Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own imagination.

Chapter 2

"Come on Draco, you know she hates that nickname!"

Her own words echoed in her head as she sat up in her bed and clung to the bedpost for support. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy—to be married, to have a child for goodness sake! Hermione blushed a fetching red as she realized exactly what the implication of having a daughter with Draco Malfoy meant. That meant that eventually they would have to—they would have to—oh dear! Feeling extremely immature, she tried to put those thoughts and images from her mind.

Hermione considered for a moment the possibility of the tea being at fault, but quickly dismissed that idea. After all, she had prepared it herself, and Hermione most certainly did not make mistakes!

Hermione shook her head slowly as she thought about it. Malfoy and herself. Draco Malfoy. The pureblood racist who took every opportunity to remind her of the mudblood running in her veins. The boy who worshipped his father who was a miserable excuse for a wizard, a waste of Oxygen, and probably a member of Voldemort's closest ring. The boy who would probably follow in his father's footsteps and gladly receive the Dark Mark. As these thoughts zoomed through her mind, Hermione shook her head faster and faster. She knew she was in for a huge migraine later on. She had to stop. Think of the positive.

Okay... where to start? His looks. As much as Hermione despised Malfoy, it was undeniable he had the face of an angel (a fallen one at that), and the body of a construction worker—or Quidditch seeker. He was the boy the female-half of Hogwarts was going crazy over. And he was intelligent. She would never let that oversized ego of his know, but Hermione considered Malfoy her biggest academic rival. And he was godly at flying. Sure, Harry had speed and determination, but Malfoy had speed and determination plus confidence and grace. Somehow, Malfoy seemed to sit straighter than anyone else Hermione had ever seen on a broom. He was elegance to the T. Every time there was a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin quidditch match, Hermione felt like a kid waking up on Christmas morning. She would get the chance to openly ogle Malfoy soaring through the sky. She loved to watch the wind ruffle his platinum hair to perfect non-perfection. Loved his daring swoops and cocky grin. Malfoy was a priceless work of art on a broom. But that was Malfoy in the air, at a distance. Up close and around her, he was nasty, always a sneer on his face and a snide comment at the ready.

Suddenly, it occurred to her to wonder what Malfoy had dreamed about. What if he had dreamed the same dream? What if he also knew that one day they would be married and procreate? Her cheeks flamed once again at this thought. More importantly, what would she tell Harry and Ron when they asked what she had dreamed about?

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Harry plopped down next to Hermione, concern written all over his face. "Hermione, what's wrong? We didn't see you at breakfast this morning?"

Looking up from her book, Hermione answered as nonchalantly as she could, "I had some studying to catch up on. I didn't have time to make it down to the Great Hall."

Harry immediately knew she was lying. Her eyes had wandered all over his face but never to his eyes when she had answered him. Her fingers were fidgeting nervously with the worn corners of the book in front of her. Lastly, even though it was a plausible excuse, her voice had quavered a little towards the beginning. To put it nicely, Hermione was a horrible liar. Deciding not to push it and knowing she would tell him the truth in time, Harry changed the subject.

"Ron was so excited this morning at breakfast…" Harry continued talking, but Hermione wasn't listening. The truth was, she didn't think she'd be able to keep her breakfast in her stomach for long, so Hermione had spent breakfast time practicing the lies she would tell today in front of the mirror. Harry hadn't asked her any more questions about her absence at breakfast, so Hermione knew she had successfully pulled off her first lie. She was proud of herself, but then immediately sobered as she realized she had just taken advantage of her friend's trust.

"You're chewing your bottom lip; you're thinking and not listening to me. Did you hear a word I said?" Harry's voice wafted by, scattering her thoughts.

"Of course I was listening!" Hermione reproached him indignantly! Another lie.

"So… then tell me what you dreamed about."

"She dreamed about me." Malfoy had unknowingly sidled up to them, a self-congratulatory smirk plastered on his face. "As she does every night," he added as an afterthought. The Slytherins nearby sniggered when they heard this.

Hermione felt like her cheeks were hot enough to boil water. She didn't dare look at Malfoy or say a word. Did he know? Did that mean he had dreamed the same thing? Or was he just bluffing? It was hard to tell with Malfoy, everything he said and did exuded confidence and cockiness.

"Oh sod off!" Harry bristled, standing up.

"Class! Class! Settle down. It's time to start." The professor stood at her desk tapping her wand against her #1 Teacher mug as if making a toast.

"Jealous? No need to get your panties in a twist, Potty. I wouldn't touch that filth even if I was under the Imperius." All the Slytherins burst into gales of laughter. Draco smirked, then made his way to his desk. He was pleased that he got the last word.

"Don't listen to what that snake just said. He just wants to get under your skin," Harry whispered to Hermione. Then under his breath he added, "He always gets the last word!"

Hermione nodded dumbly and pretended to take interest in the textbook in front of her. Did Malfoy know?

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