Hermione got out of the shower and toweled her thick, wavy, chestnut hair. She stared at the woman in the mirror that returned her steely gaze. Sure she joked with herself, but it was true. She wasn't the same girl that had entered the halls of Hogwart's. Her frizzy, bushy hair had settled down and now cascaded down her back in ringlets. She had grown tall and lean. Her breasts were full and round, her stomach flat and hard, full hips lean legs, and the summer vacation had given her a golden tan.

But she still couldn't see passed the girl that she used to be. When she was at the beach, she was laying out minding her own business, half minding the game of beach football when the game came dangerously close to her. One of the lads had nearly backed onto her trying to catch the football. He looked back to see what he was stepping on. When he had seen Herminone he was so dumbfounded that the just stood and stared until the ball hit him square in the head, knocking him back into reality. He clumsily picked up the ball mumbled and apology and ran back to the game. It had taken her a good half hour to realize what had caught his attention…. stupid, it was me, she thought. But for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

Hermoione broke out of her spell bound state when she heard her mother hollering from below that it was nearly time to leave for the train station. She quickly dried off and dressed for Hogwart's, giving herself a second glance in the mirror as she and her father lugged her trunk and cases out of her room and to the car.

On the trip to the station, she sat silently staring out the window. What in the world could I do that is so important to Hogwart's she questioned herself? And whom am I going to be doing it with? It was the first time that it crossed her mind. Surely, Dumbledore had called on the Head Boy to. But who would it be? Never in the history of Hogwart's had the Head Boy and Girl been from the same house, so that ruled out Harry. In years past, she would have been certain that it would be Draco Malfoy. God forbid that she spend a year in the same room with that prat. But not him, not after all that had happened in the last year. So who?

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The trip from the muggle world to Platform 9 ¾ was as uneventful as any and the scarlet engine to Hogwart's awaited her. Her luggage was loaded and she made her way onto the train. Instead of the usual rows of cabins however, the car was transformed into one large room. It was a magnificent sight. There were plush couches, a full library of books, and boxes of candy and treats. It was still nearly 30 minutes until 10 a.m. and the train always left promptly, so Hermione found book and nestled down in one of the overstuffed sofas next to a box of Ice Mice. She became engrossed in the book immediately, one about the history of the Hogwart's houses, and forgot all about the train departing.

At the end of the first chapter, Hermione finally looked up from the book. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to notice that it was already ten after. Confound it! I am going to be late to meet Professor Dumbledore she thought. Just then, she heard the rattle and clang of baggage being loaded. She quickly looked back down at her book, to seem uninterested in who might enter the car. A few minutes later, she got her answer.

"Grainger?"

"Malfoy? What are YOU doing here?" Hermione was stunned.

"I am going to Hogwart's early to assist Dumbledore, as the Head Boy should. Not that what I am doing is ANY of your concern. What are you doing here, mudblood?" Malfoy hissed.

"Not that it is any of your concern either, Malfoy, but I am Head Girl and Dumbledore asked me to come to Hogwart's early too," Hermione retorted and tucked her head back behind the book. She would never let onto Draco Malfoy that he got under her skin, even after all that time.

The trip passed in total silence. Once in a while, Hermione would glance over the top of her book. Draco had sat himself in the largest chair and was currently writing furiously in a leather bound book. His memoirs, I suppose, thought Hermione, I guess he fancies himself a dark prince. But the more that Hermione stared, there was something else in his eyes, not the self-love and arrogance that had been there before. She could have been mistaken, but she could have sworn that a tear began to pool in the corner of his eye. She keep watching as he seemed to pour his heart into the little leather book, and she saw something that she never had before. A young man sat there across from her. Not a villain or an ogre, but a living breathing human, and an attractive one at that. Hermione was not the only one that had changed over the summer. Draco hadn't slicked his hair back like a Dracula-want-to-be since fifth year. It was a little longer and the platinum locks hung freely over his gray eyes. A chiseled face stared off into oblivion before he began writing again. His shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular and brown. It seemed she wasn't the only one who spent the summer on the beach. She began to almost feel sorry for the young man that sat across from her on the train, so close but yet his mind was a world away.

"What the hell are you looking at you filthy mudbood?" Draco snapped.

Hermione hadn't even noticed how long she had been staring at him; it took her a moment to recover. "I wouldn't know, Malfoy." She quickly tucked behind her book and refused to move. A flush covered her cheeks. This is going to be a long year she thought.

Draco, he reprimanded himself silently, why do you have to be such a dwit to everyone? It's Hermione, yeah, she's a mudblood, but you aren't a prince any more either. Old habits would be hard to break this year. He had to idea why Dumbledore had named him Head Boy this year; he had certainly not done anything to deserve it. He couldn't help but think about the Prophecy. Since his mother had been in St. Mungo's she had done nothing but babble endlessly about the Prophecy and how she thought it had been lost but now…anything is possible. She repeated this to him every time he came to visit her. Quite frankly, it scared him. The Prophecy rarely was any good news; he hated to think that his last year at Hogwart's would have anything to do with the Prophecy. The last two years had held enough surprise and hurt to last a lifetime.

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