Disclaimer: Despite the fact that I worked hard for this fic, I don't own and I don't get paid. Sigh.

A/N: Alright. I just want to get this off my chest before the chapter starts. This is one of the chapters I sort of regret when I look back. I personally don't like it much. And it's kinda lame. But please stay with me, cause it gets better :P. Actually, the second half of it is okey. :P

Chapter VI ; We Want More Than the Wars of Our Fathers

Later that evening he had taken the trip down to the Slytherin common room and she sat alone on the couch knitting on another elf hat by the fire. She had waited to do another batch until she was alone, not feeling the need to be ridiculed by her house mate for her S.P.E.W. enthusiasm.

She looked up as the portrait swung open, and grinned when Ginny, Ron and Harry came piling in, dressed in cloaks, scarves and gloves. Hermione put the unfinished hat aside, looking at her friends questioningly.

"You're coming out into the grounds with us," Harry proclaimed with a happy expression on his face.

"Seamus and Dean are already running down there, hell-bent on having the best snowball fight of their life!" Ginny grinned, and pulled Hermione off the couch.

"But I was knitting..."

"Hermione, listen to yourself." Ron laughed. "Your friends are asking you to come outside and have fun, and you turn us down because you're knitting."

"Don't worry, we'll throw you a surprise birthday party on your 90th birthday. It's not so far away is it?" Ginny teased, handing her the black cloak Hermione wore outdoors.

"Alright, alright!" Hermione laughed, realising she really did sound like an old woman. "I'll come."

"Fantastic. The Golden Trio, together again," Ron exclaimed, making Ginny throw him a dark look.

"The Golden Trio and the ugly duckling," he said quickly, making her hand dart out after him, but he dodged it with a manic laugh.

Harry and Hermione chuckled and shared a quick glance, before she wrapped herself in as many items of clothing as possible. Her scarf and her gloves matched nicely, but she could only find her white knitted hat. It wasn't a fashion show anyway, so she didn't bother looking for the other one any longer. She ushered her friends out the portrait hole, and ran after them down the hallways.

"You guys are going down!" she shrieked as she beat them all out the big oak doors.

When she reached the grounds she nearly stumbled in shock. The entire school seemed to be outside, the word of the "fantastic snowball fight" having obviously spread across the four houses. And even as she turned around to her friends, several more students were piling out behind them. She smirked at the three others, and ran closer to the huge pile of students, which was now starting to scream and yell with laughter as the snowballs started flying.

She bent down and scooped up a hand of snow and used her wand to directly aim it at Harry, hitting him straight in the shoulder.

"Hey!" he cried, and she ran chuckling in the opposite direction, hoping it would keep her from getting hit, but she was sorely mistaken.

When she turned around, all three of her friends were sprinting after her and she ducked as they all chucked a snowball at her. She manage to dodge one of them, but the other two hit her right in the back. Yelling that they would be sorry, she ran back after them, and soon enough they were caught up in the largest snowball fight any of them had ever been in. Snowballs flew around them in large quantities, from all directions, and screams of revenge filled the air.

Hermione laughed heartily as Ginny got snow down her cloak, and swore revenge on Harry. She ran him down and they both rolled around in the snow, trying to get the other one as drenched as possible. Hermione smiled, and used her wand to chuck three balls at once on Ron and Neville, who were dodging each other's attacks. She shrieked in glee as they hit, but the shriek turned into an indignant call as a ball hit her straight in the back. To find the culprit, she wheeled around quickly. Her eyes scanned the large crowd, realising with annoyance that it could have been anyone of them, even if they all seemed occupied with someone else.

Then her eyes suddenly fixed on a face that eyed her with a large smirk. She narrowed her eyes, and shook her head with a slight smile.

"You're going down," she mouthed to the figure several feet away. She ducked down and used her wand to quickly roll several snowballs, before she ran straight at him, chucking all of them towards him with a large grin on her face.

He ran in the opposite direction, making his cloak billow slightly behind him, and he dodged a few of her snowballs, but when several of them hit his back she laughed in glee. But she didn't have time to wallow in her own success. He caught up with her within seconds, smiling mischievously before pushing snow down her neck. She squealed as the soft, cold snow trickled down her back, and she wriggled out of his grip.

"Okay, Malfoy," she said, throwing her arms out. "Truce."

He eyed her with an amused look. "I knew I'd win."

"Yes, you won," she said, bowing her head.

Smiling crookedly, he turned around, just raising his hand in a wave to Zabini when she jumped him from behind and dropped a handful of snow down his neck. He growled in shock from the cold seeping down his back, and stumbled under the weight of her. She was still clutching to his back, chuckling, when he fell forwards into the snow. When he only moaned, she remembered his wounds, and gasped in horror.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she cried. "Are you alright?"

His reply came as a groan, and just as she was about to get off him, he wheeled around and pinned her to the ground, hovering a fistful of snow over her face with a smirk on his face. Her eyes widened before she laughed loudly at his game.

"That's so mean," she said, but still had a smile playing on her lips. "I thought you were in pain."

"Oh please, you're a feather," he replied. "Now prepare for cold."

"Oh Merlin," she gasped, growing aware of his hovering fist. She tried to avoid it, but he pushed the snow against her face, making her gasp in shock from the cold. Deciding to give back the same way he had played her, she held her breath and lolled her head to the side. His gloved hand was still pushing snow in her face, also over her mouth. He suddenly stopped when he noticed her chest wasn't rising and falling, and her eyes were closed.

"Shit," he exclaimed. "Granger!"

She could barely keep her laughter in check as he shook her violently, looking around with panic.

"Granger, come on," he begged. "Hermione!"

"Boo," she said, shooting her eyes up and he yelped in surprise. She chuckled, and clasped a fist of snow against his neck, causing him to wriggle away from her.

"I knew you were joking," he said, but didn't meet her eyes.

"Sure, that's why you were shaking me and yelling my name," she said, smirking. "Two can play your game, you know."

He frowned at her, and then laughed loudly, before pushing her around in the snow again. She caught a glimpse of Ginny and Pansy Parkinson attacking each other, while shrieking in glee. Even amidst all the snow he had shuffled over her face, she felt warmed by the fact that people were dropping the inter-house rivalry, even if it was just for one afternoon. She tumbled around in the snow, and finally found herself sitting on top of him.

"Ha!" she exclaimed happily as she drenched his face in snow. He laughed at her excitement, and she tried to smile back, but her face felt stiff with cold. She rolled off him and fell to the ground laughing. When she turned her head to the side, she noticed Ron and Harry standing with their backs turned to them.

"Let's get them," she whispered, and crawled up from the ground. He followed with a grin, and they both made three snowballs each. She counted to three in a whisper, and they both chucked them at Harry and Ron, who wheeled around in surprise.

"Oh, you two are so dead," Ron exclaimed, running towards them. Both of them fled in the opposite direction, but got hit anyway. Soon their fight involved both Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Ginny and Neville. Hermione hadn't had this much fun in ages, and she felt grateful towards everyone who put their stupid prejudice at bay for once.

Several hours later, they were the last ones to leave the grounds. The other students had disappeared in groups throughout the hours when the nine of them were making their way towards the castle again. They weren't talking much, but Hermione supposed that was for the best. She hoped they could remain in this odd state at least until their ways parted as the Slytherins went down to the dungeons and they headed upwards. It was weird, walking side by side with Slytherins and not even bickering about anything.

"God, my face is so stiff I don't think I can move it at all," Hermione complained. "Look. This is happy. This is sad."

Her face remained unchanged, and the others chuckled.

"And it feels weird to talk," Zabini shot in. "I can't feel my lips, but they're still moving. It's like they're detached or something."

The others began moving their lips in weird grimaces, and everyone of them confirmed his musings with groans.

"You're right," Harry said moving his lips uncomfortably. "And look, Hermione's are blue."

"Are not," she said defensively, and Ginny pointed at her with glee.

"Looks like you painted them with ink," she cried as she pointed and laughed.

Hermione stuck her hands to her side and put up a stern look.

"Granger could be the scariest professor this school has ever seen," Pansy Parkinson said, but Hermione knew not to take it the wrong way. "You've got that McGonagall thing going on."

"Definitely," Malfoy chimed in. "She's scary as hell. You should see her when I don't clean up after myself around the common room."

"I'm not that bad," she said indignantly when everyone laughed, but both Malfoy and the other Gryffindors happened to disagree.

"Yes you are," they all said in unison, and laughed when they realised they had all said the same thing.

"Whatever." Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "Just you wait till your kids attend Hogwarts and I'm the mean professor. I'll remember you guys."

"My poor children," Malfoy cried and put his hand over his forehead in a dramatic gesture.

"Git." She smiled, and put her elbow to his side.

They reached the staircases, and the Slytherins waved goodbye in a hesitant fashion. The Gryffindors waved back and said their goodbyes, and then looked at each other in slight shock before walking up the stairs together.

"Who would've known," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Not me," Ginny and Hermione replied, and both Neville and Harry shook their heads as well.

"Too bad it'll be back to normal tomorrow," Hermione pondered as they reached the Gryffindor common room. She had decided to go hang with her friends for the rest of the evening instead of returning to an empty common room.

"Yeah, I guess it will," Ginny replied wearily, and they all piled in to warm up by the fire.

"How odd that we could put it on hold for an evening, but can't tolerate each other on a daily basis," Hermione said, as basked in the glow from the fire.

"I don't know. It's easier to suppress it for a while, during things like these, but on a daily basis it's different," Harry said. "Besides, it's kind of a chore, if you know what I mean?"

"We're supposed to hate each other." Ron nodded. "Our parents are on opposite sides of the war. Nothing can change that Lucius Malfoy is a murderous git, and Draco Malfoy is a bastard trained to follow in his footsteps."

"But are we supposed to pick our company by our parents?" Hermione asked, pulling her legs up underneath her, sitting in a meditating position.

"I wouldn't say so normally," Ginny replied. "But in this case I have to say I think we should. This war is messy. We've lost people we care about and we're probably going to lose more."

"But what if uniting could keep that from happening?" Hermione said fiercely, but knew very well it wasn't that easy.

"Do you really think the Slytherins would want that? They're loyal to their parents, just as we are," Ginny said shaking her head. "I think this is one of those things that just... are. You can't change them."

"But who knows... after the war is over, things might change," Harry said optimistically.

They all smiled.

"It's so surreal to think that this war might be over soon. That we'll have a normal life." Ginny smiled, falling back towards the pillows.

They all basked in the heat from the fire and the optimism of picturing Voldemort dead. Hermione stayed for a long while, before she knew it was time to head back. The laughter and upbeat conversations still rang in her ears as she found her way back to her own quarters. It was weird not living there with them anymore, but they were in a changing time in their life. This was just the first change of many, and she knew she couldn't crumble underneath them.

When Pansy Parkinson bumped into her on their way to Potions later that week, she knew everything was definitely back to normal.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!" she shrieked as her book fell on the floor. Hermione contemplated to pick it up for her, but she knew everything had to go as it usually went, and she walked right past, giving Harry an exasperated glance that he returned gladly.

"Slytherins," he said, rolling his eyes at her. "Complete morons as usual. I don't even understand how they can walk upright."

She smiled at his comment as they entered the dungeons, feeling that same uncomfortable churn in her stomach at the thought of seeing Professor Lewthorn. Nothing had happened in classes yet, but she felt like she could never be sure. Harry didn't know anything about the incident she had experienced with the Professor, neither did anyone else of her friends. She didn't feel it was necessary for them to know. It was more than enough that Malfoy knew.

Harry and Hermione sat down together at their usual seat at the front by the door, and the rest of the students piled in as well. Neville and Seamus took a seat behind them, and Hermione turned to join in on their conversation as the Slytherins took their seats in the first row, to the very left and on the middle row.

"Ginny cursed Zabini in the hallway," Seamus whispered, a foolish grin plastered across his face. "It was fantastic."

"Why on earth would she do that?" Hermione exclaimed, but couldn't quite suppress a grin. Ginny really did have a temper.

"Zabini was bothering Ron about something," Neville replied, looking a bit frightened. "Ginny sent him plummeting to the floor. She's kind of scary."

The other three laughed heartily at his confession.

"You know she'd never do anything to you, Neville." Hermione smiled, just as Professor Lewthorn entered the buzzing classroom. She turned around again to face the blackboard.

"Morning, class."

"Morning, Professor Lewthorn," they chanted dully, some of them trying to hide behind the cauldrons.

"Since Mr. Zabini is in the Hospital Wing," he said with a resentful look at the Gryffindors. "We have an issue with our pairings for this potion"

"It's no problem, Professor, I can work alone," Malfoy assured him, taking some utensils out of his cauldron, stacking them neatly on the table.

"That is out of the question," Professor Lewthorn said sharply.

"Then I'll just join Pansy and…"

"No," Professor Lewthorn said hastily. "Miss. Granger will join you. She desperately needs help to improve her grade."

Hermione's eyes shot up as the entire Slytherin section snickered. She had absolutely no idea what he was on about. Potions had always been a good subject for her, even with Snape teaching it. There was no way she could be in trouble with her grades, and she exchanged a confused glance with Harry.

"What are you waiting for, Miss. Granger?" he asked briskly, crossing his arms over his chest, and she quickly gathered her things from her desk.

"What about Harry, Professor?" she asked, as she sat down beside Malfoy. She didn't meet his eyes, just stared straight ahead, trying to suppress her annoyance at the Professor.

"Mr. Potter can join Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Finnigan," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "Get to work."

The instructions appeared on the blackboard, and Hermione began harbouring the ingredients they needed, putting them in neat stacks according to portions.

"I didn't know you were struggling in potions," Malfoy commented as he took one of the roots and started chopping fiercely.

"Neither did I," she replied, looking up as he gave her a confused glance. "I've never had issues in potions, not even with Snape as a teacher. And now he suddenly says I need help with my grades."

"Dare I say he has it in for you?"

"Seems so." She sighed but suddenly yelped in pain. She felt the knife cut into her finger with a sharp pain, and she enclosed her other hand over it.

"Shit," she cried, watching the blood trickle out underneath her fingers.

"Give me that," Malfoy said calmly, and took her finger into his hand. He swung his wand over it with the same incantation he had used back in the hospital wing, and the cut stopped bleeding. More words came out of his mouth, and he closed it, sending a small trail of bandage out of his wand. It wrapped neatly around her finger, swirling into a neat knot at the end. "Good as new."

"Thanks." She smiled genuinely, before turning back to their ingredients. She used her wand to clean the trickle of blood on her chopping block before continuing to prepare their ingredients.

"I can help you with the grades, you know," he said quickly, following the directions on the blackboards carefully.

She shot him a dirty look.

"I don't need help with the curriculum. I don't know why he says I need help," she snapped, sighing heavily, and sent her Professor's back a vile stare.

"Alright, Granger. No need to get snappy," he said, sounding almost indignant.

They worked in silence from then on, working well on the potion together. She was surprised of how synchronized they were. In the end their potion came out just perfect, and she gave him a small smile.

"Very well done, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Lewthorn called as he peered into their cauldron. "Very well indeed."

Hermione and Malfoy both eyed him in shock, throwing each other an uneasy glance as well.

"We both worked on it, Professor," Malfoy said, his voice sounding oddly strained.

"How very noble and humble of you, my boy," Lewthorn said in a patronising voice. "But there's no need. I know."

To Hermione's horror, Malfoy started rising in his chair. She gave him an alarmed look, before putting her hand on his shoulder and pulled him down forcefully.

"It's alright," she muttered intensely, not looking at her Professor.

"No, it's not," he hissed back, giving her a penetrating glance with his steel grey eyes.

"Top marks for you, Mr. Malfoy."

Hermione gave him a look full of warning, and he stayed in his seat reluctantly. He crossed his hands over his chest, and looked at her sourly.

"Class dismissed."

Everyone began putting their stuff together, cleaning out their cauldrons after they dropped off their vials, but Hermione couldn't get the questions out of her head.

"Hermione, come on, let's go have lunch," Harry called from the door.

"I'll be right up. I need to fix something."

Malfoy looked at her questioningly, but she turned to the teacher's desk.

"Professor, may I speak with you?" she asked, making sure to be overly polite.

"If you make it quick, Ms. Granger," he replied without looking up, and she felt her temper rise.

"I'll see you upstairs," Harry said, leaving with the rest of the class. Hermione nodded, but turned to find Malfoy standing right next to her.

"Erm..." she said uncertainly, and nudged towards the door.

"Oh, I'm staying," he said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Malfoy, this is a private conversation," she said, but to no avail. He stood rooted to the floor, refusing to budge. "Oh, alright."

She sighed in frustration, before turning to her potions Professor.

"Sir, about what you said about my grades…"

"What about it?"

"Well," she began uncertainly. "It's just that I've always been good at Potions, and I've never received bad grades on the subject. I always got good grades from Professor Snape, and I received an Oustanding on my O.W.L. And I don't understand why you think I need help, Sir."

"Ah, Professor Snape. He always did go too easy on you people," Lewthorn said with distaste, screwing up his large nose in a disgusted grimace.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said on confusion. "Us people?"

"Look, Miss. Granger. I'm sure you're a nice and talented girl, but I simply don't see how you can do well in potions. Not like Mr. Malfoy here," he said, waving absently towards the boy behind her.

"Sir, I don't understand," she said, now feeling increasingly frustrated as she watched the rather podgy man in front of her, who didn't even bother to look her in the eyes as he spoke.

"There are certain born qualities a master of potions should uphold, in my views," he said, finally looking up at her as comprehension dawned on her face. "You don't even have a smidge of those qualities."

"You are a professor, Sir," she said in the calmest tone she could muster. "And even if you don't approve of my heritage, I have been enrolled in this school because I can perform magic, and I can perform it rather well."

"As I said before, I am sure your talents are endless," he said in a slightly sarcastic tone. "But in my view as Potions Professor, the skill of Potions inquires at least a bit of magical blood."

"Wait just a minute here," Malfoy called from behind her, and she sighed heavily, rolling her eyes.

"Malfoy, please, this is my problem, not yours," she begged, seeing the annoyance in her Professor's eyes. To her despair Malfoy didn't even look at her as he stepped up to the desk as well.

"Are you refusing to grade her because she's Muggle-born?" Malfoy inquired, his hands still crossed over his chest.

"Muggle-born? Good grief, Mr. Malfoy, since when did you resort to such politically correct speech?" Lewthorn said with an unnerving laugh. "But you are indeed right. I am not grading her, and it is based on the fact that she's a Mudblood."

Malfoy slammed the palm of his hands onto the teacher's desk, making the Professor look at him questioningly.

"You can't do that," he hissed, making Hermione cough in alarm.

"I believe I am the Professor here, Mr. Malfoy. And my assessment is that without magical blood you cannot perform adequately in potions."

"That is not a fact, it's your point of view. The fact that she has made potions since the day she came here, and well enough to get an Outstanding on her owl outweighs your personal ideas," Malfoy said slowly with force on ever word.

"Need I remind you that our own Salazar Slytherin wished to remove everyone who is not pureblood from this school? It is what we believe in," Lewthorn said dully, continuing to write across his parchment.

"Whether or not that is what we believe in doesn't change the fact that there are Muggle-borns in this school, and you knew that when you took the job. To grade every student is your job, Professor. I feel very confident in saying that the contract you signed did not say that you could pick and choose based on your own personal feelings."

Hermione watched Malfoy speak with her mouth open. He was standing straight, with a professional, emotionless mask on his face, acting like an eloquent, intelligent man. She realised quickly that her case was stronger with him on her side. But why on earth was he on her side? Didn't his own ideas match Professor Lewthorns?

"Luckily, Mr. Malfoy, how I choose to teach is none of your business. Now, if you and the Head Girl would kindly leave my classroom."

Malfoy gave him a menacing stare, but turned around to get his stuff anyway. Hermione watched him with large eyes, before taking her own things off the face of the desk, and turned around feeling like she had lost the match. She didn't look back when she exited the classroom, feeling the unfairness of it all wash over her.

Malfoy caught up with her right outside the classroom as she fought back the tears of anger threatening to break through. She swallowed back the lump forming in her throat, determined not to let it break her. So what if he didn't want to grade her? He wasn't worse than any other Slytherin, so why would she let him control her.

"He's an arse," Malfoy said from beside her, watching her intently. She walked straight ahead up the stairs, before looking at the blonde boy next to her.

"I thought you felt the same thing. About Muggle-borns," she said, showing no emotion, clutching her books to her chest.

"Would I have talked to him like that if I did?" he asked with his eyebrows disappearing under his fringe.

She stopped at the top of the staircase, sighing greatly.

"I appreciate your efforts, but please don't tell anyone."

"You can't let him do this."

"Please."

He moaned, and pushed his eyebrows into a frown.

"You can't deal with everything on your own, Granger."

She watched his blond head as he walked confidently through the doors of the Great Hall, his robe hiding the regular outfit he wore underneath. He never stopped surprising her, and she found herself puzzled by who he really was. But as he walked away, she saw his broad shoulders and tall figure carried in a confident manner. He looked like he owned the place, and in some ways she supposed he did. There was hardly anyone there who came from a family as powerful as his.

Hermione followed behind him into the Great Hall, not even close to his body language. Her feet shuffled across the floor, and for one of the first times since she actually came here she felt like she was beneath the rest of them. Like she didn't belong. She cursed herself for letting Lewthorn get to her with his silly ideas, but for the first time in her life she wished she was a pureblood witch. At least that way no one could accuse her of not being a witch at all.

A/N II: Thanks for all the reviews, I really really appreciate it. You guys are the best!