hey again, it took me a little while to decide where to steer the story from here, but I think I found some good turning points. anyway, sorry if it took a little long, I'm not sure when I posted the last chapter .. but I already know what the next couple of chapters will be about so the wait shouldn't be that long. Please Review! And thanks for reading :)

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Chapter eleven - Of Dread and War

The morning had seemingly blurred passed him, and he felt muddled and dazed as he looked around the deserted corridors. He couldn't even remember teaching his sixth year class this morning, and everything seemed to be going by in spurts of slow and fast. The sky outside was dreary and bleak, and sunny all at once. His stomach wouldn't stop tying itself in knots, and his heart fluttered uncomfortably inside of his chest, making him shift from one foot to the other. As he entered the classroom, he smiled widely and nervously up at the front of the room, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

Hermione was standing by his desk –and he didn't fail to notice that she was still choosing to show off her new wardrobe– with red-covered book that he had lent her. He loved that book, it was quite time-consuming. But it was no surprise that she had managed to finish it in two days in-between classes and homework and Head's duties and rounds and fighting with Mister Malfoy . . .

His hatred for the blonde boy had somehow become obvious over the course of the last three weeks. He disproved of the way he treated his friend, Hermione, and how he made her life so difficult. He did not like the way Malfoy would not raise his hand to answer any questions in class, though he was aware that Malfoy definitely knew the answer. He did not like the way he glared at him when he spoke and looked around the room. Why did Malfoy dislike him so much in the first place? That was the main reason that had motivated his return of the mutual feelings, after all. And then there was Hermione . . .

He approached Hermione with smile.

"Morning," he managed to say, though it seemed to take forever to get the words out of his mouth. And his feet wouldn't move properly. What was wrong with him?

Hermione tilted her head to the right and smiled than shook her head. She held out the book, and as Dolop reached to get it, his hand fell over top of hers. She didn't pull away. She actually moved closer to him, only by one step. Dolop froze where he stood.

"How–how are you?" he asked her. He had suddenly gained an overwhelmingly unhealthy interest in the hem of her skirt. He looked away, growing warm.

"I'm good," she answered. Her voice seemed far off, though she stood five inches in front of him. His hand appeared to have gone numb from her touch. He didn't move it. His mind seemed oddly out of place . . . working slower than usual. He could barely take his eyes off of hers, but he managed to tear them away as he thought of words to speak. He couldn't seem to function in her presence. Something jumped inside his stomach as she played with her hair.

"That's good," he spluttered as a reply.

Then the bell rang. How he hated that bell. It always interrupted them. He wished he could smash it up . . . yell at it and tell it to go away . . . tell the other students all to be late for a day, just so he and Hermione could talk some more.

As Hermione moved away, towards her seat, her hand slid slowly away from his as he gripped the book. He turned and placed it on his desk, his heart hammering, and sighed. He turned around to see Hermione and Malfoy glaring at each other. He stared at Malfoy and urged him, willed him, to burst into flames. However, Hermione sat down, at the farthest edge of the table, and began ignoring him. Malfoy wouldn't stop glaring at her, though, and Dolop did not approve of that.

The lesson began as usual, or as unusually. It was an odd sort of day, and everything seemed to still be going in spurts of extremely slow and super fast. Dolop shook his head to clear it as he spoke, his words tumbling over one another. He could only seem to catch the clear faces in the front – Hermione and Malfoy. Everyone else seemed to be oddly out of focus. All he could see was Malfoy continuously glaring at Hermione, as she smiled up at him, listening to his lesson for the day. He wondered whether or not she would come to the front of the room and speak to him after the class ended . . .

Finally, he seemed to be done speaking. The students were all looking down into their books, writing furiously so they would have no homework for the night – everyone except one. Hermione was staring up at him, smiling brightly. She seemed to glow she was so beautiful.

Wait, I can't think about that.

But she is.

But that's not for me to judge.

But she is.

Shut up!

He smiled back at her and ignored the little voice called his conscience, his stomach bubbling with something warm. His whole body seemed to flush as she kept smiling at him, and did not turn away. What was with her today? Every other time, she would flash a quick smile, and then look away. But he didn't mind her smile. It was beautiful.

Stop thinking about that!

He ignored this voice again, and put down the papers he was holding. He took off his glasses – he hadn't even been aware that he was wearing them – and he rounded the desk.

Malfoy glared at Hermione again, looking up from his book. His face was awfully bulging and prominent this morning, the paleness of it seemed to even glow as Dolop looked at him. Hermione's face was as warm and friendly as ever, of course. Hermione ignored Malfoy's glares, staring at Dolop as he walked towards her. He finally reached her desk.

"Do you need help with something?" he asked her, and his voice was slow and slurred and vague once again. Her smile seemed to make him shake with nervousness and anxiety, it seemed to make him sweat, it seemed to dry out his mouth and throat.

"Yes," she answered wearily. She did not stop looking at him. Her smile was sheepish and her eyes were wide and a beautiful honey-brown. She tilted her chin upward. "I need your help."

"Oh," was all he could managed to say with his dry throat and shaky lips. He licked them and swallowed hard. "I think I can help."

Their voices had roused the rest of the class from their quiet, continuous period of scribbling; one by one heads were lifting in their direction, watching and observing with a mild interest. But Hermione and Dolop could nor see or hear them, all they could see was each other.

And then Dolop cupped her face in his hands, leaned down, and captured her lips with his own. The class around them gasped and his heart was beating madly against his Adam's apple. He grinned against her mouth as he felt the pressure of her lips collapse onto his and she returned the kiss fervently and passionately . . .

His mind seemed to wash away as the feel of her lips took him over.

Dolop sat bolt right up, the sweat from his brow dripping and sliding down his reddened face. His legs were twisted and fighting with the blue fabric, that seemed to wrap around and around again and again . . . With shaky hands, he unwound the itchy blankets and heaved a shuddering sigh.

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The end of November came as no surprise to the teachers and students of Hogwarts, as the month had been dragged on continuously with work and homework, and for Hermione, Head's duties, arguments and taunting games with Malfoy, and longer and longer chat sessions spent in Dolop's office. Ever since the beginning of the month they had started spending time together as she and Harry and Ron would . . . or used to. She liked how they could be close friends and discuss everything. She found it actually kind of odd that she could sometimes even tell him things that she wouldn't feel comfortable saying to Harry or Ron . . . or even Ginny. But she had felt bad about being off in her own world, and away from Ron and Harry for nearly three weeks, as that was why she had been getting annoyed with them just a month or so prior. So after dinner, she agreed to study with them in the library. And as Hermione looked over her notes in the library with Harry and Ron, she realized that even she was getting a lot of homework.

"If you can't handle it, how're we gonna? That really scares me . . ." said Ron gravely, paling as he ran through his list of homework and kept his eyes on his page. He was trying not to look at her as much, and Hermione could tell. But she could also tell that it took a lot of effort.

Hermione had given a lot of thought to their situation and had come to the inevitable conclusion that she should just go on like before, because they were still best friends, and Ron would get over her. He would. He had to. After all, she had gotten over him quite quickly, considering they still spent enormous amounts of time together. She was, however, still feeling guilty over the fact that he did not seem to realize that she no longer had the same type of feelings as he did.

But she was going on quite well, as she and Ron had not had any more awkward moments since he had first spotted her new clothes, and she was intending to keep it that way, although, she still caught him staring every once in a while. One mortifying moment, she had even caught Harry looking at her. But, as it was, she could not see a reason not to go to the Burrow for the holidays – not that she had announced it to Ron and Harry yet that she would go. She wanted to keep her options open.

"I can handle it, Ron," Hermione corrected him, "I just noticed that it's a lot of work. A lot more than usual, that's all."

"Oh, that's all, is it?" Ron snorted. There were at least ten books piled in front of him, and likely thirty entire feet of parchment. "I know it's seventh year and all . . . and I knew it was goin' to be hard . . . but I've had seventeen essays in two weeks! That's more than two a day!"

"Alright. Now, how many have you actually written?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Okay, whatever, that still doesn't change the fact the teachers are still handing them out. Are they crazy or what?" he went on, ignoring Hermione's stern looks. He looked to Harry for some support.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Harry interjected. "I mean, we've got like twenty essays, and plus other assignments and now we're up to at least two spells to practice a night. Sometimes three or four with both Flitwick and McGonnagal in the same day. And then there's Snape."

"I guess," Hermione said grudgingly. "But if you didn't spend so much time with Quidditch–"

"We do alright!" protested Ron indignantly. Honestly compelled him to continue. "Well, Harry does. And he does more Quidditch than me!"

"At least you're honest," Hermione granted. "That's a good change."

Ron beamed at Hermione's compliment.

Hermione hastened to change the subject.

"Where's Ginny? – I never see her anymore," Hermione said.

"Oh well, she's been 'round with that Hufflepuff bloke," Ron said darkly. "Shifty-lookin' guy too, steals from people."

"He borrowed your quill, Ron," Harry said, to answer Hermione's disbelieving expression. "And he gave it back ten seconds later."

"Yeah well, he's still a little smart ah–"

"Ron!" scolded Hermione.

"Well! I don't like him!" protested Ron. "And neither do you Harry, don't lie!"

"Of course Harry doesn't like him," Hermione agreed absent-mindedly. She looked up to find Harry glaring at her through his glasses. Ron was looking smug. "Well, I mean–!" Hermione struggled to say something else. "–why would he?"

"Right," said Ron. "It would have nothin' to do with the fact that he fancies her?"

"Ron, what business is that of ours?" Hermione said right away, defending Harry. She did not want to pursue the topic of people fancying other people.

"Mhm," Ron agreed, still smirking.

Harry was saved from the burden of speaking as a fourth year boy approached their table. He was fairly tall for his age, and had dirty blonde hair. Hermione recognized him as the boy she had had to give detention to once for snogging a girl in the astronomy tower after curfew. His brow was raised and he looked awfully arrogant as he eyed Hermione rudely.

"Hermione Granger?" he said, his mouth twitching into an odd smile.

"Yes?" Hermione said politely. Ron glared at the boy. His eyes were definitely not on Hermione's eyes.

"Er, got a note for you," he said, holding out a rolled up piece of parchment.

"She doesn't want to read any stupid notes from your pathetic and desperate friends, thanks," spat Ron, and he shoved him away.

"Ron!" Hermione said, she turned to the boy again. "Who is it from?" she asked. Ron was right to be rude, though, because she was getting very tired of this boy. She had also gotten other notes like this, from people she didn't know, asking her out. It made her blush, but she took it in stride.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said, sounding very impressed with himself. Hermione could see a group of his friends at another table watching.

"The Headmaster?" Hermione asking, standing up and taking the note.

"Mhm," he said, nodding his head. "Said to get it to you and the Head Boy right away."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes. "What's he done now?" she grumbled, breaking the wax seal on the parchment.

"What's it say?" Harry asked, as Hermione unrolled the parchment.

"Nothing, just to go meet him at seven tonight," said Hermione, her eyes scanning the page.

"Well that's in ten minutes," Ron pointed out.

"It is?" she said, frantically gathering her things. "Well, I'll see the two of you tomorrow, then."

"Bye," they said, as she hurried off, watching as the blonde boy returned to his friends smiling and laughing. She shook her head as she hurried out of the library and into the corridors.

She wondered why she and Malfoy had to go and see Dumbledore. She hadn't spoken to him since the beginning of term, when he had congratulated them on their Head Girl and Boyship. She slowed her quick pace. Maybe it was about their fighting. Or maybe it was about the other stuff. But how would he know? Or maybe it was about her clothes? She never should of accepted the stupid dare! Who was she kidding, trying to make Malfoy admit he was attracted to her! What did it matter! It was Malfoy! His opinion didn't matter to her at all. He didn't matter to her at all. So what if he was good looking and could make her blush–? Wait, he couldn't. He can't. He's Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head, trying to spill out the confusing thoughts as she approached the familiar gargoyle. She looked down at the parchment and back up to the gargoyle and said, "Raspberry Ripples." As the gargoyle leapt aside, and the stairs become visible, Hermione stepped forward, only to be held back by two strong hands on her shoulders.

"You weren't going to wait for me?" he voiced whispered huskily into her right ear. Goosebumps arose on her neck and arm as she pulled away and turned around.

"Why would I?" she snapped bitterly. She was not in the mood for this today, as she was already worried that she was about to lose her Head Girlship over this stupid stuff.

"My, my, my. Someone's in a gwumpy mood today," he said in a mock baby tone. Hermione scoffed and turned on her heel up the stairs. Malfoy followed closely behind.

Hermione reached up to knock on the door, but Malfoy's hand covered her wrist and he pulled her into him from behind.

"Not in the mood to play?" he said, once again whispering into her ear. She hated when he did that, it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

She turned around, nose to nose with him, and said, "Not with you."

Hermione pushed him away and knocked quickly three times on the door.

"Come in," called an old, warm and friendly voice. Hermione now doubted that they were in any sort of trouble, if they were, he was more like to say, "Enter" in a plain voice. He was addressing them with familiarity and kindness, and Hermione could not see him being angry today.

"Good evening Professor Dumbledore," Hermione greeted politely.

He inclined his head and smiled, and then turned to Malfoy and inclined his head to his wordless greeting.

"How nice to see the two of you tonight," he said, touching his finger tips together as his elbows rested on his desktop. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks," replied Hermione.

"I'm good, Professor," Malfoy answered stiffly.

"Wonderful," he replied. "Now, I have some Head's business to discuss with the two of you tonight. Hope I didn't interrupt anything important by calling you here tonight.

"Well, as you can tell, the month of November has finally come to a quiet and windy close, leaving Hogwarts with shorter days, colder nights, and the promise of Christmas but three weeks ahead of us. I have been thinking, that maybe, as one of our most recognized classes will be graduating this year, that we shall make it one to remember, yes?

Now, with Christmas so close, and the holidays coming just shortly behind that, I thought to myself, what better to do that to have a nice Christmas Ball to send off our students with happy memories and good times behind them? So, obviously, I have called the two of you here tonight because I would like you two plan this Ball, so that it will go as smoothly and as perfectly as Hogwarts can expect. And, after all, who better to plan it then the two brightest students to have walked through these school doors, eh?"

He looked at them for a moment, with his warm smile etched onto his gracefully wrinkling face, until Hermione cleared her throat.

"That sounds wonderful, Professor!" she said honestly. She thought that the idea of a Ball would be very fun indeed.

"Sounds good," Malfoy said simply.

"Of course, it will be formal, as Christmas tends to be such a formal occasion. And, there will be dancing, so . . . I think we will have a pair lead us in the first dance. How about the two of you?"

And suddenly, the wonderful idea of a Ball came crashing down on Hermione's head.

"You want us to dance?" squeaked Malfoy, in a very un-Malfoy-ish voice.

"In front of everyone?" Hermione asked in shock.

"With each other?" Malfoy cried in horror.

Dumbledore merely smiled and nodded his head slowly. Hermione and Malfoy turned to each other slowly with wide eyes. This presented itself as a very difficult task indeed. All Hermione could think of was what Ron was going to say when he found out he was going to have to watch her dance with Malfoy in front of the entire school. Beside her, all Malfoy could think of was what he might wear.

"But, on any account, I would like all of the preparations, planning – everything – to be done by the twentieth, so we have time. You must work together, mind you, and I will know if you don't, of course, so it's not like you would try anything tricky, right? So, that is all – happy planning."

And with that Hermione and Malfoy were walking down the corridor again in a slow silence that seemed to consume them both.