Potions was brilliant. Hermione sat with Theodore Nott and as she listened, rapt, to the professor's speech about bottling fame and stopping up death she passed the boy a quick note: How would you bottle up death?

He rolled his eyes.

The professor seemed to have it in for the Potter kid, which was a bit odd since they'd just started, but as she herself was a bit miffed that, as far as the Boy Who Lived was concerned, she had become invisible as soon as she'd been sorted into Slytherin she couldn't exactly feel bad for the brat.

The professor had started the first class by asking the boy a variety of questions and Theo had had to physically restrain her from shoving her hand into the air. "Cut it out," he'd hissed at her. "You'll look like a brown-nosing swot."

"But I know the answer," she'd hissed back.

"So what?" he'd replied, and, at his narrow-eyed glare, she'd stopped raising her hand. Whatever else she'd figured out since she'd been sorted, one thing was eminently clear: Slytherins looked after their own. Even if Theo wasn't her chum – and he was – he'd have kept her from making herself look bad if it took hexing her into immobility.

Slytherin, as it turned out, was also brilliant. She'd punched some boy who called her a mudblood and, instead of getting into trouble the way she had when she'd handled bullies at her primary school – Hermione could be very physical when she was angry – everyone had laughed at the kid she'd pummeled and told him to watch his language around their housemate. "Go call the Gryffindorks mudbloods if you want to be vulgar," an older girl had said with a sneer before adding to Hermione, "He does it again, go for the balls."

"He does it again," Draco had said, "he won't have any balls left for her to kick."

She'd shoved him for that. "I can look after myself," she'd said and he'd grinned his evil little grin at her.

"Yep," he'd said. "If you couldn't, you wouldn't be any fun."

Draco was also brilliant; spoiled and impulsive and mean as a snake but brilliant. Having friends – real friends – was amazing. She never ever wanted to leave this place.

Flying, unfortunately, wasn't brilliant. Or, rather, she wasn't brilliant at it. That Draco was was particularly annoying. He spent so much of their first flying lesson offering her tongue-in-cheek suggestions Theo had finally told him to cut it out before he became the second member of the 'Slytherins Hermione Has Punched' club.

At least there was one boy worse than her, she thought as she sat down in the grass and sulked. Pansy flopped down next to her and Blaise joined them, his long legs kicked out in front of him as they watched some Griffyndor whose name she couldn't remember lose control of his broom.

"See," Blaise said, poking Hermione. "It could have been worse."

"Yeah," she said, lying back. "I could have been sorted in with them. I wanted to be, you know."

Pansy gave a dramatic shudder before asking. "What's Draco doing? Why is he getting into it with Potter again? What now?"

Hermione sighed. "Wasn't it your turn to watch him?" she muttered. "I wish he'd leave the kid alone."

"Potter's a spoiled brat," Pansy said, lying down next to her, "and Draco can look out for himself." Hermione rolled her eyes. As far as she could tell, Draco was drawn to trouble like the proverbial bee to honey, with never a backup plan to his name.

"Shit." Blaise pointed up at the sky, at Draco streaking towards the ground as fast as he could while Potter swooped higher in the air. Both girls sat up and watched as Draco landed smoothly and he, Greg, and Vincent sauntered over to them, smug grins plastered on their faces. "Cutting it close, mate," Blaise added as Professor McGonagall, protector of all things Gryffindor, came racing out of the building shrieking at Harry Potter.

"Did you really steal that stupid kid's stupid thing?" Hermione demanded, overhearing the excuses and protests as Potter was dragged off by his ear. "Are you an idiot?"

"Oh, Hermione, why are you sticking up for him?" Draco asked, flopping down next to her and tugging on her hair. "Didn't he do that wrinkled nose thing at you just this morning? That 'I can't possibly go near this one because she might suddenly turn evil and devour my soul' oh-so-superior Gryffindor sneer?"

"He did," Blaise confirmed. "You didn't see it because you were reading out loud from Quidditch Through the Ages. As if that would help." She shoved at him and he laughed. "Don't worry, we'll give you remedial flying lessons on the sly. Can't have you embarrassing our house and it's not like Madame Hooch gives a crap whether anyone but her precious Quidditch players can fly."

. . . . . . . . .

"You challenged him to a what?!" Hermione hissed at Draco across the table in their common room. "You are an idiot. You're going to go sneaking around, losing points for Slytherin, all because you just can't leave that worthless git alone. What is wrong with you?"

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Draco said, stuffing a sweet his mother had sent him into his mouth and passing her the box. She eyed him with some irritation but couldn't resist the petit fours.

"I bet he doesn't even show," Theo said, reaching into the box. "That Gryffindor bravery bullshite is all talk."

"They're brave," Blaise said, "they're just stupid about it. You want someone to run right towards death, get at Gryff. You want someone to win, Slytherin."

"Hey," Draco looked at his box. "You prats ate all my cake."

"And it was so nice of you to share," Hermione said, "especially since you're going to end up losing points for Slytherin tonight when you get caught out past curfew dueling Harry Potter."

"I won't get caught," Draco said with confidence.

It turned out that both he and Theo were right; Potter didn't show, but Draco managed to avoid getting caught. "Told ya," he said to Hermione as they headed to breakfast. She rolled her eyes again, an expression she was rapidly becoming too familiar with when dealing with Draco.

"If you had to sneak out you could have at least beaten the little jerk," she muttered. "Why is he still here, anyway? Shouldn't he have been sent home or something after flying around like a crazy person after we were told not to?"

"I dunno," Greg muttered. "What's he got?"

Their least favorite first year was walking towards them in the hall, holding a long, narrow package with something approaching reverence. "Let's find out," Draco suggested and they stepped in front of the boy and blocked his way

"I don't see why we're doing this," Hermione muttered to Theo. "Who cares what Potter gets in the mail?"

"We're humoring Draco because he gets cake in the mail," Theo said, clearly enough for Draco to hear them. Their blond friend shot back a look of utter irritation; since his minions made no attempt to stop him, he snatched the package out of Potter's hands.

"That's a broom," he laughed. "You're in trouble now, Potter. First years aren't allowed to have them."

"It's a Nimbus 2000," Ron bragged.

Hermione leaned over to Theo and said loudly, "Is he actually bragging about another boy's broomstick?" Ron flushed and Theo bit his lip and looked down at her, a grin on his face.

"I'm on the Quidditch team," Potter was bragging and Hermione could see that Draco, who talked about Quidditch so much she wanted to scream some days, was about to snap.

"Well, isn't that nice for you," she said. "Some of us play by the rules, but I guess if you're a celebrity when you break the rules you get rewarded by having more bent for you."

"I wonder if he'll get a write up in the Prophet," Theo chimed in as Draco slowly backed away from the hated boy. Hermione grabbed his hand to make sure he wouldn't do something rash.

"Oh, I'm sure he will," she said. "After all, he's famous. He's so famous his little sidekick knows all about his broom." She waggled the fingers of her free hand in the air at that and Theo snickered. "Have fun playing with your broom, boys," she said as she hauled Draco off down the corridor, Theo and Greg behind them.

"That is so unfair," she ranted later in their common room. "If you'd gotten caught flying around like that – "

"Well," Greg said, "his father would have shown up and everything would have been fine."

"Fine!" Hermione snapped. "If you had gotten caught – "

"I would have been so dead," Greg said, slouching back into his seat.

"Rules apply to everyone or they apply to no one," Hermione said, seething. "It's not right."

"You didn't really think the world was fair, did you?" Theo asked, rolling his eyes at her.

. . . . . . . . . .

After that, Hermione's dislike of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter shifted from mild annoyance because they'd dropped her once she was sorted, into a far more active urge to torment the pair. She got her next chance in Charms when Weasley was unable to make his feather float.

"You're saying it wrong," Hermione said as clearly as she could to Weasley. "You need to follow the pronunciation guide in the book, not the one in your head. Rules, Weasley. Magic follows predictable rules."

"Let's see you do it if you're so clever," the boy snapped and, with a little smirk, she cast the charm and the feather floated in front of her.

"Yes!" Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. "Miss Granger's got it! Five points to Slytherin."

As they all streamed out of the classroom and wound their way through the courtyard Weasley sniped to Potter, "I hate that Granger girl. She's just such a horror; I bet she's got no friends even in Slytherin."

Harry Potter pointed across the open space to where Greg Goyle was spinning the girl in question around while she pounded on his back and laughed. Malfoy's voice carried through the air. "That's our girl, showing those gits who knows how to do it."

"Put me down," Weasley could hear her wailing, "or I'll hex you when you least expect it!" Even Pansy Parkinson, who had her hand tucked into Malfoy's, was smirking. She nudged the blond and pointed over to Weasley and Potter and the whole group of Slytherins, including Hermione, waved mockingly at the pair.

"I think," said Harry Potter, "she's got friends."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I don't see why I have to go." Hermione stared up at Blaise and Greg with some annoyance. Draco was off holding Pansy's hand somewhere, a relationship that alternated between cute and annoying, and Theo was probably already in the stands. The boy had an unhealthy love of Quidditch. She, however, had no such thing. It was cold outside. It was wet. And here, down in their lovely common room, it was warm. There was a fire. She had a book. "Take Vincent and Millie."

"Vincent has detention and Millie's out there already with Theo."

"Theo hates Millie," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose.

"Try telling her that," Greg muttered and she laughed. "No," he insisted. "She's nuts for him and he's trying so hard to be all polite at her but you know how boy-crazy she is."

"Poor Theo," Hermione grinned, but, still unmoved by the prospect of a Quidditch match on this cold day, she made no attempt to get up. Blaise, however, just yanked her blanket off of her.

"You have to come. House pride thing. I'll loan you a jumper if you're cold but come on already."

"You can sit between Millie and Theo and save him," Greg wheedled and Hermione snorted.

"I'll sit between you and Blaise and you can keep me warm."

"Done," Greg said and Hermione frowned at him.

"Why do I feel I've been played?"

"Because you have," said Blaise, "and despite your weird regard for rules you aren't stupid."

With a grumble and a discrete tuck of her book into a pocket, she joined the pair just in time to see the game begin. After a bit during which there was much screeching and cheering from the stands, none of which really interested her, she leaned into Greg and asked, "When does it get interesting?"

"It's interesting now," he said with a sigh and Blaise wrapped an arm around her and tugged her in towards him.

"I see you trying to pull your book out," he muttered. "No reading in the stands, Hermione."

"Look!" Greg yelled, poking her, "they've spotted the snitch!"

She heard herself yelling "Go Flint!" as the older boy knocked Potter off course, keeping the brat from grabbing the ball and ending the game. The announcer's claim that the foul – and she acknowledged it was a foul but in a game that involved hitting giant balls at players to knock them off their brooms, it seemed pretty mild to her – was obvious and disgusting cheating had her hissing at Blaise, "Is the commentary always this one-sided?"

"Yep," said an older boy sitting behind them. "Everyone hates us. We're evil you know." He wiggled his fingers at the three of them and Hermione, turning to look at him, laughed.

"We're just better than they are," Blaise said, his eyes on the field. "And they know it."

"Score!" Greg yelled and the cheer from their section of the stands was deafening.

"How much longer is this going to take," Hermione whispered to Blaise though her attention had been caught by Potter, who seemed to have forgotten how to fly. "And what's up with him?" she asked and the boy at her side followed her pointed finger to look at Potter, whose broom was bucking.

"Don't know, don't care," Blaise said shortly and she shrugged and went back to trying to decide whether Greg or Blaise put out more body heat because this was really not a pleasant day. But whatever was going on with Potter was getting worse and soon they were all watching, fascinated, as his obviously hexed broom shook and twitched. He finally plummeted towards the ground and, just as she was sure he was about to die, he righted himself and – what the? – caught the snitch, which essentially fell into his hand.

"That can't be right," she hissed at Greg who was staring in open-mouthed shock at the field. "Does that even count?" Flint was yelling it wasn't a fair catch but the announcer was already declaring it a Gryffindor victory and Hermione had her arms wrapped around herself and was muttering, "I can't believe you made me come out in the cold just to watch this. This was terrible."

They glumly wound their way down the stands, Flint still yelling in the background, and went back to their common room. "I hate Quidditch," Hermione muttered before plopping down on a couch next to Theo, who had managed to shake Millie, and who tugged on her hair before slumping against her.

"That sucked," he said and she nodded.

. . . . . . . . . .

"It's COLD," she complained, but the whining was half laughter as she threw the last few snowballs at Draco and Greg. Winter had come and with it snow and everything was covered in a blanket that hid any imperfections. They'd been out for over an hour; she'd had snow shoved down her coat and she'd tackled Draco and pushed him into a drift making Greg laugh as the other boy sputtered that she was cheating.

"I thought you wanted me to cheat more," she'd said, smirking at him. "'You and your thing about rules, Hermione. You need to get over that.' Wasn't that what you said just this morning when I wouldn't let you copy my essay?"

Now they were trooping back into the castle, ready to charm elves out of hot chocolate, shaking the snow from their hair and clothes, when they got stuck behind a giant tree that blocked the corridor as the groundskeeper moved it into the main hall for Yule.

Draco, cold and wet, was even less pleasant than usual. "Do you think you could move this tree? Some of us are trying to pass here." When he spotted the dynamic duo he added with a sneer, "Trying to make some extra cash, Weasley? I mean, I know you're poor and all, but having to do odd jobs around school? Really?"

"Now Draco," Hermione said, using her sweetest voice. "It's not his fault his family home makes that groundkeeper's hut look like a mansion."

"Maybe he'll get to be groundskeeper when he grows up?" Draco said, turning to her with a smirk.

"That might be too intellectually rigorous for – "

Ron dove towards them, howling with fury, and had snatched Draco's coat in his fist when Professor Snape came up behind them.

"Fighting?" the man asked with a sneer. "That's against Hogwart's Rules, Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor."

"He was provoked," the groundskeeper said glaring at the teacher but the professor shrugged.

"Then he should learn self-control." The man glanced at the three Slytherins. "You three are dripping all over the hall. Go get yourselves dried up and order some cocoa from the kitchens before you get sick."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said. "We'll do that."

"Oh," the man added, "and, Miss Granger?"

"Yes sir?"

"I was impressed by your last potions essay. Keep up the good work."

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter both glared at her as she took Draco and Greg by the hands and led them past the furious pair. She smirked at them, then schooled her expression to a far more respectful one as she passed Professor Snape.

"What does 'too intellectually rigorous' mean?" Greg asked as they walked away.

"It means he's too stupid to do the job," Draco drawled and Hermione glanced back to grin at both Ron and Harry who had their fists clenched at their sides. The little jerks thought they were too good to acknowledge any Slytherin, but she'd show them.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Theo had spent the better part of the afternoon instructing Hermione in Yule traditions until she'd thrown her hands up and asked why there wasn't a wizard traditions class instead of Muggle Studies. "Who cares about Muggle studies?" she'd practically screeched. "None of you are going to run off and live in Muggle Britain, are you?"

There were rude snorts from several older students in the common room and at least one coughing fit.

"You don't exactly need to know how the British mail works or what one might watch on the tele! It's a waste of time! Why can't I have a class on something useful instead of being tormented this way?" She'd crumpled forward and pillowed her head on her folded arms at that point.

"What's up with her?" Greg asked and Draco shrugged.

"Theo has decided it's his sacred duty to school her in all things pureblooded," Blaise drawled from another table. "He's being somewhat relentless."

"Yule is not that complicated," Theo said.

"It wouldn't be, mate, if you stuck to the basics. Give all your friends a present, nothing too expensive or you look stuck on yourself. No jewelry unless you're engaged to the girl, which is hardly relevant for any of us," Blaise said.

"Could be relevant," Theo argued. "People sometimes get engaged as children."

"Merlin, Theo," Draco said. "No one does that anymore."

"Purebloods still engage children to one another," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "Eww."

"Do Muggles not do that?" Theo asked.

"No!" She stuck her tongue out. "That's gross."

"Gotta agree with her," Draco said.

Hermione dutifully shopped and wrapped and shipped presents out. A book on Quidditch for Theo, a scarf for Blaise, candy for Greg and Vincent. She got Muggle lip-glosses for Pansy and Millie, knowing the combination of makeup and the forbidden lure of Muggle goods would be irresistible to both girls. She stood a long time at the shop, looking at a tiny golden snitch charm for Draco and finally decided it might be too much and settled on an actual, training snitch.

He sent her a bracelet. It wasn't fancy; she wasn't sure if the cheap glass beads even counted as jewelry in his world, but she stared at it for a long time when she opened the box, stared at it so long the owl hooted impatiently at her until she shook herself and handed him a treat. She wore it every day at home on break, only taking it off when she returned to school.

She wasn't sure what it meant. Wasn't sure it meant anything. He was kind of dating Pansy, if by 'dating' one meant holding hands in the corridors and sitting together at Quidditch matches and on the couch in the common room. And, though the intricacies of pureblood Yule etiquette - as filtered through Theo - had almost made her throw things, she had noticed they had rules for everything. She wasn't sure if wearing it would end up committing her to something, so she didn't.

She did hug him on the train and said, "I love it."

"When we're older I'll give you a real one," he said with a grin and she felt herself exhale, a kind of relieved but nervous exhalation.

"Brat," she said and his grin got bigger.

"I learned a new curse," he said with a smirk. "The first person to give you that 'dirty Sytherin' look gets it."

"You are so going to lose us every point we've ever gotten," she said, shoving him and he put on the innocent face he used when confronted by teachers. "But thank you."

"No one picks on my housemate," he said.

"They don't pick, exactly," she said, sitting down squishing herself up against the window to make room for Theo and Greg, who'd trooped in and who were arguing about some obscure Quidditch rule. "They just… sneer. They look at all of us like we're diseased and contagious."

"I know," he said, his voice low and angry. "Some day they'll all be sorry."

. . . . . . . . . .

When she found him laughing outside the library, his mean little laugh, she sighed. "What have you done?" She asked him.

"Nothing," he said rolling his wand between his hands.

She grabbed him and started hauling him to the dungeons. "You need to learn to lie better," she told him. "Was it Weasley or Potter you harassed?"

"Neither," he said with the smug primness that made her want to kick him in the shin. "I just didn't like the look on Longbottom's stupid face so I leg-locked him."

"And what look was that? Utter terror at the sight of you?"

"It's like he has 'pick on me' written on his forehead," Draco admitted with a grin. "But he was telling some girl not to worry she couldn't do as well as you in Charms because – " but there he cut himself off, some sudden sense of tactfulness jutting in between his brain and his mouth.

"Because I'm just a stinking Slytherin," Hermione said, a question in her voice; the look on Draco's face confirmed it. He watched her expression quiver for a moment before she set it into her stubborn 'no one can hurt me' glare.

"He didn't mean it," Draco offered. "He just wanted to make whoever she was feel better."

"He meant it," Hermione said. "They all mean it." She blinked fiercely a few times.

"Yeah," Draco said, "But you're worth twelve of those idiots. C'mon. I got a new box from my mum this morning. I bet it's got some of those cakes you like so much."

Hermione smiled a little at that. "How come she always sends those now?"

"Because I told her you liked them," he said.

Hermione stopped walking towards their dormitory and, once he was a few feet ahead of her, Draco stopped too and turned back toward her. "What?" he demanded.

"Your mother is sending cakes to you for me?" she asked and he looked confused.

"Well, yeah. We're friends, aren't we?"

"But…." Hermione trailed off then said, "Muggle-born."

"Oh, like she cares about that," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Haven't you figured out by now that no one does?" He stopped to consider. "Well, my crazy aunt might from what I've heard about her, but she's in Azkaban so it's not like anyone exactly worries about her opinion. You're Slytherin, you stupid girl. You're one of us."

Her smile was shaky so Draco gave her a shove. "Don't make me hex you as if you were some dopey Gryffindork. C'mon." He began to race down the hall and, swiping at her eyes, Hermione followed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione's feelings on Quidditch remained the same, which would have been fine if everyone hadn't absolutely insisted she go to yet another game.

"We aren't even playing in this one," she whined as Draco dragged her to the stands. "I don't see why I have to gooooo." She drew the last word out as they passed a group of Gryffindors, there to cheer on their rotten seeker, apparently the youngest seeker ever since the dawn of time.

Ron Weasley looked at her as they passed, her hand clasped tightly in Draco's as if he were afraid if she got loose she'd bolt back to the common room. Weasley jabbed her in the side with an elbow and she gasped at the sudden shock.

"Sorry," the boy said with a smirk. "Didn't see you there."

Malfoy looked at the boy and then at Greg and Theo, who were following Hermione. Vincent, as usual, was in detention. "You know how I think they pick Gryffindor team members," he said loudly. "They get the people they feel sorry for. Potter's got no parents, the Weasleys have no money. It's sweet, really."

Hermione sighed and nudged him forward to their seats. "Look, it's Neville Longbottom," Draco was saying as they sat down. "You remember Neville, right Hermione? He's the one who can't reason his way out of a paper sack. I'm surprised he's not on the team too."

"You leave him alone," Ron snapped, not turning from the game.

"If brains were gold, Neville would be poorer than you," Draco taunted as Theo began to tug Hermione away from the brewing confrontation. As Potter started flying towards the ground at a ridiculous speed Draco added, "Oh, you're in luck Weasley. Looks like your buddy might have found some money on the ground."

Ron turned and threw himself across the stands at Draco as Theo yanked Hermione wholly out of the way. Neville and Greg joined in and the four boys missed it as Potter caught the snitch again because they were busy punching one another.

"Honestly," Hermione muttered to Theo as they looked at the brawl going on near their feet. "At least this time the game was short."

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione spread out the color-coded exam study tables she'd made for all her friends.

"Hermione," Greg said, looking at his, "exams aren't for ages."

"But it's important to be prepared and it's only ten weeks away," she said, her voice starting to rise. "I should have been studying for ages and you keep making me go to Quidditch games. I don't know what I'm going to – "

Theo pulled the entire pile away from her and calmly dumped the lot in the fire. "Stop," he said. "Stop with the swot thing before you make yourself miserable. And unbearable."

"Theo!" she wailed watching her tables and charts go up in flames.

He shoved a chocolate frog at her. "Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "I'm just protecting you from yourself."

"Nicolas Flamel," she said after she opened the package. "Darn. I already have five of these."

. . . . . . . .

"You are not going to believe what I found out," Draco said, pouring himself some juice and smirking.

"Oh?" Hermione had her head into her Charms book and was drilling herself on all the secondary and tertiary uses for every charm they were supposed to know.

"The groundskeeper guy, the one Potter and Weasley are always visiting?"

"Mmm?"

"He has a dragon."

"You're right." Hermione looked up at him. "I don't believe that. The man lives in a wooden hut. How could he possibly be stupid enough to have a dragon? Plus," she looked back down again, "one wouldn't fit."

"It's a baby," Draco said smugly and she rolled her eyes.

"Draco, it's not even legal to have a dragon."

"I know." She put her book away and gave her friend her full attention; the boy looked positively gleeful and that never boded well. He tended to be all bluster and no planning and he'd end up hexing some stupid student right in front of a teacher and lose them all points.

"Draco, if he does have a dragon we should tell someone."

"We should," he agreed.

"But we won't, will we?" she asked with a sigh.

"Nope," he grinned at her. "Not until we can get Potter and Weasley into as much trouble as possible.

"Your obsession with Potter is downright weird," she muttered.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco's obsession with the pair of Gryffindors might have been weird but it was, she had to admit, great fun to go and torment Weasley. The git had apparently managed to get his hand chomped on by the baby dragon and, in a turn of events that shocked no one except the boy himself, the bite became infected and his hand swollen. Apparently dragon fangs were poisonous.

"There's a reason you aren't supposed to have dragons," Hermione said smugly as she and Draco headed to the hospital wing. "They're dangerous."

He stopped in the hall when she said that, the textbook they were taking to the Weasley boy as their excuse to visit him in one hand. "Dragons are dangerous," he agreed, his voice low. "But only to outsiders. They're fiercely protective of their own."

She looked at him and, after a moment, said, "Well, Weasley's clearly not one of the dragon's own."

Draco snorted at that. "I'd say not."

"How's your hand?" Hermione gushed at Weasley once they were in the Infirmary. "We were just so worried."

"How did you say this happened again?" Draco asked, watching the mediwitch without seeming to.

"A dog bite," Weasley muttered. "Thanks for bringing me my book. You can go now."

"Oh, no," Hermione said. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone here to suffer without me." She picked up a note from the side table and said, "Your brother the dragon-keeper wrote you? Wasn't that nice of him. It must be really nice having a large family to look after you when you get a dog bite." She cast a woeful look at Malfoy and handed him the note while Weasley reached out to try and grab it from her. "I'm an only child, you know."

"Me too," Draco said with a sneer. "Though, I always thought having more kids than you can afford to feed was stupid, and who wants nothing but hand-me-downs?"

"Saturday at midnight?" Hermione leaned in closer. "How interesting that your brother, the dragon-keeper, is coming by then when you just got yourself nipped in the hand by something he might be interested in."

"We should tell," Draco said.

"We should let the dragon bite all of them," Hermione corrected.

"I like the way you think," Draco smirked.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Tonight's the night," Draco whispered and she nodded back in silent accord. Greg and Vincent followed them as they snuck their way towards the tallest tower. "We'll catch that git with his dragon and rat him out to Snape and then he'll be gone."

They waited in an alcove by the stairs and everything would have gone smashingly if McGonagall hadn't decided she needed a walk. She didn't believe them, of course. "How dare you," she gasped when she found them out. "Wandering about when it's near midnight?"

"But Professor," Hermione pleaded, "It's Potter. He's got a dragon."

"Is that rubbish really the best you can do? Out after curfew with three boys and she blames it on a dragon," McGonagall huffed. "In my day… oh! Detention for all of you and twenty points from Slytherin. I'll be talking to Professor Snape about these ridiculous lies you're telling!"

As she was dragging them off, Hermione and Draco quite literally by their ears with Greg and Vincent trailing behind them, they could hear a faint laugh that sounded a lot like Potter. They exchanged looks and Hermione mouthed, "But where is he?" and Draco shrugged, his eyes narrowed.

. . . . . . . . . .

Wherever he was, apparently McGonagall had caught him too, and Weasley as well. The overnight loss of twenty points from Slytherin was overshadowed by the far more monumental loss of one hundred and fifty from Gryffindor. Hermione and Draco quietly smirked at one another at the commotion – the utter loathing – that followed Potter all day as his housemates discovered he was the one responsible for their point loss.

"It's worth having to do detention with that git, isn't it?" Draco asked and Hermione grinned.

"It really is," she agreed.

Vincent and Greg were assigned to the kitchens; they both already had a long-standing relationship helping the elves scrub pans and McGonagall clearly thought they were followers. Draco and Hermione she had tagged as troublemakers and they were informed their detention would be served with Hagrid and that Filch would take them there.

"I don't see why we can't just write lines," Draco grumbled and Hermione gave him a hard shove.

"Doesn't matter what it is," she said. "It's worth it, right?"

"I suppose," he said, looking like he didn't suppose at all.

She started to agree with him when she discovered the idiot groundskeeper was taking them into the so-called Forbidden Forest to help him track down an injured unicorn. In what sane universe did a school employee take children into the woods – woods they had been explicitly told the first day of the year they were never, ever to go into – to track down a hurt and wild animal?

"I don't think this is a good idea," she muttered and Draco shot her a grateful look even as Weasley taunted them.

"Scared, you two?"

"Sensible," she snapped back.

"What if the thing that got the unicorn finds us before we find it?" Draco asked, his voice trembling a little and the groundskeeper laughed.

"You'll be fine," he promised, a promise Hermione had trouble crediting given this was a man who'd thought having a dragon in a wooden hut was a good idea.

"I'm not doing it," she said.

The groundskeeper narrowed his eyes at her and said, "You got in trouble and you'll do what you're told."

"I don't think so," she shook her head. "C'mon Draco. We'll go back to the castle and write a quick note to your father. Didn't you tell me he was on the Board of Governors?"

"Yes," he said, his voice still a little shaky.

"This," she said, glaring at the groundskeeper, "is the most insane idea I've ever heard of. Sending a group of eleven-year-olds into the woods at night. And I'm quite sure Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy will agree with me."

Draco seemed to be getting his feet back under him now that Hermione had taken over and was refusing to go along with this trek into the woods. "They would," he said. "They'd be livid to know the school put me in danger."

"They might," Hermione drawled, "even demand the resignation of the people responsible. That would be," she paused and looked around, "Oh, yes. That would be you." She looked at Hagrid and smirked.

The man glared at her, but she just smiled at him and said, "Well, Draco, shall we head back up to the castle now?"

"Fine," the groundskeeper said, gritting his teeth. "You two brats can wait in my cottage until we come back."

"Should we write lines while we wait?" Hermione asked, her voice sweet. "For our detention?"

The man stomped off without answering, Potter and Weasley following him.

"That was brilliant," Draco breathed, looking at her. "You're utterly brilliant."

She grinned at him and they settled down to wait until the unicorn hunting party returned.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I love exams," Hermione said with a satisfied smile on her face as she lay on the grass with Theo and Pansy. "And those were so much easier than I expected them to be."

"Why do you love exams?" Pansy asked, trying to spot Draco.

"Class is so boring most days," Hermione said. "At least on exam days I have something to do the entire time."

"You need to skiv off more," Theo said.

"Skiv off from class?" Hermione said, sounding horrified.

"Yep," Theo grinned. "Next year I'm totally getting you to do it."

. . . . . . . . . .

"This is gorgeous," Hermione breathed, looking around the Great Hall. Green and silver decorations hung everywhere and there was a huge banner with their serpent crest behind the head table.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Draco took her arm. "Seventh year in a row. We're the best house, after all. We get the best students, swots and jocks, and we win."

"We won fair and square," she agreed as they squeezed into the benches at their table.

The headmaster was making one of his dotty announcements and she tuned him out until he read off their point total – four hundred and seventy-two, which made it one hundred and sixty more than their hated rivals the Gryffindors – and they all began banging their goblets on the table and cheering. She looked over at Potter and Weasley and smirked at them. See what happens when you play by the rules, she thought. You win.

Until the unthinkable happened.

Dumbledore announced he had some last minute point changes. To Weasley, for a chess game, fifty points.

"What's going on?" she hissed to Draco. "No one gets fifty points for winning a game of chess. I only got ten when I – " but he cut her off.

"I don't know. Shut up."

To Parvati Patil, using logic. Fifty points.

Hermione turned to Theo and looked at him and he shook his head, helplessly.

To Harry Potter. For bravery. Sixty points.

Hermione started to cry. She'd spent the whole year working and earning points, five here, ten there. A whole year of excellence and any recognition of that – the fair recognition she'd earned – had just been wiped out by a casually unfair authority figure.

"We're still tied," Draco said, wrapping his arm around her. "It's a tie, Hermione. Don't cry."

To Neville Longbottom, for standing up to his friends. Ten points.

"No we're not," she said, "we're not tied," and she and her friends stared in horror as the room's decorations were changed, as the whole school cheered that they had lost the school cup.

"It's not fair," she said, her voice choked.

"You thought life was fair?" Theo asked her and she pressed her lips together.

"I don't anymore," was all she said.

. . . . . . . . . .

A/N – Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Shealone. She read the sorting drabble and encouraged me to expand it AND chased after me to put question marks in all those pesky places where question marks belong.

Year Two in a month or so…