Disclaimer: JKR. She owns it all, except Isabel and Hermione's guitar.
After an excruciating day in her classes, Hermione, minus the other two members of the Golden Trio, headed toward her dorm at a snail's pace. She glared at her shoes as she trudged along. So much for that New-Years-resolution she had made a bit early (during the summer hols, actually). She had intended to quit messing with Malfoy, and had promised herself she would not let him affect her … like she said, so much for that. I mean, it wasn't her fault he had made an obscene comment about Ginny's non-existent lover. How he found out about THAT, she had no clue. He might have heard Ronald's outburst, but he was surely out of earshot when the conversation between herself and Gin had gone on at breakfast.
So, naturally, she had bent over toward him and where he was sitting with Blaise Zabini, working on Snape's latest idea, and 'accidentally' knocked over their cauldron. In fury, he'd cried out to the professor and accused her in such a fakely distraught way of sabotaging his work. She would have laughed, if it weren't for the twenty points from Gryffindor and two detentions she'd be serving Friday and Saturday night.
"Picasso." She mumbled the password dully to the portrait. Instead of swinging open like you might expect, it tore itself in two and let her walk through. She realized it would be annoying when anyone came by and wanted in, because she would have to manually come and rip it open to allow the person access to the dorms. In the common room she was not surprised to see the Head boy sitting on one of the very, very oversized couches reading some stupid book. It had to be stupid, she reasoned – he was a Slytherin. The Head Boy, was, unlike you might expect, the attention seeking Blaise Zabini. She didn't expect to get just silence from him…
"Nice stunt you pulled back there, Granger," he said, and she was sure she heard the smirk in his voice. She knew, one-hundred percent, without a doubt, he was talking about the cauldron thing.
"Yeah, well, it backfired." She responded with a bored voice. Blaise just bored her. He didn't even hate her … well, she didn't think he did, 'cause she didn't hate him.
"I still have to re-do our potion." He said, not as amused.
"Yeah, well, your loss is my gain, I guess," Hermione spoke, realizing she took pleasure in seeing the Slytherins suffer. "Wait … did you say you had to do it over? What about Malfoy?"
"Draco's just a pretty face. He's good at potions, I guess, but he's even better at getting girls. He'd pick the latter any day."
It was an interesting thing to hear, as Hermione had never actually seen Malfoy with anyone. She didn't really expect him to be a virgin, in fact, unlike what you may expect, Hermione wasn't a virgin either. A little one-night fling with someone one may call a boyfriend made sure of that. Rolling her eyes at her stupid flashback, she climbed the winding staircase that made her dizzy and entered her room. 'Home, sweet home' she thought aloud. She walked into the bathroom, and unlike you might expect, she had her own bathroom that mirrored the one of a five star hotel. She wasted no time jumping into the shower, and using her favorite citrus scented shampoo to wash her caramel curls. They were only shoulder length after the haircut she'd gotten at the end of her sixth year, and the lowlights she had made her look 'cute-as-a-button'. Her father's words, not hers.
Still bored after the shower, and none too eager to get to work on her homework (a very uncharacteristic thing for Gryffindor's favorite bookworm, but even she needed a break), she picked up the acoustic guitar that had been a present for her birthday before her sixth year. With countless hours of practice, even she called herself good. So she began to strum the guitar, and play one of her favorite rock songs.
She didn't get very far, when a boy with white blond hair opened the door to her room and looked at her with those slate grey eyes everyone in the castle was familiar with. Expecting Blaise, she looked up, did a double take, and then stuck out her tongue at her unwanted visitor. The tongue thing was a habit for all Granger women.
"Well, my little Gryffindor pet, looks like you may make for good entertainment after all," He stated. Fighting off the urge to make a certain, offensive, gesture, she spoke in her defense.
"And you make for a good screw up." She stated, as if it were merely common knowledge instead of an insult.
"My name is Draco Malfoy. I'm rich, gorgeous, and pureblood. You posses none of these traits, Granger. I suggest you bite your tongue." He said in defense of himself.
"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy, because I certainly won't," She snapped in frustration.
"Well, I guess we'll have to change that opinion, won't we?" He hissed, turning to leave.
"Good, get your stupid Death Eater ass out of here!" She said cruelly.
That one didn't go over well with Draco. He was a lot of things, but a Death Eater was not one of them. Voldemort was, unfortunately, still parading around on his high horse somewhere to the south of France, however father dearest had been locked up good and tight in a moldy cell down in Azkaban, with no hope of parole. Unless he pulled a grand stunt and escaped with his comrades, Voldemort was pretty much on his lonesome with the war that was scheduled to occur.
"Don't you DARE call me a Death Eater, bitch. If I have ONE good trait, it's that I don't find contentment in sodomizing, crucifying and, or killing meddlesome fuckwits." He snarled, his face determined to get the truthful fact across.
"Goodbye, Malfoy," Hermione repeated, satisfied with his answer. She could at least assume she had one more thing off her mind for a little while. The last thing she heard was the door slam, and wrapping up for the day, her guitar went back on its stand and she went out onto the stone balcony of her room.
If what he said was true, and Malfoy really wasn't intending on becoming a slave to an evil wizard and wreaking havoc on all that was good and true, then maybe, just maybe, there was even the teeniest, tiniest bit of hope that he JUST MIGHT consider, even for a moment, assisting the 'good side' in that pivotal battle against Voldemort himself. Or, maybe not. Now it was time for homework … and sleep.
-
The next confrontation with Malfoy came three days later. Walking into the Great hall with Ginny Thursday morning, Hermione hadn't been paying attention where she was walking, and Malfoy couldn't make use of himself and move out of the way. So, naturally, they made impact, and Malfoy was less than impressed.
"See what I told you, guys?" He sneered, addressing the housemates surrounding him. " I told you she couldn't get her hands off me. Should of heard her last night … 'Yes, Draco! I like it like that, Draco!'" He said, making his best bedroom impression. Hermione was sure she didn't sound like that, but she didn't verbalize her thoughts.
Instead, she rolled her eyes and hit him upside the head, the same way she did Harry or Ron when she was ticked off at one of them. Strolling past him, she called over her shoulder in a sing-song voice, "I'm sure you had fun last night, Drakie-pooh, and I'm sure I'm amazing in the sack, but you just don't quite live up to my standards." She was really taking a risk by making that comment, but it was greeted with a bunch of sniggers from the Gryffindor house, who weren't daft enough to believe she'd actually slept with Malfoy.
Relentless, he had walked up behind her and whispered in her ear, "Don't flatter yourself Granger, a million galleons couldn't convince me to touch your filthy ass." He'd actually looked satisfied with himself as he returned to the Slytherin table. Out of all the things she could have done, she chose to pick up the pastry from her table and throw it at his retreating back. It hit him in the shoulder blade, and before he got time to whirl around and give her that glare that was so popular with him, she called after him, "Oh, I love you too, Drakie!"
Yes. This was definitely a change for Hermione Granger.
A/N: Well, what are you waiting for? Review!