'Ello. Quick note: *_____* are thoughts- although I'm sure a bright bunch like you would
have picked that up anyways.
Disclaimer for this and last chapter: That's right. I'm JK Rowling. I decided to write a
fanfiction... because... um... writing the sixth book just isnt taking up enough of my
time. So, instead of checking out for a few weeks to the south of France and eating
croissants and sipping uber-foamy cappuchinos, I'm writing a rather crummy fanfic. Bwah
hah.
(If anyone out there didnt get the sarcasm, please call for help. Soon. Before the garden
gnomes slowly steal what's remaining of your sanity.)
~*~~*~
Hermione's Side
It had been a full week since the Hogsmeade trip. The weather hadn't
improved at all- neither had Hermione's mood. On Thursday (the 6th year
Gryffindors' favorite school day because they didn't have any classes after 2
o'clock), the regular crowd of 5th and 6th years had sat down at the end of the
Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for dinner. Conversation was particularly light
and unstudious, perhaps making up for the fact Hermione was smack in the middle of
the group, her head in a thick book that exhaustively covered a rather dry and
arcane subject matter. Her friends had become increasingly worried with her unusual
and extremely anti-social behavior.
"Um, Hermione?" Ron ventured.
No answer.
"Hermione, love," Ginny said in her most mothering tone. "Your hair is in
your soup..."
Hermione closed her book somewhat dazedly to observe a tendril of her hair resting
on top of a piece of floating chicken.
"Bother," she murmured. "I just washed it, too."
Ginny made a clucking noise and grabbed a napkin to dry off the salty lock.
"Why don't we go upstairs, aye?"
Hermione quickly agreed to Ginny's kind suggestion. The girls linked arms and, with
a reassuring wink from Ginny, started the way to their common room.
~*~
About halfway along, their companiable silence was broken by a quiet 'ah-hem'ming.
Dumbledore was behind them, standing calmly in light blue robes. He had seemed to
grow taller in the past years, like he was trying to get as much body mass as possible
between his beloved school and Voldemort.
"Girls, I'm glad I found you. The Prefects' Quarters are complete. The new
location is the Boulangerie on the fourth floor. Password is 'Sorry, sir, not right now.'
Rest well!"
With that, he swept past them, pulling what seemed to be a pair of socks from a wall
sconce as he went.
"Fourth floor..." mused Hermione. "Thats two floors above the regular common
rooms, on the same level as my Ancient Runes class, one below DADA... blast, it'll be
hard to get to the greenhouses on time, won't it?"
"Hermione. You'll manage!" Ginny grinned, almost laughing.
"What in the world is so funny?" the pair tripped up the staircases. Ginny's
infectious smile was starting to spread onto Hermione's face.
"Tsk... so serious. You realize that you're not going to manage being so down
with me as a roommate again, right?"
"I'm not serious!"
Bemused silence from Ginny.
"Gin!... Alright, maybe a bit. It's just this stupid winter, I can't seem to
shake it off. I'm affected by the weather, you know."
"Well, take a bath when we get up there. I've got some salts, and it usually
helps, don't they?"
By the time Hermione and Ginny had reached the painting, they were both happy- Hermione,
for the thought of a soothing bath, and Ginny for cheering up Hermione. They were coming
up on the portrait's landing when Gin stepped on Hermione's robe hem, sending them
crashing into the wall just to the left of where the round and rosy baker was making
tartes aux pommes. Breathing heavily and laughing sporadically, they got to their feet.
"Ah, madamoiselles! Would you like to try a, ah, pie? Very, very fresh!" the
painting greeted them.
"Sorry, sir, not right now," the girls answered in unison. The door swung open
and they stepped into their refurbished and relocated Prefects' Dormitories.
It was worth the time , Hermione had to admit. The whole outer wall of the common room was
windows. The other three walls had a pleasing balance of bookshelves, empty space, and
pictures. It was decorated in various shades of blue and silver for the Head Boy
(Prevke Inge, Ravenclaw) and Head Girl (Terre Vusterstien, Slytherin). The area carpets
were unbelievably soft, the teak wood shiny.
*So perfect!* Ginny and Hermione thought.
"Well, Gin... why don't you get the first bath? I want to check out the bookshelves
and my room before I take mine." Ginny grinned.
"Sure thing. See you later!"
They scaled the staircase and went their seperate ways: right for junior prefects,
left for senior, as a sign informed them. (*I guess Ginny and I won't be rooming together
like last time,* thought the brunette.) Hermione read the names engraved on the doors:
Anya Wekts, Ravenclaw
July Rope, Hufflepuff
Justin Flanke, Ravenclaw
Peter Marx, Hufflepuff
There was a blank space of wall for about six feet. Then the next and final two doors,
apparantly in a turret- she saw with horror that she was rooming with Blaise. The door next
to them said:
Draco Malfoy, Slytherin
Dean Thomas, Gryffendor
She felt even worse for Dean. While a pureblood,
*He is still a... what do they call it?
A "Muggle Sympathizer".This will make for a harmonious semester, I'm sure...*
She opened the door to find a room about the size of a large closet with two spiral stair-
cases on opposite ends- one with a green runner, the other with red. Taking a wild guess,
she climbed the red-runnered one to a landing covered in soft cream-coloured carpet.
Opening the door, she found a large room with ivory colored walls and carpet. Her large
windows' curtains were deep blue. The wood desk, window sills chairs, bookcases, dresser,
picture frames, and bed were tinted to be the same dark blue hue, Hermione's favorite
colour. The sun was setting, and a dusky pink light floated through the open windows. A
door by her bed was labeled 'Bathroom'- she opened the door, there was a flight of stairs
going down. On the adjacent wall was a French door, leading out to a balcony. She chose to
go on the balcony, seeing as the day was pretty warm for November. She'd take what warmth
she could get!
Her breath making very faint clouds, she leaned against the railing and closed her eyes.
She heard the sound of a door opening and closing and turned towards it.
Now, whether it was bad luck, good luck, or just fate (it has yet to be determined), she
was met by a pair of icy blue-gray eyes.
~*~~*~
Draco's Side: Personal Narrative.
They announced at dinner that the Prefects Dorms were done. Took them long enough. Pansy has
been grating on my nevers more than usual the past couple days. Maybe it's the fact she's
trying to convince me to get... what do muggles call them? A 'buzz' cut. This is, in three
words, SO not happening. I'll have to tell her father she's been looking at muggle practices,
that should shut her up. And like I'd shear my hair? I have GREAT hair! What's wrong wi-
Hem. As you can see, the idea is ludicrous. The painting they got to guard our room is obviously
on the daft side of life, and we have a strange password. The common room was alright, I
suppose. The dominant color was blue instead of green, unfortunately. I'm not quite sure
why they wanted to remodel the rooms so badly, but... as my mother says, c'est la vie.
Bad news when I got to the rooms: I share living space with Dean Thomas. Well, not exactly,
because I have my own room and all, but seeing my NAME on the same door as his is pretty
disgraceful. Blaise (who I have a history with... heh) has to share a room with that- that-
that MUDBLOOD. Honestly, I might have been able to stand to be in the same room as her IF
she weren't so buddy-buddy with Potter and Weasel. She has become 1/1000000000000th more
bearable since she stopped the whole squealy lemme-tell-Professer-lemme-tell bit. She has
resigned to be a bloody genius in a quieter, but still braniac, manner. Now, it's always
ticked me to be second place in everything- I've been living with it for 6 years now. That's
most likely the larger part of my annoyance with her. So, the run-up in percentages of my
hatred of that particular Gryffindor is this:
She's a Gryffindor.......10%
She's friends with H&R...25%
She's a Mudblood.........5%
She's SMARTER THAN ME....60%
Now, as you see, the Mudblood bit isn't all that big to me. Handy insult, yes. True, yes.
Fed to me from birth that Mudbloods are inferior, yes.
But, you see, how could she be inferior if she beat me? So, I let my father (who is quite
adamant with his Kill-The-Mudblood attitude) think I share his passion against them. Works
out quite well.
My father would be downright pissed (to put it lightly) if he found out that She Of All
People had put me in my number-two slot (he doesn't know about the number-2 buisness,
either). Being the resourceful, charming, and dashing person I am, however, I have a
solution: whenever I come home for the year (I most definately do NOT go back there for the
Christmas Holidays) I slap my grade parchment (all Excellents) down infront of him and annouce,
"I am the smartest widzard in Hogwarts, father. Again." Which is true. And he hasn't questioned
it yet. Thank you, thank you, for your applause of my brilliance.
My new bedroom, which is not as good as the one I have back home, is at least decorated in
green. I found that I share a bathroom with Hermione, Blaise, and Dean (I know I share with
Blaise because we both have monogrammed towels. From that, I am assuming that we also share
with our roommates. Pity.) I decided to wander out on the balcony to see if I have to share
that too. I didn't need my coat seeing as it was on the warm side, and the fact that the
cold never bothers me. Infact, I prefer it to hotter months... the sun does murder on my
complexion.
I strode out on the balcony, shutting the door behind me. A girl with almost-curly brown hair
leaned against the railing. Obviously, this was Hermione, seeing as Blaise is a good 4 inches
taller than Hermione (who was a foot shorter than I am). She reacted (a bit slowly, I observed
smugly) to the sound of me closing the door. Turning around, she looked straight in her eyes.
This had never happened when there hadn't been conflict preceding it. The whole slapping incident,
for example. Since I wasn't seeing red, I could actually see the color of her eyes.
Not that I would want to remember something like that, for the record.
Anyways, I noticed that she has brown eyes rimmed with gold- and she was wearing a red shirt.
Talk about house loyalty.
"Yes, Malfoy? Something I can help you with?"
"No." Stupid mind blanks. Now I have to go with a run-of-the-mill insult. You can't
whack off a good one when you've got no momentum. "Your hair looks... really frizzy today.
Typical of a mud-"
"AUGH!" she screamed. "I am so SICK of that, Malfoy! My hair is FINE! You, on the other hand,
are NOT!" she turned and walked briskly into her room, mumbling things that sounded like
'Mmetoix frizz pthabeplekrq stupid cold oijlkeroijdashzlkjeri.'
I'm going to have to brush up on my comebacks.
~*~~*~
Short, I know, sorry. Theres also not much happening in this one... its just setting up the
characters. Next Chapter: Savvy. The word, who uses it, and Attack of the Killer Pink.
have picked that up anyways.
Disclaimer for this and last chapter: That's right. I'm JK Rowling. I decided to write a
fanfiction... because... um... writing the sixth book just isnt taking up enough of my
time. So, instead of checking out for a few weeks to the south of France and eating
croissants and sipping uber-foamy cappuchinos, I'm writing a rather crummy fanfic. Bwah
hah.
(If anyone out there didnt get the sarcasm, please call for help. Soon. Before the garden
gnomes slowly steal what's remaining of your sanity.)
~*~~*~
Hermione's Side
It had been a full week since the Hogsmeade trip. The weather hadn't
improved at all- neither had Hermione's mood. On Thursday (the 6th year
Gryffindors' favorite school day because they didn't have any classes after 2
o'clock), the regular crowd of 5th and 6th years had sat down at the end of the
Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for dinner. Conversation was particularly light
and unstudious, perhaps making up for the fact Hermione was smack in the middle of
the group, her head in a thick book that exhaustively covered a rather dry and
arcane subject matter. Her friends had become increasingly worried with her unusual
and extremely anti-social behavior.
"Um, Hermione?" Ron ventured.
No answer.
"Hermione, love," Ginny said in her most mothering tone. "Your hair is in
your soup..."
Hermione closed her book somewhat dazedly to observe a tendril of her hair resting
on top of a piece of floating chicken.
"Bother," she murmured. "I just washed it, too."
Ginny made a clucking noise and grabbed a napkin to dry off the salty lock.
"Why don't we go upstairs, aye?"
Hermione quickly agreed to Ginny's kind suggestion. The girls linked arms and, with
a reassuring wink from Ginny, started the way to their common room.
~*~
About halfway along, their companiable silence was broken by a quiet 'ah-hem'ming.
Dumbledore was behind them, standing calmly in light blue robes. He had seemed to
grow taller in the past years, like he was trying to get as much body mass as possible
between his beloved school and Voldemort.
"Girls, I'm glad I found you. The Prefects' Quarters are complete. The new
location is the Boulangerie on the fourth floor. Password is 'Sorry, sir, not right now.'
Rest well!"
With that, he swept past them, pulling what seemed to be a pair of socks from a wall
sconce as he went.
"Fourth floor..." mused Hermione. "Thats two floors above the regular common
rooms, on the same level as my Ancient Runes class, one below DADA... blast, it'll be
hard to get to the greenhouses on time, won't it?"
"Hermione. You'll manage!" Ginny grinned, almost laughing.
"What in the world is so funny?" the pair tripped up the staircases. Ginny's
infectious smile was starting to spread onto Hermione's face.
"Tsk... so serious. You realize that you're not going to manage being so down
with me as a roommate again, right?"
"I'm not serious!"
Bemused silence from Ginny.
"Gin!... Alright, maybe a bit. It's just this stupid winter, I can't seem to
shake it off. I'm affected by the weather, you know."
"Well, take a bath when we get up there. I've got some salts, and it usually
helps, don't they?"
By the time Hermione and Ginny had reached the painting, they were both happy- Hermione,
for the thought of a soothing bath, and Ginny for cheering up Hermione. They were coming
up on the portrait's landing when Gin stepped on Hermione's robe hem, sending them
crashing into the wall just to the left of where the round and rosy baker was making
tartes aux pommes. Breathing heavily and laughing sporadically, they got to their feet.
"Ah, madamoiselles! Would you like to try a, ah, pie? Very, very fresh!" the
painting greeted them.
"Sorry, sir, not right now," the girls answered in unison. The door swung open
and they stepped into their refurbished and relocated Prefects' Dormitories.
It was worth the time , Hermione had to admit. The whole outer wall of the common room was
windows. The other three walls had a pleasing balance of bookshelves, empty space, and
pictures. It was decorated in various shades of blue and silver for the Head Boy
(Prevke Inge, Ravenclaw) and Head Girl (Terre Vusterstien, Slytherin). The area carpets
were unbelievably soft, the teak wood shiny.
*So perfect!* Ginny and Hermione thought.
"Well, Gin... why don't you get the first bath? I want to check out the bookshelves
and my room before I take mine." Ginny grinned.
"Sure thing. See you later!"
They scaled the staircase and went their seperate ways: right for junior prefects,
left for senior, as a sign informed them. (*I guess Ginny and I won't be rooming together
like last time,* thought the brunette.) Hermione read the names engraved on the doors:
Anya Wekts, Ravenclaw
July Rope, Hufflepuff
Justin Flanke, Ravenclaw
Peter Marx, Hufflepuff
There was a blank space of wall for about six feet. Then the next and final two doors,
apparantly in a turret- she saw with horror that she was rooming with Blaise. The door next
to them said:
Draco Malfoy, Slytherin
Dean Thomas, Gryffendor
She felt even worse for Dean. While a pureblood,
*He is still a... what do they call it?
A "Muggle Sympathizer".This will make for a harmonious semester, I'm sure...*
She opened the door to find a room about the size of a large closet with two spiral stair-
cases on opposite ends- one with a green runner, the other with red. Taking a wild guess,
she climbed the red-runnered one to a landing covered in soft cream-coloured carpet.
Opening the door, she found a large room with ivory colored walls and carpet. Her large
windows' curtains were deep blue. The wood desk, window sills chairs, bookcases, dresser,
picture frames, and bed were tinted to be the same dark blue hue, Hermione's favorite
colour. The sun was setting, and a dusky pink light floated through the open windows. A
door by her bed was labeled 'Bathroom'- she opened the door, there was a flight of stairs
going down. On the adjacent wall was a French door, leading out to a balcony. She chose to
go on the balcony, seeing as the day was pretty warm for November. She'd take what warmth
she could get!
Her breath making very faint clouds, she leaned against the railing and closed her eyes.
She heard the sound of a door opening and closing and turned towards it.
Now, whether it was bad luck, good luck, or just fate (it has yet to be determined), she
was met by a pair of icy blue-gray eyes.
~*~~*~
Draco's Side: Personal Narrative.
They announced at dinner that the Prefects Dorms were done. Took them long enough. Pansy has
been grating on my nevers more than usual the past couple days. Maybe it's the fact she's
trying to convince me to get... what do muggles call them? A 'buzz' cut. This is, in three
words, SO not happening. I'll have to tell her father she's been looking at muggle practices,
that should shut her up. And like I'd shear my hair? I have GREAT hair! What's wrong wi-
Hem. As you can see, the idea is ludicrous. The painting they got to guard our room is obviously
on the daft side of life, and we have a strange password. The common room was alright, I
suppose. The dominant color was blue instead of green, unfortunately. I'm not quite sure
why they wanted to remodel the rooms so badly, but... as my mother says, c'est la vie.
Bad news when I got to the rooms: I share living space with Dean Thomas. Well, not exactly,
because I have my own room and all, but seeing my NAME on the same door as his is pretty
disgraceful. Blaise (who I have a history with... heh) has to share a room with that- that-
that MUDBLOOD. Honestly, I might have been able to stand to be in the same room as her IF
she weren't so buddy-buddy with Potter and Weasel. She has become 1/1000000000000th more
bearable since she stopped the whole squealy lemme-tell-Professer-lemme-tell bit. She has
resigned to be a bloody genius in a quieter, but still braniac, manner. Now, it's always
ticked me to be second place in everything- I've been living with it for 6 years now. That's
most likely the larger part of my annoyance with her. So, the run-up in percentages of my
hatred of that particular Gryffindor is this:
She's a Gryffindor.......10%
She's friends with H&R...25%
She's a Mudblood.........5%
She's SMARTER THAN ME....60%
Now, as you see, the Mudblood bit isn't all that big to me. Handy insult, yes. True, yes.
Fed to me from birth that Mudbloods are inferior, yes.
But, you see, how could she be inferior if she beat me? So, I let my father (who is quite
adamant with his Kill-The-Mudblood attitude) think I share his passion against them. Works
out quite well.
My father would be downright pissed (to put it lightly) if he found out that She Of All
People had put me in my number-two slot (he doesn't know about the number-2 buisness,
either). Being the resourceful, charming, and dashing person I am, however, I have a
solution: whenever I come home for the year (I most definately do NOT go back there for the
Christmas Holidays) I slap my grade parchment (all Excellents) down infront of him and annouce,
"I am the smartest widzard in Hogwarts, father. Again." Which is true. And he hasn't questioned
it yet. Thank you, thank you, for your applause of my brilliance.
My new bedroom, which is not as good as the one I have back home, is at least decorated in
green. I found that I share a bathroom with Hermione, Blaise, and Dean (I know I share with
Blaise because we both have monogrammed towels. From that, I am assuming that we also share
with our roommates. Pity.) I decided to wander out on the balcony to see if I have to share
that too. I didn't need my coat seeing as it was on the warm side, and the fact that the
cold never bothers me. Infact, I prefer it to hotter months... the sun does murder on my
complexion.
I strode out on the balcony, shutting the door behind me. A girl with almost-curly brown hair
leaned against the railing. Obviously, this was Hermione, seeing as Blaise is a good 4 inches
taller than Hermione (who was a foot shorter than I am). She reacted (a bit slowly, I observed
smugly) to the sound of me closing the door. Turning around, she looked straight in her eyes.
This had never happened when there hadn't been conflict preceding it. The whole slapping incident,
for example. Since I wasn't seeing red, I could actually see the color of her eyes.
Not that I would want to remember something like that, for the record.
Anyways, I noticed that she has brown eyes rimmed with gold- and she was wearing a red shirt.
Talk about house loyalty.
"Yes, Malfoy? Something I can help you with?"
"No." Stupid mind blanks. Now I have to go with a run-of-the-mill insult. You can't
whack off a good one when you've got no momentum. "Your hair looks... really frizzy today.
Typical of a mud-"
"AUGH!" she screamed. "I am so SICK of that, Malfoy! My hair is FINE! You, on the other hand,
are NOT!" she turned and walked briskly into her room, mumbling things that sounded like
'Mmetoix frizz pthabeplekrq stupid cold oijlkeroijdashzlkjeri.'
I'm going to have to brush up on my comebacks.
~*~~*~
Short, I know, sorry. Theres also not much happening in this one... its just setting up the
characters. Next Chapter: Savvy. The word, who uses it, and Attack of the Killer Pink.
