What's Your Type?
Disclaimer: I don't own nor am I affiliated with Harry Potter.
A/N (7/16/05): Yes, I still am alive. Lol. Hard to believe, I know. Please note that I have yet to read HP VI because my sister is currently heavily attached to it.
A/N (01/15/08): Just reread this fic and decided to edit it a bit. Let me assure you that it's just random grammar stuff and nothing that will be noticeable so feel free to continue to enjoy.
The first thing Hermione noticed when she walked into the Heads' common room was neither the roaring fire nor the soft snoring. It was a bare upper body seemingly made of marble.
"Malfoy," she said irritably, her voice waking him up, "please put a shirt on. Please. This is not just your common room." She dropped her bag onto the floor and loosened her tie.
"Oh come on, Granger," he drawled, "I know you like it."
She laughed. "Oh yes, of course I do," she agreed sarcastically. "Iwant to see you shirtless, that's why I asked you to dress; reverse psychology, you know."
Malfoy chuckled. "Too bad, Granger – I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole."
Hermione snorted. "Whatever, Malfoy, you'll hump anything that looksfeminine."
Draco looked at her coldly.
She gasped. "Did I hurt your feelings?" She clutched her heart. "However will I live?"
He scowled and sat up angrily. "Contrary to popular belief, mudblood, I do have standards!"
She arched an eyebrow. "Really? Let me guess." She tapped her finger to her chin in a mockingly thoughtful manner, and then snapped her fingers. "I know! Could it be blonde, pureblooded, and has an IQ the same as her shoe size?"
He sneered. "Not even close, Granger."
She plopped down on the armchair in front of him. "Enlighten me."
He twirled a quill in his hand offhandedly. "For one, I don't like blondes."
Hermione's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "Oh really? But both your parents are blonde."
"Exactly," Draco said, "they're bothblonde. If everyone didn't know who they were, they could be mistaken as siblings." He wrinkled his nose. "And that thought, is disgusting."
Inwardly, Hermione agreed.
"I like dark-haired girls with an IQ definitely higher than their shoe size." He tossed the quill onto the coffee table and then began to unwrap a chocolate frog. "I'd like it if they were Ravenclaw smart. It's hard to find engaging conversation these days – pretty soon I may have to resort talking to you on a regular basis by choice."
For some reason, Justin's words to her in fifth year came back to Hermione. "But that's N.E.W.T. level. Why aren't you in Ravenclaw?" She shook the words away from her (why was I reminded about that?), outwardly rolling her eyes. "Heaven forbid." Draco began to lick his fingers clean of chocolate. You're being polite, Hermione, she told herself. Polite people look at the one they're talking to in the face. You are noteyeing his mouth.
Draco's face took on a pensive look as he sucked on his index finger. "I also like petite girls. Petite girls with fantastic legs."
Hermione threw her hands up into the air. "The one time I think there's more to you that a sneer and a penis, you have to say something shallow."
He shrugged, unperturbed by her words.
She angrily stared into the fire, arms crossed.
For a few minutes they sat in uncomfortable silence until Draco broke it with an abrupt "So?"
Hermione glared. "So what?"
He sat up and stretched his legs. "So, Granger, what's your type? Tall, dark, and scarred?"
Hermione scoffed. "No. Nor is it ginger-haired, freckled, and insensitive."
"Oooh," Draco said excitedly, leaning forward. "Please continue. Tell me more of your hatred for the Boy-Who-Won't-Take-a-Hint-and-DIE."
"I don't hate them," she insisted. "Not really. They're just not my type."
He motioned for her to continue.
"They're just so," she faltered before declaring, "selfish. I know they don't mean to be, but still. It's always 'Hermione, help me!' Or 'Hermione, break the rules!' Or 'Hermione, fetch me that book!' It's so bloody infuriating! What's worse is that they forget I'm a girl. It's as if I'm a boy who just happens to have vagina!" She paused and took a deep breath. "I want a guy who listens to me, talks to me, and thinks about me."
Draco smirked. "They're too stupid for you, right? I'm right, huh?"
"Oh god," Hermione cried. "Is it that obvious?" She covered her face with her hands and screamed.
"Just a tad," Draco intoned.
She looked at him wearily. "It's just – I can't discuss the book I just read or the essay due next month or make study dates with them. What you said earlier was true! It's hard to find a decent conversation. Pretty soon I will have to resort to you!"
"Want can I say, Granger?" he said, leaning back. "No one can match my brilliance."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"So tell me, Granger," he said, "are you shallow? Do you have a physical feature that makes you weak in the knees?"
A faraway look entered her eyes. "Oh yes," she said breathily. "Definitely. I love tall men. One of the features I actually like about Harry and Ron." She sighed. "As you know, they've saved my life loads of times. I think my subconscious is starting to associate tallness with safety." She gave another breathy sigh. "Just… a tall man to sweep me off my feet." She gave Malfoy a sheepish grin. "I'm also afraid being friends with Harry and Ron has made me a bit spoiled."
Draco arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "How so?"
She gave him the 'duh' look. "I've known them for seven years, Malfoy; I've seen them shirtless many a time." She gave him a wicked grin. "Now, I fear I can only date quidditch players because they are the only ones with that wicked physique."
It dawned on him. "So that's why you dated Krum!" A sly look then, "So why'd he dump you?"
She looked at him strangely. "Who said he dumped me?"
"Care to elaborate?" he asked.
"Nope," she replied. She stood up and stretched, her skirt lifting to reveal muscular thighs. "Well, I think I'm going to turn in, Malfoy." She picked up her bag and walked to her door. "Oh, by the way," she said, "Dumbledore says we need to plan the next inter-house unity activity soon." She looked at him a final time, the light of the fire bestowing him with an ethereal glow. "Night, Malfoy."
"Night, Granger."
Later, as she lay in bed, trying to fall asleep a sudden thought struck her and she sat up jerkily. "Shite," she swore. "He described me… and I'm pretty sure I described him."
Long after, she lay quiet, unable to fall asleep, horrified with herself.
The next morning, Hermione tried to sneak out of the common room early – she didn't think she could face Malfoy right now.
"Yo, Granger," he called from the open bathroom door, steam pouring out, towel low on his hips. He stalked towards her.
She grimaced. Tall, tall, tall, HOTT QUIDDITCH BODY! Her mind screamed. "H-Hey Malfoy," she muttered. She began to back away.
He stopped in front of her and propped an arm one side of her head. "I was thinking about what we talked about last night."
Oh god, she thought. He realized it, too. "Yeah?" she said softly. She looked at him but didn't see him, rather the scene of him sucking on chocolate covered fingers replayed over and over in her mind.
He gave her a strange look and leaned forward, peering at her. "You okay, Granger?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "Of course!" she practically yelled.
He shook his head. "You're off your rocker." He stepped back and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Anyway, about what we talked about last night - ."
Oh god, oh god, oh god, her mind chanted.
" – we should plan a dance for the next inter-house activity." He continued, ignorant to her chaotic thoughts. "I was thinking it should be all upper years because they're going to be out in the real world soon. They need to know that prejudice is useless."
"Oh yeah, sure," Hermione agreed. "Good idea." She shouldered her bag. "I'll talk to you about it later." She stepped out of the portrait, disappointment evident on her face.
STUPID! Draco's mind cried, berating himself. She was so disgusted by your presence. So what if it sounded as if you were describing each other. That doesn't mean she likes you! I can't believe you! You've been enemies from the moment you saw each other.
Draco clutched his towel to his body and stomped away, disappointment evident on his face.
End.
A/N: Sorry, no prequel, sequel, etc. I was really tempted to make this a hell of a lot more angsty right now. Thankfully, I refrained.