Ron grumbled and crumpled up his parchment.

"Hey Mione, how do you do this potions thing anyway?"

"You listen in class. Here." She shoved a piece of parchment full of cramped writing across the table.

"Ooh thanks." Ron began scribbling anew.

"Hey, Mione, can I borrow your essay once you're done?" Harry leaned over the piles of potions books to peek at Hermione's work. The three were in the library working on Professor Snape's essay. As usual, Hermione had finished hers the minute it was assigned, and Harry and Ron had forgotten about it until Hermione badgered them to do it. Abruptly, Hermione's quill stopped scratching. She frowned at her watch.

"Simply smashing. Head duties." She snorted derisively. "Hey look, Ron, give me my essay at dinner, alright? Yeah, Harry, you can use it."

Harry grinned. "Thanks. Boy, am I glad I'm not Head Girl."

"I'm glad too. That's highly disturbing." Ron grimaced.

Hermione snickered. "Yeah really – oh, what kind of Halloween ball d'you want?"

"I dunno. One where Snape can't give us homework."

"Don't be dense. Mione – d'you think you could do a Muggle ball? Y'know, like prom in high school?"

"Yeah, maybe. It's not likely fer- er, Malfoy would agree, but I could try. 'S a good idea. See you later, then."

"Bye Mione." The boys bent back toward their assiduous copying.

Hermione Granger, a petite brunette with honey-brown eyes, and the smartest witch at Hogwarts, gathered up her things, warned Ron not to lose her essay, and hurried out into the Entrance Hall. She looked around, checked her watch, and frowned, wrinkling her nose in a way most teenage wizards at Hogwarts found most attractive although she didn't know it . Just then, a tall, well-built, handsome albeit pale young man sauntered into the hall with a pug-faced blonde hanging off his arm. He looked around disdainfully and shook the girl off.

"Look, Pansy, I've got Head Duties – I'll see you later?" It was not so much a question as a statement.

Alright, Draco darling," she squealed. Draco winced ever so slightly as only befits a Malfoy at the shrill tones of her nasal voice.

"You're late." Hermione glared at the boy who, to her great dismay, had been appointed Head Boy.

"A Malfoy is always fashionably late."

"Well, I must say, you're quite out of fashion. To be fashionably late, you have to be 15 to 20 minutes late. You, on the other hand, are 3 minutes and 26 seconds late."

"Sure, Granger. Whatever the know-it-all Mudblood says. So what am I wasting my time on today?" Malfoy smirked.

Hermione gulped. She didn't answer. Instead, she wheeled around and started walking back into the library. Draco was intensely annoyed – nobody spoke to a Malfoy like that, especially not a Mudblood like Granger.

"Granger. What are we doing, Granger?" Hermione just walked faster. She wasn't going to stand for this anymore. 6 years of passive tolerance was quite enough. If he even – her thoughts were cut off by a hand on her shoulder – a nice warm, secure hand. But it belonged to Malfoy – what was she thinking? She shook it off angrily.

"Hermione…" Malfoy's voice floated through the library doors. Harry and Ron looked up in surprise.

"Who's calling Hermione?" Ron looked around.

"But that was Malfoy's voice – I swear!" Harry shook his head confusedly.

At that precise moment, Hermione made quite a spectacularly loud comeback. Banging her books down on the table and scattering Ron's parchment in the process she sat down in a huff. Madam Pince frowned at the crash.

"That was fast."

"I know. Ron, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure. – As long as its not anything to do with Potions," he added hurriedly.

"Oh no, it's quite easy I think – just write down for me all the swear words you know. And owl your brothers too. And Harry, will you collect some Muggle ones?"

"Uh…sure." The two boys looked at each other and shrugged.