CHAPTER 6

Before the Holidays, December 1997

As soon as Hermione got back to her dormitory after school, she practically chucked her book bag across the common room, onto the couch where she planned to sulk for the next 15 minutes until there were more pressing things to do.

"Ow."

"What?" she stomped into the common room, less startled than irritated by the exclamation of pain coming from the very couch she had planned on inhabiting. After she had taken matters into her own hands on their night patrol last week, she had felt so much better about their living arrangements. It had, as Malfoy had suggested it might, actually given her some peace between them. She was thankful for the break in the tension-at least on her part.

"It's just me." Malfoy sat up from the couch, holding up a Runes book in defense in case another object was to be thrown. "What got your panties in a knot?"

Hermione scowled. "Well, you were invited to Slughorn's Best and Brightest dinner also, weren't you?" Malfoy also grumbled at the thought of the infamous yearly Holiday Dinner, the one they had been coerced to attend for a few years now. Thank Merlin it was their last year-anything if it meant not suffering through a full five-course meal under the watchful gaze of their odd professor and his equally odd, yet powerful, friends.

"Unfortunately. Yes, I'm on the short list."

Last time Hermione had gone to Slughorn's, she was getting felt up by McLaggen. It was a terrible, uncomfortable experience that, combined with the Yule Ball drama, had convinced her that bringing a date to anything in the future was a wholly terrible idea, although it was rather expected at a formal event like Slughorn's.

Of course, Harry and Ron already had their dates. Harry was already attending with Ginny, of course, and Ron was set to bring along Lavender Brown, to the surprise of all three of the friends. Apparently things were starting up between them again, he insisted. Were Ron not bringing a date, she would have asked to go with him as a friend, in order to avoid awkward confrontations. Even Neville was taken. So now she was left solo, in need of a date before she had to RSVP to Slughorn without her plus one.

"I'm trying to see it as useful," Hermione complained, walking over to the office to grab herself a quill and an apple candy on the side. "However," she continued, walking back into the common room, "it's so much pressure."

"It's because it's Slughorn. That man treats us like we're specimens for one of his classes. You've got to admit, though, it's a unique networking opportunity. Especially this year. Have you seen the guest list?"

"No," Hermione said, crunching down on the candy. "How'd you see that? Who's coming?"

"Former Slug Club members. Ministry people," Malfoy said, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of the couch. "A few department heads. As well as some of the wealthy entrepreneurs of our time."

"No way," Hermione said, taking a seat in the chair diagonal to the couch.

"If there's any time to make an impression, it's now. We're graduating soon. They're looking for fresh talent."

"Great," Hermione said, standing again. "I've got to get working on my homework, anyways. Then I've got to brush up on my Ministry personnel." She started for her room to collect her things for a trip to the library, and Malfoy wordlessly picked up his book again.

"I could give you names," he called after her as she whisked out into the hallway. Hermione paused, cranking her head back to the common room.

She stared at the back of his blond head for a moment, the gears in her brain turning.

"Malfoy. Who are you going with?"

He turned to look over his shoulder, placing a bookmark back in his textbook. "Well. I have options. But the RSVP isn't until Thursday, so I have some time to decide."

Hermione took a breath, already disgusted with what she was about to say. "What if, hypothetically, we attended together."

"Are you suggesting I be your date, Granger?" The plainness with which he said it made her roll her eyes.

"No, no," Hermione corrected, stepping into the room again to correct him. "Bringing dates is awful. If we 'go together,' then we're both technically solo, just without the title of it. And don't flatter yourself. You're just my last option for not having to bring a handsy, distracting, last-minute date." She grimaced at the flashbacks of the year before.

"Handsy, I am not. Distracting, that's for you to decide."

"Ew. We're past that, remember."

Draco smirked. "Well. You'd spare me bringing Pansy or Daph again. They're great party companions but… I'm going for the networking this time."

"It's not official or anything," Hermione clarified. "Just unspoken. We walk in together, we sit at the table, nothing else."

"What if there's a dance?"

"I don't dance," Hermione informed him.

"Fine," Malfoy said, turning back over his shoulder.

Hermione allowed a brief, tight grin to herself before disappearing around the corner again. Well, at least that was taken care of.

.*.*.*.

Draco was pleasantly surprised to learn at Tuesday dinner that Pansy was already occupied with a family event the night of Slughorn's party, and that Daphne already had a date: her girlfriend, Hannah Abbott.

"It's the first time we're openly going out together," Daphne explained over her salad. "Which only makes me hope it goes... smoothly."

"I'd hex anyone who was giving you trouble," Zabini grinned, patting Daphne's hand across the table. "Gotta support my lesbo ex-girlfriend. Even if her partner is a Hufflepuff."

"Thanks, Zabini," she drawled sarcastically, removing his hand from on top of hers. "Who are you taking? Who's the latest girl-or guy-to pity?"

Blaise grinned, then dropped his smile. "Uhh, she hasn't told you?"

"What are you talking about?" Daphne asked dangerously.

"Well-you see-"

"Is it Astoria?" Draco interjected, being the middleman to diffuse the situation. Or to flame the fire. His two friends immediately locked death-glare eyes.

"She told me she was going with 'some Slytherin,'" Daphne growled.

"I am a Slytherin!" Blaise protested, throwing up his hands in defense. "We've been seeing each other on and off for a while now. I just thought-"

Daphne's wand rested over the edge of the table, her hand aiming it towards Blaise. "I don't want to hear any more. She'll tell me when she's ready. But all I know is, if you hurt her, I will not hesitate to castrate you."

"Heard," Zabini said, returning his eyes to his dinner plate, muttering something to himself.

"I swear, I'm going to murder him one of these days," Daphne said, stabbing a forkful of salad. "I can't believe I ever dated him."

"For two weeks. In the third year. And he still hangs on to that," Draco commented, watching Blaise poutingly slice his steak.

"Well. Now that your two usual options are taken, who will you be attending Slughorn's with this year?"

Draco took a slow swig of his water, waiting before he set down his glass to answer. "Technically, I'll be arriving with Granger. But we're attending as singles."

"Granger?" Daphne repeated, sounding shocked. "As in Hermione Gryffindor Granger?"

Blaise looked up.

"Yes, as in the Head Girl I've been living with this whole time."

"Now that's just… weird," Daphne said.

"Yeah, that is weird," Zabini interjected from across the table. He stabbed his fork into a bit of meat. "Are you starting to like her now or something?" he asked, a suspicious hint in his voice.

"No," Draco replied plainly. "It's completely practical, anyways. We're both going for the networking. We don't need dates we'll be distracted by."

"Practical," Zabini echoed with a pointed look.

"That's still so out of the blue," Daphne mused. "What else have you not been talking to us about?"

"Yeah, mate. Any other surprises?"

"Nothing else that you don't know," Draco said pointedly at Blaise. "I don't want to hear any bullshit about my attendance with Granger. It's the least biggest deal you could think it to be."

"I'm so interested to see how this dinner's going to go," Daphne commented, shaking her head slowly in disbelief.

.*.*.*.

The night of the party, Hermione was getting ready in the Gryffindor girls dorms. Ginny was putting the finishing touches on her lipstick, examining her makeup job.

"Okay, now blot." Hermione closed her lips over a napkin, smoothing out the soft red lipstick Ginny had once again decided she should wear. "It's so your shade," she had insisted, going in with the tube to her lips before she had time to resist.

"Do I look like I'm trying too hard?" Hermione asked, turning her head back and forth in the mirror.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's a professor's holiday party. I'm not trying to look like I'm-"

"You look nice," Ginny interrupted. "You don't look overdressed. It's a formal party. You're there to impress."

Hermione set down the mirror, realizing that overdressing really was the least of her problems when she had Ministry officials to impress. The right impression could mean an internship, or at least an interview post-graduation, with a department that would get her working on real-world application issues straight away. She adjusted the shoulder of her crimson cocktail dress.

"I still can't believe you're going with Malfoy," Ginny lectured, blending a smudge of blush at her cheek. "If you would have said the word, I would have found you someone. Or just made Ron take you."

"It's not like it means anything," Hermione said, mitigating the situation. "It just made it easier since we both wanted to go, in essence, alone."

"I still think it's odd," Ginny continued. "That you even had that idea and conversation in the first place. I mean… did he ask you?"

"I asked him," Hermione clarified. "I'd rather have a date that couldn't care less about me than deal with a McLaggen again."

Ginny set down her mirror, meeting Hermione's eyes.

"As much as I hate to agree with you, I would too. But did it really have to be Malfoy?"

Hermione shrugged diffusively. "He was going to be there anyways."

.*.*.*.

Slughorn's party was much more grandiose than the years before. The eccentric professor had enlarged his office to the size of a small ballroom, and attendees of all ages and ranks bumbled around the floor as more arrived. Draco spotted Granger coming down the hallway with the two Weasels, the Brown girl, and Potter in tow, and upon seeing him the inseparable group seemed to scatter. Granger broke forward from their group as the others went inside the office.

"Hello," she said hurriedly. She was in a dark red party dress that shimmered understatedly under the low light. Around her neck was a delicate gold necklace, and she had pinned up her curls into an elegant updo. It would be ridiculous to tell her she looked wonderful, although it was an obvious truth.

Her dress hugged her body lightly, and unlike on Halloween, Granger no longer had a shimmery cape to cover her figure. Draco allowed his eyes a quick sweep down her body, which thankfully went unnoticed by the Gryffindor, who was doing the same thing to him.

"Have you seen who's here yet?" Granger asked, changing the subject.

"Are you nervous or something?" Draco mocked in return.

"Hey," came a voice from down the hall. Zabini was walking towards them, a petite blonde hanging on his arm. "Malfoy. Happy to see you."

"Zabini. Astoria," Draco greeted. "I see you're looking well."

"You look mighty fine yourself," said Zabini. He turned to Granger. "Hi Granger. Surprised to see you here with this man-slut," he said, pointing to Draco. "Anyways, hope you have a good night."

Astoria did a confused little wave at Granger, who reciprocated and nodded a farewell to Zabini, who was whisking himself and his date towards the office-ballroom.

"What was that about?" Granger asked once he was out of earshot.

"Male friendships," Draco grumbled as they walked through the door. "See you around."

.*.*.*.

Seated at the large dinner table, high off of the networking that had happened before and throughout their meal, Hermione smiled gently as she raised her champagne glass with the rest of the guests.

"A toast to my favorite students, from today and days before. May you fly high, and continue to soar above and beyond your station. Cheers."

Hermione sipped at the bubbles, feeling them tickle her nose as she set down the glass. She was pleasantly buzzed, enough to assist her in the courage to approach one of the few people she still hadn't talked to: the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Gethsemane Prickle. Working for the DRCMC was one of her top goals, besides having a position directly under the Minister themself, but her passion for care of magical creatures came from years of friendship with Hagrid and her underestimated yet passionate organization S.P.E.W.

As the remnants of their long meal began clearing itself from the table, guests began standing. Hermione felt her chair being pulled back for her, and she looked up to see Malfoy, sarcastically gesturing as he performed the customary courtesy.

"Much obliged," she joked, taking the chair from him once she was standing and pushing it in herself.

"How's your networking going?"

"Not now," Hermione shut him down. "I've got to get to her before anyone else does. She hasn't been available all night."

Hermione beelined it to Gethsemane Prickle, who was just picking up a new flute of some sparkling drink and wandering to the edge of the ballroom with her date. Hermione cleared her throat as she approached, gently yet firmly offering her hand.

"Good evening, Mrs. Prickle." The elderly lady turned to examine Hermione, who still had her hand offered out. Suddenly, she looked to her date, then back to Hermione, then burst into laughter.

"It's Miss," the department head corrected, accepting Hermione's faltering hand. She shook it firmly, then waved at her escort, a handsome older man with just the beginnings of gray in his dark beard and a smart suit. "Excuse us for a moment, Pablo." The man nodded, then walked away, leaving Hermione by herself with the woman.

"I apologize. I assumed that was your husband."

"No, just a friend. I haven't been married for twenty years."

Hermione laughed uncomfortably to fill the space. "My name is Hermione Gra-"

"Granger," completed the woman. "Yes, you're Head Girl. I always keep updated on the goings-on of my alma mater. You know who was Head Girl in my final year?" Her eyes glinted at Hermione mischievously.

"You were?" Hermione guessed as a shot in the dark.

"No, no," Prickle asserted with wide eyes. "I was the one getting written up by the Head Girl! Always in trouble. It was Thelma Vladimir. She's dead now."

"Ah," Hermione uttered, unsure of how to respond to that.

"Well then. What did you want to talk to me about?" Prickle's eyes gleamed, waiting for Hermione's response.

"I was hoping to speak with you to talk about your department. See, I'm graduating this year, and it's always been a dream of mine to work in your field. I was wondering if you knew of any internships or openings available at the current moment-"

"-You're here to talk work," said Prickle, tossing a gray curl over her shoulder. "I must admit, normally I just tell youngsters to send a letter to the department if they're interested in getting involved, but you seem spirited. Tell me what specifically you're looking for and why."

Hermione took a breath. This was her chance, she had been ready to pitch this for years. "Well, you see, I've been interested in Magical Creatures Rights since I first started at this school. I've been a straight O student in my Care of Mythical Creatures class, and in my fourth year I founded an organization, the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, also known as S.P.E.W.-"

"Founded!" cried the older woman. "Has Hogwarts completely forgotten my organization S.E.W.P.?"

Hermione blinked.

"The Society for Elfish Welfare Promotion," huffed Prickle. Hermione's stomach dropped. In all of her reading about Hogwarts history and Gethsemane Prickle, she had never heard of S.E.W.P. Thankfully, Prickle chuckled lightheartedly. "Well, that was years ago. I'm ancient. Glad there was someone to revive it. What's your membership at?"

"Well, we're rather small. However, I'm hoping it will grow," Hermione fibbed.

"What do you do at your meetings?" asked Prickle, taking on a secretive tone.

Again, Hermione was stuck. "Well, we normally just talk about issues affecting house elves, current events. Pretty basic stuff."

"At our S.E.W.P. meetings," Prickle confessed, "We would plot pranks with the house elves as a form of protest. We did some wild stuff. Shook up the school and made everyone think twice about how they viewed those clever little creatures. We had a great time," she recounted nostalgically. "But enough about me. Tell me what you like to do for fun, young lady."

Hermione opened her mouth, then froze. For fun? "I-I like to read," she said.

"Oooh. I was a pleasure reader myself. What kinds of books? What authors?"

"I like to read history. Biographies. Textbooks," Hermione admitted.

Prickle shook her head. "Okay, not my idea of pleasure reading. What else?"

"I like to-" Hermione stopped, unable to think of anything. She liked to be with her friends, but what did they do when they were together? She usually read or studied while they talked about Quidditch or school.

"Any sports or clubs? Are you a Quidditch girl?"

"No, not really," said Hermione, truthfully. There was nothing that bored her more than Quidditch. A terrible silence fell over their conversation as Hermione realized she had failed this part of the conversation.

"I'll give you a helpful hint, my girl," said Prickle, the crow's feet around her eyes crinkling as she smiled warmly. "The Ministry likes to see well-rounded applicants. They like to have something to talk about with you. Some hobby or interest that makes you unique." She set a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "When you end up writing that inquiry letter to the department, make sure you've got one of those. We love to see it on resumes. It was lovely to meet you, Miss Harmony."

"It was a pleasure to meet you," Hermione replied to the woman's retreating back, stung by the harsh letdown and the mistaken name. One of her role models, her icons, had told her to write to the department. Even worse, she had told her she wasn't unique.

A student was passing by with a tray of the beautiful cocktails Hermione had seen Prickle and her date holding. Hermione snagged one without a word and downed it in two sips.

.*.*.*.

It was progressing later into the night, and a small string ensemble had set itself up along the edge of the room and begun playing. A few couples were out on the floor, some dancing, some simply swaying and talking. Draco himself was along the perimeter, just finishing a business chat with a fellow company heir a few years his superior, graduated Slytherin. They talked about their companies and what they thought was best given the current political climate: instating company diversity policies and changing old policies created by their ancestors.

"It's been a great move for my business, personally. Ethics draw investors," the gentleman was saying. "If I had to sum up the advice I could give you, that's it."

"I appreciate your time and thoughts," Draco said, offering his hand for a friendly handshake. "You've given me some wonderful starting points for taking over Malfoy, Inc."

"My pleasure." With that, their conversation was completed, and Draco turned around only to find Granger coming up to his side.

"Malfoy," she said grouchily. "We're dancing."

"I thought you said you didn't dance."

"Well, I do now that Gethsemane Prickle thinks I'm boring." She gestured with a nod of her head to the dance floor, where a foxy old lady was swaying in the arms of a handsome older man. She laughed vexatiously and slapped at the man's arm, prompting him to spin and dip her low to the ground. After watching this scene, Draco turned back to the Gryffindor in front of him.

"And this involves me, how?"

"Because everyone's about to start dancing, and I'm not going to be the boring one off to the side who's not dancing with anyone." A server walked by with a tray of pretty purple drinks, and Granger snagged one, drinking it down faster than one should ingest a cocktail.

Just as Granger had predicted, the string section became amplified, drawing the couples in the room to the dance floor. Even Slughorn had landed an awkward partner-share between Daphne and Hannah. As the waltzes began, Draco turned quizzically to the girl standing beside him. She was already done with her drink, and set it down on the table next to them. "Well?" She grabbed his hand and pulled him a few feet out onto the floor.

She awkwardly assumed a slow dancing position, setting one hand on his shoulder and clasping his opposite hand with the other. "If you're going to force me to dance with you, then at least let's do it correctly," he muttered, adjusting her hand placement and pulling her closer to himself. Then he set his hand on her waist, nudging her foot into proper placement with his shoe.

On the beat, he pulled her into a step. She followed along, not gracefully, not clumsily. She stared off past his shoulder, presumably at the other attendees of the dinner.

"Okay, what's wrong," he asked tiredly to Granger, giving a curt, terse nod to Zabini as he floated by teasingly with Astoria.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just a boring, basic nobody who will never secure a job with the Ministry," Granger conceded softly.

"I thought you had to be a boring nobody to work at the Ministry."

"Shut up," she hissed, catching another glance as Prickle waltzed around them. "I just… I thought I was doing things right."

"What are you not doing right?" Draco asked, genuinely curious and also concerned that Granger was actually drunk at this event. Or at least getting there.

"Everything," she replied dully. "I'm-I'm everything everyone's made fun of me for since the first year here. I'm a lifeless know-it-all loser with big teeth."

"You've grown into the teeth," Draco answered jokingly. It still didn't seem to help the Gryffindor, who continued to sway through the dance floor with him, completely unattached to the dance. It wasn't what he had expected, having his hands around Granger's waist and having her close to him. Not when she was in this sad state, confessing her insecurities to him. He pulled her off the edge of the dance floor, turning her to face him.

"Do you need to leave?" he asked.

"No. The night's almost over. I'm just going to go to the restroom."

.*.*.*.

At the end of the night, Slughorn sent all his guests home with a bottle of the leftover liquor of their choice, if they so wished. She sent a sweet smile to Slughorn as she picked up a full bottle of Firewhiskey, thanking him for the night. She ignored his shocked look and started out the door, bottle in hand, Malfoy tagging after her. Her friends had already taken off a tad bit early, and she had already wished them goodnight, telling them she was just staying to see the party off and they should go.

But now, walking back to her room knowing her strange fake date was following her, she was really starting to feel the alcohol hit. She let Malfoy catch up to her, and she laughed dryly.

"That was fun," she mustered. "So did you get a job offer?"

Malfoy laughed. "I already have a family company I'm inheriting. However, I made some invaluable business connections, so tonight was successful enough."

"Well, I'm glad," she said bitingly, turning the corner towards their staircase. This late in the evening, the hallways should be clear except for unlucky prefects on late patrol. She was glad. She really didn't want to run into anyone when she was this intoxicated. She wasn't feeling very 'sharp' or 'well-presenting' at the moment, words that people often used to describe her.

Unlucky prefects were exactly what they ran into on their way to the Head Prefects dormitories. Somewhere around the third floor, a startled pair of sixth- and seventh-year Hufflepuff girls jumped at the sight of the two coming down the hallway. They flashed their badges before realizing that it was their superiors making their way home from the coveted Slug Club soiree. Hermione gave them a half-hearted wave with the hand not holding a fifth of Firewhiskey, as Malfoy asked how their shift was going. They continued down the hall, eventually making it to the hallway of their room.

"Isn't it strange how we live together," Hermione suddenly said aloud, though it was something she had just been thinking. "I don't think I'll even be used to it."

Muttering the passcode to their portrait door, Malfoy let them both in. "It's definitely something," he answered.

Once the door closed behind them, Hermione opened her newly acquired bottle and took a healthy swig. The burn felt nice on her throat. "Listen, I have a question for you," she said, knowing now was as good as ever to ask what she had been wondering.

Malfoy turned around, leaning on the wall on the other side of the common room entrance. "What's your question?"

"This might be incredibly stupid, but I'm asking because I know you'll be honest with me. Because you have no investment, and besides, you won't care about hurting my feelings."

"Are you going to ask me about the size of your teeth again? They're not that big. They were never that big. You know who has big teeth? That Longbottom fellow."

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, no, I'm not going to ask about my teeth." She looked back at Malfoy. "I need you to be honest with me. Would you ever sleep with me?"

Malfoy stared at her, still leaning against the wall.

"I mean-I'm only asking because I know for a fact that at this very moment, Harry and Ginny are shagging and Ron and Lavender are shagging-probably half the people who went to Slug Club are shagging right now, but-Ron told me he could never sleep with me, because… well, he never told me why, he just said he couldn't with me. And that's when we were dating. So I'm confused, what's so different about Lavender? And why are they shagging all the time? And I'm thinking, has it been me this whole time? Am I the reason I can't get laid?"

Malfoy still just stared at her. He didn't respond, and Hermione smacked a hand to her face.

"Oh, bloody hell. Don't even say anything."

"Granger, I'm not quite sure what's going on with you but I don't think you should have any more of this." He stepped forward, taking the bottle of Firewhiskey from her hands and taking it into the common room. When he returned, he leaned through the doorframe and looked Hermione in the eyes.

"Granger, to answer your question, I would make love to you. In a heartbeat. But not in this state."

She looked at him with a furrowed brow, feeling like she was about to cry. Then, Hermione stood on her tiptoes to plant her lips on his, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him, hungrily. The next thing she knew, he was scooping her up under her knees and around her back, not breaking the kiss. She felt herself being carried down the hallway, into a room, onto a soft bed. She opened her eyes, not knowing what she should expect. Malfoy stood next to her where she lay on her own bed, looking down at her with a sober look she could not name. He leaned in once more and placed a soft kiss on Hermione's lips-at which her breath caught in her throat, then he straightened and walked to the door.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

The door closed behind him, leaving Hermione alone, drunk, and sad.

.*.*.*.

Draco sat in an almost-empty Great Hall for early breakfast, knowing that it wasn't normal for students to wake up so early on a weekend, especially after attending a party the night before. But sleep wasn't coming well to Draco, and he would rather get a head start on his day, maybe get some early training in for Quidditch.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone in his early-morning shenanigans. The other Slytherin Golden Boy, albeit the badder one, came strolling in, noticing his friend at the table.

"Malfoy," cheered Zabini, sliding in across the table from him. "I'm trusting you had a good night?"

"It was fine," Draco replied. "How was yours?"

"Astoria's a dream," he bragged, running a hand over his thick dark hair. "But I'm more interested in learning about your night after the end of the party. Did you take your date back to the bedroom yet? Or are you still conquest-less?"

"She asked me," Draco recounted plainly, "flat-out, if I would fuck her."

Blaise froze, the mocking smile falling off of his face.

"To clarify, she asked me if, in my humble opinion, I would ever have sex with her. And I told her yes, I would."

"So-"

"But no, nothing else happened," Draco interrupted, finishing the story. "She started kissing me but she was drunk. I wasn't about to take advantage of that. Consent should be sober and enthusiastic. So I said goodnight and hoped she'd wake up not so sad and intoxicated."

Blaise stared at him. "Merlin's goddamn cloak."

"What?" Draco snapped.

"Nothing."

"It's on the honor system. I'm acting honorably," Draco continued, defensive.

"No, first of all, I'm starting to think you're inventing reasons to stall. Second, I'm wondering if you're actually starting to develop feelings for this bitch."

Draco leaned forward across the table, making himself very clear to his Italian friend. "Listen to me. I'm not lying to you. I have no incentive to lie because I neither need a beach house or a damn made-up title. I could buy my own bloody beach house tomorrow if I wanted one so badly. I took on your bet because you're a cocky arsehole. And guess what? So am I. So we're going to follow it through. But I do not need you interfering with childish theorizing and taunting."

Zabini laughed, acknowledging he had heard his friend's message.

"And furthermore," Draco continued, wanting to drill it in, "I took the bet for my own selfish reasons too. Fucking Granger would be a personal benefit to me, it would restore the natural order. But in order for that to be accomplished, it has to be done with full, sober choice. And, let's be clear–obtaining proper consent has nothing to do with how I might feel towards her. 'Feelings' are frivolous."

"Point made," Zabini interrupted sullenly.

Draco returned to his eggs, glad that he and Zabini were clear. He couldn't operate in this venture with the idea of 'feelings' confusing anything. The only feelings he felt towards Granger were seasoned hatred and a strange kind of lust that they were negotiating with all the practicality of a trade deal.

Feelings were irrelevant. Facts were not, and the facts were that Draco was going to bed Hermione Granger at some point soon and he was going to be receiving the deed to a nice beach house in one of the richest parts of the country.