heeyyy. :) I actually really like this chapter, and no worries to the reviews pertaining to the 'action' in the story, more is coming soon! Promise! anyways, as always and always, review! love them! read them with a HUGE smile! thanks to all of the compliments I have received, as well. anyways, please enjoy.

Chapter fourteen – Of Complications and the Aftermath

The mornings were the hardest. Hermione had come to realize this about two weeks after her . . . after she and Malfoy had stopped talking. She had to check, double-check, and recheck the bathroom to make sure it was free, as to not add further to the awkwardness and tension that stiffened the air and made it stale whenever they were within plain sight of each other. Her voice, she found, was simply no where to be found whenever she was around him. She doubted she could speak even if she had something to say.

But, and she smiled at the thought of it, her recent and frequent visits with Michael had helped her substantially. They did nothing but talk and laugh. And not about Malfoy. Hermione made sure not to say his name at all, and to her convenience, it seemed as if Michael never wanted to talk about him either, which made her feel a little more guilty for always complaining to him about Malfoy. But, oh well. Now was what mattered to her.

She furrowed her brow. It seemed to be the opposite with Malfoy, though. He had sought her out three times since the first time at the Prefect meeting. She had always made sure to ignore him and find a way to leave his presence as soon as she could. What did he want any way? To tell her to stay away from him? She was doing that! To tell her that he was disgusted and repulsed and that he hated her now more than ever? She had heard that from him at least thirty times before. Did he want to make sure she wasn't going to tell anyone else? Like she was proud of it. Like she was glad it had happened. Like she got a tingly feeling in her toes when she thought about it. Like she cared about him at all. Like she would do it again. Like she thought about it constantly.

Stop thinking about this.

Hermione turned the page in her book, but the words on the page were nothing but small black blurs and she realized that she would get no further into The Tale of Two Cities tonight. She sighed and looked over at her bedroom clock. It was only seven. She could go and see Michael. She was done her homework. Who was she kidding? She wanted to go and see Michael. But she was trying to control those feelings, and the more time they spent together, the stronger they grew, it seemed. She had been visiting him a lot this week.

Yeah, Hermione managed to balance a lot.

She probably should go and see Harry and Ron, she thought to herself. She hadn't spoken to either of them since she had walked away from Harry in the library. She felt too embarrassed to see them. Look at what she had done! She had kissed Harry's sworn enemy. She had kissed Draco Malfoy! Draco bloody Malfoy!

Oh, what was a girl to do?

Even though she didn't want to, even though she knew it would be a lot easier to avoid them until she was over it, she pulled herself off of her bed and walked towards the door. She pressed her ear against it. She couldn't hear anything, but she knew that didn't mean he wasn't down there. He was probably in his room, or the Slytherin common room.

Or not.

She knew she couldn't turn back, she had already opened the door. She walked down the stairs quickly, moving into the common room and avoiding his eyes as she approached the kitchen table, where he was seated.

"Where are you going?" he said, standing up and kicking a chair in her way. His tone was not malicious or violent. He seemed a tad annoyed, though, Hermione noticed.

"Nowhere," she answered lamely in a small voice.

"Yeah, well you've been 'nowhere' for about four hours every night since the last meeting about the Ball," he said in a tone of indifference, but Hermione could swear she saw a flicker of aggravation in his eyes.

She couldn't believe he had noticed. Hadn't she been avoiding him enough that he wouldn't know if she was in a specific place for a small block of time?

"Er," Hermione faltered at first, but then stood a little taller. "What's it to you?"

Looking taken aback by her turn of attitude, he said, "So where've you been?"

"Never mind," she snapped.

"Why are you– I haven't done anything!" he blurted.

"What's the difference? – you hate me, right? You only want to talk to me, to tell me off? – Right?" she said, her voice rising.

"How would you know!" he shouted, and she could plainly see his anger now. She had never made him sincerely show an emotion before.

"Because you do!" she repeated.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, this time seeming a little more self-collected.

"Sure I do," she scoffed. "You're the all great and all mighty Slytherin Sex God 'Draco Malfoy'. You seduce, oh, sorry, successfully seduce more girls than I can count, right? You smirk all the time and at what ever you please, you're rude to any one you want to be rude to, you hate all muggle borns – just like your father, you–"

Malfoy advanced towards her, and huskily growled, "I am nothing like my father."

There was an odd silence, one of which Hermione couldn't read. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not now. Why is it he was the only person in the world that could make her want to rip out her hair and scream and be mad? She felt like an idiot.

"I have to go," she finally said in a small voice.

"Where," he demanded.

"Why do you care!" she shouted, in frustration. It was now seven thirty. How had she been standing here for a half hour? This was ridiculous.

"Who says I do?" he shot back immediately.

"Then why are you asking me!"

"What are you up to?" he asked. "Hermione Granger doesn't act like this. And then, all of a sudden, ever since October, you're always disappearing to places that you can't account for."

"You–?" she began, but he continued over her. She was a little disoriented at the sound of her first name.

"–yes. Me. I know you. More than you know me, anyway. Not that you would care. And neither do I," he said in a rush. "But, the point is, that you give yourself away too easily."

"What are you talking about?" she said, irritated and interested at the same time.

"You say you're going to study with Potter and Weasel or whatever, meanwhile, I know they've got the Quidditch Pitch booked. You tell your pals you've got Head's duties, they come looking for you, and we're definitely not doing any rounds. See? You're not a liar, you're you."

Hermione looked at him. "You're right, for once. I'm no liar."

"My point exactly," he continued, moving just an inch towards her more. "So why, I asked myself, would you be so afraid to admit where you are traipsing off too? – for your, what should they be called? – Nightly excursions?"

She was a little taken aback at how much thought he had obviously put into this. But he didn't let her questioning look make him falter.

"What would Hermione Granger lie about?" he gave her a hard look, one that made her take in a quick sip of air. "Or better yet, what would she deem worthy of lying about?"

For a long moment he just looked at her, not stared nor glared, but looked, as if suddenly seeing her there like he had never noticed. Hermione thought frantically of proper words to conjure up, something that he wouldn't be able to snap back at. Something that would neither condemn nor embarrass her. But, after taking too long to think, she just had to say whatever was on the tip of her tongue. So, without a contrivance as to what those words may be, she spoke to the daunting yet suddenly intricate figure before her.

"You–"

But suddenly, there was a sharp rapping at the door. Malfoy looked at the portrait hole and back at Hermione.

"I doubt that's for me."

So, gladly and regrettably at the same time, Hermione moved passed him awkwardly as he moved to the left. She opened the door to face –

Michael Dolop.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, smiling. His head was behind his neck, and he lowered it into his pocket.

"Hi," she said breathlessly.

"What are you up to?" he asked, smiling that same smile that made her smile right back.

"Nothing, er–" Hermione said awkwardly. Well, she had been arguing with Malfoy. "Professor, I was just heading to the Gryffindor common room."

Michael looked at her oddly. And then, as if someone had slapped him, his smile fell. He nodded and winked, smiling again. Hermione blushed.

Malfoy, on the other side of the opened portrait and out of sight, was scowling at the sound of that voice. He hated that guy so much. Hated. Pure hatred. Probably more so than Granger. More so than his own father. And that was a statement. The only person who would ever favor Hermione Granger so much as to seek her out would be him, though, wouldn't it? The only person Hermione Granger would ever seek out to brag about her intelligence. The only person Hermione . . . Hermione . . . He narrowed his eyes and his head jerked in the direction of the portrait hole where Granger was standing and blushing like a fool.

Hermione nodded her head in a discreet manner, and shut the portrait softly. She took a breath, knowing she had to face Malfoy as soon as she turned to her left. But when she did she furrowed her brow and looked round curiously.

He was gone.

0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O0O

Malfoy couldn't be putting it off any longer. He just had to grit his teeth and get this done. He had already helped out with the music – he had chosen five bands and given the list to the Prefects. He had already taken care of the plans for food. He had already figured out that the majority of students would be going, and had accounted for the margin error. So he had already told the Prefects how many tables and the amount of space they would be looking after.

So he was missing his dinner to get this final task done.

The only thing left was chaperones. He need to find five teachers. He had already asked Grubbly-Plank. Flitwick had said yes, though Malfoy doubted how effective he would be seeing as how he was five feet shorter than all of the students. The crazy squirrel–looking teacher with the huge magnified eyes like a bug said she would, but Malfoy knew that Granger hated that teacher, and would never let that fly. He had successfully gotten Madame Hooch after he had given detentions out to a bunch of third years who were messing up the library. Binns said no, after a long speech explaining how he wasn't attending the Ball because he had to visit a family that he doesn't get along with, including a fully-live brother who made much more money than that. And the ancient Runes teacher – Professor Vector – was going to be away also, so he couldn't do it. McGonnagal had agreed – grudgingly. He had persuaded her by mentioning that if she didn't do it, he would probably have to get Snape.

"Yes, fine," she mumbled. "We do have the initial goal of wanting the students to enjoy themselves."

"Thanks, Professor," he said, and then, itching for some advice, he said, "Er, Professor, I can't seem to find a fifth chaperone. I've gotten you, Flitwick, Grubbly-Plank, and Madame Hooch."

"Who've you asked?" she inquired.

"All of who I just said, Binns and Vector."

"Hm," she said, looking back down to her parchment. "Go and see Professor Dolop. He'll be free – I don't believe he's going away for the holiday until after the Ball."

"Well, I think that Trelawny woman–"

McGonnagal snorted. "I do not think that would be such an entirely appropriate chaperone, Mister Malfoy. And you think that as well. Try Professor Dolop."

"But, Professor," he said in a rush of his tongue. "What about– Pomfrey, er, Madame Pomfrey? Yeah, I'll ask her–"

"I do not believe she's permitted to take the night off for the Ball, regrettably," McGonnagal said. "I'm sure Professor Dolop will be more than happy to do it."

"Fine," grumbled Malfoy, trailing his bag out of the room as he left.

As he came upon the classroom, he was praying his was still at dinner. So he knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. No answer, again. He turned the doorknob and was slightly surprised to find that it was open. So he entered.

He waltzed up to the one-step platform at the front where the dark oak desk sat, swallowed completely by paper and quills and ink. He quirked his brow. There was also a magazine. He recognized the name on the front, glittering in gold – Elixir of Enchantments. He couldn't remember from where, exactly, though. It was open, upside down, seemingly holding a page. He flipped it over, curiously, and looked at the pages. It was an assortment of gold and silver and jewels and gems and sapphires and rubies – in other words, jewelry. He furrowed his eyebrows. What use would this stuff be to this guy?

"Good evening, Mister Malfoy," said a voice from the doorway.

Malfoy whipped his head round to Dolop, walking towards him, snapping a book shut and concocting a smile.

"Hi," he said in a low voice.

"What can I–?" he began, then paused slightly after his eyes flickered down to his desk and back at Malfoy. "What can I do for you?"

"What's all this for, then?" said Malfoy sharply, gesturing to the magazine.

"I said," began Dolop in a low, defensive voice, "'what can I do for you'?"

Michael walked behind his desk and slipped the magazine to the side, and looked up at Malfoy.

"Looking for chaperones," said Malfoy. "For the Ball, on the twenty-third. It's on a Friday. Hermione wanted five teachers."

"How many more do you need?" asked Michael.

"You're the last," said Malfoy, a little maliciously.

"You mean, 'the fifth'?" repeated Michael.

"No, I mean the last choice."

They looked at each other with blank faces, and hard eyes. The tension was palpable.

"I see," said Michael. "I'd be glad to, I s'pose. Miss Granger–"

"So it's back to 'Miss Granger', now, eh?" spat Malfoy.

It was silent again, and Michael opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He shook his head slightly, looking confused. "Pardon me?"

Malfoy smirked and rolled his eyes. "I was standing there, at the door– when you came. I heard you. I'm not thick. Or, did you think that no one'd ever notice anything?"

"I'm– I'm not quite sure what–?" he began, his eyebrows contracted as if he were thinking especially hard.

"Liar," Draco snarled.

"Mister Malfoy," he snapped, "I"m well aware of your intelligence, so I'm sure that you aware that I am your Professor and you are to treat me with respect."

"I'm thinking Granger gives you enough respect for the lot of students round here," Malfoy said, not stuttering.

"I think it is time for you to leave," said Michael. And Malfoy could see the heat rising from his neck and reddening his face.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows quickly, scowling darkly into the dim lit classroom and turned around.

"You'd better watch yourself," Malfoy's back said to him.

"You'd better be going."

"Don't–"

"Get out," snapped Michael, and Malfoy turned back around to face him.

"I didn't think someone so confused about what I was talking of, would be so rude and defensive."

"I don't like your attitude," said Michael. "Or what you're insinuating."

"Now ask me if I care."

"Before you get detention, Mister Malfoy, be reminded of this – you can lose your Head Boyship over this type of behavior." Michael raised his eyebrows, seeming impressed with himself.

"Oh? And can't you lose your job over your type of 'behavior'?" Malfoy said bitterly.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" snapped Michael, his frustration finally showing.

"You're supposed to be the Professor. You figure it out," said Malfoy, turning and leaving a bitter silence in his wake.

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"Stop looking so damn glum, Ron!" snapped the red head in the arm chair by the fire. And then, with a change of tone and a smile, "It's a Ball! It's s'posed to be fun!"

"No it's not!" whined Ron. "It's dancing and dressing up and music and–!"

"That's what's fun about it, moron!" said Ginny. She turned to Harry. "Don't tell me you're hung up like this, too?"

"Eh?" said Harry, looking up from his book. "Er, no. Should be a laugh."

"Traitor," mumbled Ron.

"Look, Ron, it'll be good," said Harry, attempting to cheer him up.

"Yeah, there'll be lots of good food there, too," said Ginny with a grin.

Ron raised his eyebrows, and then let them fall again and shrugged. "Who cares."

"You do!" said Ginny, irritated.

"Plus, I've heard Lavender say that she wants to go with you; heard her whispering to Pavarti that she wants you to ask her before any other girls; said that other girls been sayin' they want to go with you, too," Harry pointed out to his frowning friend. "So, cheer up, mate."

"Yeah, I guess," he said meekly.

"Ron, you're only upset 'cause you wanna ask Hermione and you're too scared to do it!" Ginny blurted.

"Ginny! I don't think that–!" Harry began, but Ron cut across him.

"No!" was all he could manage, turning pitch-red. "S'not it at all."

Ginny scoffed. "Oh, right. How could I be so stupid?" she said sardonically. "I'm almost as thick as, oh . . . Idunno, my brother!"

"Ginny, c'mon, leave'm be."

"Yeah, bite it," snapped Ron. "You dun know nothin'!"

"Whatever," she said.

"Just keep out of it–!" continued Ron, but was cut off by a loud squealing of girls and giggling coming from by the fire. Lavender smiled at him, and then turned and continued to giggle with her friends crazily.

"You'll be the one dancing with that," mumbled Ginny. And then, with a flash of a smile and a short blush she looked at Harry and hopped off of her chair. "'m going to bed. Night."

"Night," Ron and Harry said in unison.

Ron sighed. "So, the Ball's gonna be good, then?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"And you're gonna ask some'n?"

"Yeah."

Ron chewed his lip and lowered his voice. "You think she'd say no, then?"

"Yeah."

"HARRY!" shouted Ron. "Get your face out of that bloody book!"

"Sorry!" said Harry, stowing it away. "What were you–?"

"Never mind," snapped Ron, walking away. "I'm going to bed too."

"Okay."

And Harry pulled out his book again.