Disclaimer: J.K. owns.

xx It Takes Two to Make Love xx

xx Chapter One xx

Stupid, so stupid! Hermione screamed to herself as she walked down the hallway. What was she thinking? Was she thinking? Hands pressed to hot, red cheeks. Students in a flurry of dove gray and black passed her by, not seeming to notice that she was in the middle of losing her mind. Where was she going again? Was it time for class? She checked her watch but her mind was blank. Oh my. She was losing her mind. Hermione couldn't help but let a small whimper escape as she pushed into the closest girls' bathroom.

Part of her mind, the sensible, smart part of her mind, the part that usually dominated her life, was telling her to stop being so damn silly. She was turning everything into a teenage drama, the very thing she always looked down upon. Wasn't she?

Hermione splashed some water on her face and looked at her wide-eyed expression in the mirror. No she wasn't, thankyouverymuch.

"I can't believe..." she started weakly, and pressed a hand to her forehead. Did she have a fever? Did fevers make people suddenly start to blather and look like idiots? No, well, people normally didn't blather on like idiots; that only happened in daytime soaps. Maybe this was a magical infliction. Yes! That's it! No wonder she was acting crazy, someone must have put a hex on her. And she can walk right out those doors and find Christian and tell him that she's been hexed and he really shouldn't believe anything she says, for both their sakes, really.

But who would hex her? Hermione thought carefully. Let's see...I'm a nice person, relatively. I'm a studious, sensible, rather boring person that no one would ever bother to put a hex on...except... except that Malfoy! It had to be him! But even in her mind, the name rang in her head and what happened just fifteen minutes earlier came back to her in a rush and Hermione nearly groaned.

Okay, fine. The worst had happened. She had turned into one of those giggling girls who blushed furiously and bit their lips and became painfully tongue-tied when in presence of a boy they liked. Except she didn't giggle. Or blush. Or bite her lips. Or was ever tongue-tied in her life. She was always quite the opposite, in fact. And that was precisely her problem. Was this karma? Was this karma's way of kicking her in the ass for scoffing at girls who spoke too softly and giggled too much and acted like docile cows the way they chewed their food and blinked their eyes?

Oh yes, yes it was. But what on earth had possessed her to say what she had? As infatuated as she really was with Christian, he was still just a boy and a boy was an elective that fell somewhere after schoolwork, family, friends, and personal enlightenment (which she worked daily at) and perhaps a little before practicing a little tennis which she loved to do during the summer or editing Hogwarts: A History Edition 32.6. Well, it seemed like a boy fell higher up on her list of priorities than she thought, perhaps before her life because she had just quite clearly ruined hers all because of a boy.

Did it really just take one question to unravel her so completely? Hermione replayed the scene in her head, only pausing a little to appreciate Christian's dark brown hair and his nose. So what if his nose was a little big, a little crooked? It looked quite nice; it saved his face from a boring perfection, unlike that git Malfoy. Oh my. Don't think of Malfoy.

Christian. Yes. Now where was she? Oh right; there was Christian. She was looking up at him. That's important; he must be awfully tall. Was he taller than Harry? He seemed to be taller than Harry, maybe almost as tall as Ron though so much better proportioned. He was wearing the Hogwarts uniform but those gray pants never looked so good on any other Hogwarts boys. And the way that white shirt fit so perfectly and his robes hanging open as though he couldn't care, the tie in Ravenclaw colors hanging a bit loosely around his neck. He had those little square glasses that made him look so damn intelligent. And he was. That was the important part. That's why she liked him.

But if he was so intelligent, how had they come onto such a crude, uncouth subject? Yet she welcomed it; Hermione found it heady and she had felt reckless and invincible. That was precisely the moment when Christian decided to shoot that question at her: "Who was your all time best shag? That is," he had added with a crooked grin. "If you've even done it before."

So that was when Hermione decided to single-handedly ruin her life. "Draco Malfoy of course," she had said, boldly, brazenly. But why! Hermione thought despairingly. Why on earth had she chosen him? Draco Malfoy of all the people, the slimy, disgusting bastard that proceeded to barrage her life with insults? For the past seven years all he had done was smirk, sneer, and say rude things while she had pointedly ignored him until once she had finally lost it and had physically punched him. Then she went back to ignoring.

She didn't think he was good looking. Honestly, she didn't. But Ginny did, and so, apparently, did the rest of the predictable female population. Was that why? Did she want to impress Christian? Impress him? The sensible part screamed. And you couldn't do that the old-fashioned way?

Oh yes. The old-fashioned way would probably indicate the truth. She hadn't. Told the truth, that is. And for that, she was in trouble. Would Christian tell? Would this go back to Malfoy? Oh please, please don't let this go back to Malfoy.

Hermione sat down on the cold, tiled floors of the bathroom. Okay, calm down Granger, she thought. You can fix this. You can figure this out. Time. Yes, that's it. Find out how much time you have to fix this. Okay let's see, it takes approximately fifteen seconds to tell a rumor to someone else. So six degrees of separation, right? Uh okay, let's see, let's give a fifteen minute break in between each person, I mean, they wouldn't be standing in a line, passing this on, right? Okay, so approximately fifteen minutes which would be fifteen times sixty times six plus fifteen times six...which would be...

Hermione scrambled to get parchment and quills from her bag, cursing the fact that Hogwarts still didn't use ballpoint pens. Screw the novelty of using these things; they were, fundamentally, a pain. Her hands were shaking so hard that it took a couple times to unscrew the small vial of ink. Finally she wrote it all out.

Okay, that would be five thousand four hundred ninety seconds which would be ninety-one minutes and thirty seconds, which would be approximately...one hour and thirty-one minutes and thirty seconds. Wait, WHAT!

Hermione stared at the parchment. Did she do the sums right? Would Malfoy really find out what she said in just over one and a half hours? Oh no, this can't be right! She checked and rechecked her answers. She vaguely realized it was time for class but dismissed it just this once figuring since she was doing sums anyway it couldn't be that bad. Yes, yes she did do this right.

Then not only will Draco Malfoy know what she had done in one hour, thirty-one minutes, and thirty seconds, her life as she knows it, will also be over.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

"Oh my God." Hermione recognized that voice. She sat straight up.

"What are you doing? That floor is probably filthy," Ginny cried. She knelt at Hermione's side.

"Ron and Harry said you weren't at class so they commissioned me to check all the girls' bathrooms."

"Is she in there?" Hermione could hear Ron call.

"Yes," Hermione snapped.

"But why?" Ginny asked. She studied Hermione's face; it held outright tragedy.

"Because I have done something horrifically wrong," she said, plaintively.

"But...but you never do anything wrong, Hermione," Ginny said.

"Well maybe it's because of you, you promiscuous red-head!" Hermione shouted. Ginny didn't look offended, or even worried; she looked amused.

"Right well, okay. Now will you tell me what happened?"

"It's..."

"A long and sordid tale?" Ginny supplied.

"Yes." Ginny seemed to consider this carefully.

"Strawberry ice cream and vanilla crackers," Ginny diagnosed. Hermione looked up, happily surprised. Well, perhaps her life wasn't over quite yet.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Ginny made Hermione put on her baby-blue silk chemise with the cream ribbon trim. She herself, not to be left out, wore her favorite pink and yellow baby-doll dress and they sat among soft, folds of crimson and gold blankets. They shared between them a gigantic carton of strawberry ice cream and a box of vanilla wafers.

"Feeling better?" the redhead asked. Hermione nodded, somewhat sulkily.

"Then tell me what happened. To be one hundred percent honest-"

"Do you have to be?" Hermione asked. Ginny gave her a pointed look. Hermione sighed. If there was anything her friend detested, it was shying away from the truth; Ginny was brutally honest and forthright, especially to herself.

"To be honest," she continued. "You're above your hormones. You always have been. So then something happened that made you mope in a bathroom all day. Now what was it?"

"I'm not," Hermione said. "Above my hormones I mean." She broke a vanilla wafer in half and thoughtfully ate one half.

"Ginny, I made a mistake, a really bad one," she said. Ginny patiently waited her out.

"Christian asked me who my best shag was," Hermione started.

"Christian? The Christian Hath that you've so obviously been mooning over for the past month?"

"Hey I thought you said I was above my hormones." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Well, duh, yes Hermione, you don't giggle and twiddle with your hair around them. But if you didn't like any one completely, then that's just abnormal." Hermione looked at her dubiously but let Ginny continue.

"Obviously he's not too bad if he knows what sort of questions to ask," Ginny said. Her lips slowly curved into a grin that didn't help Hermione's situation at all.

"So what did you say anyway?" she asked. Hermione blanched.

"Draco Malfoy." Ginny's eyes opened wide and the silver spoon fell from her long fingers.

"What?"

"I said Draco Malfoy. Which may as well be your fault too because all you ever talk about is how hot he is and how sexy he looks and...and..."

"And I'm absolutely right?"

"No, I'm absolutely screwed!" In her vehemence, Hermione realized she had crushed the other half of the vanilla wafer in her hand.

"Why couldn't I have just said someone else, anyone else?"

"Because of your inner psychological desire to sleep with Draco Malfoy," Ginny said wickedly. She had her Sigmund Freud face on and Hermione wasn't comforted by this.

"Just because you're promiscuous doesn't mean I'm like that too," she grumbled.

"No," Ginny said. "That's precisely the problem. That's why your desire is repressed and look at the consequences of that. You have to sleep with Draco Malfoy before Christian finds out that you're a liar, albeit one with excellent taste, and word reaches Malfoy because who knows what would happen then." Hermione, as much as she hated to admit that the other girl was right, her explanation did make some sense.

"Hmm, although I wouldn't mind the consequences of this little lie," Ginny said, licking the strawberry ice cream from the spoon.

"You wouldn't, but I do!"

"But you have no choice." Ginny looked triumphant as Hermione groaned and buried her face into a pillow.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

One hour, thirty-one minutes, and thirty seconds after Hermione's fatal mistake

"Draco, Draco!" Pansy cried. She was running at him from a distance and finally collided into the taller boy.

"What?" he asked amused, as Pansy's antics usually did.

"You wouldn't believe what I just heard," she said. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. She looked so excited, like she could just burst from the news she was just going to tell him. Draco heard what people, especially Gryffindors, said about Pansy. They said she looked like a pug with a permanently sour expression.

Draco didn't mind her at all, truthfully. Sure she was a little shallow, but she was always decent to him and he thought she looked kind of cute, like a little sister that he never really had.

"What is it?" he asked, playing along for her benefit. It would be some inane rumor about him, most likely. He couldn't believe half of the shit people made up about him; it was crazy. He ran a hand through his flaxen hair and gave his attention fully to Pansy. He felt a little sorry for her; her parents were far more neglectful than was healthy and because he was grown up with the constant nurturing of his mother, he could hardly begin to imagine what that would be like.

"Hermione Granger claimed you guys slept together!" The languid, amused, half-smile that had been playing across his face froze.

"What?"

"She said you guys slept together. Is that true?" She was tugging slightly on his sleeve like a little kid.

"No, of course not," he scoffed. But then why would she have said so? Draco thought. Well, there's an answer we'd all like to know.

"Pansy, I honestly doubt that's true," he said, kindly. "Hermione Granger is the muggle-born, studious, and frankly quite boring girl in Gryffindor. And as little interest I have in her, I can assure you that she has ten times less interest in me. She despises me."

"But then why would someone say she said that?" she asked, cocking her head, looking up at him. Draco smiled slightly.

"I don't know, Pansy. People make up a lot of random shit." Pansy nodded, satisfied, but Draco himself wasn't. This was a much too absurd of a rumor to just be made-up. He shrugged slightly to himself. He'd just have to wait. Whether Hermione said this or not, she would eventually come to him for one reason or another, either to put a stop to the rumor, or to...validate it?

Draco smiled; that was too absurd. But he was a little less lethargic after that, a little more animated. Whatever it was, he would wait and she would come. They always do.

ooooooooooooooooooooo