Draco hated being bored. He'd studied as much as he could reasonably study, all his essays were done, he'd even organized the whole of the Yule Ball because Granger had claimed she wasn't very social and didn't know much about throwing parties and he'd done such a good job with the Halloween Masque. She'd given him one of those amused and smug looks at that, the kind that made him want to ravish her on the spot. That she found his tendency toward underhanded manipulation charming was the biggest turn on.

He was so bored. So, so bored. Merlin, there wasn't even a single application left he could fill out for even the most unimpressive political internship.

He was still irritated with his father. If only he had been able to keep his nose a little cleaner Draco would have been able to walk into any prestigious position he wanted! Though as Draco said to anyone who would listen, there hadn't been a conviction and to judge a man, or, more to the point, a man's son, on the basis of unsubstantiated rumors was quite unfair.

So very unfair.

His father was guilty, of course, but that was hardly relevant.

So Draco sat, bored, in his unpleasant common room, and began flicking wadded up pieces of parchment at Hermione Granger's hair. She wasn't done studying. She was never done studying. He was fairly sure she would be studying on her death bed.

He flicked another bit of parchment at her. It got stuck in a curl and he grinned and ripped an even smaller piece off his sheet and squished it up.

"If you actually want to live long enough to be the youngest Minister of Magic ever," she said without turning around, "you'll stop that."

"Granger," he whinged. "I'm bored. Come kiss me." He could see her shoulders shake in what was probably suppressed laughter. "You know you want to snog the youngest Minister ever."

She turned at that and she was laughing. "You aren't Minister yet," she said. "Right now you're just a pain in my arse."

He bit his lip and looked at her. "Do you really think I'll do it?" he asked. "Be youngest Minister ever, I mean?"

Hermione Granger considered him seriously and he squirmed a little under that gaze. She had the look on her face that meant she was about to be honest in that brutal way she could be. He'd heard her tell a prefect she was an incompetent fool when she had that look on her face, and she told Potter off almost daily while wearing that expression.

She had opinions about an annotated textbook Potter had somehow gotten his hands on for Potions. It's cheating, she would insist. Draco just wanted to get his hands on the book and make a copy. He'd even practiced his duplication spells so he'd only need a few minutes. So far, Granger had refused to help him at all in his quest to snag Potter's marked up spell book which was incredibly aggravating of her. He was getting curious enough to even consider just asking Potter to borrow it, which was pretty curious given how irritating stupid Potter was with his stupid Quidditch following and his stupid collection of Snitches.

Seeing that 'I'm going to be honest now' look on her face made Draco sorry he'd asked. He'd rather not have his girlfriend - she was his girlfriend, right? - tell him he had no chance of fulfilling that particular goal.

"I think so," was what she said, however. "I mean, at least you have a better chance than most."

Draco covered his look of astonished gratification with smug arrogance. "Well, of course," he said.

"You're smart," she said, ignoring his smirk, "and from a political family, and an insider, and you've walked that line of not being a prejudiced arsehole pretty well." She shrugged. "I'm sure dating me won't hurt your reputation as a modern thinker. 'That Malfoy, dated a Muggle-born in school, he's not mired in dated pureblood thinking' and all that."

"You don't think that's why I - "

Hermione shrugged. "You can't pretend that hasn't occurred to you," she said. "But if I thought that was the main reason why? I'd have cursed you in your sleep by now."

Her smile made it clear she meant it. Draco sometimes considered that Hermione was far more terrifying than any Slytherin he'd ever known. She was more terrifying than his mother, which was saying something as he was pretty sure his mum could out-think and out-deceive the devil himself.

She set her quill down and stretched. "I don't need to start getting ready for the Yule Ball for a bit, and this essay is about as revised as it can be."

"Kisses?" Draco asked in a reasonably decent mimicry of pathetic tone he'd gotten the first time she'd gotten him drunk.

"Kisses," she agreed, and he grinned. He was about to not be bored, his girlfriend - she was his girlfriend, right? - thought he had a good shot at being the youngest Minister ever, and tonight was a party. Life was great.

. . . . . . . . . .

"I didn't realize they were dating."

Harry had a glass of punch in his hand and he, Ron, and Hermione were standing watching Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott engage in what appeared to be some kind of tactile examination of one another's tonsils. Draco had disappeared into a maw of Yule Ball problems which he, as the main organizer, was informed he needed to go solve tout de suite. Lavender had similarly disappeared, though her destination was a gaggle of friends who had their heads pressed together. Harry was dateless as Cho Chang had at last told him to please stop hovering around her, that yes she and Cedric had broken up, but she wasn't interested, thank you and goodbye. This left the three of them to stare in morbid fascination at Neville and Theo.

"Is that dating?" Hermione asked as Theodore's hand roamed over Neville's arse. "I thought dating involved going places."

"I think they're going places," Ron said. "Aren't you, as Head Girl, supposed to break things like that up?"

Hermione gave him an irritated look. "I am quite sure being the morality police wasn't in the job description," she said. "And, besides, given what you and Lavender do at the breakfast table, I don't think you have the high ground here." She took a sip of her own punch and swore. It was spiked. Was this a problem she cared about enough to address, she wondered, and if so how long did she want to give it? If she just feigned ignorance it would be so much less work and once Draco got the wee problem of no band straightened out she could enjoy herself.

She'd come to the conclusion she hated being Head Girl. People didn't behave acceptably, they broke pointless rules, and she was supposed to make them stop. It was a thankless, miserable job with a crappy dorm and no payment except a tacky little badge and she'd had enough. It boggled her mind Draco wanted to be Minister of Magic. There wasn't enough money in the world for her to enter politics.

No, she was going to do some good in the world.

She wasn't exactly sure what that meant, exactly, but it would not involve breaking up inappropriate displays of public affection or policing other people's alcohol intake. Maybe she could write a book on how non-human species rights evolved over time. She was sure if people just understood how wrong they were about mermaids and werewolves their attitudes would change. Look at Harry's godfather's partner: Remus was the nicest man you could ever hope to meet other than his furry little problem that turned him into a ravening beast once a month.

Merlin, her period often made her wish she could just tear people's heads off and claw them to shreds once a month. She had sympathy. She could write her book and then other people would see how wrong they were. Or maybe a different book. Writing a book seemed like a good goal.

"I didn't even know Neville was gay," Harry was saying. "I mean, he never mentioned it."

"I think it's pretty clear he's gay," Hermione said. Theo and Neville had backed into a wall and she had a horrible feeling Neville, whose back was to her, might have undone his trousers. She couldn't see anything and she decided that as long as she could claim technical ignorance, she wasn't interrupting them. That would be an uncomfortable conversation.

"Why would he bring it up to you?" Ron demanded. "You're so oblivious to anything that doesn't directly affect you that you didn't even notice Cho's a lesbian. And it's pretty clear you like girls, even if you are bad at picking them."

"Cho's a what?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione said. "Where have you been?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts has been kind of sucking my soul away this term," Harry admitted. "Why, for Godric's sake, did I sign up for that?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Hermione had been feeling grouchy all day, a feeling she had repressed. She didn't like parties, the Yule Ball was sure to be a pain, and that was why she was so out of sorts. When the band didn't show up and Draco had to go off and solve that problem her general sense of fury at the world increased.

Would it really be asking that much for people to just be competent?

Then the punch was spiked and Theo and Neville were just the first in a series of couples who apparently had no sense of public decency. People were pawing each other and groping and feeling and in one case she saw far too much of, licking. Licking! Who licked her partner's neck in the dark corner of a school dance? It was utterly, wholly, and miserably inappropriate.

By the time Draco had tracked down the errant musicians, who had stopped for a quick pint in Aberforth's filthy pub and ended up getting into some complicated goat cricket game she did not want to think about in any detail but which had resulted in an actual sodding goat on the stage with the band.

"Well, we won, you see," the pissed guitar player had told her. At least, that's what she thought he'd said. The words had been sufficiently slurred there had been a bit of guess work on her part but the band had climbed onto the stage and demonstrated that neither alcohol intake nor bovidae acquisition impeded their ability to play and that problem had been solved.

Neville and Theo had, mercifully, disappeared so that problem had been solved.

And Draco had led her to the dance floor and she was prepared to finally start enjoying herself and so she ignored the unpleasant sensation of damp oozing between her legs because vaginas could be weird and let him squire her about and let him lead her to a seat afterward and let him fetch her a glass of unspiked punch because that problem had been solved too, thanks to a pair of Gryffindor boys who'd made off with the entire original bowl and were probably making themselves ill in some remote classroom and were not her problem. And everything was going just fine as she ignored the lower back pain that was surely a sign of how tense this whole dance was making her. Two school year dances that were the Heads' responsibilities down, and one to go.

She stood up to go dance again and then turned to glare at Pansy Parkinson as the irritating Slytherin with her upturned nose and her high heels grabbed her shoulder and said, "Come with me to the loo, Granger."

"What?" Hermione demanded. "No."

Pansy had almost plastered herself to Hermione's back and said, "I really must insist, Granger. I need your help with something."

"In the toilet?" Hermione demanded. "Now? Can't it wait?"

"No," Pansy said. "It really can't."

Pansy hustled her out of the main ballroom area, leaving behind a befuddled Draco Malfoy. Pansy stayed right behind her, almost shoving her along, and Hermione wondered how it was the woman managed not to trip on her heels or the hem of Hermione's white dress when she was walking almost on top of her.

They made it to the girl's toilet and the door had just shut when Hermione demanded to know what it was that was so urgent Pansy needed to talk about it - and to her of all people - right then and there. She was gearing up to continue her rant when Pansy pulled a tampon from her purse, waved it under Hermione's nose, and said, "How good are your cleaning charms? Because, one, congratulations, you aren't pregnant, and two, unless they're truly excellent, that white silk dress is toast."

Hermione twisted to look at the back of her dress. "No," she said as she saw the not insubstantial red stain. "Just no." She threw her own tiny white purse at the wall, where it connected with a crash and sent lipstick, compact, and breath mints spilling out across the floor.

"Not good at cleaning charms then?" Pansy asked. "Or did you just really want to be in that family way?"

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy was afraid. He was very afraid. Hermione had never returned to the Ball after Pansy hustled her away and the revelation she'd gotten her period and felt lousy and should be left alone was information he took very seriously.

Hermione Granger was scary when she wasn't hormonal. Four months into living with her and he'd had ample opportunity to observe what she was like when she was. She threw things. At his head.

Well, he assumed they were supposed to be at his head and that she had bad aim. It was possible she just liked to throw things in his general direction and that she hit the wall, the chair, the floor was on purpose.

He let her sleep in because he was afraid to wake the beast. This would have been fine if he hadn't told her, when she did finally stagger from her room in search of hot tea, hot water bottles, and chocolate that he had let her sleep in and why.

"Wake the what?" she asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Draco Malfoy was not actually a stupid boy, despite the way Hermione Granger seemed to inculcate in him a serious case of foot in mouth disease. Even if he had been stupid, like any animal caught in the stare of a predator, the look she gave him would have made him roll over and show her his soft undebelly.

"Do you want me to go down to Hogsmeade and get you chocolate," he asked in an attempt to head her off before she, well, beheaded him. "I don't need to wait for a regular trip, I'm Head Boy, I can just go - "

"If you had an organ in your body swell to almost twice its normal size every month," she said, still using that low voice, "making you feel bloated and miserable and you had back pain and cramps that are remarkably like childbirth, or so I have been told, because it is uterine contractions, and you had blood that came out of your vagina that you couldn't control and that ruined every nice pair of knickers you bought because, hey, who doesn't want nothing but an endless series of period pants? If you had all these things then you might be able to say something about waking the beast."

"It was a bad choice of words," he said touching his pocket to make sure his wand was there just in case. "I meant I wanted to let you sleep in. I'm sure it's not as bad as childbirth - "

"And you know this how?" she asked.

Draco took a step backward.

"I just, I, uh - "

"And now my dress is ruined," she said with what sounded like a wail. "And it's because I'm just so stupid and idiotic and I should have known but I didn't and I'm sure everyone saw and - "

"No, it's fine," Draco said. "Pansy… I was standing right there and I didn't… is the dress really ruined?"

"I guess it depends how you feel about a white ball gown with a big red spot on the arse," she said, and then she flung herself onto the couch and began to sob.

Draco sat gingerly next to her, still afraid he'd set her off again, and patted her shoulder. "It's okay," he said. "You looked better at the Halloween Masque anyway."

That, he reflected later, after he'd removed the asses ears she'd charmed onto his head and spent enough money on chocolate that he could have bought a new broom, had probably been the wrong thing to say.

. . . . . . . . . .

Draco licked his lips nervously. Hermione hadn't thrown anything at him since he'd lumbered in, weighed down with chocolate and apologies. She'd just curled up on the sofa and lay there, shoving one chocolate after another in her mouth and adjusting a hot water bottle. He'd summoned Dobby, who'd bowed and scraped and been his usual irritating elfy self, but had been thrilled to take the white dress back to the Manor to see what he could do with it. Draco had stared in some consternation at the giant red stain as the elf popped away promising the dress would be "As-good-as-new-only-better-because-this-trim-is-I-think-not-good Dobby-is-a-bad-elf-for-having-such-thoughts but-it-true bye-now."

Hermione Granger glowered at the place where Dobby had been.

"He has that effect on people," Draco offered. "He… he's very… he's very passionate about being a good elf." Dobby was. And Draco hoped he hadn't gone off to slam his ears in things for having have the temerity to express a negative thought about a witch's dress.

Hermione burrowed down further into the sofa and said nothing.

"You aren't dying, are you?" Draco asked, trying not to sound nervous. He didn't think she was dying - periods were normal - but she seemed like she was in a lot of pain and that couldn't possibly be right. "I mean, that looked like a lot of blood on that dress. I don't need to get Madam Pomfrey, do I?"

Hermione let out a noise that might have been disgust and which Draco took to mean that she was fine and he was worrying about nothing. He sat down opposite her and bit the inside of his cheek and bobbed his head a few times and tried to think of how he could make her feel better.

"You know," he said. "I read somewhere that menstrual blood can be used in a lot of spells. Do you think we could collect some of it? I could get a jar, or transfigure one, and - "

"I could kill you," Hermione suggested from where she lay.

Draco took that to mean his attempt to make her feel better about bleeding everywhere because it could be useful was not successful. He tried to think of something else. "So," he said, "how does it all work? I mean, are you bleeding all over the couch? Do you just do cleaning charms everywhere you go?"

Hermione pulled herself to a seated position. "I use tampons, Draco." At his blank look she pulled something out of her pocket and tossed it to him. He turned it around in confusion, peeled the paper back, and stared in utter perplexity at the white cylinder of what looked like a cardboard tube with a lot of cotton wool wadded up and a string coming out one end.

"You insert it," she said. When he still obviously didn't understand she said, "In your vagina. It soaks up the blood. When it's full, you throw it out and put in a new one." She put her hand out and he returned the tampon-thing to her. "I can tell you don't have any sisters," she muttered.

"Could I see one once it's done?" he asked.

The look of absolute horror she gave him made it immediately clear that was the wrong thing to ask.

"More chocolate?" he asked, trying to remember if the shop was open late enough or would he have to get clear of the school, apparate to the Manor, and beg his mother for help.

Hermione sighed. "It's a good thing I love you, because you are really asking to be murdered today."

"You…what?"

"You're asking to be murdered today," she said again.

"No," Draco said, "Before that."

"You may not see a used tampon?" Hermione asked with a smirk she was almost hiding.

"After that."

"I love you?"

"Yeah," he said. "That." He moved to sit next to her and laced his fingers through hers. "Sorry I've been a prat today."

"It was nice of you to try to get the dress cleaned," she said.

He shrugged. "Easy enough," he said.

"You're pretty wonderful, all things considered," she said.

"I am," he agreed. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love you, too."

She smiled and snuggled against him until he said, "I don't suppose sex would make you feel better?"

His mother was very accommodating about giving him chocolate she had in the pantry.