Wow. OK. So… I love your logic—ask for five reviews and you get nineteen. This time I'm asking for ten.
Like Another Teen Movie—Chapter Three
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That night Hermione sat in the common room alone putting the finishing touches on Snape's essay. After re-reading it twice and correcting a number of "errors" that Snape would use against her, she rolled it up and popped it into her shoulder bag.
Hermione stretched and looked at her watch: 1: 56. She muffled a yawn and slowly rose from her position at the desk in the far corner before making her way up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Her foot was on the first step when she heard a voice.
"Hermione!"
She rolled her eyes and took her foot off the step before turning around. "H – Harry," she said, surprised. And it was, indeed, the Boy Who Lived. There was no sign of freckles or flaming red hair or laughable apologies. "What do you want?"
"I want to talk…"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"If I talked would you listen?" Harry asked. He was standing in the middle of the common room and was still wearing the clothes he wore earlier. His glasses were lopsided and his hair was as unruly as ever. Hermione remembered when she used to think that look was cute.
Hermione flopped down onto the nearest and oldest sofa and shrugged. "Depends. If you talked about broomsticks, you can be sure I'll fall asleep on you."
Harry laughed and slowly made his way over, sitting at the far end of the same sofa. "You're safe there. Actually, I, um, wanted to talk about us."
Hermione frowned. "Us?"
"Er… well, not us as in, you and me," said Harry, hastily. "I mean, us as in, you, me and Ron—but… but not in that way!"
Hermione nodded. "Well, what can you really say about… me, you and Ron?"
"We were friends," said Harry.
"Right," Hermione said. "Were."
"It must have been hard," Harry said.
"You have no idea." Hermione suddenly felt very uncomfortable. There he was, good old Harry, being all nice and kind and manly. But that's because his friends aren't around, a little voice inside her head reminded. Remember what a prick he is when his friends are around?
"I'm tired," said Hermione, shortly. "I'm going to bed. Good night." She stood up and sighed. Harry followed.
"Look, I feel terrible—"
"Good," Hermione snapped. "Why don't you dwell on that while I get a good night rest?" But that didn't seem enough. This whole thing could not be entirely coincidental. "And while you're at it, ask yourself why it took three good years to have the courage to come up and apologise! Guilt getting too much for you, Harry? If it is don't expect me to be your sympathetic shoulder to cry on. I stopped caring about you a long time ago." And with that Hermione stopped upstairs, leaving Harry to dwell on that conversation.
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Friday's lessons went by rather quickly. Harry and Ron managed to avoid Hermione's eye, while Draco had discovered a new tactic: annoying questions. Throughout the day, both in the Great Hall and during their lessons, he had approached Hermione many times asking her what her favourite fruit was, what is her idea of an ideal date, where does she see herself in ten years… he even managed to squeeze in a few "describe yourself in three words or less". And while Hermione had answered all of these questions with a simple "Sod off", Draco didn't really back down until he asked her what sexual position she favoured the most—this time Hermione replied with a slap, a "Fuck off, you disgusting pervert!" and a blow to the head before a stunning exit. All Draco had now was a bruised ego, a sore noggin and a red face ("It matches your hair, Ron!" Harry had pointed out).
After their last lesson, which incidentally where was the head banging and face slapping had occurred, Hermione had retreated to the library still fuming over Draco and his questions. What is it with boys? Harry and Ron trying to make up for something they—up until now—hadn't showed any remorse about. Draco making an attempt and flirting and perhaps getting to know her better. Unless they were under a spell, Hermione supposed it was their raging hormones, which had taken a bloody long time to kick in.
Hermione opened up her Herbology textbook and flicked to page 17. She read the assigned work and grabbed a long piece of parchment before scribbling down all she could remember—and then she heard the voices.
"How far have you gotten?" said a familiar voice.
"Not even close. She's like a closed book—pardon the pun," said another familiar voice.
"Don't worry, mate, we've still got a few weeks yet. She'll come around," said the other voice.
"And if not?" said the second voice.
"Then we get her really, really drunk," the first voice said.
Hermione leaned back in her seat and saw Harry and Ron chuckling all the while looking around for anyone who was listening. She immediately ducked under the table as they walked out of the aisle they were standing in, still laughing and then left the library with a quick look back.
Oh, those boys! Hermione fumed. How can they talk about a girl like that? And that girl—that poor girl? I have to tell her. But how? It's not like I have mystical powers or anything. How can I know which one it is? And is Draco involved? He must be. Oh… they're horrible, horrible things—
"Hermione!"
Hermione turned and offered a weak, small smile. It was Lavender Brown, who was waving her over. Hermione quickly stood up and walked over to Lavender, who was sitting with Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. "Er… hi, everyone!" she said.
"Yeah, hi," was the mumbled response of the others.
"Don't mind them," said Lavender, "look, I wanted to ask you something."
"Shoot," said Hermione.
"Is there anything going on with you and… uh, Draco?"
Hermione snorted. Then giggled. "No. No. No. No. No. No in the Land of No."
"So… no?"
"Yeah," said Hermione. "Why?"
"Well… I like him and I wanted to make sure you didn't have a claim on him," Lavender explained.
"Nope. No claiming."
"Look… do you want to come out with us on Saturday night?" Lavender asked.
"Who's going?"
"Oh, you know, them," she said, indicating towards Parvati, Dean and Seamus, "and Harry, Ron… Draco."
"Right… yeah, I – I can't," said Hermione.
"What?" Lavender's face fell. "Why – why not?"
"Ah…" Wait. Screw the raging hormone nasty little red-faced pig boys. McGonagall had said she needed a social life. Well, socialising here she comes. "No, no reason. I'll come."
"Cool!" Lavender squealed. "Oh, and wear something slutty."
"Um…"
"Or borrow my clothes. You're a size… 8?"
Hermione shrugged. "I can try."
"Great! Well, um, meet us in the common room tomorrow at nine," said Lavender.
"P.m?" Hermione asked.
"The clubs aren't open in the morning," said Lavender.
"We're going to a club?"
"Yeah. Well, I have to study, but… just come by earlier for your clothes—what am I saying? We share a dormitory!" Lavender laughed. Then she bid Hermione goodbye and sat down next to Parvati.
Of course. What else could "going out" mean? Hermione didn't think Lavender Brown snuck out to help the elderly on Saturday nights. How long had this been going on? How long had this been going on without Hermione being invited? Unless… Harry and Ron had something to do with it. But let's not decline. Let them see Hermione in a LBD and let them drool and let them beg.
On Saturday night Hermione Granger was not going to be just plain old Hermione Granger. She was going to be Hermione Granger with friends.
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I'm serious. Ten reviews—
Jordan
Oh, and please check out my other story Arrows. I've only received two reviews for the first chapter and was actually looking forward to developing it into a nice, long story. Please! Once you've done with this – check out Arrows. Thank you again.