Oh my goodness there is so much drama in this chapter.

DRAMA WARNING. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO AN ASSLOAD OF FUCKING DRAMA AND SHIT.

It's fun drama, though. You'll like it. Promise. Also: the words "bloody" and "fucking" are used five and ten times in this story, respectively. The words "bloody fucking" are used at least twice.

Thank you so much for reviewing, you guys! I really, really do appreciate it. Thank you for taking the time to do that for me :) And I forgot to say this the other day, but holla to IAmTheLonelyHeart, who I think is just lovely.

Disclaimer: You guys know by now that I don't entertain any delusions of owning Harry Potter or other related characters. Except maybe Draco Malfoy.



Her face scrunched up, folding in on itself in what can only be described as an alien-like manner. "What?" she asked calmly, running her tongue threateningly over her front teeth. Her cheeks had turned the color of overcooked lobster, causing her freckles to stand out even more than usual--a feat Draco hadn't thought possible. Hermione only blinked, a tiny smile sneaking its way across her face. "What did you say?" Amber seethed, her fork-wielding hand tensing in a way that made Draco more than slightly nervous. He opened his mouth, concerned that perhaps he should interfere before that fork was lodged in Hermione's esophagus. Before he had the chance, however, Pansy spoke.

"How dare you!" she spat unconvincingly, the words cracking halfway through. "You--you Mudblood!" Hermione rolled her eyes at the juvenile insult, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to one side in condescension.

"Really?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "Mudblood?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Amber said dangerously, ignoring Pansy, her voice low and controlled. Hermione directed her gaze toward the redheaded witch.

"Don't you take offense to that, Amber?" she inquired pleasantly. When the girl displayed no reaction, she continued, "Mudblood, I mean? You are one, aren't you?"

The reaction was immediate. A sudden hush covered them like a heavy wool blanket. The entire table stared up at the lone Gryffindor, mouths opened wide, food falling from forks. The sound of spittakes surrounded them. Draco stared openly at her, his eyebrows raised high enough to be almost painful. She, Hermione Granger, the most obviously Muggle-born witch he knew of, had just turned the Mudblood insult around on herself, deflected it completely, and then used it on someone else. It was so bloody fucking appropriate for her to be seated at the Slytherin table just then that it blew his fucking mind. It wasn't until a thick droplet of something splashed onto his hand that he realized he was drooling. He closed his mouth quickly.

There she sat, batting her eyelashes, her hands folded politely in front of her and her hideous Gryffindor tie screaming, "Friendship! Beauty! Sissiness!" She was the absolute picture of innocence, perched ramrod straight on the bench with her shoulders tucked back and her neck elongated. She looked very much like she did in every single class he'd ever had with her--save for that devious little smirk that he was sure he'd seen somewhere before.

Amber sat to her right, her face red and swollen with anger, her teeth gritted and eyes flashing, her hair positively swimming with rage. She was hunched over like a troll, clutching the table as if it were the only thing keeping her from launching a full-on attack. She began grinding her teeth in hatred. The Slytherins around him watched carefully, captivated as if bound by the Imperius Curse. Blaise kneed him under the table and Draco looked up. He was grinning from ear to ear and winked as soon as he caught Draco's eye.

Yes, they were fighting over him.

Oh, Merlin, they were fighting over him.

Hermione Granger was fighting for Draco Malfoy.

And that last thought was obviously a mistake because, not three seconds after he'd had it, a blazing erection appeared out of bloody fucking nowhere. He shut his eyes tight and mentally castrated himself, sighing in frustration. And then he looked up to find Hermione staring directly at him.

If he'd had another penis, the second one would have risen to attention as well.

He groaned when she smirked at him, cocking one eyebrow for just a split second. Blaise must have caught it as well because Draco felt a sharp, searing pain in his left side that could only have been elicited by the incredibly beefy elbow of a Quidditch player.

And then that crazy freckled bitch Amber ruined everything by pulling her fist back and swinging as hard as she could at Hermione's mouth.


"That's how we Muggles fight!" she screeched, flailing her legs in Hermione's direction as Pansy caught her about the armpits. Draco never would have guessed that Pansy would have any sort of self-restraint at all, and yet here she was practically dragging this insane and screaming young woman off of Hermione Granger's disbelieving face.

Angry little Amber had hit her in the mouth, in the stomach, and four times in the side of the head.

Pansy was pulling Amber across the Hall, screaming profanities at Hermione as she went. "You bloody well deserved it!" she shrieked. "I should just let go of her now, I should!" and such trite as that...as well as a few more-than terrible curse words.

Draco looked down and was thoroughly surprised to find himself on top of the table. He was standing in someone's mashed potatoes and all hell had broken loose.

Around him, Slytherin girls were cheering and laughing, and Slytherin boys were hooting and pumping fists. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws (he couldn't tell the difference, honestly) were chattering loudly, babbling their heads off about breaking rules and the impropriety of it all. And, across the Hall, Draco could see every single Gryffindork on his or her feet, screaming profanities or on the verge of tears. Some had drawn their wands. He couldn't believe what utter fairies they all were.

And then he realized that Hermione was on the floor in front of the Slytherin table, probably unconscious seeing as how she wasn't moving, and that a thirty-foot-wide crowd of Hogwarts students had surrounded her and were currently causing quite a bit of commotion. He happened to catch a glimpse of the teachers' table: McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were at the edge of the tightly-packed mass of students, attempting to elbow their way to the beleaguered young woman sprawled out on the tile floor. The other teachers were either standing indignantly and screaming their heads off, or Draco hadn't seen them at all.

He laughed and leapt down from the table, rather pleased to find that he was so positioned as to be directly in the center of this doughnut of teenagers. He crouched down until he was at Hermione's level, and then all the laughter was ripped out of his chest and replaced by a soul-shaking fear. His eyebrows furrowed in something that may have looked like concern.

She lay still, having been caught completely off-guard and, subsequently, knocked completely off her seat. She looked confused, staring straight ahead with a slightly amused expression, one hand sprawled across her lap and the other placed gingerly on top of her opposite shoulder. Blood was positively pouring from a finger-sized gash in her face. Draco felt sick to his stomach. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous. Any moment now, he'd throw up all over someone for the sheer terror and worry of it all. He hoped to god she wouldn't die. As ridiculous as it was, his biggest fear was that she might die. (His second biggest fear was that she'd lose her memory after all the hard work he'd put in today.)

Upon seeing him, her eyelids fluttered and she began to laugh. He stared at her for what seemed like hours until a heavy hand pulled gently on his shoulder. He whirled around. Professor McGonagall stood directly behind him, her mouth a tight, worried line. He raised one eyebrow at her. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd transformed into her Animagus form simply to squeeze through the quivering ocean of children, seeing as how they were now kneeling and sitting and standing so closely to him that he could barely hear the professor. He could barely face her, for that matter.

"Hospital Wing," McGonagall ordered, her fingernails digging into his shoulder. He winced and nodded briskly, and she conjured up a stretcher that smacked a few people in the heads. She levitated Hermione on top of it and then motioned for Draco to withdraw his own wand. He obliged and recited the spell, and McGonagall lowered her wand and allowed him to clamber over the table and into an area free of students.


"I feel fine," Hermione said brightly, sitting up on the stretcher.

"You may have a concussion," Draco answered grimly.

"I'm sure that I don't, though," she answered, tossing his concern away with a flick of her wrist.

"Lay down, Hermione," he told her, pressing gently on her shoulder with one hand.

"I'm fine," she replied, shaking her head like a spoiled four-year-old.

"Would you please?" he attempted.

"No," she said flatly. "I'm feeling brilliant. Better than ever. I feel--"

"Hermione," he interrupted seriously. "You passed out on the way."

"I did not!" She held one hand up to her chest, utterly scandalized. "Did I?"

"What, you don't remember?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes. She blinked worriedly, biting her lip.

"...No," she admitted.

Instead of continuing the conversation, he simply pressed her head backwards onto the pillow of the stretcher in order to avoid smacking the top of her head into a particularly low-hanging door frame.

"Say, erm, Malfoy?" Hermione began tentatively.

"Yes, Hermione?" he responded, a bit put off by the use of his surname.

"Where are we headed to?"

At this, he stopped walking altogether, halting her stretcher in the process. He turned and lowered her so that his eyes were parallel to hers, then leaned his head in close. He smirked. "You've twelve more hours." She blinked, noncomprehending, and then revelation illuminated her face as if he'd shone a flashlight at her.

"You can't be serious," she groaned. He merely quickened his pace, adding a bit of a bounce to his step. "I--I may have a bloody concussion!" He let out one loud bark of laughter before tilting his head sideways and giving her a pointed look. She sighed in frustration and fell back, attempting to flop her head against the pillow. Draco caught the back of her neck and stopped her.

"Be fucking careful!" he bellowed.


Draco drew in a deep breath, tapping the base of his wand repeatedly against his palm. He paced a six-foot area of stone, thinking himself into a frenzy. He wondered what would happen if he used Episkey on a concussion. Would it give her brain damage? He just wanted to repair the cut in her bloody face, for god's sake--hopefully, that was all that'd need repairing, anyway. What in fuck's name were you supposed to use on a concussion? Would that be Vulnera Sanentur? No, no--wasn't that for bleeding wounds? Fuck. Maybe Episkey would work on a concussion. Was it supposed to be a potion? A draught of some sort? A bezoar? Wait, wasn't that only for poisons? Fuck, fuck! He then realized that Hermione would definitely know the answer. Laughable.

"What are you doing?"

"Shit!" he yelled, jumping a foot into the air. He dropped to his knees and scooted over to the side of the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress. "You're awake!"

"What are you going on about?" Hermione was staring at him as if he'd gone entirely batshit.

"What do I do to fix a concussion?" Draco asked desperately, holding onto her wrist for emphasis. Hermione giggled, batting him away with her other hand.

"I haven't got one of those," she answered, her voice significantly cheerier than usual. He took hold of her right wrist again and, to his surprise, she closed her left hand over the top of his.

"Fuck, f--Episkey!" Draco recited, tapping the wand against her cheek. Her eyes opened wide and then squinted. He couldn't tell if it was from pain or from the unique sensation the spell was known to have. "Er--T-tergeo," he added, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to get some of the dried blood off of her clothes and hair. She stared up at the canopy of his bed, not speaking. "Come on, Hermione!" he shouted after a short while. "Are you alright or aren't you?!" She turned her head to face his.

"I'm fine," she replied. He stared down at her, unconvinced, until a wide smile split her face in half. She laughed--first softly, then loudly--and he continued to watch her fearfully, positive that he had accidentally brought about her insanity. Soon, however, she grinned and yanked on the hand that she was still holding. Taken aback, he rolled on top of her and then quickly rolled over so as not to crush her with his weight. She lay on her side on the rightmost edge of his bed, one hand propping her head up and the other resting absently in between the two of them. He lay cautiously on his side, mirroring her position. His face clearly displayed some of the residual worry that currently plagued him, because she repeated, "I'm fine, Draco!"

She then made the first two fingers of her left hand into a little v-shape and turned it upside down, twisting her wrist in order to walk the makeshift person across the bed until it reached his chest. She inhaled deeply and lay back against the pillow. She closed her eyes and Draco screwed his face up in concern.

Then, her eyes opened and locked onto his. The following happened in slow motion, as if Draco's room had suddenly been shoved into an extremely large bucket of water:

He was somewhat aware of Hermione's little smile growing quite a bit larger, and as he noticed this, he failed to notice that she was also coming closer. That is, until she was three inches from his face. His heart stopped beating for a moment and she stopped moving altogether. In the fifteen seconds that followed, Draco waited patiently for something to happen, then began to panic, then deduced that she was simply trying to get a rise out of him and that she was a filthy slag who needed another good whack in the face. And then she pressed her lips to his of her own accord and Draco nearly fainted with excitement.

Merlin, how he'd missed that.

It may have been three seconds when she pulled away, or it may have been three hours. Either way, she pulled away and his whole body ached at the loss. His blazing erection had returned once again (it was the no sex that was doing it to him) and he nearly almost sort of turned a little bit the shade of a very manly pink when she bit her lip and smiled at him. Then, she immediately turned over and faced away from him, curling into a sweet little ball.

He sat there dumbfounded, grinning like a fucking idiot with one hand propping up his head and the other located conveniently at the front of his pants, blocking the area from view. He assumed it was over.

Then, however, Hermione peeked at him from over her shoulder and said, "Episkey does work on concussions, Draco," and scooted herself backwards until she was almost nestled against him.

Needless to say, that complicated things a bit.