Title:Wizard DATAmatch, or In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It
Setting: Slight AR; Book 6 (Draco has not been doing horrible things)
Summary: All Hogwarts students fourth year and up are required to take a "revolutionary new quiz" that Dumbledore discovered the last time he ventured into the Muggle world. Little does everyone know that the results will have stranger consequences than they could have bargained for — the person with the closest match to their answers will be their partner for the new ball. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, on a whim, decide to make a bet on who can kiss their partner first. But that was before they discovered their partners.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. DATAmatch is something we used at my high school. Yup. It's a fundraiser. You can look it up.
"Wizard DATAmatch"
(or "In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It")
Part I
This is not a love story.
Not in the slightest.
It is, in fact, a hate story, for you see, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hated each other very much. They hated each other so much, they could not be near each other without fighting, usually verbally, although sometimes physically.
Why, you ask? Some say it was due to obligation, since Hermione and Draco were in rival houses at Hogwarts. Some say it was their friends that were the problem, as it was quite plain that Draco did not converse with hers, and Hermione was certainly not about to have afternoon tea with his. Whatever the case, they simply did not get along.
But due to one of Dumbledore's whimsical caprices, these two mismatched students were brought together in a rather odd way. Their story begins on a not-so-average fall day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . . . .
There was uproar in the Gryffindor common room that evening. An announcement had appeared on the bulletin about a "revolutionary new quiz" Dumbledore had found the last time he had ventured into the Muggle world. Every student fourth year and up was required to take the exam and return it before the week was out. When Hermione read the title, she scoffed.
"'DataMatch.' My cousin did that when she was in high school — it's hardly revolutionary."
Ron glanced over at her and laughed. "What Hermione, scared you're going to fail this one?" She was about to tell him that it was impossible to fail because it was a personality test when Harry cut in.
"Why is Dumbledore making us take this quiz?" he inquired, slightly concerned. The headmaster, after all, was liable to do anything with the results. For a moment, each of them had very frightening mental images pop into their heads, but Hermione shrugged her shoulders and reassured them that nothing horrible would happen.
"Let's just take the quiz and hope for the best."
Oh, if only she had known the consequences.
The trio grabbed a quiz each and settled down in random places across the common room to complete the form. Hermione was lucky enough to get a cushy armchair by the fire. She produced a quill from thin air and began the test.
1) If I were a color, I would be
a) Tickle-me pink
b) Ink black
c) Solid gold
d) Navy blue
Hermione raised an eyebrow. If memory served her correctly, these tests had not gotten any better, not in the slightest. Disappointed, she circled b (the most sensible) and flew through the rest of the test, hardly bothering to read the questions. She turned it in, and promptly forgot about it once her head hit the pillow.
In fact, she didn't remember the test at all until a fortnight later, when, during dinner, whispers of the results began to fly. "I heard from a Hufflepuff they're determining our class placements next year," Ginny said carelessly as she buttered her bread. "But Seamus told me it was a test that determines what job you'd like when you grow up. Said Dumbledore was going to use the results for apprenticeships."
"They're both wrong," Lavender chimed in. "I heard we were being paired with our soul mates."
Hermione snorted. "That's ridiculous. They're personality tests, and poor ones at that. My cousin's school used it as a fundraiser for a dance."
"I was just saying," Lavender began, getting annoyed, but Dumbledore stood up, causing everyone in the hall to fall silent.
"The results of the tests are in, and now it is time for the Wizard DATAmatch Ball!" he announced thunderously. Only a few people applauded; the rest were too shocked or confused. Did he honestly mean to say that there would be a ball from the test they had all filled in at random? "The Sorting Hat and I were having a conversation awhile back about the lack of inter-house unity we have here at Hogwarts. That's why, a month from this Saturday, every student in the school, fourth year and up, will attend the Wizard DATAmatch Ball with a partner from a different house. That partner has already been chosen for all the students here, based on the results of the test."
Hermione saw white. Maybe that's what people saw when they fainted, or when they were about to die. She would've liked that. Dying. It probably would've saved her from a worse fate. She couldn't picture herself with anyone outside of her house. Macmillan? Awful. Boot? Atrocious. She couldn't even come up with adjectives for some of them (like Goyle, who would best be described with a primeval scream). But maybe her overly-sensible answers would save her from a terrible fate. Colour returned to her vision, and as Hermione focused on the Headmaster again, she hoped with all her heart that her partner would prove to be a miraculously perfect match.
Here's to hope.
". . . and I will announce the partners after dessert. The younger years may stay to watch." His eyes twinkled as he seated himself.
The Great Hall burst into hysterics as soon as his bum touched the chair. "Another ball?" Ron groaned. "The last one was absolute torture!"
"I thought it was quite nice," Hermione admitted loftily, though she started to blush a bit. She'd had a date that she actually got along with, for one, and they'd had a relatively nice time until one Ronald Weasley had spoiled it fantastically with his stubbornness. She'd grown up quite a bit from the ordeal, however. While she still had feelings for her dear friend, she was perfectly capable of ignoring them if opportunity called for it. She took a small cookie. "Besides, I think Dumbledore's right. There's far too little house unity. Even the Hufflepuffs keep to themselves anymore."
"It's still a bloody stupid idea, if you ask me," Ron said. "A game night would've been much more fun. Or a Quidditch tourney, with mixed teams."
"Well, we could make this dance more . . . interesting," Harry interjected with a sly grin.
Ron blinked at him. "How's that?"
"How about a bet? Whoever kisses their date first gets a few thousand galleons-worth of stuff from Hogsmede."
"Where're we getting the money?" Hermione inquired. "I certainly don't have it."
"Remember the bag of Galleons I gave to Fred and George after the Triwizard Tournament? They paid me back in the end, so we can use that money."
"Harry, that's your money," Ron asserted. "You shouldn't toss it about like that."
"It's not my money, it's our money. We all worked for it, and we're going to compete for it," Harry said with an air of finality. "Think of it as our very own Triwizard Tournament."
Ron seemed to warm to the idea after that, but Hermione still felt uncomfortable. "Isn't that kind of . . . I don't know, manipulative? What if we're paired with someone that fancies us, and we trick the person?"
"Hermione, please," Harry replied, laughing slightly. "Did you read that test? What are the chances we're going to get paired with someone we even know, much less someone that fancies one of us?"
She sighed, but finally gave in as Dumbledore rose to address the students once again. "Now the time has come for us to announce who will be paired with whom," he smiled. A list appeared in his hand and he cleared his throat. "When your name is announced, please rise and join your new partner at the front of the Great Hall. There you will link arms and accompany each other into the corridor." Judging by the apathetic faces of the faculty, this was all Dumbledore's idea. No surprise there, Hermione thought wryly. "After all the names are called, we will come back in here to discuss the proper preparations for the ball. Is everyone ready?" He peered at the crowd over his half-moon spectacles, then offered a small smile as he read, "Miss Susan Bones and Mister Terrence Boot."
A Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. In the very first couple. Hermione should have known that things were about to get much worse, but she was distracted by Harry's and Ron's laughter. "Look at his face," they wheezed. "He doesn't know what to do!"
Well, he did look rather foolish. He was gaping like a ghoul. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, but hushed them when Dumbledore read the next pair. This time, it was a Ravenclaw girl with Dean Thomas. And the list went on. Bookish Ravenclaws with outgoing Gryffindors, fun-loving Hufflepuffs with humourless Slytherins. The worst was when Slytherins were paired with Gryffindors.
Point in case:
Dumbledore waited for the last couple (a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff) to exit the Great Hall before he read the next couple. "Miss Millicent Bulstrode and Mister Ronald Weasley."
Ron's jaw dropped and his face immediately took on the colour of a seasick slug. "He didn't say that," he whispered to himself. "This isn't happening."
It was happening. Harry laughed in a good-thing-it's-you-and-not-me way before he gave Ron a shove in the right (or horribly wrong) direction. When Ron finally joined Bulstrode at the front of the Great Hall, she grabbed his arm and smiled, although it appeared to be more of a grimace. As for her partner, he looked like he might never be happy again. Unless he died, maybe. And when Dumbledore told the two that they could join the others out in the corridor, it was Bulstrode that took Ron's arm into a death-grip and led him out. When he passed by Harry and Hermione, he shot them a despairing look and mouthed, "Kill me now." Harry was crying from laughter.
When the door shut behind them, Dumbledore waited patiently for the buzz to die down. He adjusted his spectacles, and smiled faintly as he read the next pair. "Miss Hermione Granger and Mister Draco Malfoy."
"What?" Hermione and Malfoy shouted at the exact same time, then they both shot sizzling glares at each other. The hall erupted into chaos, as it was common knowledge that Malfoy and Hermione going to a dance together was an event akin to Professor Umbridge and Harry Potter becoming pen pals. She tried pushing herself to her feet, but Ginny had to help part of the way, as her legs were too weak to support her own weight. The walk to the front of the Great Hall was a blur. It seemed as if the floor had been converted into a mud field. Hermione's feet dragged beneath her. She remembered seeing Harry torn between rolling around on the floor and punching Malfoy pre-emptively. A few girls were enviously staring, and a select few appeared to be swearing at her. She kept her eyes locked bravely ahead of her, and tried not to cry. It took all of her effort to climb the step at the front of the Great Hall. When she turned, she was assaulted with all the jeers from the Slytherin table. The only thing that made her feel better was the equal amount of hissing directed at Malfoy from the Gryffindor table.
Speaking of which, Malfoy was standing right beside her, trying his best not to lean too close. From behind them, Dumbledore said, "Now now, Mister Malfoy, don't be shy. Offer your arm."
Hermione gulped. She fancied that she heard her "partner" do the same beside her. After a moment, the crook of his arm rose next to her, and she took it just as cautiously. The pair descended the first step and began a sluggish sweep to the back of the room as insults and laughter bombarded them on either side. Hermione didn't know whether to hide behind him or drop his arm and flee.
As soon as they exited the Great Hall, they released each other and jumped away. Malfoy was furiously scrubbing at his robes. "I can't believe this! How could I end up with a filthy mudblood like you?" he spat.
"And how could I end up with a stuck-up plank like you?" she retorted, half-frantic. "You're such a condescending prat!"
"You're a bushy-browed Potter worshiper!" He turned on his heel and headed for the other couples, but she strode after him angrily.
"I do not worship Harry! We're friends!"
"Is that what they call it now?"
She made a noise that sounded vaguely like a war cry. When Malfoy turned, he saw Hermione leaping straight at his face, her fingers positioned like claws. He, of course, yelped and ducked, and she went flying past him, straight into Ron. The two toppled to the floor in a heap.
"Oy, Hermione, what the hell?" the boy grumbled, massaging the crown of his head, but she was already back on her feet and lunging towards Malfoy.
"I'm never going to the dance with you! I don't care what they do to me!" she screamed. Malfoy was only just dodging her attacks, but it was simply a matter of time before Hermione remembered that she was a witch and would hex him until he couldn't walk straight (or walk at all). It took her about thirty seconds. "Aha!" Just as she was about to draw her wand, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Pansy Parkinson dashed dramatically across the corridor in front of a helpless-looking Neville Longbottom.
"Draco!" she wailed, latching herself onto his waist and bursting into sloppy tears. Malfoy panicked a bit and tried to shove the girl off, especially after Hermione smiled. Her enemy was pinned, and they both knew it. She raised her wand to start a very long, very painful string of hexes and curses.
Neville stepped in her way. "No, wait Hermione! What if someone sees you?"
"Get out of the way, Neville! You ruin everything!"
Ron appeared beside her like the devil on her left shoulder. "Do it, Hermione!" he chanted, even as Neville tried to block her vision. Fortunately for Malfoy, the Great Hall's doors swung open again, and Harry marched in escorting, of all people, Luna Lovegood. It made Hermione forget her predicament completely. In fact, everyone stopped. "Ron, Hermione, Neville," Harry said, nodding to each of them in turn. The three of them stared back blankly. He grinned. Luna was busy watching Parkinson cry herself silly on Malfoy's robe. "Is there a binaput around here? Is that why she's crying?" she asked him.
"Maybe," he said.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"How'd you get so lucky?" Ron finally managed to say, wistful.
Harry's good fortune had banished all of Hermione's anger, and the Trio chose to quietly sit down against the far wall of the corridor, watching each new couple step in every few minutes. They saw Ginny with a rather stuffy Ravenclaw, and Colin Creevy had managed to partner up with a shy-looking Hufflepuff. No one really looked happy, except Harry, who was glad that he could at least have a passing conversation with his partner. When the last partnership came out (Blaise Zabini and Padma Patil) the students slowly filed back into the hall, were the professors were waiting for them with a smile. Well, Dumbledore was smiling, at least.
"Everyone find a seat with your partner," he announced. Since no one liked their partner except Harry, it took a great deal of time for them to re-find one another and take a seat, but Dumbledore was unfailingly patient. Hermione had no trouble at all finding Malfoy. His white-blond hair stuck out in the crowd like Hagrid in Diagon Alley. He caught her eyes at the same moment, and they walked towards each other as if every instinct were telling them to run the other way.
Now the problem was where to sit. Because there was no bloody way Hermione would sit with the Slytherins, and obviously Malfoy felt the same about Gryffindors. They glared at each other briefly, mutely exchanging this information via the evil eye, and Hermione gestured to the Hufflepuff table as a truce. Malfoy looked at it, sneered and said very plainly, "No." He then seized her wrist and dragged her over to the Slytherin table. Hermione, since her struggling did no good and she didn't want to curse him in front of the teachers, decided she would take the highroad. He sat and pulled her down next to him, and neither said a word as they waited for the rest of the students to settle down. Ron and Bulstrode sat nearby, and he shot Hermione a sympathetic look that meant, "Let's run away together."
She shrugged back sadly.
Dumbledore talked briefly about the ball, including appropriate behaviour and dress. There would be a meal served at the beginning, and then dancing afterwards. Each person was expected to stay with their assigned partner the entire night. "Hopefully, each of you will reach a new understanding about your partner," he intoned, "and, by extension, his or her house." Hermione seriously doubted that she would 'reach a new understanding' about anything, especially when her partner couldn't reach a new understanding of the appropriate use of hair gel. The ball, thank Merlin, was a month from this coming Saturday, so Hermione had a reasonable amount of time to contemplate breaking a limb and escape attending (it didn't necessarily have to be hers, either).
The speech ended with polite applause, and all the students were dismissed to their dormitories. Most practically sprinted from their partners. Hermione was one of the fastest, only beaten by Ron, who seemed to have Apparated outside of the Great Hall and taken off running. They both arrived, panting and sweating, in the Gryffindor common room, where they began to lament their bad luck.
"He's just so awful to me," Hermione groaned, as Ron dissented, "At least he doesn't look like an ogre's lovechild." They alternately argued and grieved in this manner until Harry plopped into the armchair across from them.
"Looks like I'm winning this bet," he grinned.
"Just because you got lucky —" Ron started, but Harry's laughter cut him off.
"I was joshing. You two still have a chance. It might even be harder for me because Luna is just a friend." Ron and Hermione shot him a look, causing him to cringe. "Fine, fine. It's not harder. I was only trying to make you two feel better."
"The only thing that could make me feel better is a lethal dose of fire whisky," Ron grumbled.
Hermione silently agreed. How had her own test matched Malfoy's better than anyone else's? Even if she was rushing through the questions, she couldn't fathom his responses being comparable to hers. Maybe Dumbledore had paired up on opposite answers instead of similar ones? More importantly, why had this entire thing started in the first place? Was house unity really worth this kind of effort? She decided then and there she wouldn't even try to win the competition. Harry could keep the money; it was his in the first place. With that thought in mind, Hermione bid the other two good night and climbed the stairs to her room, where she changed into pyjamas, brushed her teeth, and promptly fell asleep.
The first week after the announcement of the ball, Hermione managed to push the whole ordeal to the back of her mind. Classes her sixth year were more strenuous than before, so after swamping herself in homework, it was hard for her to recall her own name sometimes, much less the name of a boy she was being forced to see for one night. Harry and Ron seemed to behave much the same way, as well, with one notable difference for each — whenever Harry saw Luna, he waved; whenever Ron saw Millicent, he turned green and excused himself. Otherwise, every day seemed perfectly normal.
So had that Monday, before she had her classes. Since the first day of Potions, it seemed that Slughorn felt a bit sorry for Neville, so he paired Hermione up with him in the hope that she'd keep him — and consequentially the rest of the class — out of the Hospital Wing. For the most part, she had. The only mishap was the second time they made a potion together, when Neville set his cauldron on fire (quite a feat, as it was pure steel). Otherwise, she merely set him to fetching, chopping, dicing, and juicing ingredients whenever she needed them. It worked well, and it would've worked that Monday if there hadn't been a slight hiccup: the pair was seated behind Malfoy and one of his cronies.
To be fair, Hermione had tried to ignore him. Really, she had. But it was hard to ignore someone who was speaking to you more often than to his own partner.
"That potion looks a mite too thin, Granger. Maybe Longbottom here had better take over. Even he'd have a better shot at it than you."
"Merlin, are you trying to make a soup?"
"It's the wrong colour — did you get your filthy hands in it?"
Neville tried to defend her each time, but Hermione hushed him with a wave of her hand. She could see that Malfoy was begging for attention. What she didn't see was his incensed look each time she didn't react to his words. In hindsight, she wished she would have hexed him and gotten over it, because suddenly her cauldron was glowing silver and bubbling like mad. She'd seen the blond's hand pass over it while she was helping Neville.
"What did you do?" she shrieked at Malfoy. The bubbling turned into a fountain, spilling onto the desk, and Hermione yanked Neville away. The rest of the class seemed to be scrambling for cover as well. Only Professor Slughorn seemed torn about whether he should help or hide. Finally, with a proper Evanesco, he washed away all of the concoction. The desk was scorched completely, as if lava had flooded over the wood. Some parts of the desk were still smoking. Hermione then noted with horror that her potions set was melted almost entirely.
"My cauldron!" she wailed, and she would have scrambled towards the desk if Neville hadn't held her back.
And that was when she heard him laughing. Draco Malfoy, laughing at her. Laughing after everything he'd done to ruin her life.
She changed right then. Something inside of her abruptly flipped over, like a switch. She knew exactly what she had to do. Hermione turned and glowered at him dangerously, hands clenched at her side. Oh, he would pay.
In a somewhat metaphorical fashion, he would pay.
She locked eyes with him and sent him a bone-chilling smile that interrupted his sniggering. He looked rather frightened, actually. Hermione revelled in it. She had made up her mind. She would win her little bet with Harry and Ron, and she would ruin Malfoy's life in the process.
Slughorn, after bumbling around for a bit, dismissed the class. She was first out the door. After all, she considered herself to be an ambitious girl. She had never settled for second-best in her life, and that meant being completely prepared to win this dare. The first phase would start immediately. She burst into Gryffindor Tower and climbed the stairs without hesitation. When she reached her room, Hermione dropped her bag at her bed and approached Lavender and Parvati. They'd have the information that she'd need to prepare for the castration. Er, the ball.
The two girls, of course, were exchanging gossip. The dance was the source of every juicy bit these days, so, of course, that was the dominant theme of late.
"Hello, girls," she greeted nervously. "I'm sorry, but . . . I need your help."
Both regarded her with distrusting shock. "Help with what?" Parvati finally ventured.
"Er, well, Harry, Ron and I have a bet, you know, to see who can kiss their dates first. I . . . I need to win it."
"With Draco?" Lavender prompted slowly.
Hermione nodded. It was as if she'd said a spell. Both girls grabbed her hand and pulled her between them on the bed, squealing with delight and shouting their encouragement.
"He's so fit!"
"I've heard he's a fantastic kisser!"
Hermione listened to their praise a bit more before she interrupted them. "Yes, but what do I need to do?"
Parvati and Lavender exchanged glances, then launched into a mode of professionalism that Hermione would have never expected. "Men are very visual," Lavender said right off. "You'll need to look much better than usual to catch his attention." As she said the last bit, she exchanged a look with Parvati that said, 'That shouldn't be too hard.'
Ignoring it, Hermione said, "Right, so I get a nice dress. What else?"
" 'A nice dress'?" the other girl cut in, "Hermione, you'll need to do more than that. Could you fix your hair like you did in fourth year again?"
"I . . . I suppose."
"You'll need someone to do your makeup, of course. And your nails, they'll need to be painted. Legs shaved as well—yes, above the knee. Jewellery we can worry about later, after we get the dress." Parvati seized her up quickly. "I'm thinking red."
"Oh, yes. Red would do wonderfully." Lavender's grin matched her friends.
"Of course, if we can't find one that works, I suppose any colour would do," Parvati added as an afterthought.
Hermione didn't know what else to say, so she settled for, "Er, right."
"I also have a spell for you." Lavender, taking her wand in hand, said, "Ovilio," as she ran its tip across her own neck. The delicate scent that tickled Hermione's nose soon after was light but pretty.
"What is that spell?"
"The Perfume Charm. It actually takes your own personal scent and magnifies it. You won't be able to smell a thing, but others can. As for the boys"— she put her fingers to her lips in mock-shyness —"they go crackers about it." She and Parvati squealed again, covering their mouths in near hysterics. Hermione reminded herself silently that they were doing her a favour, and that it was rude to tell them to shut up.
"How should I act?" she interrupted when they had quieted down a bit. "I mean, how can I keep him from strangling me on the spot?"
"Easy. He's a boy. Boys like girls. All you have to do is be a girl."
She wanted to tell them that she already was one, but she knew they wouldn't buy it.
"First, let him think that he's in control. It lets him feel like a man."
"But what if he calls me . . . you know . . . a mudblood?" Hermione grimaced as she said the word.
Parvati smiled deviously. "That is when you show him who's really in control." Lavender laughed. "Besides, I'm fairly sure that he doesn't mean it when he says it anymore."
Hermione raised one eyebrow questioningly. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing!" both the girls burst, and then they dissolved into giggles again. "Just pretend," Lavender sniggered, "pretend that you don't care if he says that. He's only trying to make you angry anyways."
Well, that was probably true. Hermione nodded along. "Anything else I should do?"
"Girls are sweet!"
"Girls are shy!"
"Girls never give into temptation!"
They were listing things that Hermione knew she could never be around Malfoy, especially if she was struck with the temptation to elbow him in the stomach, but she memorized their advice anyways, just in case. When the pair dissolved into another fit of giggles, Hermione knew that she wouldn't get any more information from them that night. She smiled, thanked them, and set off to start her homework. But, later that night, once she lay in her bed, Hermione began to plan her revenge.
She always left her plotting for late at night, while she waited to fall asleep. Most people didn't know that she thought her best at night, tucked cosily in her bed, the curtains drawn tightly shut around her. Here, she could rid her mind of any distractions and focus solely on what needed to be done. Hermione was currently thinking about her final plans before the dance. She only had three weeks left, but she knew that with careful, measured steps, she could win. She had to. Malfoy was becoming more of a nuisance than ever, with his biting words and blatant disregard for her feelings. She'd never met someone so . . . so . . . so mean! Even if it meant doing something as unthinkable as kissing him, Hermione wanted to make him pay.
Her second phase in the plan, she decided after fuming for a bit, would be to treat Malfoy with a little more tolerance and civility than normal. It would be hard, but it certainly couldn't hurt. And besides, she'd be able to catch him off-guard if she lured him in. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, her mother used to say. Satisfied, Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she drifted into a well-deserved sleep.
The next morning, she caught a glimpse of him in the hallway. "Good morning, Malfoy," Hermione said exuberantly, making sure to attract as much attention as possible.
He reacted just as she thought he would.
The boy stiffened, but did not turn around. Pansy's jaw dropped open, and Crabbe and Goyle wore matching faces of confusion. Ignoring them, Hermione walked around and stood in his line of vision, a false smile plastered on her face.
"How have you been?"
He didn't answer. In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything. Well, except staring at her. It was really very awkward. So Hermione sucked in a breath and said, "Oh, well, I actually must head to class, but it was good to see you." She smiled again and waved as she walked away.
And she kept on greeting him whenever she saw him. If she caught him trying to escape, she made the encounter even more embarrassing, going as far as squealing his name as she dashed up to his side. His mortification was evident, and she revelled in it. Of course, Malfoy knew exactly what she was trying to do, but it seemed that he hadn't come up with a way to get her back yet. He'd tried ignoring her, avoiding her, calling her names, and even threatening her with his book bag, but she would just laugh and say her pleasant goodbye before skipping off. Eventually, he started taking her approaches with a sort of mild resignation, replying quietly to her hellos and goodbyes with a pained face.
So the next time they crossed paths, Hermione snatched his wrist and stopped him to talk. "Have you started your Potions essay yet?"
"What are you trying to pull?" His voice was edged with panic and he was glancing every which way, scared to be seen with her.
Hermione widened her eyes innocently. "I was trying to be polite. I mean, since we have to go to the ball together, I thought I'd bury the hatchet."
He stared at her.
"Er, let bygones be bygones," she clarified.
"Well, stop being polite," Malfoy hissed quietly, wrenching his wrist from her fingers. "Stop following me, stop talking to me, just stop!"
Hermione allowed her smile to turn wicked for a moment. "Why, Malfoy, I had thought that we could behave well towards one another. We may even become friends."
His face blanched. "Friends?" he spluttered. "You're barmy, Granger! Abso-bloody-lutely —"
"Mr. Malfoy!"
The pair whirled to find that Professor Flitwick was fast approaching, a scowl on his face. Malfoy flinched as he replied, "Yes, Professor?"
"Why are you calling Miss Granger names in the hallway? Shouldn't you be getting to class?"
"Yes, Professor."
Flitwick's mouth pressed into a grim line, and he stood with his hands placed sternly on his hips until the blond was completely out of sight. He then turned to Hermione. "Are you alright, Miss Granger?"
"Er, yes, Professor. Thank you." She started towards the Charms classroom, with Flitwick close behind.
"I'm glad you don't take it to heart. I know he can be a bit of a nuisance"— Hermione inwardly snorted —"but he truly doesn't mean what he says to you."
"Right," she agreed absently. In reality she had no idea what Flitwick was talking about. Clearly Malfoy meant every word he had said to her, not that it put her off in the least. She was rather glad to discover that they at least agreed on one point — they would never, ever become friends.
So phase two of her plan was working well, she concluded. Hermione decided that, with a week and a half left before the ball, she could afford to divert some of her attention away from speaking to him. Instead, she wished to focus more on her appearance. She'd been plotting for a few nights now to start using a spot of makeup, just enough to make her appear nicer than usual. Lavender had also found a few hair spells that would help her smooth frizzes during the day. The way things were going with Malfoy, she calculated that she could begin with small amounts of makeup the next day and, by the end of the week, she could have a (relatively) fresh look.
She started the next day with something simple: a dab of cherry red lip gloss, and one of Lavender's anti-frizz spells. It was odd, but looking at herself in the mirror gave her a sense of confidence that she rarely had had before. Hermione straightened up in her chair and smiled at her reflection.
"Well, here goes nothing."
She gathered her things and started towards the Great Hall for breakfast.
Something immediately felt off. For one thing, she was used to having to shove through people because of her short stature, but today, she had a clear path. It was probably because of the second thing that felt off — they were all staring. At her. Hermione thought it was a mistake at first, but when she caught the fifth boy stopped in his tracks and craning his neck to get another look at her, she was convinced.
Thankfully, she ran into a familiar face in the hallway. "Ginny!" she called, a bit desperately. The redhead turned and smiled when she saw her.
"You look nice today," she greeted. "I like your lip gloss."
"Everyone's staring," Hermione interrupted, nodding at yet another boy watching her with wide eyes.
Ginny laughed. "Of course they are. I don't think anyone's ever seen you with makeup on during a normal school day. They're curious. Just you wait for Harry's and Ron's reactions, you'll see."
Of course, Ginny (being as versed in men as Lavender and Parvati) had been right. Both Harry and Ron gaped at her when she sat across from them at breakfast.
"Er, good morning," she said, snatching an apple.
"There's something . . . different about you today, Hermione," Harry pronounced, as if he'd made a significant scientific discovery. Ron still hadn't recovered enough to talk yet.
Ginny caught Hermione's attention and rolled her eyes, mouthing, 'Told you.'
"It's nothing," Hermione told Harry. "My mum owled me lip gloss, and I put a spot on this morning."
"Lip gloss," Ron repeated stupidly. He sprayed toast crumbs on the table as he did so, causing everyone else to flinch back. He was, of course, the worst case she saw during the course of the day, but Hermione caught many others staring openly at her. Was it really that strange for her to be wearing makeup? Well, yes, it probably was. But they had no right to gape at her like some roadside attraction. Ginny assured her that if she continued using makeup, attention would ease off.
And it mercifully did. Life sunk back into its ordinary routine (although she continued to greet Malfoy in the hallways, while he continued to pretend that she didn't exist). One week left before the ball, and everything was going according to her calculations.
Then the unexpected happened.
Hermione gave her usual smile and 'hullo' to Malfoy. She had expected the usual frigid glare, or maybe a snide remark, but she certainly did not expect him to stop in front of her. Automatically, she mimicked his motions. "What do you need?"
"I came to ask what colour your dress robes are," Malfoy said robotically. He was staring at an interesting brick on the wall just above her head. She wasn't quite sure what to make of his approach, so she gave an embarrassed cough and replied honestly. "I, er, haven't picked it out yet."
He focused on her face at last. "What?"
"I haven't had the time to go shopping for a dress," she explained in more detail.
"The ball is in a week, Granger. Don't you think that's cutting it close?"
"No. There's a Hogsmede trip tomorrow; I'm going then."
He rolled his eyes. "Right. Owl me the colour when you pick your robes."
"But —"
And then he briskly walked away.
"Well, fine," she muttered to no one in particular. Hermione set off towards the Charms corridor, noting with some sense of accomplishment that this was the first actual conversation they'd had that didn't result in violence. That had to mean something.
Maybe.
Classes were the same that Friday (they always were) and she was ambushed by Lavender and Parvati when she got back. The two of them were desperate to know whether she was still going to pick out a dress with them the next day. Hermione assured them that yes, she was still planning on it, and the other two girls giggled and pranced away.
It was embarrassing knowing them, sometimes.
Ginny was invited to go as well; Hermione was grateful to have a companion with a head firmly planted on her shoulders. They left as soon as they could the next morning. Lavender and Parvati flitted out front, giggling and whispering the whole time. It got to the point where Hermione just assumed it was about her, and she rolled her eyes. Ginny, on the other hand, did something a bit more useful: she asked Hermione what sort of dress she wanted.
"Oh, I don't know. Lavender and Parvati said red."
"The colour doesn't matter," Ginny informed her with a perversely wise half-smile. "What do you want your dress to say for you? After you decide that, styles, colours, and everything else will follow."
Honestly, she never thought about it that way. Really, she hadn't thought dresses could say anything at all, being inanimate and everything. Hermione decided to play along. "I . . . I want to look strong, not like a bimbo. But I still want to look like . . . well, like a girl."
Ginny grinned back. "Well, then definitely red. I'll find you something perfect."
The dress shop was alarmingly crowded when they all arrived, enough so that Hermione was not helped by a staff member, but by Ginny for the first twenty minutes. Well, Ginny, Lavender and Parvati, but the other two girls had taken to helping Hermione in and out of dresses, as well as rating them. They actually had an entire system.
For Hermione, the dresses all looked the same. She had no idea how Lavender and Parvati were deciding that one was good, one bad, one unflattering, et cetera, et cetera.
But then Ginny came in with a wide grin, holding out a silken red dress. "I think this is the one." Parvati and Lavender both gasped, saying things like, "Ginny, it's beautiful!" and "Where did you find it?"
"Let's get her in it right now," Lavender pressed, unzipping Hermione immediately.
Hermione just stared at all three. It looked like a dress to her.
"Step in it!" Parvati urged. "Trust us!"
That, of course, made Hermione even more suspicious, but she cast her opinion aside and stepped in the dress. They pulled it up, and she put her arms through the sleeves and turned.
She was never so glad that she had listened to them.
Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise, and she could barely hear the other girls' coos of approval. Everything about it—the ruffled straps, the high waist, the A-line skirt (all phrases she'd learned while shopping), all of it was gorgeous. But, even more important, she felt strong, and beautiful. "This is the one," she told them softly.
And the best part of it all was that the dress was on sale. Ginny knew her all too well.
When Hermione arrived back on the grounds, carrying the dress delicately in her arms, she immediately brought it to her room and hung it just outside of her closet. Ginny had told her to wear a gold necklace with it, but Hermione only had one — a locket that her mother had given her. Inside was a picture of them, and of her as a baby, only a few months old. It almost felt too personal to wear to a dance, but it was all she had.
She worked on her homework the rest of the day, completing a large chunk of it before she decided it was time for bed. Only then did she remember — she was supposed to tell Malfoy what colour her dress was. Hastily, she scribbled the word red on a piece of parchment and scrambled down to the owlry to send it away.
Except Malfoy was already there.
They stared at each other in shock for two beats, then Hermione shot him a smile, just like she did during school hours. "Hullo, Malfoy. How are you?"
He gave her an annoyed glance before sending his owl off. "What are you doing here?" he groaned, as if her presence had just ruined his evening.
"It's the owlry," she pointed out with a slight frown. "I have just enough reason to be here as you do."
Naturally, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, as if challenging her. "What could you possibly be sending this late at night? Bit tardy to send off love notes, isn't it?"
"This isn't a love note," she shot back, already exasperated with his standoffishness. "I was sending it to you."
Another two beats passed.
"Oh." She actually watched him deflate a little. "What is it, then?"
"The colour of my dress. It's red."
He pursed his lips. "You had to choose red, didn't you?" Then, he grumbled, "Bloody Gryffindors —"
"That's not fair!" she shot back. "I chose it because it's a nice dress, not because of its colour!"
"Fine."
They glared at each other, for tradition's sake. Then, abruptly, Malfoy sighed. His shoulders slumped, and he rocked back on his heels. "Did you want me to get you a corsage?"
"Huh?" she answered gawkily.
"A corsage. You know, flowers. You wear them with your dress." He began to patronizingly mime his words.
"No, you dolt, I understood you!" Hermione snapped at him. "I was just wondering why you even offered!"
"Don't you like flowers?" he smirked.
His tone forced her to pause. Here she was, standing after dark in a secluded location with, for all intents and purposes, her future date. And he was teasing her about flowers. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew. Hell, she didn't know anyone like this. What was he doing?
Well, it couldn't have been flirting, that's for sure.
"Do what you want," she said cautiously. "I've got to get back."
"Go ahead," he said, waving her away carelessly. "I've more to send."
She gave him her polite goodbye, the same she'd been using in the hallways. Except this time, he returned it.
As ridiculous as this story is, I still adore it. Interesting fact: Many of these parts were originally included in my planning for The Danger of Love, but didn't make the cut, so they wound up here. I guess you could call this a spin-off? Anyways, Part II is coming soon. In the meantime, please review. :)