A/N: Dedicated to Allybally as a birthday present, because she wanted a stuck-in-a-closet fic, and I hope this works.
Draco Malfoy was, quite simply put, Draco Malfoy. And Hermione Granger, equally as simply put, was Hermione Granger. They were mortal enemies, completely annoyed with each other as permanent fixtures of their personalities, polar opposites, so cute together! (in the not-so-humble opinions of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil), both in incredibly bad moods, and, at that moment in time, stuck in a closet with each other.
Which was, in respect to the information I have just given you, not the greatest of situations. Hermione looked at Draco. Draco looked at Hermione. Hermione had a sudden urge to cry. Draco had a sudden urge to cry as well. Or, at least, he would have if it weren't for the fact that Malfoys, under any circumstances, don't cry.
"Mudblood," he said with a cordial nod of his head. Hermione stared at him.
"You did this on purpose!" She screeched, resisting the urge to throttle him and resisting the urge to cry at the same time which was, she applauded herself, fairly impressive multi-tasking. Then again, she was Hermione Granger.
"Yes, Granger," Draco responded sarcastically, leaning against one of the walls of the closet and letting his hair fall into his eyes in that annoying-and-yet-incredibly-sexy-way-that-he-always-has, "I planned to get myself locked in a closet with you. I mean, who wouldn't want to be stuck in a small, enclosed space with a very high strung Hermione Granger?"
"Well, evidently you would," she replied icily. "At least I have my books."
"It's dark!"
She looked up at him in the dim light. "Yes, that's very perceptive of you," Hermione responded slowly, as if she were talking to a four-year-old. "Lumos," she whispered, but nothing happened.
Draco let out a short bark of laughter.
Hermione looked at him, visibly pouting. "You suck."
"Nice comeback."
"I don't have my books!"
"Oh, woe is you!"
"Exactly!"
"Stop ending everything you say in exclamation points!"
"Fine!" Hermione said. "I mean, fine. Why isn't my wand working?"
"All part of my master plan, obviously," Draco responded, and she could hear the eye roll.
"Well don't you think it's a little odd?" She asked him incredulously.
"You're right. It isn't a magic school or anything."
"Magic or not, why would there be a closet in which wands didn't work?"
"Maybe they were used for something special."
"Are you implying what I think you're implying?"
"Depends on how the mind of the Great Hermione Granger really works," he replied, smirking once again.
"You were implying what I thought you were implying!"
He sighed dramatically. "Must I repeat myself?"
"Must you make sick-minded implications?"
"Sick-minded? How old are you? Eight?"
"Well that's a stupid question to ask. Do I look like I'm eight?"
"You knew what I meant!"
"Now who's doing the exclamation thing!"
There was a moment of silence. "The exclamation thing?"
"Shut up," Hermione mumbled.
"Again with the good comebacks."
"I would threaten to hex you if my wand actually worked."
"There are other things we could do than banter you know."
"See! Sick-minded!"
"Why? You're stressed. I could relieve that stress."
"Unless you're a massage therapist Malfoy…"
"I meant in other ways, but you knew that," he responded, wondering what exactly he was saying and whether or not it had something to do with lack of air.
"I really don't think making out with my worst enemy would help me in any way shape or form, what with schoolwork and schoolwork and Harry and Ron and schoolwork and-"
"Oh, shut up Granger," Draco said, sounding annoyed and amused at the same time. Then he kissed her. Then she pushed him away.
"Not relieving stress!"
"Well maybe that's because you didn't kiss back!"
"Do you not understand how odd this is? I hate you. You hate me."
"There are people who say we'd go well together Granger," Draco put in wryly, looking and sounding much calmer than Hermione.
"And I'd love to know what they're smoking, but that's not the point."
"No, it almost makes sense."
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, looking shocked.
He shrugged. "You're top of the class, I'm not doing that badly either. We can both carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation. We're both fairly good looking. And, despite what you may want to think, we flirt constantly."
Hermione blinked at him. He smirked at her. Two seconds later, they were kissing again. Draco's elbow bumped against the door and it threw them out into the hallway, right smack dab into a crowd of people. There was a stunned silence.
"I don't suppose telling them it's justifiable because we're both hot will go over so well," Hermione muttered softly.
Draco Malfoy was, quite simply put, Draco Malfoy. And Hermione Granger, equally as simply put, was Hermione Granger. They had decided they weren't such mortal enemies anymore, they were still annoyed with each other as permanent fixtures of their personalities, they were polar opposites and it seemed to work, they were cute together, they were in surprisingly good moods and, at that moment in time, had decided to go back into the closet and make out some more.