Disclaimer: All characters are owned by JKR. The song Blaise Zabini is writing is "Pretty Piece of Flesh" from One Inch Punch

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.

Author's Notes: THANKS for the reviews. Sorry for the delay but this is one of my longer chapters. It took me a while to write.


Chapter 15: Underneath My Skin


Blaise Zabini was thinking.

But the word 'thinking' does not even begin to cover the complex logical sequences and convoluted machinations and vivid imagery that went on in the mind of this Zabini. If one were to liken the firings of the mental synapses going on in his brain to something, it would be to the floor of a stock exchange center, so many different things going on that you really didn't know what to pay attention to.

And everyone knew something was underfoot when Blaise became pensive.

Thus, Blaise had early on developed a system to confuse those that watched him. He never appeared pensive. He never stared off into space. He had mastered the art of multi-tasking, partitioning his mind to ponder his affairs as he did other things. Like homework. Or in this case, composing song lyrics.

I will split you in two

Shake shake shake boom

I strike, quickly being bold

You're all, you're all dogs

You're just dogs of the house

You're weak, weak, weak, weak slaves

The weak slave goes to the wall

Normally, he enjoyed writing song lyrics, his feet tapping out a rhythm following the cadences of the syllables. But at this particular moment, Blaise was analyzing his conversation with one Ginevra Weasley.

'Cause I am

I am that pretty piece of flesh

I am a pretty piece of flesh

I am a pretty piece of flesh

I am a pretty piece of flesh, I am

Flashback
"So, who were you planning to Bludger? If it is me, I hope you will at least do me the courtesy of telling me beforehand. As a fellow Quidditch player, I'd appreciate it," he said mildly. He'd blame his insatiable curiosity and his acute sense of hearing. Or he'd blame his natural propensity for information searching. He just couldn't resist finding out what Ginny had been talking about.

She smiled thinly at him. "Don't worry Zabini. It's not you," she said in a tone that clearly indicated the matter was closed.

Blaise shrugged off the warning. He wouldn't be who he was if he didn't ignore such things on a daily basis. "That's a relief. It's nice to think that this idea of inter-house unity works and that there aren't rogue bludgers out to get me. My fan club would be disappointed if anything did happen to me. Outside the Quidditch field of course. You play a mean game too. I always have said girls are more vicious than boys," he kept on talking. Merlin! He was babbling. He ignored the amused look on Luna's eyes. "I imagine growing up with your brothers you must give them a run for their money," he finished lamely. Great you idiot! His mind screamed at him. He had to mention money, she probably thought that he was pointing out that her family was notoriously strapped.

Ginny just gave him a scrutinizing look. Perhaps he had grown daft. "Is that why you change into a girl?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
End of Flashback

Go, go, foes can never measure to the crew as we go on

Blast their angers in the back with their soul on

A pretty piece of flesh and yes, you better show your crest

Shoulder holster strapped, I'm pulling from the chest

Guess who's gonna be the first to pull it from you?

But if the steel seal represents a blood feud

Lovelorn torn from two sides, singin' at dark skies

To the heavens, I'll be seeing worlds collide

She had been suspicious. He could tell that she hadn't liked it when he had sat down on the couch next to her but wasn't about to let him know. Of course, Blaise was quite adept at reading all the tell-tale signs, the rigid posture, the guarded look in her eyes. She was definitely hostile, but mindful enough not to let it show completely. He knew that approaching her would be difficult. Beyond the entire Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, there was the entire affluence issue that needed to be addressed. Zabini knew the financial state of the Weasley family let much to be desired. She probably thought he was a pampered git, which he was… to a certain extent.

It looked like getting her to talk to him about her experience with the Dark Lord would be impossible. If Blaise were a betting man, and he was, he would have bet that he would fail in this endeavor. But that's because Blaise was nobody's fool.

He also wasn't a quitter.

He'd get Ginevra Weasley to talk to him even if it meant taking on the entire Weasley clan. And the famous Saintly Potter himself.

Chi chi bow stars and bottle rocket fantasies

But on the streets. some knights and killers. they be after me

Trippin' on ether under moonlight skies

But then, you wake up in the danger zone on dragon rides

I'm dodgin' hexes and bangs, it's hard to hang

Going a hundred miles an hour like a shooting star

Rollin' brick thick and crystal thinking nothin' can faze me

With nickel plated wand slingin', livin' is crazy

Flashback
He was, decidedly amused. Ginny had spunk. Most people he knew, even within his own House simply avoided the matter. For those in the know, the Zabini family was known for having 'peculiarities'. In his father's case, he enjoyed sleeping in a coffin. His mother engaged in regular affairs with other women. Of course, no one spoke of these 'eccentricities'.

"I do it to feel pretty," he said, batting his eyelashes at her, doing the best poof impersonation of his life. Despite his perchance for turning into a girl, he really wasn't attracted to men. Even as a girl.

Ginny snorted at him.

It was probably one of the most unladylike things he had ever seen. None of the Slytherin girls would have done it in front of him. And he loved her for it.
End of Flashback

Stars collide, worlds divide with a pretty piece of flesh

Your little pretty piece of flesh

Stars collide, worlds divide with a pretty piece of flesh

Your little pretty piece of flesh

Blaise looked at the music and the song lyrics he had been writing. And it surprised him. But before he could analyze them closer, Draco Malfoy swooped in and sat in front of him. Draco didn't offer up a word and just demanded his attention. With a look.

He straightened up and asked, "What Draco?"

"I want a dossier on Granger. Everything that anyone knows about her. Including the things she doesn't know herself," Draco said curtly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Not that its any of your business Zabini. I want the dossier by the end of the week," Draco said before he stood up and left as abruptly as he had showed up.

Blaise groaned mentally. Not that he wasn't interested in why Draco would suddenly require an extensive and intensive dossier on one Hermione Granger. Not that it wasn't his business. Any and all information were always his business. Granted, on certain aspects it was easy to obtain information on 'high profile' students, such as Granger. Yet he did not relish the idea of dealing with the information brokers of Gryffindor.

But if Draco requested a dossier on such a short notice then he better get to it. Blaise wondered if he still had any firewhisky left. He always needed a stiff drink after talking to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

On the other hand, he thought cheerfully, Draco Malfoy was soon to owe him one fat favor.


Hermione had fun the rest of the weekend. She had missed spending time with Ron and Harry. Coincidentally, she had run into Ron on the way to the Gryffindor Tower. They had started talking and life suddenly became normal again.

She spent most of the weekend at Gryffindor Tower. Oh, she still slept in her Head Girl room – but she arrived late and left early. She had asked Adalbert if Draco had been in before she decided to enter but in both instances Draco had been out and it suited Hermione fine.

She had taken her homework with her, working on Arithmancy problems with Seamus, asked Neville how his Advanced Herbology projects were coming along, and she had fun with the Transformation homework – which consisted of turning Cornish pixies into candles. Well, she did the charm perfectly. She had fun when Dean Thomas knocked into Lavender, setting her pixie loose and they had to run all over the Gryffindor Tower trying to catch it.

They also had fun putting out the fire on the couch when the pixie took a hot coal and tossed it on Colin Creevey's lap. Colin got up so quickly that the coal rolled onto the couch and a pillow burst into flame.

She had forgotten how exciting living in Gryffindor Tower really was. Draining as well. Something always seemed to be happening, regardless of the hour of the day.

Ron and Harry had been extremely pleased to see her all weekend: Harry in his quiet, intense, small smiles and Ron in his blustering comments and laughs. And she had missed them sorely.

So on Monday morning, when her booming alarm sounded and she grabbed her customary shower before breakfast, Hermione's spirit was soothed and her confidence reassured. If Malfoy wanted to be a bloody freak, it was none of her concern. She had other things to occupy her mind with. Nothing that Malfoy was engaged in – aside from Death Eater business – interested her. At all.

So why did she watch the Slytherin table during breakfast? Why did she notice that Malfoy preferred apple jelly to orange marmalade and ate his buttered toast with his right hand and drank tea with his left hand?

And had she been momentarily distracted during Arithmancy class wondering if her hair looked acceptable this morning?

Thankfully, Ron's and Harry's chatter kept her mind occupied during the rest of the morning classes. Not that she hadn't had an invigorating talk with Seamus during Arithmancy but she could feel Malfoy's eyes on her back. Not that she turned around to check and see. She wasn't afraid of Malfoy. She simply didn't care, she told herself.

Unfortunately for Hermione, lunch proved to be her undoing. She and Malfoy just sort of locked eyes toward the end of the meal, once everyone had shifted from eating voraciously to eating and talking at the same time.

She held his gaze, afraid to look at him, afraid to look away. In turmoil, she tried to sort her feelings, grasping at the things she knew. She didn't want to feel like anything had changed because she really wasn't afraid. Whatever it was, it didn't matter to her. She was Hermione Granger. He was Draco Malfoy and other than being a bloody git and a nuisance, he meant nothing to her.

But that is when her sentiments betrayed her, when the thought passed by her mind, You fancy him, flashing in giant neon letters and the impossible happened.

Hermione Granger blushed.

And looked down, hiding her gaze underneath her lashes. Suddenly, she felt exposed, vulnerable. She tried struggled with her denial, struggled to voice her vehement opposition. But it was impossible to hide from yourself, wasn't it? Impossible to run. Impossible to stop the chanting of the thought – You fancy him­ – in her head.

Such a monumental occurrence did not escape the notice of those around her. Ron, with his characteristic bluntness and honesty asked, with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "'Ermione, you a-right? You look red!"

Shaken from her own interior dilemma, Hermione's mind went directly to survival. Deny all allegations. Pretend everything was okey. Surely, even if she was fancying that ruddy ferret at the moment, no one else should have to know about it. Nothing was going on as far as her friends were concerned. This was her problem to deal with. Surely in a few weeks, the infatuation would come to pass and none would be the wiser. "Everythings okay. Just a little hot, that's all," she said a little too hurriedly and with a little too much casualness. She needed to distract them, make sure that they didn't notice what the cause was.

"You sure? Your face is all flushed. Are you coming down with a cold?" Harry asked, his green eyes concerned.

"If you are, stay away from Harry and Ron! We need them to be hale and strong to beat Ravenclaw next week," Dean Thomas piped in.

"Perhaps you should go to see Madame Pomfrey," Neville added helpfully.

"You want me to walk with you to the infirmary?" Ginny offered.

"If you don't mind, Ginny," Hermione said, desperate to get out of the Great Hall. She would have normally shaken her head but in this case, she would acquiesce and be meek. She really didn't feel that good. But figuring out you fancied your worst nightmare was bound to make anyone feel sick.

This startled all those present. Both of Harry's and Ron's eyes widened in concern. Harry nudged Ron and they got up as well and escorted Ginny and Hermione out of the Great Hall.

Surrounded by her friends, Hermione did not look back.


Draco made his way to the Prefect meeting, not paying attention to the trailing huddle of girls that followed him. His mind was occupied with what had happened during the Great Hall. Not that he wasn't pleased with the confirmation. He liked knowing that Granger was aware of him. Not just in her 'oh-you're-a-boy-but-that's-okey-we-can-still-be-friends' platonic way that she had around the other males in school. Not in the 'you're-the-scum-of-the-earth' way she had for most Slytherins. Not in the 'you-are-a-bloody-prat-of-a-ferret-and-if-I-wasn't-Head-Girl-I'd-hex-you' manner she normally had around him.

This was the kind of tingling skin, in drawn breath kind of awareness.

It wasn't enough for Draco. He didn't know why. Originally, he had just wanted Granger to acknowledge that he was the most desirable male on this campus. He did that. He knew that she was attracted. And it pleased him. But it wasn't enough. He wanted more.

Boot and Pucey had been right. It would be quite a coup if he could seduce her under the noses of Pothead and Weasel. Especially since the Weasel was panting after her so badly and noticeably. Of course, she hadn't noticed.

That in of itself was a powerful attractor to Draco. She really wasn't aware of herself. His mind remembered when he had found her asleep on that couch, the golden skin, the soft curling hair. He had that image seared into his mind. It was so potent that he had the best wank of his life this weekend. He would remember her, her long legs, the underwear peeking from underneath her bathrobe, her completely unguarded face and it made his blood run hot.

Knowing that she slept but a few feet away just seemed to increase the sexual tension. This entire weekend Draco had wondered what it would be like to have her naked and willing in her virginal red and gold bed. And then in their bathroom. And in their common room. And his room. In the shower. On the couch. Over a desk. Against a wall. The possibilities and combinations were endless in the mind of a lusty 18 year old.

"Well, now that our Head Boy is here, we can begin the meeting," McGonagall's clipped voice broke into Draco's fevered fantasies.

Draco snapped out of whatever trance he had been and took a quick survey of the room. The prefects were there but Hermione wasn't. Professor McGonagall looked coolly at him. "Where is Granger?" he demanded, his eyes narrowing at the scowling Weasel prat.

"Ms. Granger is feeling under the weather at the moment so she has been excused from the meeting. You will have to run it by yourself," McGonagall answered frostily before Weasel King could say anything.

Draco took a look at the board in which there was words "Halloween Ball" jumped at him. "Right. The Halloween Ball," he drawled, trying not to show how unprepared he really was. He remembered last year's rather insipid celebration and the prefectual duties then. "Since the Ball is a few weeks away, each Prefect will be assigned a duty," he said. This really wasn't that much more difficult than a Slytherin House meeting he had to preside over. Less fractitious definitely. He certainly did not have to worry about opposition to his plans from Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or Slytherins. Of course, he could do without having to look at the bloody Weasel tosser, but these things can't be helped. All that red hair was curse enough.

McGonagall did not say anything, just letting Draco run the meeting. Not that Draco cared what that old bat had to say. He knew that she disliked him and that was all fine and dandy. Besides, he'd have to fight Weasel and then Granger about this anyway. The old hag probably thought it was beneath her to fight with a mere Slytherin student.

After a brief discussion, it was decided that the first through third years would be allowed to stay up until after dinner, during the first half of the ball and after the half-hour concert. Fourth through Seventh years would be allowed to stay until the Witching Hour. The Ravenclaws were in charge of the activities, Hufflepuffs in charge of the food. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin were put in charge of the decorations and music since neither group wanted to budge on the issue of the music or the decorations. And Draco wasn't sure that he trusted either Millicent to be close to him or the Weasel with Granger, so he lumped them together. The idiot had made it much too easy at him, glaring and putting up an argument to this or that. Draco's patience had been stretched thin at that point when he snapped at Weasel and put him in charge of decorations.

Now came what Draco knew would be the most heinous battle of all – picking a band for the requisite short concert. He already knew that the Weird Sisters were out, they were touring Russia this year. He knew that the Druids were out, no one had enjoyed them last year. He expected a long and fruitless discussion of what to do.

He certainly didn't expect for his band to be nominated as a possible candidate.

And he certainly hadn't anticipated the level of enthusiasm from all Houses. Even the Gryffindors seemed amenable to the idea, not counting the Weasel King. That one could be counted on to hate him to the end of his ragtag days. As one Ravenclaw had said, 'wouldn't it be so cool to have a band from school play?, an event that had not happened in Hogwart's history. Yet.

Fortunately, the Weasel's protests had been drowned out by the excitement and approval of everyone else. Draco had not uttered a word during the pitched battle that the Weasel had waged against all the other prefects. He could tell that McGonagall had wanted to said something but refrained from interrupting what she believed was a democratic process, students in action bullcrap. It was quite obvious to Draco that the Weasel King would lose, but felt a disdainful respect for the fact that he kept fighting until the end. Of course, the only thing that one knew how to do was fight, he never stopped to think. Must be the red hair. His sister was the same way.

So Draco, despite his unflappable façade, left the Prefect meeting thinking about the upcoming concert. They had played for the school before but never for a formal event. He headed to his common room, his head buzzing with details, the need for preparation. He'd have to talk to the others soon.

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he forgot completely about his musings about Granger until he stepped into his common room and found her on the couch, reading. He stopped short, everything he had been thinking about before the prefect meeting came slamming into his consciousness and he drew in a breath. She looked like she had been engrossed in her book, dressed comfortably in flannel pajamas and had clearly expected the meeting to take longer than what it had. She was tense and looked like she didn't know if to leave or stay put.

"Feeling better Granger?" he asked as he made his way casually toward his desk, his eyes intent on her. He didn't feel casual but Granger didn't know him well enough to read the tension in his body. If she had been a Slytherin girl, she would have understood. Hell, if she had been a girl that knew what sex was, she would have understood. But she wasn't and it fascinated Draco.

"Yes," she answered, guarded. She didn't know what to do. She was finally aware of the situation vis a vie her own attraction, but she still didn't know what to do about it. Draco would have to nudge her in the right direction. His direction.

"Good," he said, dropping his books on his desk and taking off his robe. He turned around and saw that she was staring at her book, trying to ignore him. Pretending that nothing had changed. "You missed nothing at the meeting. I'm sure that the Gryffindor prefects will fill you in on the details," he added.

She didn't respond. Still ignoring him. Still pretending.

Draco smirked. "Well, if you have no objections, I am going to draw a bath. See you later," he said, taking off his sweater and loosening his tie.

He heard the indrawn breath, faint but swift. He smirked devilishly at himself. He wasn't going to be the only one picturing somebody else naked. And it gave him a perverse satisfaction to know that she knew that he was going to be buck naked. A scant few feet away.

The thought of her knowing of his state of undress was such a turn on to Draco that he was getting stiff. He smiled wickedly at himself thinking he'd wank off in the shower and wondered what Granger would say if she knew that.


"Harry? May I have a word with you?" Professor Tara's mellifluous voice stopped Harry Potter from exiting her classroom. The Survival Club had just finished another meeting. This time, she had been teaching them how to bind several kinds of wounds, make splints for broken bones and identify several medicinal plants. Because, as she had drilled into their heads, you never knew if you would be able to rely on your wand to do any of these things.

"Yes Professor Tara? What can I do for you?" Harry asked respectfully. In fact, Harry had a great deal of respect and admiration for Professor Tara. Her classes were grueling but with a practical bent. Harry didn't mind the extra work and neither did former DA members. Probably because the lessons and skills learnt in her class would soon be put to practical use.

"You seemed distracted this session," Professor Tara observed, her tone mild. Her concern was evident but she didn't want to overburden the bright, young man. He already seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Harry hesitated before answering. To be honest, he had been distracted most of the school year and it had only begun. Not that the other teachers had chastised him about it. Even Snape had just been his usual greasy snappish self. "I have a lot of my mind," Harry answered neutrally and ambiguously.

"Ah," Professor Tara said. "Yes, I suppose that as your last year at school your mind is left pondering your future," she broached the subject.

Harry smiled without humor. He wasn't looking forward to graduating Hogwarts. Even back in the Fifth year, he had. He remembered Professor McGonagall screeching at the horrible Umbridge cow about how she would help him become an Auror. Even then, his future was promising. There would be a life after Voldemort. Now, he wasn't as sure.

"Harry, I have been informed of your situation. If you don't mind some unsolicited words, I'd like to give you something else to think about," Professor Tara said gently.

Harry just looked silently at her.

"You will find that the biggest challenges will come after the war but also the greatest opportunities. There, you will have a chance to be more than just the Boy-Who-Lived. And it takes more courage to rebuild than to go to war," she said, her expression kind.

Harry nodded at her and left, pensive.


Hermione Granger had forgotten how to breathe. After Malfoy left the room, she had to consciously concentrate and remind herself to inhale and exhale in a rhythmic pattern.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

He was going to be naked. Hell, he probably was already naked. Water running down that lovely, lean and muscular body of his, skin glistening from soap…

A thought broke past her desire induced haze. A very panicking thought. The kind that sets off the giant fog alarms in one's head and has gigantic DANGER signals flashing.

He knew.

Bloody hell.

Ruddy Malfoy knew that she was attracted to him. He had left her know that he knew by telling her that he was going to be naked. He was probably going to sadistically torture her for at least the rest of the term, taunting her with her own desire. If it were any other boy, she could at least ask them out to Hogsmeade.

But no, she was attracted to a bloody pureblooded prat that would take any of her interest and throw it back in her face and humiliate her simply because she was muggle-born. This was more than plain girl fancies most handsome boy in school scenario. This was bookworm extraordinaire, hated enemy girl fancies pureblooded, most handsome and sought after boy that thinks she is a dirty mudblood, lower than dirt. It made her scowl and it made her want to cry.

Suddenly, she didn't want to be in the common room anymore. She stormed into her room and realized he was still in the bathroom. She could hear the shower, the water splashing against the tiles. Her heart was racing.

Just a few feet away was the boy she wanted, buck naked, taking a shower. The first boy she wanted.

Hermione Granger closed her eyes against the dueling aches in her heart. She wanted him but she couldn't have him. Because he wouldn't want her, could never want her. More importantly, she shouldn't be attracted to him. But she was.

Hermione Granger closed her eyes and made a decision. She wasn't going to let Draco Malfoy get to her. She was attracted but she was not, under any circumstance, going to act on it. There would be other boys. Other boys that she could ask to Hogsmeade. Other boys that could like her back. And none of them would despise her simply because she was muggleborn.

Still, she stood there, looking at the door that led to their bathroom until the water stopped splashing against the tiles.


Author's Notes: Fixed the Prefect meeting to include Ron and previous mentions of Ron being a prefect.