Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.

Dinner was, indeed, interesting. The entire Gryffindor table was hushed except for those seats which housed Hermione and her friends. It seemed as if everyone was poised, waiting to see what was going on with Hermione and Ginny. One wrong move from either one and the whole thing could tip against the youngest Weasley. Still, despite the atmosphere of gloom, the girls behaved in a relaxed manner. Chatting, passing peas, exchanging Charms tips. Harry and Neville exchanged more than one uncomfortable glance with one another while waiting for…well, whatever it was the girls were waiting for. Because they were waiting for something, there was no doubt of that. They kept casting surreptitious glances at the professor's table, as if expecting some sort of announcement to be made.

Finally, however, dinner was nearly over and dessert had been served. There came a clanging from the professor's table and Dumbledore stood up to make an announcement. All eyes turned to him, surprised. Only three people in the hall appeared calm: Hermione, Ginny, and of course, McGonagall. The two girls had satisfied looks on their faces as the hall went quiet, waiting for their headmaster to speak. Their satisfaction did not escape a pair of grey eyes, however. With a small smirk, Draco wondered what his favorite lioness had gotten up to this time.

When Draco had first arrived in the great hall mere minutes after the four friends, he'd immediately slowed to scan the Gryffindor table for their faces. After what Moaning Myrtle had said to him, all he'd wanted to do was run to Hermione and drag her away from her knight and protector, Potter. He'd wanted nothing better than to declare to the whole school that he knew how she felt about him and that he returned the feeling. Then maybe follow that up with a good beating for all her foolish girly morals and an even better shagging afterwards.

However, as much as he wanted to do all those things, he'd stopped himself when he saw her sitting there amid all her allies, all her friends- in as much as they could be called friends. It made his heart do that little aching thing again and before he'd realized what he was doing, he'd found himself turning away again. What had he been thinking? This was Granger, after all. The mudblood. The girl who'd rejected him more than once now, in spite of his best moves. What was he thinking?

She was snappy and rude and unkempt and…and the truth was that she may very well be killed by death eaters in the coming war. And the thought scared all hope from him, leaving him visibly shaken. He didn't know why it had never occurred to him before, but he knew he needed to talk with her about it. He knew he needed to talk with her about many more things than imminent death, of course- who said it was imminent? But it would have to wait, for now. He couldn't bring himself to face her, somehow. Not until he'd considered the problem some more. Not until he'd considered his feelings. Then, maybe, he could talk some sense into her. After all, surely his views weren't all bad. The fact that she might die by his hands wasn't his fault, was it? No, it was hers, for being on the wrong side. For believing the wrong things. Not that he really blamed her much for that. She was a mudblood, after all. Which side did he expect her to be on? If she just turned herself in to the Dark Lord she'd probably be killed on the spot anyhow. Another wrench ran through his heart and he turned on his heel. After dinner, after dessert. After the war, he thought sardonically. Then, maybe, he could talk to her about these things.

She won't let it sit that long, the voice in his head told him. He knew it was true. She'd approached him once already- today, no less! And it was highly unlikely that she would let sleeping dogs lie. She wasn't really the kind of girl to let anything go, no matter how many times a bloke made it obvious that talking was the last thing on his mind. He groaned a little into his pumpkin juice and Goyle looked at him askance. Or was it askew? Draco wasn't really sure at this point, his head was so full of thoughts that he had barely paid attention to the fact that he'd sat down and already eaten his way through half a plate of food. He glanced about to make sure no one else was staring at him. No, only Pansy.

Then he caught it. A flash of honeyed brown eyes in his direction just as Dumbledore stood up. He nearly choked on his juice and Goyle did look at him outright, then, patting him on the back in a concerned manner. He waved him off and gestured toward the front of the hall. He wanted to hear what the old war horse had to say as much as the next person.

Dumbledore stood, looking most determined. After waiting a few moments for everyone to quiet down, he looked about and began speaking.

"Friends," he started out, "it has come to my attention that a certain student amongst us has recently been in a very difficult position. I would like to give you the details myself, but as it was Professor McGonagall who brought the situation to my attention, I believe she is most suited to address you all on the subject." He turned to the witch. "If you please, Professor," he said, and returned to his seat.

McGonagall rose and faced the students, a grim expression upon her face. "It is with great disappointment that I speak to you this evening," she began. If it was possible, her face grew even more grim and forbidding. "I have already appraised the heads of all your houses on the matter, in addition to speaking to the prefects. You will all take part in a separate meeting within your houses to better inform you on the matter at hand." She paused, as if looking for something within the audience of students. A guilty party, perhaps? Draco shifted in his seat a bit, hoping she would get on with it.

"The facts are simple: a female student has recently been prey to rumors about inappropriate behavior. However, in spite of what you've all been led to believe, she is not at fault and was instead taken advantage of by a certain group of young wizards!"

There was a gasp and a ripple of turning heads passed down the Gryffindor table. Hermione was having to work very hard indeed, now, to keep from preening. Ginny was appropriately flushed with embarrassment and shame. The redhead blinked quickly several times, bringing tears to her eyes. Everyone at the table began to mutter amongst themselves and more than one boy began to look distinctly uncomfortable, while the girls wore carefully sculpted looks of shock and pity upon their faces. Hermione glanced at them with distaste. She didn't feel an ounce of remorse that Ginny was playing a part. After all, she had been genuinely hurt by the boys' behavior, whether she acknowledged it or not; and if she was acting now, it was no more or less than what any other person at the rest of the table was doing. They were playing out the same false sympathy they had shown herself last week. An idea suddenly glinted in her mind, no bigger than a wisp, but she held onto it as she turned to finish listening to her professor.

"I speak for the other professors when I say that this kind of behavior and treatment of your fellow students will not be tolerated! Now, we are giving the guilty parties a chance to come forward and turn yourselves in to be appropriately disciplined. With that said, I will allow your house heads to speak to you on the subject further. Thank you all."

The older witch sat down again and the other professors turned and nodded approvingly at her. There was no clapping though, only a quiet return to finishing up dessert and then hurrying off after the prefects in order to reach the house meetings on time. Hermione finished up quickly, ignoring the accusing stares from Harry and Neville. She stood up, brushing off her robe, and gestured at the rest of the table.

"Come along, everyone!" She clapped her hands a few times and the other prefect joined her in rounding people up. As they moved towards the doors of the hall, she glanced over to the Slytherin table once more. She could hear Draco's clear tenor calling for people to follow him. He looked up suddenly and caught her eye. She looked away swiftly and stumbled out the door. The boy at her side smiled.

"Alright there, Hermione?"

"Fine," she muttered. "Come on, people! We haven't got all night!"

Draco watched as she tripped over an invisible menace and smirked. Maybe there was hope for him, after all. He'd been amused enough at the stunt she'd managed to pull with the old bat. Getting a Weasley out of a jam had to be some kind of gift, because she'd done it more than once now, and with more than one kind of Weasel. He smirked again, then pounced on his house mates.

"Oy, scum! Get a move on! I don't want to have to wait on your arses all night, do I?" The doors to the great hall banged shut after their retreating line and the students made their way back to their respective houses with a minimum of fuss. The quiet during those moments was more than made up for, however, when the students soon discovered that the details they were being fed by their house heads was actually the sex talk. Except in their cases, most did not have a sympathetic ear to turn to because before the night was over, deafness and blindness charms and potions were trading hands in more than one common room.

Draco himself had to wank off to his pictures of Hermione no less than four times that night before he got the image of Snape rolling a rubber onto a banana out of his mind. He didn't even want to think about what kind of a talk Hermione was getting out of McGonagall, the old hag. Merlin. Now he had an image of said old hag and a banana in his head, and no amount of wanking off was going to do him any good with that one. With a groan, he reached for the dreamless sleep potion he kept in his bed stand and suddenly, blessedly, all was darkness.

Saturday dawned bright and early for most of the students at Hogwarts, who had almost all gone to bed with raging headaches and been plagued by nightmares and the screams of their peers.

Draco figured that whatever McGonagall had fed the Gryffindors last night must have worked, because there were at least three upperclassmen missing, that he counted. He noticed Hermione counting heads as well and smirked. She must be rather pleased with her work, he thought. And the young Weaselette certainly didn't look too much the worse for wear, excepting the few glares that a small group of girls kept sending her. Must be the missing blokes' admirers, he observed, filled with revulsion. There was always some girl, somewhere, who thought that wife beating, girl assaulting, child molesting sons of bitches were attractive. He'd never understood the need for some women to be beneath men. Or how being treated like carpets made them feel like princesses. He wanted to take girls like that by the shoulders and give them good shakes.

His eyes met Hermione's over the crowd of bleary eyed students and they held a similar, steely determination that matched his own. He narrowed his eyes and turned away to continue counting Slytherins, hoping to the gods that she didn't empathize with those girls. No, she must not. Not his mudblood. She was too smart, too fiery, too sure of herself to fall prey to mind games. He cast another glance at her over his shoulder and found her talking with Potter. He recalled the knee to his junk she'd given him the other week and winced. It was no wonder Potter kept her around; she could certainly hold her own. No, she wasn't weak. In fact, she might just be his match. In everything except blood, he thought. A grim smile crossed his face. And ethics.

Professor Jones clapped her hands together and raised one arm to get everyone's attention while McGonagall went through the crowd collecting newly signed permission forms.

"Right then," Jones said, "If we're all ready now, we'll be off to Hogsmeade! Everyone got their things with them? Money, jumpers, survival skills?"

McGonagall shot the DADA teacher a prim look and Jones lowered her hand, looking sheepish. "Sorry, kiddies. Old habits. Anyhow, we'll just be off then. Stay in your lines, keep a buddy with you at all times!"

With that, they were off on another weekend jaunt to Hogsmeade. Draco could see Hermione's curly brown hair bouncing up and down a ways ahead of him. A shock of shiny black hair walked next to her and he looked away, only to see Pansy at his side, looking up at him with big cow eyes. Cow eyes? She is a cow! He sighed and doubled his pace, ignoring the cries of Crabbe and Goyle, who had doubled their efforts to rid the world of the poor girl. He glanced back and realized he's left his house behind and was now trailing along behind a few erstwhile Ravenclaws.

Up ahead, he could just see the bouncing, unruly locks of Hermione. No, best stay a ways behind for now. He'd finally managed to get some sleep the night before and the last thing he wanted to do was replace the other nightmares with ones of Hermione being tortured. Because he knew that if she did try to talk to him, he would eventually confront her about what Moaning Myrtle had told him. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from bringing it up, because what he wanted now was to convince her he would never hurt her, that he was alright, that he cared about her.

Watching her with Potter, though, made him feel helpless. How was he supposed to compete with that? With the Boy Who Wouldn't Fucking Give Up? It made him unsure of himself, something a Malfoy was never supposed to be. Something a real god would laugh at. Ah, well. It was probably a pipe dream. Is it? Myrtle said- he snarled to himself. Myrtle is a ghost, nothing more. What can she possibly know?

He scoffed to himself and looked away. With a start of surprise, he realized they had already reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade and without further ado, the students began to scatter and go their separate ways. Draco kept the girl and boy in his sights and followed them quietly, some ways behind them. They veered from the common path, the young Weasel and Longbottom following them. All four were chatting happily, seemingly unaffected by the stares and sidelong glances they received. Draco suddenly felt a presence along both sides of himself and he turned to look. Crabbe and Goyle were flanking him, looking a bit sheepish. A genuine smile crossed his face as he looked to them both. They returned it.

As touched as he was by their loyalty, he shook his head. "I need to do this by myself, boys."

They looked at him, confused. "Do what?"

He frowned and pulled his cap down further on his head. "Just…something. I need to spy on Potter and his friends for a while. Gather information. I won't be long," he said, by way of explanation. "Go wait for me at the Three Broomsticks."

The bigger boys nodded, still confused, but did as he asked. Draco had been acting strange lately, but they chalked it up to his involvement with the Dark Lord. Anyone would be a little put off by too much close contact with the wizard. No, they didn't blame him. But they did wonder, just a little bit, before distractions of girls and butterbeer filled their minds, what he was really up to. They'd caught him staring at the Granger girl in a strange manner more than once, and while she might be alright for a Gryffindor, a mudblood was a mudblood. Well, if they knew what one was, at least. They weren't always entirely sure. Still, it couldn't be something good, and that was all they really needed to know. Muttering to one another, they tromped into the tavern and took seats, ordering butterbeers and settling in to wait for Draco: their beloved, if a bit batty, leader.

To mofo: I'm glad you liked it!