[A/N:  It's been a while, forgive me.  I lost the ambition for this story, as well as any ideas for furthering the plot.  I just picked it up again yesterday and decided to toy around with it.  I hope you enjoy.]

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Chapter III

Thoughts

He looked over at her; she had been reading his work.  He didn't mind.  When he had looked at her, she bent down and took out a book.  Once again, she buried her nose in Prefects Who Gained Power.  He couldn't resist.

"Which one of our amazing prefects are you reading about now?"

"Percival Weasley," she said monotonously.  "Youngest ever head of department for the Ministry of Magic.

"I remember him, tight-assed little goody goody," he put his quill back to his parchment and continued his poem.  He didn't catch Hermione's face turn red.  But, of course, how was he to know she had dated him for two months?

"On and on he wrote about Pansy.  Hate was the operative word in the entire thing.  This poem was long enough, and no longer resembled a poem.  It was more like one giant block of writing.  He flicked his wand at it; it was instantly encased in an envelope with a wax seal, bearing the Malfoy crest of a dragon and snake.

"You're not actually going to give it to her are you?" His head snapped up, he had completely forgotten that Granger was there.

"Of course," he said with a nonchalant air to his voice.  "She deserves it.  You have no clue what she…never mind."

"No, tell me," Granger's brown eyes were twinkling as she smirked.  Damn that smirk.  It did not belong on her face.

"I think not," he gathered his bag and poem.  "I'll see you Friday night, enjoy your book."

Se folded her arms and frowned at him.  He wasn't about to explain his gross "Pansy moment" with her.  He walked away and back into the Great Hall.  Over the tables he saw Crabbe and Goyle beckoning to him.  Draco simply pretended he didn't see them and left the hall for the library.

After taking a seat and brushing the thin blonde hair out of his face, he pulled out yet another piece of parchment.  He reached for his quill but came up with a muggle pencil instead.  How primitive, he thought, not knowing that the quill was more primitive still.  The writing began to flow out of him to the point where he couldn't focus on what he was writing.  His eyes closed and before he knew it, there was a block of some such sitting on the table before him.

'This is great,' he thought.  'No wonder muggles use these so much.'

He paused to see what he had written.  The page was covered almost and he muttered the first paragraph to himself quietly.

'Hermione Granger…bloody know it all.  Snape should've known better than to assign me to such a useless bint.  How am I supposed to focus on the tutoring when she's there?  Damn mudblood.  Maybe she's not that bad.  Actually, it probably won't be that bad after all.  Minus the hair, she'd be quite a shaggable piece.'

Bollocks, how in Merlin's name could he have written that?  He leaned over, trying desperately to cover the writing as if anyone was reading over his shoulder.  The pencil must be charmed to lie.  He took a closer look at it and read the inscription on the side.  Hmm…Ticonderoga, some bloody debauchery, he'd bet.

Nobody in his or her right mind would charm a pencil to make someone write that kind of nonsense.

'No! No! No!' Draco was fuming.  'They're not my thoughts, there must have been some mistake, that is not how I feel!'

To be completely honest…he was being completely honest.  He had never, not once had thoughts like that about Hermione Granger.  He put his wand in the air and muttered 'Tempus.'  Dark green numbers hovered over the table.  It was only nine o'clock.

*****

The next few days went by slowly for both Draco and Hermione.  Each had their own problems, but Draco's were more worrisome.  Upon returning to his dormitory, there was a white envelope, etched in black with the initials DTM on the front.  The penmanship was large and regal and Draco didn't doubt for a second who it was from.

D.-

A Meeting is scheduled for next week.  This is not to be taken lightly.  I urge you to take your formal presentation seriously.  Professor Dumbledore will be informed of course, I've told him that your cousin Amaryllis is to be wed.  I trust he will hear no different from you.

-L.

Great, just what every sixteen-year-old boy wants to hear.   A class trip has been planned.  He's off to meet with a diabolical madman, oh joyous day!

*****

Friday morning came as fast as it could around Hogwarts, and without much trepidation from both Hermione and Draco.  The only reason neither was anxious was that both had forgotten.

Hermione had made up with Ron after one argument in which tons of dirty laundry was thrown in their faces.  Hermione's ordeal with Crookshanks, Gilderoy Lockhart, Viktor Krum and her previously unknown fling with Ron's older brother Percy. 

Ron was painfully reminded of Fleur Delacour numerous times, and remembered the Padma Patil situation.  When Hermione had finished, he laughed; she hadn't much on him at all.

"I haven't read through your most private thoughts now have I?" Ron blanched (which was most certainly a new color for him).  He was temporarily speechless.

"I'm…sorry Hermione," he looked at the floor.

"I know Ron," she patted him on the shoulder.  "I have to go now, you great prat."

The Harry situation had actually been quite similar.  All on even footing, she decided it was enough effort on that front for the night.  When she had left the joined prefect's quarters after making up with him, she went back to her nook outside the Great hall and read about trained invisibility.

*****

Dinner finally arrived and she took her place between Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table.  They were presently arguing over who would call off the tutoring sessions first, Hermione or Malfoy.

"Will you stop it?" she said, finding their humor dry.  "We're both mature enough to handle this like adults."

"I'll believe it when I see it!" Ron said, snorting.  "You, maybe, but Malfoy…He's never known maturity in his life."

"How would you know, Mr. Chudley Canon Pajamas?" she chuckled as all of the blood in her friend's body surged upward into his face.

"Oh come on Hermione," Harry interjected.  "Do you mean to tell me that all of those times cheating at quidditch, making fun of your family, my lack there of, Ron's father's job, mother's weight, financial situation, home, brothers-."

"Enough already Harry!" Ron's ears were turning red at the thought.

"Well, I just meant to say that if after that, you still think he's mature…I'd have to say you're not as smart as you seem."

"I got the highest O.W.L. scores of any witch or wizard in Europe in the past fifty years." She folded her arms indignantly.

"How about America?" Ron asked promptly.

She turned white and looked angrily at her folded hands on the table.  Her knuckles became white as she clenched and unclenched her fists.  She began mumbling every once and again something coherent slipped out of her mouth.

"God damned…too smart…own good…lousy Yankee…Perfect score…too high…20 O.W.L.'s my arse…she should-."

"Hermione, calm down," Ron was quite alarmed that he had hit a nerve that ran so deep.  "It's eight fifteen now, shouldn't you get ready for your little date with Malfoy."

"I had better go, Malfoy's smarter than the two of you and he needs a tutor…"

"I was talking about your street smarts, Hermione.  That's the only kind of smart you lack." Harry picked up his goblet and drank deeply.

"Street smarts?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.  "I'm being told that I lack street smarts from someone who's only been on maybe four streets in his entire life."

Harry grumbled something before turning and talking to Fred and George about god knows what (presumably quidditch).  She walked out of the hall and across the school before a peculiar Idea crossed her mind.

I could go watch Malfoy finish playing quidditch and break the ice with him then and there.  She decided that this was her plan and she headed out to the quidditch pitch. 

Her first thought before walking out into view of the pitch (besides 'what am I doing here?') was that she knew why the Slytherins failed to beat Gryffindor so often.  They lacked team skills.

Malfoy was circling the pitch at full speed on his Nimbus 2001, completely alone in the air.  He clutched and released an illuminated snitch before chasing it again and again.  She took her eyes off of him and walked over to the stands, preparing to sit down.

With a jolt, she was caught around the middle and pulled gently onto the hard handle of a broomstick.  She looked back and the broom accelerated a blur of fluttery blond hair and light gray eyes grinned back at her before speaking.

"Like it Granger?" he yelled; though he was still barely audible.  "Flying is great, isn't it?  And flying with me is amazing."

She snorted but he hadn't heard her.  The flying wasn't amazing, exactly, but it was different with Malfoy.  She had flown with Harry before, but this was new.  She convinced herself that the surprise had probably played a major factor there.  They circled the pitch a few times before Malfoy landed the broom in front of the stands.

Malfoy began brushing off the sleeves of his robes.

"What are you doing," Hermione asked, trying not to giggle.

"Oh nothing," He sighed.  "I was just trying to get the Mudblood germs off of my clean robes."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she rolled her eyes.  Some egos could never be trounced.  Hermione took it upon herself to let him know of his absurdity.  "Doesn't it hurt your head?"

"Doesn't what hurt?" He narrowed his eyes before gasping.  "What, is my hair out of place?"

"No, its fine," she insisted.  It's more than fine actually, he should fly more often. She cursed herself for thinking such thoughts.  "Doesn't it hurt your head to house an ego that big?  Surely having such a high opinion of one's self is unhealthy."

"My head is fine, thank you very much.  Yours on the other hand…You clearly don't have much modesty either.  But don't worry, if there was anything bigger than my ego around, it would be cursed and killed."

"Indeed.  Well, if you're all finished here, I should think we'd ought to get on with our tutoring session."

"Very well," Malfoy pulled the robes up over his head and set them down on the stands.  "Just a minute."

Hermione, having been looking at her watch, turned to face him.  He reached both hands across one another and grabbed the lip of his green and silver team sweater.  Malfoy liftedit swiftly, catching the black T-shirt he wore under it and lifting that up as well.  She tried averting her eyes but found them glued.

His pale chest seemed even whiter in the moonlight.  Malfoy was dreadfully thin, but it suited him so.

Realizing from the sudden chill that he was rather exposed, he quickly pulled the shirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles.

"Enjoy that little show, Granger?" he quipped.

"Oh please, Malfoy," her eyes once again found themselves in that rolled back position they loved so much.  "As if I was paying any attention."

"Judging by the rose in your cheeks, you were."

Had she been blushing?

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"Now, add the porcupine quills."  Hermione coached.

"I know, I know," Malfoy insisted.  But somewhere deep in his mind, a voice piped up.

Three porcupine quills bunched together, tied with a strand of your mother's hair…drop them in.

"No, no, no!" she slapped the quills out of his hands.  "You add six quills one at a time, five seconds apart from one another.  What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing…It's nothing."  His attempts to wave her off were futile.  Ignoring her stare, Malfoy dropped them in the simmering cauldron, one by one, counting to five all the while.

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[Be kind…please rewind.  Er, I mean review.  I love my readers :)]