Orginally posted at http/hp./story.php?no=544208199 by Kissherdraco.*

Archiving only. All rights and accomplishments of the fic belong to Kissherdraco!

Author's LJ: http/kissherdraco./

"...You're the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You're fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn't even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you- Her wand went flying.

And I wonder when it was that I started needing you like water.

Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy. 7th year.

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger saw him turn around to look back at her before he went up the stairs. She knew he was handsome but- fuck- she hated him so much. He stared at her knowing that alone could provoke a response. His sickly grey-slate eyes carved his stare right into her skull. Hermione could feel the burning in her blood, the familiar hotness across her cheeks rushing over her chest and tainting her skin with that dark, crimson anger she no longer bothered to hide. Yes, just looking at Draco Malfoy made her loath him more, and loathing itself was terribly underrated.

He turned back and began the heavy journey to the top of the staircase. "I despise you," muttered Hermione, as she walked behind a corner of the abrasive stone corridor. The coolness of a nearby draft washed over her skin. Would the hatred ever end, she wondered, when they got older and learnt the value of judgement and impression? Imitate those people she read about, rise above it, see the good? No, most definitely not. To her, to Harry and to Ron, the abhorrence was most definitely fatal and permanent. She felt that he was evil, and very often became sure. Draco Malfoy was her only exception to believing that, intrinsically rooted somewhere within, there was a good in the spectacularly underhand Slytherin.

It was all about him from now on. Hermione could no longer hate him by pretending he didn't exist. He did. He existed behind that bloody portrait and in the common room behind it. Harry had said to her, "Don't talk to the bastard, because you don't have to", and she didn't want to. He robbed everything from her when he became Head Fucking Boy.

Malfoy had friends in high places. A dog for a father who died and left him all the riches. A dog that deserved to die, and Hermione had never wished death upon anyone. Expect Lucius Malfoy. Did it all make sense, them being here like this? Head Boy and Head Girl bound by a title she never thought she'd regret. She had worked harder in the past few days than she did in her whole time at Hogwarts to avoid him. Ten minutes before he came into the common room, ten minutes after he left the common room. Late down to breakfast and early to bed. It seemed hardly worth it for such a useless mindless pretentious cut of life. As the hours passed she found he wasn't even worth avoiding. She liked to think the hatred surpassed even the effort to hate itself. It had become a complete disregard. But she felt cold whenever he entered the room. Was that disregard? Feeling cold?

Six days in from election and they needed to speak. Before then it was through others, through the prefects. Hermione felt pathetic sometimes, and wondered if he felt it too. But no, she would realise, the opinion of himself could never be brought down. On such rare occasions of eye contact, Malfoy looked at her with a the kind malcontent disgust that simmers in your head for hours. No, he only thought she was pathetic. Draco Malfoy was a Prince.

Behind the stone wall Hermione crumbled slightly. This couldn't be it. Couldn't be the way it would be from now on. Six days in and they did, they really did, need to speak. Hermione wondered if she could pass a note instead. The idea almost made her laugh; Malfoy, I don't want to talk to you so I'm writing to you instead. No, Malfoy made her feel small already, and she knew it was important to him that she seemed scared-

Was that true though? Did she seem scared of Malfoy? There was a possibility that he thought that. The Head Boy rules over everyone, even the Head Girl? She wasn't scared though, she was honest with herself about that. The thought that it might come across that way caused the same crimson to splash onto her cheeks. The prick was manipulating her without her even knowing. Did other people think she was scared of him? Was that how it looked?

Harry was definitely not afraid of Malfoy. Him and Ron would step in front of her whenever he approached them to jibe and sneer. She had felt protected although slightly resentful of the fact. She wanted to defend herself, and on the rare occasion of being addressed directly by Malfoy, she certainly knew she could. She would, given half the chance, in a decent argument that didn't involve the word "mudblood". Hermione had a nasty tongue when she wanted to and if ever there was a just cause to use it, it was on that son of his father. But her and Malfoy never spoke more than a few words. Harry never let it happen. Any remark about whether or not Harry was going to "try and grab the Granger bitch for a quick shag before dinner" was met with the threat of his fist.

"I mean it," he said, "Just avoid him. Don't go where he goes. Leave when he comes in and keep yourself to yourself." Harry was so angry when they announced Malfoy. He knew why it wasn't him, of course, they all knew why, but still his fists clenched as his jaw tightened when he pictured the bastard near Hermione. "And if he touches you, so help me Merlin I'll-" Hermione had smiled appreciatively, almost screaming inside.

And so the ruination of her final year at Hogwarts. The complete undoing of any admiration in being Head Girl. The only thing stopping her from handing over the position was herself. The pride and the hatred that tangled her up in the job. She would keep it because if she didn't, Malfoy would win.

Hermione dragged the hair tie out her hair and shook her head. Reaching for the mirror in her bag she looked at the reflection. She wanted to be beautiful for Malfoy. That was what pissed her off the most. He was so fucking righteously handsome it seemed to suck the beauty from anything else. But not from her. She knew he knew that, and she knew it herself. People stared at Hermione and they had done since fourth year. She loved it sometimes, but Harry and Ron were still learning to fight back the evil glares to those passing. They warned each other off with those things, all the boys, and Malfoy seemed best of all. Though he never looked at Hermione, not hard like the others. He didn't seem to see what they did. It frustrated her. Well, she thought, he would have to notice her now, because it was now, after six days, that they were going to talk.

Draco was stretched out across the sofa of the common room. His legs were propped up on the furthest arm, one crossed the other. The sofa normally seemed so big, but right now, Draco surrounded it.

She knew he'd sensed her presence because he'd started humming. That was his way to disregard her. She walked over to him, slightly shaking with anticipation, wishing angrily she wasn't, and stood in front of the sofa. Behind her the fireplace was roaring. The sharp warmth bit at the back of her thighs. Your funeral, it spat.

Draco stopped humming and stared at her abusively. "You joke Granger," he smirked, "You can't seriously think we are about to have a conversation?"

"We have to sort out prefect rotation Malfoy." She thought if she used his name back it would establish some power.

He kept smirking at her.

"Your hair is a bit of a mess," he said, re-crossing his legs the other way, "You should take a brush to it Granger, learn a few things about personal grooming."

This was the reason she had never spoken to him longer than a few seconds. This was why it was never more than "fuck off" and "go and fuck yourself" and "shut the fuck up Malfoy".

"It concerns the duties," she said as nonchalantly as possible. She tried to remain calm and casual, one hand on her hip and the other by her side gripping the rotation chart. "I'll leave you Slytherin and Huffle-"

"You can do those little wankers," scoffed Draco. "Who, Slytherin?"

He glared at her.

Hermione shrugged. "Fine. I'll take Hufflepuff."

"You want to know why I'd rather do Ravenclaws, Granger?" "No I don't."

"All the virgins want to get fucked."

Hermione made a sound of revulsion. She scorned him. "Wanting it and being forced into it are hardly the same thing, Malfoy."

He smirked. "You have no idea of my-" He paused for thought. "Should I say skills?" She raised an eyebrow and chucked the chart at him. He caught it in front of his face. "Careful Granger," he frowned, "I wouldn't go throwing things at me."

God she hated him. She hated him so much. "Return it to me after you've finished." "I'll leave it for you somewhere I'm sure."

Hermione shifted her weight to the other leg. "Fine," she replied, fighting a mumble to speak firmly, clearly, uncaring of his complete and utter disrespect for- Merlin- for anything.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well if we're done here now, I'd like to get back to what I was doing."

"Which I noticed to be incredibly productive," she commented, "I won't do this on my own, Malfoy. We're supposed to be-"

"If you say a team Granger," he spat, "I will personally make it my priority to ruin you." That did make Hermione laugh. "A team?" she repeated, shaking her head, "No."

Draco frowned a little. "Then what?" he asked, "Spit it out."

"We're supposed to be presenting the chart in the great hall over breakfast on Monday." "And?"

"It's Friday night," she said.

"Merlin no! Only two beloved nights to work on it?" Draco mocked, his words drenched in the ever-familiar stench of dry sarcasm as his hand touched his heart. "And there I was wanting to

spend three." His hand dropped back down onto the cushion. "Which reminds me," he continued, spinning his legs round off the sofa and standing up. Draco Malfoy was much taller than Hermione. His presence seemed bolder suddenly. "I have places to be, people to do." She looked at him with mild disgust. "Do me a favour and shut up about the chart now. I'll get it done Granger. Anything to get a filthy little mudblood off my case."

Those words. It was always those three words that pushed her too far. Harry wasn't around now to defend her or stop her from defending herself. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or disappointed. Hermione took a deep breath.

She straightened her posture. "How many times must I ask?" "Ask what, Granger?"

"Don't call me that again, Malfoy."

He smirked mildly. "Why?" he asked, "Will you set the puppies on me?"

"Harry and Ron might be stronger than I am but they aren't as smart," she answered, "I have a wand and I think we both know I can use it a hell of a lot better than they can." She paused. "And I would."

"No you wouldn't."

"Well I'm sure one day you'll find out."

Draco shook his head slowly as his face dissolved into a frown. "You're a bitch, Granger," he growled, "You might be Head Girl, but you're not as clever or-" he looked her up and down "-as fit as you think. Just remember who really gets the most respect around here."

"If you're talking about Harry-"

"Shut up." Draco brought his face close to hers. Hermione retreated a bit.

For a moment she was scared. No, no she wasn't. Cautious. Cautious because she could feel the wet warmth of his poisoned words on her cheeks.

"Don't forget mudblood," he whispered, "I can make it hell for you."

Hermione fingered the wand in her bag. Tempted. So tempted. "Then I look forward to it," she replied.

Draco smirked at her and glanced at his watch. "If I bring anyone back here tonight," he said as he strode away, "I'd appreciate it if you'd have fucked off."

I don't think I'll ever stop hating you, thought Hermione, as he disappeared through the portrait hole. I think it will last forever.

"Why did you have to talk to him?"

"It's hardly possible to ignore him the rest of the year."

"I wouldn't have a problem."

"Please," groaned Hermione, "You have a run in with each other every day."

Over breakfast Hermione learnt that it was wise not to talk about Draco to Harry. It was clear he liked to pretend none of it was happening, and he didn't want to be reminded that she had to share a common room with his most hated enemy. Fair enough, she thought, she didn't even want to be reminded herself, but she couldn't pretend. Ron seemed more forgiving to her conversation.

"I suppose you have to talk." "Thank you Ron."

"But he's a dick munch." "Thank you, Ron."

Though it was true, it didn't help. Her best friends were really the last people she could ask for pointers. Harry's advice was to give him the password to the portrait hole and let him check up on her every now again. But she wasn't a child. She could handle herself, and she became more determined to prove it to them by the minute.

"You think I can't cope," she said to Harry and Ron, "But I can. I can handle him much better than you two."

"That's not fair," replied Harry.

"We don't start throwing punches, do we?" Harry frowned "If he ever-"

"Yes," sighed Hermione, "I know."

"If you need to talk," shrugged Ron, "Just get it over with quickly." "I hardly drag it out."

"Well then you're fine."

"You're not fine. You should complain to Professor McGonagall," growled Harry, chucking his knife

down on his plate.

"And say what?" she laughed, "That we don't like each other? That's hardly mature."

Harry was getting agitated and didn't seem to have a problem showing it. "They shouldn't have put the bastard there anyway," he muttered, "It was blatantly his father's doing."

"His father is dead, Harry," said Ron. "I doubt that would stop him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well this is really very helpful so thank you." She pushed back her chair.

"I'm going to the house common room."

"What do you want me to say?" asked Harry, angrily, "I fucking hate the guy. I'm hardly going to encourage interaction with him am I?"

"Leave it mate," mumbled Ron, sensing the mounting tension between them. "Fine!" exclaimed Hermione, "I know not to ask for your advice then!"

"Not when it comes to him, no!"

"And why not?" she asked, clenching her fists at her side, "You of all people should understand why I find this so unbearable!" She spun round and marched out the hall before the staring faces could get a good understanding of what was going on. She was Head Girl. She had to keep face. Head Girl. Fuck that.

"I told you, I hate him!" panted Harry running to catch her up. "But right now this isn't about you," she replied frustrated.

"I'm not trying to make it about me!" growled Harry as he followed her up the stairs. He grabbed her arm and she turned towards him.

"I know it's never been like this before," she continued, "It's always been about you two fighting and competing and all that male ego testosterone-filled tension! But this is about me and my problem. I have to get through the year with him literally next door, in my face all day, but every time I ask for advice you start raising your voice and bitching. You hate him? We all fucking hate him Harry! How does that help?"

"You want to know how to talk to him!" he exclaimed, "How the fuck would I know how to talk to the prick? I don't want to think about you two having to talk, it's bad enough he's within twenty feet of you-"

"Oh stop it!" she said, rolling her eyes. "Stop talking like I'm yours!" Harry looked at her. "I'm not," he frowned.

"Yes you are! Like I belong to you and Ron. You're being possessive-" "I'm protecting you."

"You're making it worse!"

"How the hell am I making it worse?"

"Because I need your help and you aren't giving it to me!"

"I have nothing to say! If it was up to me you would stand down from Head Girl because nothing is worth that much."

"Oh well thank you that's really supportive." "You wanted my advice!"

"Oh for Merlin's sake," she groaned, "Grow up Harry." She turned back to leave.

He groaned. "Look If you really want me to I'll-"

"Don't bother," she mumbled, rounding a corner and losing sight of him. She could hear the heated response but honestly couldn't care less.

What could he really do anyway?

Six. That's what he made it this weekend, counting the threesome as two of course. It had been a long one, this last one, he hadn't come as easily since he knew he had the damn rotation chart to fill in for tomorrow. It distracted him, fuck knows why. A bloody duty putting him off of all things. At least it let the Ravenclaw girl come twice. Let him think, did he forget to put up the silencing charms again? Most definitely, and hopefully the Granger bitch was around to hear the repercussions.

"That was amazing," panted the girl, the bed sheets soaked and barely covering her, "Where the hell did you learn that?"

Draco shrugged. "Time for you to go," he said, getting up from the bed and walking over into the bathroom. "Don't leave anything behind. Pansy found some other wet pair of Ravenclaw knickers the other day and went fucking ballistic."

"Okay," she answered, apparently unfazed with the knowledge that she was one of many, "But do I have to leave right now?"

"Yes." He shut the bathroom door on her goodbye and walked over to the sink.

Draco stared at himself in the mirror. He was a bloody artistic genius bed. Those girls screamed so loudly he almost wanted to put up the silencing charms to save his own ears. They were desperate for him, and no fucking surprise there. He did the regular glance down to his muscles and cock, analysing their marvel and splendour for a minute before running the taps in the bath. What it was to feel that complete power and control, to hear a girl begging to suck him off. Hear her groaning for him to lick her every ounce dry. Draco shivered slightly. It was like a pussy-flavoured candy store with a big discount card. He was spoilt for choice. Although not completely spoilt. They all tasted, smelt, felt the same after a while. Still, it got him off and that was the main thing. He could, of course, do without the hassle from Pansy Parkinson. They both knew they slept around, she was as much of a slag as the girls he made writhe beneath him, but she seemed to have a particular obsession for the Head Boy. He knew it, Merlin knows she'd told him enough. Seeing him after quidditch practice, all hot and sweaty, was enough to make her cream herself there and then. Yes, he knew it, and he definitely loved it.

But he loved it all from a distance. Not real love, of course, strictly no true feelings involved. He was worshipped by everyone but loved himself the most and didn't care to deny it. He was- how to put it?- fond of the nights he spent inside girls. Pansy was the biggest screamer of them all. She liked to say his name a lot, and he enjoyed hearing it. But no, never love in it's most obvious definition. Sex was more of a sport for him. More of a talent.

As he deliberated over his many gifts, Draco became slowly aware of the faint sound of music. Or maybe, on second thoughts, it was louder than faint, and he decided that, actually, it was bothering him very much. Or maybe he decided that it was in fact spoiling everything.

Draco sucked the air through his teeth as he rose from the bath into the cooler air above him. Grabbing the nearest towel to wrap around his waist he stormed through the large bathroom,

rapping against her door on the opposite wall. It was locked, of course, like the frigid Granger bitch would ever leave her door open to their adjoining bathroom.

"Granger!" he raged, banging on the door. He was dripping into a small puddle on the floor beneath him. "Open the fucking door!" he ordered. If only he had his wand. Then he would Alohomora it the fuck open himself.

The door clicked and a thin shaft of light fell across him. "What?" asked Hermione from the inside the orange glow. "What the hell is that noise?"

"My music?"

"The muggle shit," he growled, "Some sort of mudblood favourite?"

She opened the door fully and stared at him. She was in her pyjamas. Some unreasonably small shorts and T-shirt. Draco pretended not to notice. Merlin- he noticed but it was Granger. Stupid bloody Granger, and he was pissed off.

"Oh dear," she shrugged, leaning against the frame, "You don't like it?" His eyebrows lowered with his voice. "Time to turn it off, Granger."

"Goodnight Malfoy," she sighed and began to close the door. He pushed his hand up against it.

"I mean it!" he protested, "I'm not leaving until you stop that bloody music and whatever piece of junk it's coming from!"

"It's hardly loud, Malfoy." She tried to close the door again.

Draco's hand stayed in place. "You close that door without that music stopping and I'll-"

"What?" she interrupted, shooting him a quizzical look. "Whatever you do you know Harry will just get involved and he certainly won't be too happy."

"You think I can't handle Potter?" Draco scoffed, "The little wanker has it coming. Now say sorry and stop it like a good little mudblood and I can get away from you."

"You want me to apologise?" she growled. "And what did you expect me to do? Listen to the glorious sound of you and your latest slag giving you your hourly fix? I don't think so."

"I do."

She shook her head. "I'm not one of your bitches, Malfoy. Now get off and let me close the door."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Turn off whatever muggle contraption you've smuggled in and then, if I were you, give it to me so that I can hex it into tiny little pieces."

"No."

"Then we have a problem."

"No surprise there."

"You'll regret it if you don't do it, Granger." "Why?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something to punish you."

"Punish me?" she laughed, "Well how about you think while you draw up that rotation chart?" "How about you-"

The door slammed shut and threw him back slightly, small green jets of sparks falling from the frame.

He growled loudly. At what point did her wand reach her hand? "You fucking whore Granger!" There was no reply, although he thought he could hear her eyes hit the ceiling in that 'I must be the only sane, mature and reasonable one in the world' way.

Draco clenched his fists and paced back through the bathroom and into his own bedroom.

Stupid, stupid little bitch. They should ban all that rubbish from those dirty underdeveloped muggle twats. And then they should ban mudbloods whilst they are at it. Draco briefly mulled over the idea of getting Pansy over and fucking her senseless in the middle of the common room floor. No doubt Granger would prance down to see what all the noise was about. Or maybe he could do her up against the bitch's bedroom door. What a treat that would be when she opened it.

Draco sat down and stared into the fire before his bed. How easy his life would be without Potter and his little underlings. He wondered for perhaps the hundredth time if he was shagging the Head Girl. How piteously precious that would be, a legendary hero of his time and an unadulterated seamless know-it-all of Hogwarts, fucking each other quietly beneath a silken mirage of purity.

Maybe him and the Weasley runt took it in turns.

Or maybe Granger was a virgin after all. Draco could hardly imagine such a frigid looking bitch letting anyone near that prized pussy of hers. He'd seen boys desperate enough for it. Even Zabini had cracked a joke about almost getting a hard-on when she bent down to pick up her pencil in Potions last week. He hadn't looked. The idea had made him cringe, as did the constant reminder that, at some unknown point in their years at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger had actually become attractive. To everyone but him. At the end of the day, all the dropped pencils, shortened skirts and small pyjamas in the world couldn't stop her from being what she was. A fucking mudblood.

Nothing takes that away. Couple it with being friends with Potter and a Weasley and you're undoubtedly ruined forever.

And now he had no choice but to share a bloody common room with her. Share a bloody bathroom. Draco enjoyed the private quarters, books, rights to push other people around even more than he did before, but he couldn't help noticing she detracted from it all somewhat. It could have been funny, if he could be bothered to make her life a misery, but that's just effort. And too much of it at that.

He glanced at the rotation chart spread out on the table in front of him. He didn't care that he had to do it, he just cared it was Granger that had told him to. Now, for some reason, it represented her.

Draco reached towards it and ran his fingers down the list of names. Too many boys for his liking – not that he was pro-women, just that he was pro-shagging. He'd been inside most of the prefect girls. He supposed that made the chart slightly easier since it wouldn't have to fit in around his own to-do list. He could draw it up now if he found a pen.

Or perhaps, thought Draco, pausing in his search for ink, he could just leave it.

He strode back over to the bathroom and leant against the archway. He may as well slip it under Granger's doorway incomplete. He couldn't really be bothered, the list was fucking mammoth, and would she really leave it empty for the sake of making a point? Draco smiled. She would rather die then present half a chart in front of the Professors. She still hadn't stopped her fucking music after all. Maybe it had given him too much of a headache to finish the work?

He frowned in thought. Was that the best he could do? What's more it was revenge that didn't involve some sort of use for his dick and that wasn't always as fun. Yet really, it was late, he was tired, and it would piss her off nicely. He grabbed a quill on the side table and scrawled his writing on the top of it.

Do it yourself.

She would look bad as well, not just him. That's why she did it. That's what she told herself. Hermione rubbed her eyes. "Oh no." She took out her mirror and licked her finger.

"Why are you so tired?" asked Ron.

"I didn't get a lot sleep," she answered, rubbing the smudged make up underneath her eyes. "And now I really do look fetching."

"Why?" he asked again.

Hermione sighed. "I had to draw up the rotation chart that we presented this morning." "You did that days ago," he said, "She did, didn't she?" He nudged Harry.

Harry shrugged in response, a little confused as to why Ron asked him.

"I had to redo it Ron. It didn't really fit together," muttered Hermione. She turned slightly pink with the realisation of how ashamed she was. She would rather lie to her best friends than admit she did the bastard's work for him. "It was a last minute thing."

"Why couldn't Malfoy change his?" frowned Harry. It was the first thing he had said to Hermione all day. Ron, who had forever been trying to spark conversation, looked suddenly pleased with himself.

Hermione looked at him, mildly surprised at being addressed. "Does it matter?" "Yes."

"It was difficult," replied Hermione. "I'm too tired to discuss-"

"Well you clearly did yours first," continued Harry, "Malfoy's a complete and utter twat. You can't let

him walk all over you like that. Next time tell him to-"

"Oh just go back to not talking to me," she sighed, "It's not worth the oxygen." Hermione rounded the corner and split up from them. "I'm going to the library," she murmured, her voice slightly lost

in the long corridor away from them.

Ron turned to Harry. "What was that about?" he whispered. "Merlin knows," he replied, "I'm starting to have enough of-"

"I meant you, you idiot. You finally talk and then you upset her again."

"I barely said anything."

"You started that whole Malfoy thing again." "I thought she wanted advice."

"Not your kind of advice."

"Bloody hell," growled Harry, "I can't win with that girl."

"Well she's tired," shrugged Ron, "Maybe just leave it for tonight, yeah?"

Ron was secretly proud of the fact that, for once, he was playing peace-keeper between his two best friends. It was normally him and Hermione bickering over something pathetic like the directions in Hogsmeade or the finishing line of a spell which, even then he realised, rendered him ripped to shreds by the know-it-all genius that she strived to be and often was, indeed, pretty fucking good and being. Damned witch. He would have liked to take the moral high ground with her on this occasion but he couldn't see any conceivable reason to do so. Harry was acting up in peculiar ways ever since Hermione and Malfoy became elected. It was his best mate to hate Malfoy, but not to treat Hermione with a similar malcontent that almost suggested the mere association with the bastard suddenly meant she was infected by him in some way. Hermione wasn't telling them everything about her and Malfoy. Ron knew it and, more importantly, Harry knew it and hated it with a passion.

"I just don't know why she doesn't want my help," grumbled Harry. He paused. "I mean I don't want to exactly give her that kind of help, you know?"

"What?"

"I don't want to help them talk to each other."

"What do you want to help with then?" sighed Ron, kicking a piece of litter on the ground exasperatedly, then perhaps feeling a bit guilty as he leant down to pick it up.

Ron didn't think Harry even knew what he was going on about. Whatever it was though, he thought adamantly, Harry would get over it and give the girl a break. It wasn't like them to argue like this and it almost seemed as if the natural order of things had been flipped and reversed into some alternate world where he was the mature and sensible one. Fuck no. It couldn't last. Ron found it a very uncomfortable feeling to say the least. Harry was the leader, Hermione was the- well the other leader, and Ron was-? He liked to think another leader but then that would make three leaders out of three people, and that seemed to take away from the whole leading the gang concept so-

Fuck. Ron caught Malfoy in the far right of his gaze just a second too late. Harry had already stopped dead in his tracks and was starring daggers at the blonde wizard as he moved within couple of metres opposite them.

"It's Potter and his bitch," smirked Draco, "What a pleasant surprise." He stared straight back at Harry. "Looking for an empty classroom to fuck Weasley up the arse are you?"

"We're not all into the same things as you Malfoy," spat Harry, his posture stiffening.

"Fifteen minutes and it's your curfew you little wankers," growled Draco, "So be good and hurry on back to your common room."

"I think that's fifteen minutes we'll spend down here actually," replied Harry. Ron nodded in agreement.

Draco smiled loathsomely. "Where's the mudblood?" Ron's jaw clenched. "Her name is Hermione."

He snorted. "Has she fallen asleep somewhere? Must have had a pretty late night what with my chart to do and all."

The urge to correct him overwhelmed Ron. "She had to draw hers up again," he said, "You were too fucking busy to redo yours." It overwhelmed him simply because it was obvious what was to come next.

"I was too fucking busy to do mine at all Weasel," corrected Draco. "What the fuck does that mean?" asked Harry.

"It means," he yawned nonchalantly, "I never drew it up. She did it. Couldn't really be arsed to be honest."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Bloody useful," continued Draco, "Now I know I can just leave all the prefect work to her last minute and hey-fucking-presto. The mudblood is like a personal slave."

Harry took a step towards him, ignoring Ron's hand which suddenly appeared on his shoulder. "You apologise to her," demanded Harry.

Draco laughed. "Or what? I feel the infamous Potter wrath?"

"Do you want to find out?" he asked, attempting to maintain a steady tone. He pushed away Ron's tightening grip. "I'm fine, Ron."

"He's fine Mummy," mocked Draco, "Just got his knickers in a twist over a stupid chart, that's all." "Next time I speak to Hermione," snarled Harry, "She better have received an apology."

Draco looked at his hands and scraped out a bit of dirt from underneath a fingernail. "Did you ever consider the fact that the bitch can take care of herself?" he drawled, "She did it. It's her problem. All this pathetic protection bollocks doesn't exactly cover up the fact that you're endlessly trying to get into her pants, Potter."

Harry took a second step towards him. "I'm looking out for her," he said, "And I promise you I will be until the end of the year. You won't get away with any fuck-abouts, Malfoy."

"Leave it Harry mate," warned Ron. Something was bound to snap.

But it was Draco that almost closed the gap between himself and Harry. "I'm apologising for nothing you jumped up little twat," he breathed, "I'm going to break every little nerve of confidence in that Granger bitch. It's just a pity you won't be able to watch the action." He sneered. "Pros of a private common room. It's very private indeed."

"I mean it," replied Harry, refusing to shy away from Draco's towering proximity, "Leave her alone. Don't give her any trouble."

"What can I say?" he laughed. Draco's face was mere inches from Harry's. "If I'm bored, I'm bored."

Harry's fists began to rise.

Ron hastily pushed himself between them. "Back off, Malfoy," he warned.

The Head Boy stared passed him. "How much does it fuck with you knowing I could do simply whatever I wanted to her, Potter?"

"Shut up."

"Whatever I wanted." Draco repeated the words slowly.

Ron spun round and grabbed Harry's flailing arm. "Leave it Harry! The bastard isn't worth it!" "If you ever," he growled, glaring at him over Ron's shoulder, "I swear you'll regret it Malfoy-" "Oh no," he laughed, "I think I just shat myself."

"I'm warning you!"

Draco shook his head and his smile faded. "Don't miss the curfew girls," he said, beginning to walk backwards and away from Harry and Ron. "And don't let me see you cutting it so fine again."

"I meant what I said," Harry called after him, "Don't do anything!"

Draco licked his lips before turning the corner. "Mudbloods are fucking disgusting," his voice echoed, "But almost anything is worth pissing you off, Potter."