said as he settled back into the plush armchair lazily. But he made even lounging about lazily look like he meant it as a fashion statement.
"You mean the gnomes that always take half a pair of socks?" Hermione asked, then started chewing on her quill. She always switched to her quill after she'd chewed her lips to shreds.
"Yeah, those. They seem to like my pajamas for some reason."
"How many – pth!—have you lost?" Hermione asked, spitting out quill feathers. She of course tripped over her words as she was trying to talk and chew at the same time, which really isn't advisable.
"Well, as I have a pajama set for every day of the year,... hundreds, really."
"Honestly!" Hermione said as she stood up to her full height and put her hands on her hips, the mangled quill dangling from her fingertips. "I guess the great Draco Malfoy doesn't mind working all those silk worms to death so he can have a new pajama set every day."
Draco smirked up at her. "Of course not! I couldn't be Sexy!Draco without the proper wardrobe, now could I? And besides, they match my silk sheets." He gestured lazily with his hand toward his bedroom, a malicious look shining from his silvery eyes.
Hermione rolled her eyes. I'm so not impressed—with his sheets or his eyes that somehow have metallurgical properties. "Goodnight, Malfoy."
She turned to walk toward her room. She was tired, but her thoughts were running away with her. Those poor silk worms! Honestly, why can't he just use the standard-issue linens that Hogwarts provides? They're nice enough. S.P.E.W. was such a disaster, but maybe I can make up for it by helping the silk worms. Yes...
Later that night, while Hermione and Draco lay in bed
/A/N: head off shippers at the pass Separate beds! This is a family-friendly story you crazy kids/
/ (ahem) /
while Hermione and Draco each lay in their OWN, SEPARATE beds, with a THICK WALL BETWEEN their rooms, they each pondered the curious fate that is Blaise Zabini's.
Hermione: I feel kind of sorry for Blaise. What if I woke up as a different person? As Ghetto!Hermione or something awful like that (shudder)
Draco: I wonder who's doing this to Blaise, anyway? It's like a mysterious force out there controlling him, er, her, I mean—which one do I like better anyway
/ Blaise fanfic writers: (whistle and back away) /
The next morning, Draco emerged from his room only to find Hermione hunched over the table in the common room, worrying her bottom lip and intent on reading on the parchment in her hand. Merlin, doesn't she ever stop working? No wonder she has better grades than me... Maybe it's all that lip-biting she does... Yuck, they're bleeding!
Draco quietly and gracefully crept toward the table, peering over her head to see what she was working on.
Draco/Hermione shippers: (wait on the edge of their seats)
"S.W.E.A.T.S.? Granger, are you starting another ridiculous crusade? What is it this time? Are you going to save the flobberworms from being fed too much lettuce or the Weasleys from having red hair or saving students from rotting their teeth from all the sherbert lemons Albus passes out?"
Hermione: That's a good idea! Save the Student's Teeth! Nah, I'll work on that title. My parents would be so proud! Let's see, I'll need...
endbrief foray into Hermione's POV when this is Draco's POV. As you were, Draco.
Draco: Thank you.
Hermione turned to face Draco, malice flashing in her pretty brown eyes.
"Yes. All your silk sheets and pajamas are going to make the silk worm population of Britain go extinct.
"Silk worm population of Britain? The only silk worms in Britain are the ones who work at Worldwide Butterflies (http: ), which is, of course, part of the Malfoy family holdings." Draco corrected her.
Hermione kept talking. "Exactly. You've enslaved them! And how did you even know about the internet to link to their website? You don't use computers. And it's S.W.E.A.T.S. Not 'Sweats.' It stands for Silk-Worm Enslavers Are Too Spoiled. Our mission is to get you to wear synthetic sweats for all your nighttime activities from now on so that your silk worms can get a well-deserved vacation. Two sickles to join!"
"Granger, you are out of your mind," observed Draco, as he gracefully swept out of the room, plowing through a crowd of screaming fangirls trying to touch his sexy self, clutching ripped-up pajama tops in their hands, to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When that girl gets something in her head...Next thing she'll be starting a crusade to save the cacao trees from being made into all that chocolate Professor Lupin eats...
