Author's Note: Wow, you guys, I am sooo sorry it's taken me so long to get this up! Real Life got in the way, as did a severe case of writer's block, but I've gotten this story at least semi-back on its feet again and I HOPE that my updates become more regular again. There is no Draco/Hermione action in this, but don't worry, it's coming back soon; every chapter can't be a giant songfest between the two =p. The spacing on this is WEIRD and for some reason my little spacer things aren't showing up. I'm REALLY sorry, I don't know why this is happening. But you can more or less tell when a new section's started, so just please bear with me. As always, reviews are appreciated…
xxx::Anya::xxx
Chapter Ten
The Aftermath of That Game
Draco returned to the Slytherin common room early the next morning, only to be greeted by a very pleased-looking Blaise Zabini.
"Nice going Malfoy, shagging a Gryffindor," he said, slapping an exhausted Draco on the shoulder.
Draco looked at him oddly. "So…you don't care that she's a Mud—er, I mean, that she's Muggle-born?"
Blaise shrugged. "Sex is sex, no matter who it's with."
"You disgust me," the blonde said dryly. "And we're not exactly—well hello, Pansy."
The busty girl waltzed right up to him and slapped him hard across the face.
"I'm not quite sure I deserved that," he mumbled to Blaise, who snickered.
"Bastard," Pansy hissed. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, with that Gryffindor Mudblood. She's only going to end up hating you like I do."
"Pansy, the only reason you hate me is because I won't have you," Draco said silkily, and threw himself down into a large chair he secretly liked to think of as his throne (he was, after all, the Slytherin Prince). "As for anyone else who would like to comment on whether or not I'm shagging Granger, I'd appreciate if you would get it over with now."
A few people passing through glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, but no one approached Draco. No one ever did.
"Come off it, Malfoy," Blaise said, "I was just giving you a hard time."
"I wasn't," Pansy muttered.
Draco rolled his eyes. "You just think this is funny, do you?" he snapped at Blaise.
The dark-haired boy flashed a rare smile. "In a very un-funny sort of way."
"Are you going to torment her when I'm not around?"
Blaise smirked in a way that only Draco could really pull off. "Who says I'll wait until you're not around?"
"Zabini," Draco said warningly.
He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "You must really like this wench," he said.
The taller blond stood suddenly, a mix of anger and some other emotion Blaise couldn't quite place trailing across his handsome face. "On second thought, do what you want and see if I give a damn," Draco snapped, crossing to the boys' corridor (a cold, dark stone hallway that was usually rather damp and led to the boys' dormitories—the girls had one on the other side of the common room). "I know you'll take me quite literally, Zabini, so at least make it good!"
Days passed, and Draco and Hermione came to the realization that people thought their "friendship" was definitely on the odd side; they just decided not to say anything while either one of them was present. Whether onlookers were afraid of Draco (or Hermione, who held a certain amount of authority as a prefect) or just thought it wasn't their business to comment, they would never know.
However, after they'd given people time to adjust to the idea that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin who were seemingly such polar opposites as Hermione and Draco, it gave them the means to stop pretending they hated each other and even say hello in the hallways.
There were, of course, the people who disapproved, but neither Draco nor Hermione had to deal with them. Yet.
"Today we will be making a potion called Religo Foras, more commonly known as the Relaxing Draught," Professor Snape said to his Gryffindor-Slytherin sixth year Potions class in his nasal voice. "Its name is self-explanatory; it is used to aid in one's relaxation when one is in a severe state of stress. Its degrees of strength and effectiveness vary depending on the intensity of its ingredients. In class today, the Religo Foras that each of you makes will be a weak one. Can anyone tell me the side effects of an overdose of this potion?"
As usual, Hermione was the only one with her hand raised.
"Anyone besides Miss Granger?" Snape said almost desperately. He hated that Hermione was so intelligent; it irked him that she probably knew more about Potions than he did. Of course, she didn't have all the practical experience that he did, but whether that was a good or bad thing was yet to be discovered. "No? Fine. Tell us, Miss Granger."
"The side effects of an overdose of the Religo Foras potion can be catatonic," she said, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook. "While an overdose of a weak version result in prolonged sluggishness and frequent fainting spells, too much of a very strong potion may engender something so grave as a coma."
"Thank you," Snape said quickly, all but cutting her off. "When done correctly, this potion is safe and very useful around O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. time. Now, I will pair you up…"
"Hermione, can't we add the mulberry root yet?" Ron whined, looking extremely bored. "I had so much fun crushing it."
Hermione glared at him. Adjusting her dragon-hide gloves, she moved the tiny vial of Bottled Mandrake Cry further out of the way. "Not yet, Ron," she said, "and I'd really appreciate if you'd stop asking me every three seconds. This has to sit for at least another ten minutes."
"I hate Potions," he groaned. "All the precise measurements and waiting around…people who take Potions seriously must really have no life at all."
Hermione blanched; just as Ron was saying that, Professor Snape walked by.
"You are absolutely correct, Weasley," he said icily, watching Ron with contempt over his hooked nose. "No life at all. Ten points from Gryffindor."
"He's just angry because he knows it's true!" Ron hissed.
Hermione glanced up at him, a sour expression on her face, and asked politely, "Ron, can you please measure out four milligrams of the crushed mulberry root you so nicely pretended was Draco's head earlier?"
Ron grinned sheepishly. "Right-o."
Hermione looked three tables over, where a blonde boy and a dark-haired boy of the same height stood, seemingly arguing. Draco and Harry. Why did Snape pair them together, while she was stuck with Mr. Impatient Knickers? Of course, neither of them seemed all that pleased to be working with the other, but that was beside the point.
She bit her lip and turned back to Ron, just in time to work herself up into hysterics because he had measured in centigrams instead.
"Potter, could you take any longer?" Draco drawled, hoisting himself up onto the stone counter. "Honestly, I think my youngest grandchild just died."
"I want to get this right," Harry said through clenched teeth, carefully tapping the sieve holding the chopped chamomile buds and various other herbs into their cauldron. "Maybe this isn't something you have to worry about, but failing Potions has never been a goal of mine."
The blonde examined his perfectly manicured fingernails. "Don't get your knickers in a twist," he said in a bored tone. "You're just mad because you wanted to work with Granger."
"No, Malfoy, that's you," Harry said bitterly, giving the sieve one last tap. "But who wouldn't want to work with her—she's cleverer than all of us combined."
"Are you sure that's the only reason?" Draco asked in a low voice.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked awkwardly, ungracefully dropping one of his thick dragon-hide gloves.
The Slytherin smoothed his white-blonde hair back. "Don't think I don't see you looking at her," he said nonchalantly, knowing full well that he was, metaphorically speaking, poking the other boy's most vulnerable spot with a pointy, filthy stick. "In class, at mealtimes, Merlin only knows what you do in the privacy of your own common room…it's rather disgusting, actually. What happened to that other girl, anyway? The Asian one, the brainy Ravenclaw…Mo, I think her name is? Got sick of her?"
Harry clenched his fists. "What happened between me and Cho is none of your business, Malfoy," he spat. "I'd like to keep it that way. And besides, there is nothing like that between me and Hermione…we're just friends."
"Are you," Draco murmured thoughtfully. It wasn't a question. He was quite enjoying this, getting a rise out of Harry. He always did. Call it a fragile male ego, but in truth Draco had seen Harry looking at Hermione, and it made him nervous as all hell.
"Yes," Harry said icily. After a moments' thought he added, "oh, and don't think I don't see you looking at her, too. I wouldn't bother. She'd never go for you…she's really not into the manipulative, insecure, evil type."
Draco flashed a smile, albeit false, revealing perfect, white teeth. "Don't forget charming," he said.
Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again several times before surrendering himself to the fact that he really didn't have anything to say. "Shut it, Malfoy," he grumbled.
Draco snickered. "I see your studies of the Big Book of Bad Insults are coming along nicely," he commented.
Harry, still at a loss for anything to say, elbowed the other boy sharply, which ended up being a huge mistake, because the bottle of Extract of Flobberworm Draco had been holding was knocked out of his hands and shattered on the floor, leaving nothing but a pile of pale green, steaming liquid.
Snape turned as the first shard of glass hit the floor, looking positively livid. "POTTER!"
"It wasn't me!" Harry protested.
"Yes it was," Draco said maliciously. "You pushed me!"
"I don't want to hear it," the Professor snapped. "Detention, both of you. And twenty points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor. Now clean up this mess at once and we'll see what we can do about all this."
"Alright," the boys grumbled simultaneously, both looking extremely downtrodden.
"Just for the record," Draco said as he and Harry scrubbed at the sticky green mess, "Hermione was rooting for me."
"Oh, stuff it, Malfoy," Harry said exasperatedly, although doubtful as he was, he felt a twinge of jealousy at Draco's words. "You have no idea about anything; you didn't look at her once."
"That's what you think," the blonde said smugly. Harry didn't say anything; he just continued to clean. After a few minutes, he looked over at Hermione.
She was looking at Draco.
Later that night in the common room, Harry approached Hermione (who was very busy doing her Charms homework, but never mind that) quite nervously.
"Uh…hey there, Hermione," he said awkwardly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Hermione looked up and set her quill down. "Oh, of course, Harry. What's on your mind?"
"Do you have a thing for Malfoy?" Harry asked without preamble.
Hermione gave him a look that could have either said 'what in the hell are you talking about?' or 'that was completely unexpected and uncalled for' and replied, "What would make you think that?"
"I dunno," he mumbled. "Cause you look at him and stuff. And you guys are friends now…I just though maybe…"
"You thought wrong," she said impatiently. "Harry, we've already been through this. He and I are just friends. How many more times are we going to have to have this conversation before you understand that I'm not about to run off with him?"
"None," he said, sounding slightly defensive. "I just wanted to make sure."
"Nothing's changed in the past few days," she assured him, hating herself every second for having to lie to her Harry.
"If things do change, will you let me know?"
Hermione bit her lip and exhaled before answering, "I'd like to."