Chapter 1: Vanity and Dense-ity
It was just foolish. That she, Hermione Granger, would actually be hoping that a certain blonde-haired and grey-eyed Slytherin would ask her to be his date for the upcoming Halloween Ball.
Draco Malfoy. Pureblood Extraordinaire. A Slytherin prat. A spoiled brat and a bully blessed with a gorgeous seventeen-year-old body. Formerly a muggle-hater, since he had accepted the fact that his family, the prominent pureblooded Malfoys, had changed views and sides before the war. But he obviously still disliked associating with muggles (an understatement, that is), as his parents are still uncomfortable with muggle presence even after the war. (The light side won, of course.)
But he's still a git to everyone, though he now doesn't even speak a word about students' blood and heritage. And he's a lot more tolerable now than ever, and instead of harsh, brutal, straight-to-the-heart, nerve-hitting insults, he now decided on sarcastic, derisive remarks (as he liked to call his words).
You could say that he finally turned over a new leaf, though not exactly a one-eighty —heck, it just barely passed a ninety (he's still a rude prat), but it was definitely a good change.
And that's why Hermione Granger, the resident Gryffindor bookworm and rule-abiding Head Girl, developed a sudden liking to Draco Malfoy. And of course, to his attractive and charming appearance, which has, before the Malfoys' and the Order's agreement, always been clouded by his awful attitude.
It wasn't as if this year's Halloween Ball was different from the other previous balls (aside from the fact that it was definitely a more relaxing party than the previous ones, since there are no more psychotic, lunatic, death-gluttons looming around the corner). And it wasn't as if this was their last ball to attend, since they still have the Graduation Ball at the end of their year. Heck, this wasn't even the perfect, romantic ball to attend to! Merlin, its Halloween! But somehow, she couldn't wait till then. And this was really silly, since she normally doesn't give a damn about dances and dates.
And now she was actually prepping herself every chance she got (which only consisted of when she goes to the loo or when she's sure no one's looking) to make Malfoy notice her and finally ask her to the ball. Not the retouch-the-make-up kind of prepping thing, mind you, just something like smoothing her hair when she perceives that he'll pass by her, and, on the loo, powder her face to look fresh.
But all she got was a nod from him, or, in his good moods, 'Granger'. And a nod.
Merlin, she feels like a giddy schoolgirl lamenting over her crush's apparent lack of interest on her.
This has to stop. After two weeks of her vain attempts and exactly one week before the ball, still unnoticed, she was sure he'll never acknowledge her always-overlooked femininity. She sighed. She really has to stop being a frivolous schoolgirl or else her rational part will go down the drains. And, of course, 'prepping up' for a guy is not what Hermione Granger normally takes a habit of.
Sigh.
"Granger"
A very familiar (and charming, she might add) drawl reached her ears. Her heartbeat sped up. Then she couldn't help but think: Was he finally going to ask her? Though it's really silly, she would definitely say yes!
She absently smoothed her hair, forgetting that she just told herself to stop the growing habit. Slowly looking up, she was immediately absorbed by his stormy silver eyes. A faint blush crept to her cheeks as she mentally shook her head.
"Uhmm, yes?" her heart was still pumping in a speed way above moderate. She gave him a small smile.
"I like to—" she really could hear her heart pumping in her ears, "—borrow your Arithmancy notes." He finished with a nod to the neat stack of parchments on her side.
Her smile wavered before she nodded with a forced one and handed him her notes. She was greatly disappointed, no bother denying that.
So she had to calm her heart when she saw him seat himself in front of her.
He must have noticed her stare, because he stated, "There aren't any vacant spaces, you know."
She looked around the library and stared at him again, this time with a raised brow. The library was not even half-full, the only almost occupied was on the part she was currently in. Only the table she was in was not full (well, it was designed to seat only 4 people, and, let's just say that with all the books and notes she stacked there, it seemed that only two can fit). The remaining extensive parts were almost deserted.
He shrugged. "What? Expected me to seat far from the books I need?" he scoffed at this and proceeded with his essays and notes.
She nodded slowly at his reason. This section of the library has consecutive shelves of books about Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy. And was really swarming with busy and obviously frustrated students.
Somehow, some of their professors thought it was fun to give the seventh years some 'pre-NEWTs' before the holidays (which was really far off, it wasn't even November!). A lot of students groaned when they heard this announcement two weeks ago. This would make them look absolutely haggard at the Halloween Ball (why, she asked herself, would they want to look fine and dandy, if they would only paint their face and hide it in their costumes?), they reasoned, since the test would start a week before the occasion and stop three days before it. Well, two days if you're as unfortunate as those in Professor Vector's class.
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Of course, being almost threatened by the teachers to study a year's worth of lessons of four different subjects— Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Darks Arts, all Advanced. Well, five, if you're an ill-fated Arithmancy student (also Advanced), as in the case of Draco and Granger.
Only Granger seemed to be beaming and blooming throughout those weeks, and he, Draco Malfoy, the best Head Boy Hogwarts had (self-proclaimed, but true), who knows everything there is to know and not to know (self-proclaimed, again, but it really is true), doesn't know what exactly Granger's been beaming about.
Well, scratch that. He does know something about it. Either she was, ahem, in love during those times and up to now (what a good timing, really) or she was really excited at the prospect that she could finally test if her constant NEWTs-prepping was effective.
The former was because he had kind of seen it on girls around him, especially the Slytherin ones. Pansy had been like that; well, on an extreme level of that, when she fell for Weasley. He didn't know if he should be laughing or be disgusted or be happy for them. Well, scuff the last one, but he was definitely amused at those two's relationship. Ah, though he wasn't a muggle-hater now, old rivalries just waver, but never die. But for Pansy's sake, he kept his disgust to himself and subdued his laughter to a grin.
And he definitely knew about the 'prepping' thing since he shared a dorm with her (with separate bedrooms, mind you). Oh, the horror he always experience on Friday nights; end-of-the-classes-for-the-week, bloody tired, and stepping up in the common room just to see the room's carpeted floor covered by seemingly endless parchments filled with charts, tables, notes, and almost everything academic (which was the last thing he really wanted to see on a Friday night, you know). At first, he actually thought that he was in a wrong room (which amazingly has the same password, really!), but one look at the brown curly tresses jerking altogether on almost every direction, he knew he was in the right room (thank Merlin it was not a wrong room! Heck, same passwords?). And he vividly remembered what he exactly said, ahem, exclaimed on the first night of her prepping:
"Merlin's twisted knickers, Granger! Are you really off your rocker?!"
Well, apparently, that wasn't much of an intelligent reaction, but, hey, he was appalled; really shocked. It was only the beginning of the bloody year! Merlin, does she ever get tired?
Mentally shaking his head, he reasoned: of course she has moments of exhaustion! Unless she's a bloody robot (she explained what a robot was to an uninterested him, and, frankly, he couldn't help but see the unsurprising resemblance of Granger and robots: all they almost do was work, work and work), which she obviously isn't, she's entitled to have energy lapses every now and then.
Anyway, back to the topic: why the hell Granger was bloody blooming on those weeks of absolute hell. He scratched off the former, since, obviously, Granger doesn't give a damn about those humans with a gender opposite hers.
So, it's definitely the latter. He admitted to himself that it's also disappointing if all you're working hard for will go to waste.
Ugh, what the hell. He shouldn't be wasting his precious study time to ponder about why a girl is positively beaming at the prospect of tests, when he already knows the answer. The girl likes— no, cut that— loves tests, exams, quizzes, the like— and, of course, everything academic.
And that she evolved from a robot (how foolish this statement might be), since she loves to work, work, and work.
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