[Author's Note: Had a complete writer's block on where I wanted to go after the last chapter. Back on track. Thank you for the patience. Thank Dashboard Confessional's "Vindicated"]

Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR.

Plot: Draco/Hermione. Don't like it? Go somewhere else. This is my story. And I did warn you in the summary. As for the actual plot being original, no one has a copyright on the entire school idea. If so, Hollywood would be in serious trouble

Chapter 11: The Mirror

Hermione looked at her face critically in the mirror for a moment, water dripping from it before she buried it in a towel. With a dry face, she looked at herself again. It was no different from any other day. She didn't bother with makeup. Sometimes, a light lip gloss. On days that she looked completely exhausted, sometimes she would perform a minor glamour or use concealer. There were days that it got to be a little overwhelming, between classes, the schoolwork, the Head Girl commitments, the DA and the DADA meetings and spending every other minute with Harry and Ron. It was draining. Not that she didn't love spending time with her best friends or with the other Gryffindors but sometimes, she just wanted to spend some time with herself and by herself.

And right now, she didn't particularly feel inclined to spend time with Harry and Ron. Both of them were in the middle of a full blown snit because Slytherin had flattened Hufflepuff over two hundred points in yesterday's Quidditch match. They were continuously talking strategy and possibility and how many points they would have to make in the upcoming Gryffindor – Ravenclaw. Ron had suspected that Harry refused to beat Ravenclaw too badly because of his relationship with seeker Cho Chang, didn't want the rest of the school to think that he was being vindictive. Other times, Ron thought that Harry was still carrying a bloody torch for her.

Personally, Hermione hoped it was that Harry didn't want to appear vindictive. Although Cho was a nice girl, she had chosen to remain comfortably numb in a predictable relationship with Roger Davis. She just couldn't hack being in an intense relationship with Harry Potter, Voldermort's nemesis and Boy Wonder. In her moments of solitude, Hermione always took a step back and reviewed the events of the past more critically. She knew that she was used to the intensity, the adrenaline pumping adventures since the First Year. The encounter with the mountain troll in the girl's bathroom had served to cement the friendship of the Golden Trio. And it seemed that every year they got into a hare-brained madcap escapade. It was difficult to get used to that rhythm, difficult to keep pace with it, difficult to compete against it. Now, Harry was committed to other things like the preparation against the upcoming war and his own personal and crucial role in it. None of which were extremely romantic unless you were into the epic, driven hero.

If any girl could deal with the epic, driven hero, it was Ginny Weasley. Her first year had that nasty encounter with Tom Riddle and the opening of Chamber of Secrets. She was personally acquainted with the evil of Voldermort in ways that no one, other than Harry, was. She was also inexorably linked to Voldermort through the memories in his journal, the same way Harry was linked to the Dark Lord through a scarred past. More importantly, Ginny's love had deepened past an infatuation, something she kept hidden and in denial. She had made a fool of herself, or so she felt, in the first few years and Fred and George's teasing hadn't helped the situation either. Hermione wished that Harry wasn't so blind and Ginny stopped refusing to acknowledge her feelings for Harry. They would make a good couple. And Harry deserved to be happy and could do no better than date Ginny. She was steadfast and loyal with a spitfire temper legendary among her brothers. She was also caring and a good friend. In fact, she was on her way here for some girl talk.

Of course, Ginny would balk at the insinuations. The same way Hermione balked at those that assumed that she would date Ron. Admittedly, Hermione had some ambivalent feelings toward her other best friend. Ron was loyal, hot tempered, clueless and with the annoying tendency of putting his foot in his mouth without realizing. But he stood beside her and Harry without flinching, once he made up his mind. She simply didn't have any romantic feelings for him. She certainly didn't feel an attraction to him. If her feelings were ambivalent, it was that she knew how much Ron cared about her and it was nice to have a boy care about you. But she knew that Ron and her would not work out. At least not now. Perhaps if they were older and different people. She knew that she would make Ron a caring girlfriend, it wasn't difficult being affectionate to Ron. But caring didn't just translate into the love that Ron wanted from her. A love that she wasn't sure she could give him. And to be in a relationship was to admit to the possibility of that kind of love, and Hermione knew to the bottom of her bones that she didn't feel like that now and wouldn't develop such a feeling in a few weeks or months. She couldn't lie to Ron and hurt him that way. Dating someone simply because everyone else expected it, including your other best friend, was not the right reason.

She wasn't interested in anyone else. She didn't have a crush on another guy. Her life had enough commitments as it was. But despite it all, her mind flashed to yesterday, watching the Slytherin Quidditch team walk onto the field. The screams from Slytherin had been impressive. The unofficial Draco Malfoy fan club had also cheered. Hermione had wanted to roll her eyes in disgust at the giggly Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls but it would have been a wasted effort. Besides, Ron's gagging noises had been quite the public exhibition.

Despite her personal feelings, she had watched Malfoy walk onto the field, tall and confident. His blond locks shining in the sun, his cool demeanor and his trademark smirk firmly in place, he had raised his left hand in a fist above his head and Slytherin had gone wild with screaming and chanting. It never failed to make an impression on her and confirm that all Slytherins were snarky, conniving and plain idiotic. Malfoy was really the poster child of their House, the epitome of its values and ideals. And they cheered them on for it.

But she felt that her mind was becoming too occupied with Malfoy and carefully retreated and put up a few mental barriers, watching the game dispassionately. Her replies to Harry's, Ron's and Ginny's ongoing commentary was very cursory but she knew that they didn't think too much about it. She simply wasn't the Quidditch aficionado. Besides, she didn't need them to know that Malfoy was a good player and despite being an arrogant arsehole prat, he brought a cool unflappable elegance. She watched him circle like a hawk, looking for the Snitch but also keeping an eye on the game as his team used sneaky tactics to demolish the Hufflepuff team. He had seemed like a young god, floating on top of the clouds.

Hermione was brought out of her reverie by a pair of silver eyes in the mirror. She looked startled to see Draco at the doorway of his connecting door, sweaty, muddy and without a shirt on. His Quidditch practice must be over, she thought. His gaze was intense and scrutinizing without a hint of malice or taunting in it. Hermione felt that he could read her thoughts and knew what she had been thinking moments earlier. Not that she would ever admit that she had been thinking about him. Not that he would ask anyway. She held Malfoy's searing gaze too nonchalantly, despite the tingling of fear up her spine and the increased beating of her heart.

She had seen his intense look before. It usually was centered on some academic problem. Now she knew what it was to have that silvery gaze looking at her, and part of her felt that she was going to pieces. But she would rather die than let Malfoy know or even have the slightest inkling that it was intimidating. Again, Hermione felt the lick of fear. But this fear was different. It was like looking at an abyss and Hermione simply didn't know what to think about it.

He walked toward her slowly but with purpose. Hermione resisted the impulse to turn around and flee even if every step closer he took, she wanted to take a step back. Finally, it registered into her little maggoty brain that he was half naked. And that he was sweaty and stinky and very, very male. It wasn't like he was physically gargantuan. He wasn't beefy and meaty like his two personal bodyguards and lunkerheads, Crabbe and Goyle. Physically, he was much more like Harry. Lithe and muscular, even a little on the skinny side. Due to the exertion, his pale skin was flushed. Her mind decided to malfunction on her again and appreciate that an attractive, sweaty, half naked male with a well-cut body was heading toward her. Damn the pheromones and hormones! But she was enthralled, afraid and distinctly confused.

He stopped a few feet from her, his gaze never wavering. Hermione looked at him for a long moment. She felt the silvery eyes swallow and consume her. She could almost feel the hair on her arms rising on end, her skin tingling. It got to be too much.

She turned on her heel, turning her back on Malfoy. Hermione stalked out of the bathroom as quickly as possible, still feeling his gaze on her back. She slammed the door close between them.

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Draco was tired. Bone tired. He was also very cross. Oh, he had been fairly happy about beating the Hufflepuff team yesterday but Slytherin needed more than that to be able to win the Quidditch cup or the House Cup this year. And it was his last year to see Slytherin win. Every year bloody friggin' Pothead beat him to the Snitch. Every stinkin' bloody year the fucking red and gold Gryffindor colors plastered the Great Hall. For once, just once, he wanted his House to win while he was part of it. Oh, he knew that prior to the arrival of the Saintly Potter, Slytherin had held a seven year streak in Quidditch. Now, they didn't seem to be able to catch a break.

Especially when all the teachers and the houses just adored the Golden Trio with their Boy Wonder.

So he instituted a very strict Quidditch practice regime. No one in Slytherin dared to complain. They were all anxious to beat Gryffindor. Draco was not the only one with rankled sentiments. He also knew that he wasn't the only one that wanted to prove something against the Gryffindors. That they didn't always win. Even if the intents and motives varied, Slytherins were united in the single cause of besting the Gryffindors.

Still, that didn't mean that he wasn't exhausted. He was. Sometimes it got to be too much, between schoolwork and classes, his band, being the Quidditch captain and being the Head of the Slytherins spread his notorious lack of patience thinly. Not that he wanted anyone to think he was less than capable of the challenge. Especially when the Head Girl was the notorious school bookworm, prissy goody two shoes that somehow managed to break more school rules than anyone other than the Weasley Twins, Hermione Granger. They both took their studies seriously; trying to make the top marks this year and make the graduation speech.

Draco's eyes narrowed in frustration. She still hadn't caved in. They had been playing at this game for about three weeks. For three weeks, they hadn't spoken a single word to each other. They had glared and made snide remarks, but none directed at each other. He had traded insults with both the Boy-That-Was-A-Pain-On-His-Arse and the Blundering Idiot. Still, she hadn't actually spoken to him. Just looked at him.

When he had walked in on her, he had just stood watching her look at herself in the mirror. For reasons unfathomable, he let himself actually look at her. And he wondered at what she saw when she looked into the mirror. Did she see the bookworm that needed to constantly answer every question? Did she see a third of the Golden Trio, adored by most of the school? Did she herself as an inferior Mudblood witch? Did she see her strength and determination and courage, all the things her House prized to the point of idiocy? Did she see how pretty she was?

Draco scowled at that thought, as he ran the taps for his shower. Blasted Pucey and Zabini! Since their conversation a few weeks ago, he couldn't rid himself of the sinking suspicion that annoying bookworm Granger was pretty. The thought bothered him to the point that he wanted to throttle himself and scream at her that she was, in fact, not pretty. But that would not do under the current circumstances. He wasn't going to be the first one to break, even if it meant he couldn't taunt and jeer her about her beaver-like looks; although, Granger didn't look like a beaver at all. Seeing her in front of the mirror, he simply couldn't help but notice that she was pretty with wholesome natural looks. He knew enough of her routine to know that she didn't usually bother with beautification charms. Unlike Pansy, who seemed to be permanently charming something about herself to make her appearance look immaculate. It made Pansy look unnatural in comparison to Granger.

It was more than that. Pucey had been right. Granger was fiercely independent, and that was a goad to any man. It was an unspoken challenge, in the way she carried herself. You could literally see that she wasn't thinking about boys or how to attract boys or how to make boys bend to her whims, all of which Pansy was an expert at. For Pansy, such thoughts were simply conniving and her specialty in manipulation. Draco couldn't help but be a little fascinated by Granger's complete lack of flirtatiousness and a little irritating. Any male, worth his salt, would be irritated. Granger's attitude implied that simply was not worth the notice. And Draco would not and could not abide that. He wasn't going to be ignored. He wasn't going to be cast aside without a consideration. He was bloody fucking Draco Malfoy, and he demanded that recognition.

Dunking his head under the water, Malfoy didn't even question why he would want the recognition from a prickly Mudblood witch, that although pretty and a challenge, was not spectacularly beautiful or desirable. Unless one thought that dealing with Scarhead and Weasel Idiot fun. He simply knew that Granger would acknowledge him as a man that he was, acknowledge his existence. It wouldn't do for a mudblood to ignore a Malfoy.

And he knew, even when she didn't, why she had run out of the bathroom. He bet that no one had looked at her like that, with intensity and purpose and desire. Granted, his desire was feigned and simply to teach the mudblood a lesson on what happened when you ignored a Malfoy. He had seen her skin flush and her eyes widen in confusion and knew, instinctively, that she didn't know a thing about desire and attraction. None had dared look at her. No one in Gryffindor would have dared because of her friendship with The-Most-Annoying-Prat-That-Lived and the Blundering Poor Man. Pothead didn't want her for himself and the Weasel harbored a secret crush that he didn't know what to do with. What a lack of bollocks on the moron. There had been her relationship with Viktor Krum back in the Fourth Year. He imagined that if Viktor had had any less than pure thoughts about Hermione, he had kept them to himself as to not frighten the young girl. Until now, she had lived in her ivory tower, untouched and untried, guarded by her fiercely protective guardian lions who would snarl at all those that came near, making the faint-hearted run away.

And if Scarhead and Blundering Idiot didn't do the trick, she certainly did. Having been the recipient of Granger's banshee-like howls, having been slapped twice and insulted innumerable times, he was well acquainted with Granger's fearsome temper. For someone that was only pretty, it really wasn't worth putting up with her character. Or her big fat mouth. Despite the very kissable lips she had, pink and glossy and entirely too enticing. But a good snog was not worth the effort to get past the lions and climb up the ivory tower, especially when the lady was more likely to pierce your eardrums than kiss you in gratitude. She simply wasn't worth it. No woman was.

Or at least that was what Draco kept telling himself.

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"Sorry about this. I just needed to get out. And be able to talk to someone about something other than Quidditch," Ginny apologized, lying on Hermione's bed, twirling a small pillow between her hands.

"Merlin! Are they still at it?" Hermione asked with a shake of her head and a slight look of disgust.

"Bloody yes. It's like you whenever you talk about a homework assignment," Ginny said cheekily, sticking her tongue out at Hermione and smiling. "And you know that I'm right and that they will be for the next few days."

Hermione sighed. She knew that Ginny was right. On both accounts.

"Anyway, I wanted to find out what it is that you told Parvati and Lavender," Ginny continued, with a casual toss of her red hair.

"You're joking aren't you? I can't believe that you'd want to know," Hermione said, gaping at Ginny.

"Are you bloody daft woman? Of course I want to know. Everyone wants to know. Were you blind yesterday? Or are you going to tell me that you didn't?" Ginny retorted back.

"No, I'm not ruddy daft. Everyone else is! I'm not blind! I just don't see what the big deal is," Hermione replied huffily.

Ginny shook her head back and tinker-bell like laughter followed. "You're serious aren't you? You have no idea how hot Draco Malfoy is."

If you only knew, Hermione thought, an image of hot, sweaty and chest bared Malfoy flashing through her mind. "He's a git. A complete prat," she sneered.

"Of course he is. He's a Malfoy. But that doesn't mean that he isn't hot as hell and sexy as sin," Ginny said with a smile.

"No use arguing with you. Unlike your brothers, I know that you'll just win in the end, you sneaky girl. Regardless of whether you are right or not," Hermione said with a grin.

Ginny chucked the pillow at Hermione.

Hermione shrieked, laughing but caught it and threw it back at Ginny.

"So are you going to tell me? What is he like? Does he have girls parade through his dorm room every night? Is he prancing around in his black dragon leather pants? Is he dating the Parkinslut? Have you seen his knickers? Has he been bad and sexy and tried to seduce you?" Ginny asked a volley of questions.

"Yes. Impossible. No. No. No. No. No. Thank Merlin," Hermione answered.

"Of come off it! I bet you would love that! Oh Draco, yes, take me. Ravish me. You big bad Slytherin you! Yes, that snarky look does it for me. Smirk a little more. Wear those black dragon leather pants that emphasize your bum. Spank me. I want to be naughty," Ginny said in a high pitch voice, not even attempting to imitate Hermione's voice as Hermione started to chase her around the bedroom.

"You're horrible! Don't you know we share a bathroom? What if he hears you? The egocentrical bastard might think we're talking about him for real," Hermione yelled at Ginny, half mad but laughing nevertheless.

Ginny just laughed and Hermione realized how much Weasley blood ran through her veins. For those that thought Fred and George, the infamous twins were bad, they hadn't dealt with the machinations of one Virginia Weasley.

"Virginia Weasley! You're evil! Sheer evil!" Hermione laughing, yelled at her and threw pillows at Ginny's head.

And the girls continued to chase each other around, laughing and chatting all the same. Both of them trying not to think about the two boys that seemed to flit through their minds and thoughts, like the sunshine shining in through the windows.