Friend Of My Enemy, Enemy Of My Friend

Harry's dreams were always vivid; but he never knew he walked in them. When his eyes finally opened each dawn, he was always in bed, the blankets smooth around him. He never realised that each night he walked along the stone corridors of Hogwarts, in a world of his own; alone, except for that flash of green light and the mocking laughter that lurked behind each corner. And why should he know?

The Boy Who Lived was not alone, even when the cobwebs were asleep in their nooks. Somebody followed him as he wandered, throwing the Cloak over both of them to keep them hidden. Somebody steered him slowly back again when the darkness faded in the sky and in his troubled mind. Somebody helped him lie down, covered him with the blankets and smoothed the pillow down.

Not Ron - kind-hearted but insensitive. It was Hermione who waited outside the dormitory for the familiar quiet cries and the sounds of somebody forcing themselves blindly through the curtains of the bed. It was Hermione who scurried to find the Cloak before following the black-haired boy through the door, down the stairs, out of the portrait-door - Hermione who followed him silently, her wand alight with muttered spells.

And somebody watched her.

---

"Head Girl?" He sounded incredulous.

"Well, yes," Hermione replied defensively. "And?"

Ron hastily attempted to backpedal. "Nothing! I meant - of course you're Head Girl. You would be!"

"But?" Her tone was icy.

"But nothing!" he grinned, and once again she melted.

"Of course, it's a totally sexist concept anyway - Head Girl and Head Boy - I mean, what if there are two particularly good boys, or two girls?" she babbled, trying to distract him from the way her eyes widened and her skin suddenly seemed to raise in temperature when he looked at her like that.

Ron chuckled. "'Course, Hermione. Fancy making another Society? Society for Anti-Discrimination? You know what that spells out -"

Her glare silenced him, but didn't manage to wipe the smirk from his face.

Sensibly, he changed the subject. "Anyway...know who the Head Boy is?"

"An insufferable git?" she retorted, taking his smirk for a sign that he himself had achieved that goal.

He scoffed. "Well, it's not me, and it's not Harry - I'd say probably a Hufflepuff. Probably Ernie."

Disappointed, she groaned with him. Ernie. This would be a fun year. And she'd been so looking forward to all the parties they would organise - of course, Ernie would call it unnecessary and frivolous and refuse to help at all.

Hermione stopped toying with the glittering badge, pinning it to her already-donned robes, and leaned back. She stared out the window, watching the world fly past. She'd always loved trains - loved travelling in general. There was always so much to find about where you were going and what you were seeing, and the journey to Hogwarts was so familiar now, she would have sworn she could've walked it.

She was distracted by a knock on the door of the train compartment. Harry entered, now wearing freshly laundered Hogwarts robes and -

"What on earth is that?" Hermione asked distastefully.

Harry grinned. "You like?" He twirled exaggeratedly, showing off the scarf that clung to his neck.

As if her disgusted expression wasn't clear enough? "It's embroidered, Harry. And it's - pink!"

He rolled his eyes, but took it off, throwing it at Ron who was half-asleep in the corner. "It's just a scarf. Some girls gave it to me on the way back from the bathroom."

Ron inspected it, his smile growing. "What's this it says here? 'We Love You Harry Potter'? What'd you say to them?"

Hermione turned to glare at Harry. "Yes, Harry, what did you say to them?"

"Nothing!" he retorted, holding his hands up to his face defensively. "I just thanked them and said I had to go change. They were second-years, I didn't want to be mean."

Ron let out a guffaw. "Look here, man - they've spent years on this. They even got your hair right!" He pointed to a tiny sewn image of Harry flying on a broomstick, looking rather more muscled than in real life. Harry laughed with him, but his smile was softer.

Hermione sniffed and turned away. "I have a Prefects' and Heads' meeting. I'll be back later."

---

The train was swamped with witches and wizards. First-years ran around excitedly, pointing out new details to each other, while second-years gleefully sneered at them, pleased to no longer be the youngest and incredulous that, once, they had been that small and that annoying. Hermione, with her sparkling badge and superior expression, parted the waves of students easily as she strode purposefully towards the rear of the train.

The students here were older and more familiar. Hermione thought she recognised a blonde Ravenclaw girl who was leaning against a door, idly flicking her wand as the Muggleborn first-years in front of her looked frantically for the cause of their levitating sweets. Hermione glared at the blonde, and she grinned, tucking her wand back into a pocket and casually stalking away.

The last compartment was empty, except for Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, who were waiting for the students to arrive. Hermione was early, as usual. She waited outside, not wanting to be the first. Ernie should be here already; it was surprising that she had arrived first.

Speak of the devil. Ernie himself was now striding towards her, the familiar pompous expression fixed to his face. And there was the badge, pinned perfectly beneath his collar, polished and in perfect condition.

"Good afternoon," he said importantly.

Hermione repeated the greeting. "So how are you?" she added.

Luckily, she was saved from the answer - and consequently a long tirade on how owls really needed to learn their place - by the arrival of several more students; sixth-years this time. Ernie beamed at them, and began interrogating them all on how well they knew the rules. Hermione rolled her eyes.

A voice from behind her asked: "So, Granger, I presume you made Head Girl?"

She swivelled to face the speaker - her beloved Draco Malfoy. Oh, joy. Her face automatically twisted into a sneer, matched by his own. "Indeed. You?"

He indicated his badge. "Prefect. They offered me Head Boy, but I turned it down."

Even her hatred of him couldn't quell her curiosity. "What? Why?"

"Too much work," he replied simply.

Hermione was shocked, and it showed. He laughed mockingly. "Yes, Granger, some of us have lives..."

They were interrupted by another Slytherin, who Hermione knew vaguely - Zobaya? Zabotis? Zabini? - and who clapped Malfoy on the back. "Only Prefect, Draco?"

"You're just lucky I turned Head Boy down, Zabini," Malfoy returned, his mouth set in a lazy smirk.

So this is my partner-in-crime, Hermione realised. Could be a lot better than Ernie.

Zabini shoved Malfoy playfully. "Like you're not going to have the same privileges without the work? Smart move, Draco. You know you're going to be over at the luxurious Head's rooms every day, slacker."

On second thoughts; it could be a lot worse.

A/N: This will be a realistic romance - I hope - so please, please, please point out anytime the characters aren't portrayed accurately. This takes place in a fictitious seventh year, so some details aren't going to be perfectly canon. I've decided to say the Heads have their own rooms and that they enjoy some of the responsibilities and privileges commonly used in fanfiction, but I'm hoping it'll be realistic. I'm sure there's no canon foundation for Malfoy's character of 'clever Slytherin womaniser' so I'm trying to put him across more as he is in the books? If anyone thinks I'm wrong please don't hesitate to point it out.

Cadmium Yellow