Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling
Love Sex and a Bottle Of Vodka
Chapter Ten
Draco skipped the Sorting Hat ceremony (it gets old after six years of it) and started up to his room when fate stepped in.
"Mr. Malfoy," said a familiar voice. The voice that raised him as much as his father had. Draco looked up. As he suspected, it was the tall, ominous figure of Snape.
"Yes?" His fine blonde eyebrows rose.
"Report to Professor Dumbledore's office, he'll have some cheering news for you," he said. His hand absently ran through his hair, a habit that Draco had picked up from him.
"I knew you had it in you Draco," he said. "After you stopped pulling those childish pranks on Gryffindor I knew you'd be chosen." Draco, slowly catching on to Snape's words, bowed slightly, another habit that he'd yet to shed, and retreated into the shadows, following invisible footprints to Dumbledore's office.
Draco remembered back in fifth year when he had started a bit of a tumble between the Slytherin boys and though it had been a hoot, they all bailed on him and he had been the only one with detainment. He found himself in front of Dumbledore's "hidden" door and was let in.
"So Mr. Malfoy, I presume you know why I have brought you here," he said, surveying him over the tops of his glasses.
"More or less." Draco had learned far back that saying less was definitely more with Dumbledore. The more you said, the more he knew about you. Dumbledore walked around his desk, a shiny silver badge in his hand. He stood before Draco and still seemed to tower over the younger boy. Dumbledore fastened the badge onto Draco's robes. Despite his cool attitude, Draco felt a chill.
"Welcome Draco," said Dumbledore. "You are now Head Boy."
Draco smiled.
"Hermione," whispered Ginny urgently. She tugged at Hermione's robe sleeve. Hermione pressed her lips together and said as quietly as possible to not disturb the Sorting Hat ceremony,
"What is it?"
"McGonagall. She's been trying to catch your eye for the past five minutes. Go and see what's up." Cat-quiet, Hermione stood and made her way to the professor.
"Professor Dumbledore will like to see you, Ms. Granger. Don't give me that look, you know you're not in trouble." Still worried, Hermione walked down the empty hallway alone. Since when did Hogwarts get so chilly? She shivered slightly and rubbed her arms for warmth.
She entered into Dumbledore's office, which was thankfully warmer. Suddenly, the temperature dropped below zero. Further than that. Hermione was sure she could see her breath even though she had stopped breathing.
Dumbledore, truly oblivious to the tension or just pretending to be (no one would ever really know), said, half-smiling,
"Ms. Granger, Head Girl, meet your Head Boy Mr. Malfoy. I trust that there will be no petty rivalries between you two." His voice had a note of finality. Hermione reminded herself to breathe as her breath started to come and go in shaky gasps. Her vision started to twinkle then she dropped to the ground, resting her head on her knees. The last thing she saw was Draco and Dumbledore rushing to her as she finally, thankfully, let go of her consciousness.
"You poor thing." Hermione groggily opened up her eyes and found that she had trouble moving. She was lying on one of the infirmary beds and judging from the dark of the sky outside the window, it was still that night. She turned her glance to the side to find Madame Pomfrey mixing up something that smelled like the devil.
"I say they just give the students too much excitement around here," she continued. "Oh and Mr. Malfoy took your bags up to the Head Room quarters where the two of you will be staying so no need to worry about that." Hermione smiled weakly when Madame Pomfrey turned her way, but that smile was so ephemeral that the minute the nurse looked away, the expression turned into a look of horror.
Madame Pomfrey catching that look, mistaking the reason of the look for the potion she was mixing, she laughed.
"Dear, let me assure you that there are many things that taste much worse." After Hermione had swallowed the terrible mixture, which had the weirdest taste of frogs and lemon pound cake, she felt right enough to stand up and be led to the Head Room quarters.
It was a richly decorated room with a common room, full of draperies and a warm fireplace. The floor was covered in a plush carpet and there were sofas and chairs made of velvet, satin, and silk. On opposite walls were doors, where each led to a private bedroom. There she found her demon, lounging on a satin chair. He stumbled to his feet, eyes shining with worry.
"Hi," said Draco, softly. Hermione turned away.
"Not today, Draco." She made her way to one of the doors. Draco caught her arm.
"Hermione," he said, looking into her eyes. She couldn't look away even if she tried. Her head was still hurting and she didn't want to deal with Draco right now.
"I'm a coward and an idiot for losing a girl like you. I could never get someone like you and when I did, I lost you. Even with you here and me holding onto you, you're not a part of me anymore." What was this supposed to be? Some sort of apology? A justification? Hermione started to feel her anger fire up again. What was his problem? At least if he was going to break up with her, god they hadn't even gone out, then he could have left her alone.
"I wanted to be," she whispered fiercely. "I wanted to but you pushed me away."
"I know that!" His angry cry seemed to falter then hold clear in the small space of air that separated them. Hermione wrenched her arm out of Draco's grip. She was so angry that she was practically shaking.
"You lost me Draco," she said, then walked away and slammed her door. Draco stood there, staring at the empty space where Hermione had stood just seconds earlier.
Hermione waited on the other side of the door, listening as Draco slammed his door, an echo of her own.
"A head girl? That's amazing Hermione," said Ron. "As if we never saw it coming." Hermione punched him in the arm. It was dinner the next day and Hermione had been meaning to tell them all day but the day had been packed with back to school activities. Ginny was nowhere to be found, probably staying after Potions class, her worst subject.
"But what about Harry?" he continued. "I thought for sure he'd be Head Boy." Harry was no less awkward than he had been seven years earlier. But his bed messy hair and lithe body had become an accidental poster boy image. He stuck out his neck in that uncomfortable way of his and bit his bottom, pouty lip. Hermione had to admit that Harry had grown up well.
"I didn't want it," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Besides, I think they wanted variety. Besides, two head members from one house? That'd be an outrage to all the other houses." He picked at his food and chewed carefully on a piece of chicken, to avoid any more questions from Ron. So the redhead turned his attention back onto Hermione.
"So who's the Head Boy, Hermione?" asked Ron. "Who's better than our Harry?" Hermione broke the carrot that she was holding in half accidentally. She flushed a deep red, hoping that it was unnoticeable in the candlelight of the dinner.
"I don't know yet," she said smoothly. It sounded authentic. Well it should since she spent all night practicing it. She could tell that Ron was going to ask her more questions but before he could, Harry jumped in, sensing Hermione's discomfort a little better than Ron could.
"So how are the living quarters? Better than the prefect ones?" Hermione could deal with these questions and think about Draco later.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she said.
"Actually I would," said Ron, playfully although the comment was directed at Harry. "Why don't we have a little rendezvous tonight, eh?" Hermione punched him in the arm for the second time.
"Get a life Ron," she said. Ron looked at Harry but he was still his quiet self, munching on food.
"What classes do you guys have?" asked Hermione, boldly changing the subject. Ron and Harry groaned.
"We still have Divination," said Harry. He gestured to his schedule that was half hanging out of his book bag.
"It's a riot though," Ron said, laughing slightly to himself.
"We've still got double potions with Slytherin, right" asked Hermione.
"Why are you asking? You usually have the schedule memorized by the second class. I hope we don't though, I hate those smug Slytherins," said Ron, his face screwing up in to a scowl.
"Yeah, don't we all," said Hermione. Her thoughts started to float away.
"Draco!" Draco groaned inwardly and let himself be cornered by Pansy. There was a reason he took these solitary night walks and it wasn't because he enjoyed the cold damp corridors of the dungeons of Hogwarts.
"I've been looking for you everywhere."
"I bet," he muttered.
"Draco, this is serious. I thought you ended it with the Gryffindor girl."
"I didn't end anything because nothing started," he said.
"Well that's not what I heard Draco. I heard you were already in that Gryffindor slut's bed last night. The one that's the Head Girl?" Her expression only held worry but that annoyed Draco even more than her words did.
"Well you heard wrong, Pansy. Like you usually do. Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen, I know that for sure. Besides, why would you care?"
"Draco, our parents. They're not only going to kill you if they find out you've been misbehaving. It's my fault too. They'll say that it's my fault and I should have kept a closer watch on you." This was true. Pansy would get the equal blame. So there's a drawback to everything, even being engaged to Draco.
"Pansy, we're not getting married. No one's going to force us."
"Our parents can make us Draco." Her eyes were filled with a terrible love for Draco.
"And I will," she whispered. "I will make us. I will make you in love with me."
To that Draco chuckled harshly. Hot, frustrated tears started to fall from Pansy's eyes.
"I don't fall in love Pansy. There's no such thing as love and I was personally taught that lesson this summer." Pansy's eyes turned hard.
"Don't worry Draco, you'll fall in love. You will love me. I will make you and you will." Draco stared at her. The emotions that were crashing in her eyes were scary. He couldn't deal with this. Not now and not ever. He would sooner slit his own wrists than marry Pansy.
"Later," he said and walked away, leaving Pansy to be enveloped in the darkness of the stone corridors.