sorry again for the wait . . . but like I said, there's school and work and homework, and this weekend was a holiday weekend on top of that. so again, sorry! but thank you very much to all my reviewers, I love reading them and I appreciate every single one! and thank you for being patient with the progression of the plot and the story line, things will . . . heat up sooner than you think :) and the next chapter will hold a pleasant surprise. anyways, enjoy this chapter and as always, I'd love for you to review:)

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Chapter ten - Of Attention and Stubbornness

Hermione made haste as she headed down to the Great Hall, still grinning foolishly. She was a little annoyed that she would only have but five minutes to eat a hurried breakfast, but she would not be discouraged so easily – the image of Malfoy falling off the stairs was still fresh in her mind. She laughed to herself as she traipsed down the stairs. She made her way into the Great Hall, stepping over the threshold.

It was dead silent the moment she had taken her third step. Everyone seemed to be gaping at her. A seventh year Hufflepuff who Hermione knew to be quite popular with the girls, wolf-whistled into the silence and whispers broke out not but a second following that.

The regular, predictable, Hermione would have blushed profusely and hurried out of there as soon as she could, muttering to herself of how embarrassed she was and going to change immediately. However, the unpredictable Hermione did this:

She walked like nothing had happened, waved to onlookers (more like the twenty dozen students who were staring, and gaping, with wide eyes and wider mouths) and she ignored the girls' audible comments. As she walked by Lavender and Parvarti, who were staring and whispering as if she could see or hear them, she said, "Hello girls, how are you today?"

They stared as she passed them and walked further down the table. Apparently, not everyone had noticed her entrance, probably because there wasn't as good of a view from this section, but on any account, Harry's head was buried in a magazine, and Ron's head was inside his cereal bowl.

As Hermione finally stood in front of them, took off her bag and placed it on the bench, Ron looked up. He spat his mouth-full of cereal onto Harry, leaving milk and flakes dripping from his open mouth.

"RON! WHAT THE F–!"

But Harry was unable to finish the crude swear word as Ron slapped the side of his head and forced his face in Hermione's direction, as well. It was the fastest Hermione had ever seen someone turn red. It was the longest someone hadn't looked at her eyes but had looked at her, too.

"Morning," she said calmly, sitting down, and forcing the redness of her cheeks down and out of sight. The unpredictable Hermione would not blush.

"Bah," said Harry.

"Harry, you've got some cornflakes in your ear," Hermione pointed out, still casually. She looked at Ron, who was also a very unbecoming shade of red and said, "Morning Ron."

"Ya–you," he spluttered, still gaping.

They both sounded ridiculously like toothless old men.

Hermione looked down and buttered a piece of toast. She tossed some loose strands of hair to one side. Ron seemed to have a mild heart attack as he somehow managed to slam his hand onto the table and flip his cereal bowl into the air. The three of them watched as it flipped over and thwacked Seamus in the head. He did not even move. He was stalk still, his lips parted and his eyes wide, staring at Hermione. The bowl fell onto the floor and cracked into ten different pieces, and Seamus did not even flinch. Hermione gave him a peculiar look, arching one eyebrow, and called, "Alright, Seamus?"

He slowly came out of his daze, blinked several times, then his hand came to his forehead and he looked around curiously, "Ouch."

Some people laughed, while others continued to look at Hermione.

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice hoarse.

"Harry," Hermione said.

"You–er, morning?" he ventured. He looked so confused it almost made Hermione cry. It almost made her laugh as well, though.

"Morning," she replied politely, biting into her breakfast.

Ron cleared his throat loudly, finally seeming to recover from giving Seamus a mild concussion. "Er, 'Mione . . . how–er, how are you?"

"Fine," she said, shrugging.

There was an awkward pause.

Then Harry spoke, his voice three octaves higher than usual.

"New clothes?"

Hermione looked down, as if she hadn't remembered and said, "Oh! Yes, do you like them?" And she smoothed out the front of her newly-fitted blouse. Ron's eye twitched slightly.

"Er . . ."

And they said nothing more of her clothes.

Finally, Ron attempted to break the tense silence with come conversation.

"So, er, Hermione, I didn't get transfiguration last week at all . . . Harry and me were wondering if you could show us how you did yours?

"Sure, no problem," Hermione agreed. She was surprised with herself at how she was handling this. She didn't feel half as awkward as she thought she might, that is, until Ron spoke again.

"Thanks 'Mione, you're the breast."

Harry smacked him in the head with his magazine.

"BEST! Best! I meant best!"

And he was pitch red once more.

Thankfully, the bell rang not but three seconds after this and Hermione was excused from their presence. As she walked away, she looked back to see Harry pushing Ron out of his seat and throwing his bag at him. She shook her head. Boys.

But she wasn't completely free yet. As she made her way to Ancient Runes, she came upon a crowd of Slytherins chatting in the hallway, including Malfoy and his usual friends.

"Ooooh," she Pansy Parkinson, turning on Hermione with wide eyes and a malicious smile. "Looks like the mudblood's finally done it up for them boys of hers."

And the crowd laughed. Hermione crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. People were turning to hear and watch and see what was happening. Lots of them were focused on Hermione.

"Excuse me, Pansy, but I don't think someone such as you have any right to question my actions around male students. But, I suppose, if something was to be said about the subject of promiscuity someone like you would have the most to say."

And the crows laughed again.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "You know what? – I think you've just become a little touched with jealousy. I think you've had it."

The onlookers raised their eyebrows and turned to Hermione.

"Really?" Hermione mused. "That's impressive, Pansy. I'm surprised you can think at all with all of that make-up weighing down your head."

The unpredictable Hermione then walked right on passed Pansy, steam practically rising from her ears, and down the hallway towards her first class, leaving an lasting impression in her wake.

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Muggle Studies came fast. Hermione went earlier then usual, wanting to ask Dolop if he had seen the game, and wondering if she could borrow another book. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she approached the door. She was also anxious to see how he would be, since during their last conversation on Friday he had addressed her by her first name, she wondered if this meant that they were really friends now.

It had been nice, hearing her name pass through his lips at last. She had thought that it would be weird, having a teacher speak her name like that, in a friendly way. But she supposed he hadn't really meant to say it . . . their visit hadn't been scheduled, after all, and she had showed up most uninvited. But still . . . it kind of triggered something in her, a thought, a feeling – something. She wasn't sure what though. Did it mean they were friends now?

And then that creeping feeling, that squrimy-butterfly fluttered inside of her again, as she remembered the way their last visit had gone. She had finally noticed his looks, his good looks. But why did that matter? She had asked herself that a lot since Friday, and even with everything else that had been going on, she had still thought about it a lot.

So what, if he was good-looking? If he was handsome? If he was down right hot?

Hermione blushed even thinking those words. She knew it was inappropriate and she did not want to go there. So she would stay in the safe zone – they were friends now.

She knew they were before, but using first names, it seemed like deal had been made or something. It seemed as if they were closer. She still couldn't get the image out of her head though – Dolop wearing his glasses. She had never seen someone look so good wearing specs – except Harry, he managed to look fairly handsome while wearing his glasses.

As she entered the room, his back was towards her, cleaning off the board. Manually. Hermione grinned slightly at the word.

"Morning," she said, a little excitedly, as she approached his desk. He turned around about halfway, his head not facing her completely, his eyes barely flickering in her direction, and answered, "Morning" in a flat tone.

Hermione was taken aback by his impoliteness. Why would he not turn and address her properly . . . by her first name, perhaps?

"Er . . ." she said awkwardly, her lip trembling. She didn't understand why she felt so upset by one word, or the lack thereof. "How . . . are you?" she managed.

"Fine," he said, in the same flat, meaningless tone. He did not turn around. "You?"

"Good," Hermione answered, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. She gripped her books in her arms.

"Can I help you with something?" he asked blatantly. He was still erasing the board, but was nearly finished. Hermione didn't know what she would do when he finally turned around, and the awkwardness would fully spill out, and the confusion on her part would stand naked.

She furrowed her brow at his question though, what did he mean by it? "What?"

"Can I help you with some–?" he began, turning around. He was wearing his glasses. He dropped the eraser. "Hermione?"

"Er–?" she began. He scooped down to pick up the eraser, stood up too fast, and banged his head off of the desk. He staggered for a moment, looking light-headed. Hermione moved forward and grabbed his arm, panicking.

"You alright?" she asked frantically.

He backed away firmly. "Yes, thanks."

"Oh."

And the looked at each other for a moment. Hermione couldn't pretend that she wasn't at least happy about the fact that he had called her by her first name. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, Dolop spoke.

"Oh!" he said, startling Hermione. "You must forgive my . . . tone. I didn't know it was you."

And her heart lightened completely.

"What?" she asked, smiling. The tension seemed to lift completely off the room and she breathed easier.

"When I–well, I didn't really turn around, but I seen–er," he coughed. "You looked like–you didn't look like yourself at a quick glance."

"Oh," Hermione said. And then she suddenly realized. "Oh!"

"Yes, sorry about that, didn't mean to offend you Hermione," he said, laughing a little.

"Hermione, now, is it?" she said, as casually as she could manage. She was still smiling ridiculously wide.

He went surprisingly quiet for a moment, and she felt a little badly. His lips parted slightly, as if he were too afraid to say anything. Hermione panicked.

"I, er, I like it," she said quickly.

"Oh?" he said, clearing his throat. "You–do?"

"Yes, it's far better than 'Miss Granger'," she admitted. "Made me feel like we're strangers. And we're not."

"No, we aren't," he agreed.

"Because," Hermione said boldly. "We're friends."

And he was quiet again, but it seemed like a good type of quiet. He smiled. "Right. That we are."

And Hermione smiled brightly. She looked at his face, and not into his eyes for a moment. She couldn't but help to, though. His nose was quite cute. And his eyes were round, and wide, and green. His face was fairly shaped, and his mouth, sat perfectly between his chin and his nose. He still had his constant five o'clock shadow. It used to annoy Hermione, she used to think it made him look a little scruffy. But now, now she thought it made him look . . . look like he was just a little rough around the edges. And she liked it. Why she suddenly liked it, she couldn't say. And then, for a fleeting moment, Hermione's eyes flickered down to his robes. She wondered momentarily if he had a good body. It seemed like he did, though. He had a bold chest, and a flat stomach, and broad shoulders. She didn't know where these thoughts were coming from. She supposed it was the unpredictability of herself shining a bit too brightly. She couldn't say honestly that she minded too much. But one thing was clear, he was definitely very, very, very good looking.

And then Hermione's eyes focused on his again and she noticed that neither of them were smiling any longer – just looking at each other. Hermione's lips parted slightly.

Say something! Her mind screamed.

"I like your glasses."

And then the first few students filed into the room, shortly followed by the familiar ringing of the bell and Hermione flashed one last smile and turned to her desk. Malfoy looked up at her, more like glared up at her, from his seat, and looked away. She grinned. She couldn't stop seeing him falling off of the stairs, arms flailing, legs wagging, eyes wide . . . ah, what a wonder it had been. She would never forget it. Ever.

Malfoy was not pleasant that class. He wasn't pleasant any class, of course, but this was ridiculous. He constantly coughed whenever Dolop spoke, so in short, it seemed as if he was choking on his tongue for about an hour straight, he 'accidently' knocked Hermione's things onto the ground, which in turn forced her to pick them up herself, which in turn led a lot of boys' eyes in her direction, which in turn made Dolop smacked his desk repeatedly with his wand, which in turn made Hermione blush so deeply that she shrank in her seat and stayed there until the end of the class.

It appeared to Hermione, that her new look had triggered something in Parvarti and Lavender, for as soon as class ended, instead off going off in a hurry to the bathroom before lunch to primp and gloss and gossip and giggle, they hurried over to Dolop and bombarded him with questions about their lesson plan.

"Tell me again how a toaster works, Professor?" begged Lavender.

"Can you please tell me how muggles fly without magic, again, Professor Dolop?"

"How did they invent air without magic, Professor?"

"Where is Elecktri City, again, Professor? I want to visit there after I finish furthering my education."

Hermione, not feeling like she would be able to control her laugher, stood on her tippy toes, smiled broadly at him, and left. He smiled meekly, then looked at The Eyelashes and sighed.

"Well . . ."

Hermione made her way to the Great Hall. She was actually very hungry. This morning at breakfast (and she blushed at the thought of it) she had only had half a piece of toast. She supposed that Harry and Ron's reactions couldn't have been much better . . . Harry had handled it quite well, and Ron . . . well, Ron was Ron, and Hermione couldn't expect much more than that. He was an awkward, shy, funny and sweet little boy. He was like her brother in many ways. And then, there was this . . . thing that had grown for her in him. He now fancied her as much as she used to fancy him, maybe even more so, and she felt terribly about it. She had hated being with him everyday when she had fancied him, not being able to say anything in fear of refection, and not being able to stand the way he would ogle other girls. Harry understood, and he didn't make things too awkward, he actually helped a lot. But with Ron, Hermione hoped that his feelings would recede just as hers had done – she hoped that it was just a faze that all friends went through, having a thing for your best friend. Hermione wondered briefly if she would ever have a thing for Harry? Probably. But that didn't mean anything would happen. After all, he and Ginny were hopelessly in love with each other. Hermione bit her lip at the thought of being in love with Ron.

She couldn't even imagine it, really. She couldn't even imagine kissing him now. They were much too close, they were best friends, she knew his family and his parents and so did Harry . . . they were like family. But what would she do if Ron ever asked her out on date? If he ever told her how he felt? And what (and she suddenly remembered this and slowed her pace) was she going to do about the Christmas holidays, which were less then three weeks away, when she was invited to the Weasley's house for the entirety of the vacation?

Suddenly Hermione felt a firm grasp on her forearm, and she quickly found herself in an empty classroom, her wand drawn, her chest heaving as she breathed laboriously and turned around frantically .

"Malfoy! What the hell–?"

But she was stopped as he put his finger to her mouth and grabbed her, his arm wrapped around her back and his hand resting on her hip.

"Shut up," he growled.

Hermione was frozen, and her wand was loosely held in her right hand. He released her and pushed her away.

"Now," he continued. "You can't–"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Malfoy," she snapped, coming out of her daze of confusion. "I can bloody well do anything I please."

"Granger," he said, turning to her. "I'm trying to explain something to you, if you can shut up for two bloody seconds?"

"Oh yes! How could I have been so rude!" she shouted indignantly. "You only grabbed me and pulled me into an abandoned classroom like a snake with no warning, intending to do Merlin knows what! Why on earth should I be upset?"

Malfoy smirked. "'Merlin knows what' eh?" he repeated, looking mildly interested. He slunk towards her slowly. "You can't keep playing this game."

His voice was low. Hermione didn't play dumb, she wanted to get out of here fast. She was very hungry, and tired of dealing with his antics.

"Game," she repeated, not as a question. "You only don't want me to play because it's your game."

Malfoy looked at her for a moment. "What–?"

"Don't even, Malfoy," she scoffed. "This is your game. You don't like that I'm good at it, either. You're the one who goes around, using your good looks to get what you want from everyone, leaning on them, seducing them, threatening and intimidating them. I can do it, too, as you can plainly see. And you know what, look how easy it is? Seems as if your . . . power over other people is not something to be so proud of, after all. So you can just sod off, because I'm winning. Get over it."

There was only a moments' silence before Malfoy spoke again.

"My good looks eh?" he repeated.

"What?" Hermione said blankly.

"You think I look good, do you then?" he said with a malicious smirk.

"You–!"

"It's okay, Granger, I knew you wanted me as soon as you set your eyes on me this year, as soon as you were told you would be living with me, I could tell. And then, you go and dress up . . . just for me? Now see it like me. Do you get it? Just because you're hot doesn't mean you get to trot around and–"

"Hot?" Hermione blurted, taken aback. Her whole body flushed.

Malfoy opened his mouth, then paled considerably more than usual.

"Mhm," she said, nodding her head. She raised her wand, touched the tip to his jaw line, and then traced it all the way to his chin and smirked.

"See you."

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Malfoy was furious. He had never been so humiliated in his entire life. Admitting a mudblood was hot! How did he ever manage to stoop so low! What was wrong with him!

He kicked over the chair in his bedroom and sat down on his bed, running his fingers through his white-blonde hair. What the hell was he going to do? He had to show her that he was just playing, just playing and that was it. But how?

Well, he thought carefully, they had been doing this back and forth for a while now. He had to stop being so surprised when she advanced on him like she did. It was definitely disgusting, but he had to stop looking so shocked, because that only gave her the upper hand. And the Malfoy always had the upper hand. He would be no disgrace to him family.

He stood, walked over to his window, and looked out into the black skies. This week was going to be a tough one. At least the holidays were only three weeks away. And then he could be away from the mudblood, come back and resume their hatred instead of all of this . . . other stuff. He shuddered.

He looked towards the bathroom door. He sighed irefully. What was he getting himself into?