All right, so I kind of caved in an put both chapters up at the same time. So I can get on with my work like a good little cockroach.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
Love you all, xari xxx
Half an hour later, Draco and Hermione were standing up in front of the whole school, as Dumbledore 'introduced them' to the rest of the school as the new heads of school. Hermione stood, rigid with embarrassment – being naturally quiet, she wasn't used to so many eyes on her. Draco simply looked bored, surreptitiously glancing around the room for other boys staring at the girl beside him. Seeing a few of them eyeing her with new-found interest, a fierce bolt of possessive jealousy shot through him.
This was ridiculous. He had to get a grip on himself.
Flicking his eyes over to the Gryffindor table, he noticed Weasley's eyes were riveted on Hermione. Suddenly interested, are we? thought Draco, savagely.
They were dismissed, and made their way back to their respective tables. Hermione sank, bonelessly down onto the bench. Harry and Ron were staring at her with unflattering amazement. Ginny was smirking.
"What's wrong, boys?" she asked, sweetly. "Tongue-tied?"
Ron gulped.
"'Mione, you've – you've got legs!" he squeaked, eyes like saucers.
Ginny sighed.
"As usual, my older brother displays such tact and grace," she remarked, grinning at Hermione, who was blushing furiously.
"Thank-you for pointing that out, Ronald," Hermione replied, with dignity. "May I remind you that there are three syllables in my name?"
Harry broke into the conversation.
"So, Head Girl," he grinned at her, "How's life with Ferret-Arse?"
Hermione ran her hands through her hair. Ginny – mercifully – hadn't told Harry and Ron of her plan. Then again, she wouldn't have expected her to.
"Not bad," she said, carefully. "But I haven't really talked to him yet. It'll be fine, I'm sure. Don't worry –" she added, hastily, seeing the boys looking boot-faced – "I won't fraternize too much with the enemy."
"Right," said Ginny, suddenly, "See you later, boyfriend, and brother. Hermione and I are going to have a little chat."
Physically dragging Hermione out of the Great Hall and back to the Heads of Schools' Quarters, Ginny waved her wand around Hermione's room.
"Sound-proofing spell?" Hermione said, eyebrows raised. "Are we talking secrets now?"
Ginny smiled, wickedly.
"No – we're going to talk about how you propose to seduce Malfoy."
She steepled her fingers.
"The clothes are good, Hermione, I applaud you. But they won't be enough. You need confidence!"
"I am confident," protested Hermione. Ginny scowled at her, consideringly.
"Fine, fine. Confidence – check. Clothes – check. But please. Have you seen the girls that hang round that boy? They've got... ah... zing!"
Hermione raised her brows.
"Zing?"
"You know – zing! That's how they keep him – barely – interested. Don't get me wrong, sweetie, the blushing-shrinking-flower-innocent route is good. It's refreshing, considering the whores on offer, but how long is it going to hold him for? A month? Two weeks?"
Hermione simply stared at her, blankly. Ginny gestured wildly with her hands.
"My point is you could try to be a little more –"
"Slutty?" put in Hermione, acidly. Ginny glared.
"No. Will you let me finish? You could try to be a bit more... tantalising."
Hermione's eyebrows were on a par with her hairline.
"Brazen? Flirty, you mean."
"Ye-es... God it's hard to describe... classy! That's it! Flirt in a classy way! Make him see what he's missing!"
"It's... good, Gin," said Hermione, doubtfully. "But I decided that I wouldn't change my behaviour just to get someone. It wouldn't be... me."
Ginny's frown deepened.
"Ok, Hermione, play it your way," she said, irritably. "Just don't be too surprised if your ship sails by. And don't try to tell me those clothes are 'you'. You looked shabby, admittedly, but far more comfortable in that old jumper of yours. "
Hermione threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Fine! Just nothing too drastic. I don't want him to suspect anything."
"And, be careful, Hermione. Please. For me."
Hermione frowned. "I'm not stupid, Gin. I won't let myself get emotionally involved –" Oh God, she should be struck down for lying – "I just want a bit of...experience."
Ginny looked at her critically.
"Well," she said, slowly, "If you're sure?"
Hermione tried for a smile, even though she could feel her heart thudding with panic at the mere thought of it.
"Never more sure of anything in my life," she assured her friend.
Draco was drifting in the middle of a highly disturbing dream. He was on top of a giant marshmallow, which seemed to be floating high above the castle. On a cloud in front of him sat Hermione, with a pile of books, all of which read: How to Deflate Giant Marshmallows on the spine. Why wasn't she naked? In any other dream she'd have been naked. Give me a break, said his imagination, You haven't seen her naked, so you haven't given me much to work with. Don't point the accusing finger at me.
Turning away from the bizarre conversation with his own sub-conscious, Draco looked at Hermione, who was sporting an evil expression and pointing her wand at his marshmallow. She muttered something, and he suddenly felt the marshmallow give beneath him. Instantly, he was falling back to Earth. He shut his eyes and curled into a ball as the ground hurtled up to meet him. He hit the ground and sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard. Then choked.
At the end of his bed, wearing a look of nervous concern was Hermione.
"Are you all right?" she asked. "You kept yelling things – something to do with a marshmallow."
"You – you – and the marshmallow!" spluttered Draco, gasping. "It's - a conspiracy! You – and – deflating marshmallows! Killing me!"
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Coherent, as ever. Malfoy, if I ever wanted to kill you, I'd think carefully about my choice of murder weapon before picking the marshmallow. By the way, you're late, and we've got a meeting with McGonagall this morning. If you get dressed quickly, I'll wait for you outside."
She paused.
"Although... It wouldn't exactly matter if you just came in what you're wearing now. Well, I wouldn't mind."
She made a swift exit before he could say anything. Looking down at himself, Draco remembered that he wore nothing but a pair of boxers. Groaning, he flung himself back on his bed, the mist of sleep clearing from his brain, leaving one thought:
That was a singularly un-Hermione-like comment.
What was going on?
Breakfast was hurried due to Draco's over-sleeping. At the Slytherin table, he wolfed down his food, and casually glanced over to the Gryffindor table to make sure that Potter and Weasley weren't eyeing Hermione up. He accidentally caught her eye. Looking at him, Hermione directed slow smile his way, and to his utter disbelief, Draco felt a faint flush rise in his cheeks. Getting out of his seat, he stumbled slightly, and was out of the Hall like a shot, feeling her eyes on him.
Just what the hell was going on?
"I feel so bad," confessed Hermione to Ginny as they left the Hall, Harry and Ron at a safe distance. Ginny quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Bad bad, or bad good?"
Hermione considered, thoughtfully.
"Both, actually. I mean, the look on his face this morning when I said... yeah, that was great –" she giggled. "But just now when he nearly went flying, I... just felt so bad for him. He's not that bad, really. He can be quite sweet."
Ginny froze, and grabbed Hermione's sleeve. Dragging her into a nearby classroom, she gave Hermione the full benefit of her most ferocious scowl.
"So..." she said. "So. No, no, Ginny, I won't get emotionally involved? Bollocks, you love him, don't you?"
"No!" snapped back Hermione, "No, I don't! I felt sorry for him, that's all!"
"Oh, bugger that, Hermione! You're up to your neck in it and you know it! I should have known – you're head over heels in love with him!"
"Gin, calm down."
"No!" yelled Ginny, pacing the classroom. "No, I won't calm down! He's going to hurt you, and you're going to be completely traumatised for the rest of your life!"
"My life? Ginny, I think that's a bit far –"
"And what's more, you didn't tell me!" Ginny wailed. "I'm meant to be your best friend and you didn't tell me! Which means that if you had got him, and he hurt you, I would've had to get Harry to kill him for being a bastard, so Draco would have died, then you would have killed Harry for killing your one-true-love, so we'd both have no boyfriends, or you'd go out with Ron, which would be worse, and then we'd end up as old spinsters living in a flat together with ten million cats! That's what comes of not telling me things!"
Hermione blinked.
"As much as I fail to see what living in a flat with ten million cats has to do with not telling you things, I admit it. I do... love him. So, please help me. What am I meant to do?"
She looked so miserable that Ginny lost the desire to shake her, and grinned instead.
"What do you mean 'what are you meant to do?'" she demanded, incredulously. "You've got me! With my illustrious and slightly sneaky ways, we will wear him down!"
"But..." Hermione said in a small voice. "How do I get him to love me back?"
Ginny couldn't think of an answer, and simply wrapped her friend in a tight hug.
"We'll get him. Just follow my lead, and we'll get him."
The meeting with the teachers was long, and quite amazingly boring. After a jet-lagged night's sleep, Draco frequently found his eyes drifting shut, especially when the new, rather large chairman of the school governors arrived to drone on about how the benches in the Great Hall should be replaced with chairs to pacify the Wizarding Health and Safety Council.
Knowing he would be yelled at if he dropped off, Draco searched for a distraction to keep himself awake. His gaze turned almost automatically to Hermione. Someone – God bless whoever it was – had persuaded her to wear a low cut top that day. The top neatly exposed the tops of her breasts, and Draco found his eyes riveted towards the expanse of flesh. They were perfect, as he'd expected, and had often dreamed about in dreams that definitely hadn't included any Draco-killing marshmallows. Hermione seemed riveted by the conversation, although Draco couldn't understand what was so enthralling about the question of whether the handles on the doors were safe enough to appease the Council. She could fill him in on the details later. He, meanwhile, would calmly ogle her until –
"Mr. Malfoy, what do you think of this question?"
Oh, bugger.
Professor McGonagall was giving him her very best Evil Eye. Draco slowly looked around the table. All the members of staff were looking at him expectantly, and the chairman of the Governors was beaming benevolently. Draco sighed – he was fucked – and accidentally caught Hermione's eye. She rolled her eyes, and grinned maniacally, giving a surreptitious thumbs-up.
"I think it's an excellent suggestion, sir," Draco said, giving the chairman the benefit of his most dangerous smile – don't push it, porky.
"Really, Malfoy? Do you have any suggestions about the motion that was passed in favour of loaning school grounds during the summer holidays?"
Draco's head shot up in amazement – Hermione had asked the question.
"Uh..." he said, brilliantly.
The seconds ticked by
"Actually, I think Malfoy's right. The Prefects need to discuss it. Can I take back that question please?"
Hermione looked across the table at a scowling Draco, and gave him a ghost of a wink.
The meeting was over and Draco stomped out, not even bothering to speak to the chairman of the Governors, as was expected. He leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes. This was not good. He was supposed to be over the chit, or at least not staring at her like some gormless fourteen-year-old on his first heavy date. McGonagall strode out, and surveyed him critically.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd put forward more suggestions, Mr Malfoy. Where were you today? Your head was obviously up in the clouds somewhere. Next time, please remember your position of authority and act on it accordingly."
With that, she marched off in the direction of her study, leaving Malfoy cursing quietly to himself. Hermione – Granger, for Christ's sake, Granger – was getting to him. What's more, he was letting her get to him. He had to rise above it.
As if responding to his thoughts, Granger sauntered out of the meeting room, talking seriously with the chairman. Malfoy watched them out of the corner of his eye. They exchanged goodbyes and understanding smiles before going their separate ways. The chairman walked past him, muttering acknowledgment. Malfoy did the same. Suddenly, the chairman doubled back to stare at him. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny tinged with something he couldn't place.
"You're Lucius Malfoy's boy, aren't you?" the chairman asked, abruptly.
"Yes, sir," said Malfoy, schooling his face into an inscrutable expression.
The chairman was now looking at him with open scorn and dislike.
"Yes...now I see. That explains a lot. Your dad's really got the school under his thumb, hasn't he, son?"
With that, the chairman waddled off. Malfoy restrained himself from launching himself at the retreating, podgy back – barely. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. Granger had appeared once again.
"Leave it," she said, grimly. "It's not worth it."
Malfoy gaped.
"Granger – he just implied I got Head Boy because of my father!"
"Yes, I know, but beating him into a pulp is just going to prove his point, isn't it? If you're trying to prove you're not your father, just walk away."
"I'm not my father, Granger," snapped Malfoy. "Remember that."
"I know that," said Granger, patiently. "But did you really think that everybody was just going to accept the choices. Come on, I get chosen and they mutter about favouritism. You get chosen, and they mutter that friends in high places got you there. All you can do is ignore it."
"Any more advice today?" said Malfoy, smiling crookedly.
Granger was already walking off.
"No... Actually, yes."
She turned round and looked him in the eye, smiling wickedly.
"The next time you want to stare at my boobs during a council meeting, try not to look as though you want to take me hard up against the wall there and then. Or maybe ask me first. I wouldn't be... against... that proposition."
Hermione took a couple of seconds to take in his expression, then laughed as seductively as she could, as taught by Rachel, and walked off, forcing herself not to run and lock herself in the nearest cupboard. Oh, God, how could she keep this up? Her cheeks were crimson, and she pressed her hands against them. What was she getting herself into, here? This I-am-woman behaviour may be all right for Ginny, but it just didn't suit her. At that moment, Ginny came around the corner. Grabbing the red-head by her robes, Hermione forcibly dragged her friend back up to her room.
"Password?" came the bored voice of the portrait to the Head of School quarters.
"'Frustration', fuck it, 'frustration', please just let us in!" panted Hermione.
"Bit of politeness might help," sniffed the portrait, before reluctantly opening.
Snarling, Hermione threw herself into her room, towing a harassed-looking Ginny. She flung herself onto her bed, and hit her head against her pillow in utter embarrassment. Finally sitting up, she stared at Ginny, who was watching the scene with eyebrows raised.
"I can't do it," Hermione explained. "I said what you told me to, but - it's so hard – I mean, he must see through it. I could practically hear my voice shaking. It's just so – not me."
Ginny sighed.
"Hermione, stick to the plan. You're doing fine. Remember what we talked about: he's not stupid, of course he'll have figured out what you're doing. But that is the point. It wouldn't be much good being subtle and him not realising your feelings. And after all, isn't one point of this exercise to gain you some experience? If nothing else, it'll definitely give you that. Besides –" Ginny's voice grew mischievous – "his face must have been a treat."
Hermione tried to look serious, but giggled.
"Oh, God, Gin, it was priceless. He was actually speechless. I must admit, this stuff may end up being completely pointless and humiliating, but having the power to render Malfoy flabbergasted is something I could get to like. So long as I don't have to face him for the next 10 years."
Ginny grinned.
"Next 10 years I don't know about – you are in next-door rooms – but I suppose you have until tomorrow to regain your composure –"
The door to Hermione's room burst open, revealing Malfoy, eyes blazing, and looking less than amused.
"Out, Weaslette!" he barked. "Granger and I have some things to discuss."
"Really, Malfoy?" replied Ginny, sweetly. "Head of School matters – or something else?"
Malfoy looked dangerous, and Ginny took the hint, and sauntered out, waving to Hermione. The Head Boy surveyed the girl with angry eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, his voice determinedly even.
"I've no idea what you mean, Malfoy," said Hermione, trying to sound as bored as possible.
"See, I really think you do," Malfoy said, conversationally. "And I just want to say that it's not going to work."
Hermione dropped the pretence. He knew, and there was no point trying to hide it.
"Oh? Why not?"
Malfoy moved to stand directly in front of where she was sitting on the bed. He meant business.
"Because," he said, softly. "You are going to stop this, right now."
"Am I, Malfoy?" Hermione stood up, so they were practically nose to nose, bodies centimetres apart. She stood on tiptoe and looked directly into his eyes.
"Make me."
Malfoy stared at her, a mixture of fury, exasperation and laughter in his eyes. He took her shoulders and shoved her back down on the bed, and quickly stepped backwards, as far away from her and temptation as it was possible to get.
"Granger, you're playing with fire. And if you don't stop now you're going to get burnt. I hope I've made myself clear enough, because if I haven't... well, let's just say that two can play the game you're playing. And if it comes to it... bear that in mind, Granger. Just bear that in mind."
