Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter One: The Library

Hermione rolled her eyes, as several Gryffindors kept throwing jealous glances in her direction. She was used to this. It was something of a habit that had started at the beginning of her seventh year. She glanced down the Gryffindor table, and several girls suddenly gave the impression that the enchanted ceiling was now very interesting. They weren't jealous of her smarts, they weren't jealous of her Head Girl badge, they were jealous of Harry.

   The Boy Who Lived had changed in many ways. Five years of Quidditch had done him good. His shoulders had become broader, and he had become more muscular. His glasses gave him quite a boyish charm, and his untidy jet-black hair made him even more appealing. Ron had changed too. His shoulders were broader, and his freckles had given him somewhat of a tan. Most of the girls had developed their own ideas of Hermione's relationship with the boys.

   Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stole a glance at Hermione, anxiously. They must have thought Hermione was writing a love letter to Harry the way they were behaving. She glanced down at her blank piece of parchment. Hermione knew everything written in all of her seventh year books backwards, and somehow she hadn't managed to write a simple thing. Finally, she stood up, and headed towards the library. Hermione heard Lavender and Parvati's footsteps behind her, and turned, startling them. 'I suggest you don't follow me. I'm on my way to meet Harry, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to come. Unless, you want to – Harry sometimes likes that.' Even though she knew she had made things worse for herself, Hermione enjoyed seeing the looks on their faces. And without another word she was gone.

   It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and most kids were sitting under the shade of the trees outside. Hermione decided on the table furthest from the entrance. She knew no girl would follow her there since the Bloody Baron passed by it most frequently.

   She set her books down on the table and quickly got out her quill and parchment. Now that there were no eyes permanently focused on her back, she got on with her essay quite easily. Suddenly, a loud, drawling voice could be heard from behind her.

    'Granger, what the hell do you think you doing here?'

   Hermione chose to ignore his comment, and continued writing so only the scratching of her quill could be heard. 'Are you still there?' she asked, annoyed.

   'Yes,' he said, 'do you have a problem with that?'

   'Oh – no,' said Hermione. 'I'm just so glad I've got two people to keep me company. You know, you and the Bloody Baron.' She heard Draco stumble backwards, and she chuckled appreciatively.

   'You think you're so smart?' sneered Draco. Hermione looked at him. Everyone knew that she was top of the class. 'You're just a Mudblood.'

   The name didn't affect Hermione the way it used to. In fact, the name had been tossed around so much; non-Muggle-borns now used it as commonly as 'loser,' or 'wanker'. 'You know, Draco its funny. People only use that name when their very drunk or very stupid. Well, you're not drunk …'

   Draco sniffed, and slunk into the chair opposite Hermione. 'What are you writing?'

   Hermione looked up. 'Why do you care?'

   'Is it important?'

   Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'Its homework.'

   Draco slowly raised his wand. 'Don't!' Hermione screamed. To her surprise, he stopped. She stared at him. 'Those robes … they don't come cheap, do they?'

'Father can buy me new ones,' said Draco firmly.

'Yes, but Father probably wouldn't be happy their only smouldering ash courtesy of a – dare I say – Mudblood?'

Draco thought it over. Finally, he slipped his wand back into his robes. 'Thank you,' said Hermione.

   'Don't think I did it for you,' he said.

   Hermione shook her head. 'Oh no.'

   'Because I didn't,' said Draco quickly.

   'I know,' she said.

   'Good,' he said.

   'Good,' said Hermione, continuing to write.

   'So, where's Potter?' he asked.

   'Why do you care?' said Hermione.

   'I don't,' he said.

   'Then, why did you ask?'

   'I didn't,' he said.

   'Uh-huh,' said Hermione, tonelessly.

   Draco rested his legs on the table, and put his hands behind his head. Hermione noticed his feet were an inch away from her with disgust.

   'So, the rumours aren't true, then?'

   Hermione looked at him. 'What rumours?'

   'About you and Potter,' Draco replied.

   Hermione scoffed. 'No,' she said, laughing.

   'Its funny?' he said, raising his eyebrows.

   'Yes,' she said.

   'Why?'

   'Because it's Harry,' she said.

   He didn't say anything for a long time, and Hermione hoped that he was toying with decision of leaving. Finally, he said, 'Do you get jealous?'

   'Of Harry?' she asked. 'Of Harry and who?'

   'You know, everyone,' he said.

   'I know girls look at him, Malfoy. I see him everyday,' said Hermione, rather angrily.

   'Oh, now that was jealousy,' said Draco, 'do you dream about him, Granger? Do you find him dreamy?'

   Hermione slammed her book down on the table, hard. 'Will you please just leave, Malfoy? You're doing nothing but pissing me off!'

   Draco leaned back on his chair. 'Hey, I'm just talking here.'

   Hermione inhaled sharply. 'Shut up,' she said quietly.

   'What are you going to do?' Draco smirked. 'Set my robes on fire? Now, you know Father wouldn't approve.'

   It took a few moments for Draco to comprehend what was going on. Hermione had lunged across the table and reached for Draco, whose chair fell freely to the floor. 'Now, listen here,' said Hermione, fiercely, gripping him tightly by his robes, 'I don't like you, and you don't like me, but this year I'm Head Girl and you're Head Boy, and we share a common room. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't drag my personal life into our conversations and making inane comments about my friends. Now, I suggest you leave now unless you'd rather have a cork up your arse.' Draco freed himself from her grasp, and loosened his robes slightly. 'All right, Granger, I'll leave. But you know, now, that this is war,' he said, roughly, before whispering into Hermione's ear, 'and some play nicer than others.'

   Hermione just smiled sweetly at him. 'I know you like your backside the way it is, Malfoy.'

   He stared at her, and with one swish of his robes, Draco had gone. Hermione glanced down at her essay; she still had three-hundred more lines to go. And it seemed this year was only getting started.