A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

Word Count: 749

"I'm done, I don't want to fight with you anymore," Hermione said, throwing her hands in the air as she turned her back to the stage.

"Hermione, please, I'm sorry. It's just... I know you like your song and all, but it's just not the right direction for the band."

"Then what is the right direction, Ron? What's the right direction for Gryffindor, you tell me, because lately, you and Harry... well, everything I've written or come up with, it's not right. So tell me, what's the right direction?" she asked.

"It's um... kind of hard to describe?" Ron offered. Hermione fought the urge to take the nearest cord and wrap it around Ron's neck.

"In other words, it's about Lavender, isn't it? You want to replace me with her, don't you? That's why you've been pushing me out?"

"Hermione, 'Mione, Lavender is, she's um kind of-" Ron started to say. Hermione held up a hand to stop him.

"She's prettier than me, she's got a better voice than me, she's the one who the record labels will fall in love with and then Gryffindor will sign a contract and make you all famous? I get it, I know when I'm not wanted. I do still have rights to a third of those songs, so I'm going to be making sure you don't violate the copyright law on them. Have a good life, Ron. I hope you and Lavender break up in spectacular fashion and the tabloids have a field day dragging both your names through the mud," Hermione cried as she shoved open the rear door of the stage they'd been using for practice. She didn't let the tears spill until she was about a block way. She leaned against a building, feeling the cool brick against the thin fabric of her jacket. She sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. She'd always known she wasn't a great beauty, that her real talent laid in her voice and her writing skills. She bit back a snort as she thought about how she'd almost done it with Ron. How she'd almost given into temptation on their last tour. What a stupid move on her part. Now, she was glad she'd kept her innocence where Ron Weasley was concerned.

"I don't need him, I don't need anyone,"she muttered, taking a few steps forward, her eyes staring straight ahead of her. "I'm good enough, I can find someone else, find another band that... that won't just toss me aside," she added. A slight smirk played on her face as she realized she'd just recently read an article about Malfoy's band, Slytherin, losing its lead singer. She'd always hated Pansy, but the fact her leaving might have given her a perfect opening, didn't escape her. She stopped by her flat just long enough to clean up her face, change her clothes, and pull the address from the tidy stack of papers on her desk. With a smile, she strolled into the studio, watching as everyone stopped and stared at her.

"Can I help you, Miss Granger?" the receptionist asked.

"Actually, I'm looking for Mr. Draco Malfoy, is he here?" she asked, her voice sounding completely sweet, her tone light and fluffy, one would never know she'd just been sobbing her eyes out.

"I'll have to see if he has time to see you, just a moment."

Hermione nodded, letting the woman do her job. A few moments later, Hermione found herself standing in front of Draco.

"You're here because?" he asked, raising a pale eyebrow.

"Ron's a git, he's got a new singer, Lavender Brown. I heard you might be looking for a vocalist?" she offered. He looked her over, causing her heart to pound. She reminded herself she was here about a job, not about the fact she'd had a long time crush on the man.

"Very well, rehearsal is at five, at the Starlight Room, be there on time or don't bother showing up," Draco stated. Hermione nodded, flashing him a smile. Her mind was already writing lyrics about being unwanted by a man and then finding what she only hoped would be her happily ever after.

After all, Slytherin was a much better band than Gryffindor anyway, it most certainly helped their front man was beyond gorgeous. She knew she'd be there on time, knew once Draco heard her harmonize with him, that everything would be perfect. She'd have found her real place and Ron could have his little trollop.