"Of course you're early," Draco drawled as Hermione entered the potions classroom. "No matter, I'm prepared." Hermione fought the urge to glare and instead looked at the black cauldrons lining the students' desks. "I found these in Snape's storage closet. They're absolutely filthy—perfect for you, Granger," Draco said. Attempting to find the good in the situation, Hermione noted that he had at least not called her Mudblood.

"So you want me to clean them?" she asked.

Draco smirked. "Obviously."

Hermione pulled out her wand and began walking over to the desk closest to her left.

"No magic," Draco said.

Hermione's nails dug into the palm of her hand as she gripped her wand tightly. "Are you mad?" she asked. "That will take entirely too long—I only have two hours! Besides, don't you want them properly cleaned?"

"I'm sure a muggle-born like you has experience with washing things by hand," he drawled.

"Actually," Hermione snapped, "we have a dishwasher."

"What, is that like a house elf?" he asked. "Didn't think you liked the idea of servants."

Hermione slammed her wand down on the table. "It's not a servant, it's a machine that . . . oh forget it!" she yelled. She took a few deep breaths, trying to get rid of the flush she was sure graced her cheeks. "Where's a brush?" she asked, attempting to appear unfazed.

"My desk," Draco responded, pointing at a yellow-bristled brush lying beside a gray bucket. As Hermione walked up to grab the items, Draco took a seat at his desk. "If you don't finish tonight, there's always tomorrow," he told her, grabbing a quill and scribbling on a piece of parchment. Hermione huffed and grabbed the bucket and brush before walking to the back of the room to start on the cauldrons farthest away from Draco. She sat the bucket on the floor beside a desk, pointed her wand at it, and watched as it filled with soapy water. If he says something about using magic, I swear I'll hex him, Hermione thought, but Draco did not look up. She smiled triumphantly and dipped the brush in the water. Grimacing at the encrusted cauldron she began scrubbing the sides. Bits of soapy, charred matter—she didn't care to know, or even guess, what it was—fell to the bottom of the cauldron as she scrubbed. Please don't let them all look like this, she thought, but found that her plea was in vain. It seemed to Hermione that every cauldron got progressively worse, and by the end she was covered in black from her elbows to her fingertips. Her hair had annoyed her for all but the first half hour, but she refused to wipe the hair out of her eyes. Having a black mark on her face would just give Draco more material to mock her with.

"I'm done," she muttered, placing the brush inside the bucket and the bucket where she had found it. Draco looked up and smirked and her disheveled appearance. He then motioned behind him with his wand.

"You missed a spot," he said and she turned around to find every single cauldron filthy once again. Deciding to drop her air of civility, she spun on her heel and glared at him.

"You're insufferable," she hissed. She raised her wand and pointed it directly between his eyes.

"Hexing a professor will get you expelled, Granger," Draco drawled, but Hermione did not lower her wand.

"Don't you dare think you're better than me, Malfoy," Hermione hissed. "You're nothing but a coward with an enchantment on your arm." She turned and began walking toward the door.

"Just where do you think you're going, Mudblood?" he asked and Hermione glanced down at her arm, which had begun to tingle.

"Away from you," she whispered, holding back tears as she walked to her dormitory. She threw herself on her bed and pulled up her sleeve, staring at the inscribed word. Tears fell down her cheek and landed on her white pillow, giving it the appearance of having gray polka-dots.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked as she walked in the room. Hermione sat up.

"I thought it was over—I thought it had been established that blood status meant anything. I thought . . . " she trailed off.

"You wouldn't have to continue to endure the evil that is Draco Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"I figured he would run—go into hiding with his mother in case his father broke out of Azkaban," Hermione said. "I didn't think I'd see him again."

"What's the real problem here?" Ginny asked, sitting down beside Hermione. "You haven't let your blood status bother you in years. You know you're the best witch most people have ever known."

Hermione bit her lip and leaned her head against the bed post. "I hate that after all these years—after all I've been through—he's the one person that can get to me."

"You do seem rather . . . different when he's around," Ginny said. "More guarded, I suppose. Like you're preparing for a fight."

"He's just . . . UGH!" Hermione fell backwards on her bed. "He's so insufferable!"

Ginny laughed. "Have you ever thought he does it just because he likes watching you lose your composure?" she asked.

"What, like he only pretends to hate me?" Hermione scoffed.

Ginny shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

"Ginny, what am I going to do?" Hermione groaned. "I cannot go an entire year like this."

"So beat him at his own game," Ginny said.

Hermione sat up. "You mean humiliate him? Ginny, that's . . . "

"Ingenious? Exciting?" she asked. "Come on Hermione, be a rebel."

Hermione laughed. "And here I thought I was going to have a quiet year at Hogwarts . . . "

Short, I know. What can I say? I'm a short and sweet kind of girl. Review Please :) if only because it gives me the incentive to write more.