Hey guys! My 2nd fic! So would be nice if you R & R, and brutal honesty about its extreme suckage is okay as well. Thanks so much :)
Hermione Granger surveyed the pandemonium around her with mild interest.
A particularly large and dangerous-looking rocket whizzed over her head, trailing green sparks and making a beeline for Crabbe and Goyle, who were frantically trying to push each other into its path of imminent destruction.
Hermione heard a high-pitched shriek most unbecoming of Malfoy's oversized, lumbering cronies and snickered to herself at the smell of singed hair.
Shortly after this, she thought it rather wise to remove her prefect badge, lest a teacher spot her sniggering in a most un-prefect-like way.
A loud gasp made her look up, only to see a particularly shocking swear word scrawled in the air by a very saucy sparkler. Hermione was amused, albeit quite taken aback, when the people around her gleefully started repeating it.
Even Professor McGonagall, who on an ordinary occasion would have given around six year's worth of detention (and that was on a good day) to anyone who even dared to think of such a profanity, seemed as if she was struggling to keep the disapproving look on her face. Her half-hearted protest petered out mid-sentence and she feigned deafness to any subsequent foul-mouthed cussing.
Indeed, the only two people who didn't seem to be enjoying themselves were Umbridge and Filch. Filch look rather badly off – his face was black with soot and his breathing much resembled that of a dying train engine as he wheezed in the wake of the smoke left by the fireworks.
Umbridge, meanwhile, didn't seem very obliged to help him, but this could have been because she was deciding how best to escape from the two Catherine wheels barreling at a terrific speed down the corridor from opposite ends.
In a feat that would have shamed a contortionist, Umbridge managed to squeeze her squat frame against the wall, leaving the ill-fated Catherine wheels to crash resoundingly, inches from the new Headmistress.
Hermione winced upon seeing the charred hole in the High Inquisitor's robes. It reminded her irresistibly of Blast-Ended Skrewts.
Then Umbridge turned and glared at her, the murderous intent in her eyes all-too-obvious, and Hermione decided it was time to leave the scene of the crime.
She ducked behind one of the portraits that concealed a shortcut, and who should she find cowering there but Draco Malfoy.
Hermione's eyes narrowed in distaste as she surveyed the boy in front of her. His normally sleek blond hair look woefully dishevelled, and his robes bore unmistakable signs of being on fire.
Hah. Serves him right.
"Well, well, Malfoy, what are you doing in here?" She said loudly, in a good imitation of his lazy drawl. "Surely, as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, you have a duty to be out there?"
Malfoy furiously reached inside his robes, but Hermione was quicker – he found himself squinting at her wand, which was aimed between his eyes at point-blank range.
"Don't tell me the Inquisitorial Squad has the power to hex people and dock points," she laughed derisively. She was still fuming over this morning's incident, and fully intended to get even with him.
Well, maybe more than even.
"Shut up, Granger, or you'll regret it," Malfoy growled.
"And why is that?" Malfoy had no idea Hermione could sound so soft and dangerous. "Your two sidekicks are probably up in the hospital wing now, applying Burn Salve to their scalps."
One hand instantly flew up to protect his beautiful, lustrous hair. What exactly had this crazy Granger done to Crabbe and Goyle?!
He decided not to take chances, and began in a carefully controlled voice.
"What do you want, Mudbl– Granger?"
Maybe she hadn't heard that slight slip of the tongue.
Hermione tightened her hold on her wand.
All right, maybe she had.
"Well, Malfoy, let's see," she began sarcastically, "you docked about...twenty-five points from Gryffindor this morning, what do you think I want?"
"For me to dock another twenty-five, since fifty's a round number?"
He regretted it the moment he said it, Hermione's bushy hair now seemed to crackle with static electricity.
"No, Malfoy, funnily enough, I don't."
"All right, all right, I'll add it back!" He held up his hands resignedly, signalling defeat. "Twenty-five points to Gryffindor."
There was an expectant pause, and then Hermione demanded, "Is that all?"
Malfoy frowned in annoyance. Really, she was getting ridiculous. Hadn't he just given her back all the points he had docked earlier? Not that a few paltry points would put up much of a resistance to Slytherin winning the House Cup this year.
"What do you want, Granger, a hug and a kiss?!"
Hermione could not believe she actually considered the idea for a single moment. She was absolutely appalled at herself. But the idea of being able to blackmail Malfoy certainly was tempting. Imagine the whole school, not to mention his precious pureblooded friends, finding out that he had given a Mudblood a hug and a kiss. He would surely get a walloping from Lucius Malfoy for tainting his hands with eternal filth.
Judging from Malfoy's aghast expression, he too was absolutely appalled that she had actually considered the idea for a single moment. She gave him a sharp jab in the forehead with her wand to jerk him back to reality.
"What I want," she said very slowly and clearly, "Is an apology."
That was unexpected.
"A hug and a kiss from a ferret like you," she continued, glaring at him in revulsion, "is absolutely disgusting. I'd rather hug your..." she cast around wildly for something awful, "your Head of House!"
Which was quite a disturbing thought, because Professor Severus Snape did not look like the sort who enjoyed displays of affection, public or otherwise.
Malfoy felt offended. Surely his behavior hadn't warranted such an insult! He was good-looking, after all. Silver-blond hair, cold grey eyes and pale, pointed features, why, Pansy Parkinson was obsessed with him.
At least, that was how he thought of himself.
Then he realized the implications of Granger's statement, and smirked to himself.
"That's not a very nice thing to say, Granger," he grinned nastily. "Why, maybe I want to give you a hug and a kiss."
"Stop... stop talking nonsense, Malfoy," Hermione said rather shakily, gripping her wand ever more rigidly. This was not going according to plan. "Were the last of your brains destroyed by the fireworks?"
Oh yes, the table were most certainly turned now. She'd be sorry she ever tried to intimidate him.
"It's not polite to refuse, you know," he drawled smugly, confidence returning with each second that passed.
Hermione knew he was just trying to gain the upper hand. He wouldn't really do it.
"You wouldn't really do it."
"Oh, wouldn't I?"
Malfoy began to advance on Hermione, who inadvertently took several steps backwards.
"I still have my wand, Malfoy, so try anything and you'll wake up with green hair and huge, septic, pus-filled boils on your face spelling 'ferret'."
Up till this point, Malfoy had been hoping that Granger would be mortified enough to stop threatening him and instead scurry away as fast as possible, but it looked like she was braver than she appeared. He had caught a glimpse of Marietta's face and the grotesque pustules that disfigured it, and this fate did not appeal to him one bit.
It was time for drastic action.
Moving abruptly, he grabbed Granger's left arm hard and pinned it against the wall. The sudden pain and shock disoriented her, and her concentration slipped momentarily. Seizing the opportunity, Malfoy snatched her wand and turned it on its owner.
"Interesting turn of events, isn't this," Malfoy sneered. "For a start, I think we should take about fifty points off Gryffindor, seeing as you were planning to hex a member of the Inquisitorial Squad."
Hermione groaned inwardly. She shouldn't have pushed her luck just now. Who knows what trouble she had succeeded in plunging herself into this time.
"Go on then, Malfoy," she challenged, sounding far more self-assured than she felt. "You mentioned a hug and a kiss?" She paused, letting out a snort when no answer came. "I knew you couldn't do it. An arrogant, puffed-up little pureblooded git like you would never be able to live it down."
Hermione was secretly pleased at the string of rude names she had managed to churn out on the spot. One did learn things from being in Harry Potter's presence just after a Potions lesson, after all.
So, Malfoy could see no way out of this. He would just have to traumatize Granger so badly that she would never dare to confront him again. And he did not appreciate being called an arrogant, puffed up little pureblooded git.
He bent and studied Hermione Granger, who was determinedly looking down at the floor. She wasn't ugly, truth be told, especially since she had shrunk her teeth. He recalled an image of her from last year's Yule Ball, wearing a blue dress and her brown hair twisted elegantly into a shiny knot, and felt an odd twinge in his stomach.
No, it was more the fact that she was a Mudblood who didn't deserve an ounce of magic at all, and yet here she was, top of the level and friends with precious Potter, the Boy who Lived.
Under the soft fabric, he could feel Hermione's slender arm tensed and quivering, and he realized he was hurting her, squeezing far too hard. This knowledge should have brought a vindictive satisfaction, at the very least, but all he felt was uncomfortable.
But there was no option but to go for it. He prayed silently that this incident would never get out, or he'd be disowned, humiliated and friendless for the rest of his life. If he was lucky.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and leaned forward.
Hermione was staring at Malfoy in disbelief, her mind a whirling blank. Was he serious?! She imagined Harry and Ron in hysterics, rolling and guffawing on the floor while she stood there, face flushed scarlet, her explanations falling on deaf ears...
The next thing Malfoy knew, he was clutching a bleeding nose and cursing expertly. Vision hazy, he could just make out Hermione's fingers curled defiantly into a fist. And behind her, there were two redheads climbing into the secret passage.
Hermione spun around, coming face-to-face with Fred and George Weasley, the identical twins with identical wide, evil grins.
"Ah, Hermione, gave good old Draco a whack on the noggin, did you?" noted Fred interestedly. "Excellent work, need any help finishing him off?"
Hermione wondered privately what "finishing him off" included. Aloud, she said, "No, no, in fact I'm just, uh, finished!"
Fred looked slightly put out. "Aw, c'mon Hermione, I'm sure the Vanishing Cabinet could take one more!"
George, however, was looking from Hermione to Draco suspiciously. "Not interrupting anything, are we?"
"NO!" Hermione yelled vehemently. The twins cocked their eyebrows, wide, evil grins beginning to form again.
That had been way too defensive.
"I mean, no, I'll just be going now," she hurried on awkwardly. Without waiting to hear their response, she retrieved her wand from a stunned Malfoy and ran off.
Malfoy was wise enough not to be left alone with Fred and George (he had heard the remark about the Cabinet), so he fled in the opposite direction, muttering angrily and docking about a hundred more points from Gryffindor.
***
All in all, Hermione decided, it had been a rather action-packed day. She slid into a seat next to Harry and Ron, who were looking rather dismally at their schoolbags. Really, their gloomy expressions were almost endearing. The enthusiasm of the crowd in the Gryffindor common room was extremely infectious, and she eventually suggested a night off, much to the incredulity of her two friends.
Undoubtedly, punching Malfoy had been the highlight of the day. It would be a long while before he forgot that.
Well, it would be a long while before she forgot his role in bringing down Dumbledore's Army, not to mention the countless other instances where he had stuck his nose in where it didn't belong.
Admittedly, there had been times today where she had been afraid that he would actually, well, give her a hug and a kiss.
But he wouldn't have done it.
Would he?