"So, we should both fill out this questionnaire I created for the project. I left enough space for us to do the calculations within each subject beneath the questions. On the back is a chart so we can have a side by side comparison of likelihood of success." They were sitting in the library, Draco doing his best to ignore everything the little chit was saying, but he knew he needed this project to go well to maintain his grades. Sighing, he pulled one of her dreaded sheets towards him.

"What careers should we do? Mudblood professional?" He honestly hadn't intended to let his thoughts slip out, but it just did. Hermione glared at him, already frustrated.

"How about Death Eater? I'm sure you'll be great at that!" Draco lunged forward, smirking as her grip on her wand tightened and she shifted away from him. "You're insane, Malfoy."

Draco ignored her words, scribbling away on his sheet. He was writing down his calculations. HERMIONE—

"What's your middle name?"

"What? It's Jean why does that matter?"

"Plain name." Draco responded before continuing writing.

HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER. 16. GRYFFINDOR. FEMALE. MUDBLOOD. Seeing what he was doing, Hermione raced to do the same. DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY. 16. SLYTHERIN. MALE. DEATH EATER. Both used the same conversion for numbers correlating to letters of the alphabet. The silence lasted another ten minutes before Draco smirked and slid his paper toward her, only faltering in seeing her disbelief as she stared at the parchment she'd been scribbling on.

"What's wrong with you, mudblood?" Her wide eyes shifted toward him, back to the paper, then toward him again. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.

Draco preened, probably a 100 percent success rate as a death eater has her scared. He quickly snatched the paper, reviewing her calculations before looking at the number scribbled, underlined, and circled. Faltering, he furiously rechecked her calculations, but they were correct. There, at the bottom of the page, written in Hermione Granger's irritatingly neat handwriting, was a measly two percent chance at success. His heart stuttered, stopping in his chest at the thought he might not survive the war if he bound himself to the Dark Lord.

Hermione watched as he stormed away, disbelief still pumping through her. There was no way Draco Malfoy of all people had such a chance. It wasn't just low, it was practically nonexistent. He would never succeed as a Death Eater. Hermione quickly scribbled her own name down, trying to find her chance of success at such a job. She circled the percent, disbelief coloring her expression. Her small seventeen percent was still larger than his two percent. The thought that she doesn't allow herself to fail crossed her mind but for a moment before she refocused.

She explained to the boys at dinner her calculations but was met with both disbelief and refusal to accept those calculations.

"Way I see it 'Mione, is that regular folk don't use arithmatics to calculate their everyday lives for a reason." Ron's mouth was full of chicken, the drumstick dangling from his greasy hand as he prodded Harry to agree.

"He's right, Hermione. And there's no way Draco Malfoy isn't a death eater." Harry's green eyes shifted over to the Slytherin table in suspicion. "I know he's up to something this year."

She didn't bother to tell re-explain how it was a success formula, and that it wasn't about whether he was a death eater or not, but whether he would succeed as one. She wondered if that meant he wouldn't survive this war. She wondered why she had a chance of succeeding while he had none. The division between light and dark had always been so clear, but suddenly, here was Draco bloody Malfoy blurring the lines.

The next day, Hermione continued to stare at Malfoy, curiosity clearly shining in her brown eyes. He was too busy scribbling away on the parchment between them to pay her any mind. They were writing down the names of classmates they could interview for the project. Well, Malfoy was.

"Did your parents never teach you proper manners, mudblood?" His sneer was harsh on his pale face. Dark circles lined his eyes and she wondered if he slept after hearing his chances at being a death eater. When she didn't answer, Malfoy huffed out a breath. "Right, muggles don't know any manners, do they? Animals, the lot of them."

Hermione glared at him, wanting nothing more than to reach out and smack him with one of the books lining their table. Madame Pince's sharp eyes were keeping her from doing so.

"At least mine were around to teach me manners Malfoy. You were probably taught by a nanny." He ignored her, silence lapsing over them.

Hermione began tapping her quill, nibbling on the end to prevent her from speaking first. Ever tap was met with a glare from her blond companion.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptapta—

Draco's hand slammed down on top of her slender fingers, snapping the quill in two. Jerking her hand away, Hermione stared at him in shock. Her hand burned curled into her chest.

"If you don't quit your bloody tapping I will enlist Peeves to bother you until the end of your days at Hogwarts."

"I'm just trying to figure out why your chance at success was so low." Her honesty shocked Draco for a moment, but he was quick to send her a sneer.

"None of your business, you insufferable chit." He refused to admit he was just as confused.

"Well, did you try any of the other possibilities?" Before he could answer there was a commotion coming from the stacks behind them.

Madame Pince had thrown out two students that had gotten too comfortable back there. Hermione's cheeks tinted pink as a third year Hufflepuff ran out, leaving a smirking Theodore Nott behind. Draco smirked at his companion, nodding in acknowledgement. Nott either didn't notice or didn't mind the screeching coming out of the librarians mouth. He sauntered past them, nudging Draco.

"You owe me ten galleons, mate."

Hermione stared as he handed them over like nothing. Had they honestly bet about his ability to get with another student? She scoffed in disgust, gaining their attention.

"I bet you 100 you'll never get Granger to do the same." Nott's crass mouth was smirking. Draco sneered.

"I'd never want Granger to do the same. She'd just smear mud all over me."

By the time his sentence had finished, Hermione had already shoved her chair back, packed her things up, and stormed out of the library, leaving behind a laughing Nott and glaring Malfoy.