His and Her Circumstances
Prelude…
In the beginning we are all the same. We have no distinguishing thoughts, no telltale signs of greatness.
It is what we do afterwards that counts. The beginning means nothing. The beginning means nothing at all.
What matters is how you distinguish yourself in the world of your peers. You must aim…no, there is no aiming—such a word implies that you may fail, failure is not in your vocabulary—you must beat them all, you must be the best—you must. There is no middle ground, there is only the brutal, psychologically tormenting, lovely thumb-twisting world of exams, and A's…the B's, C's, D's, and F's do not exist. There are A's, and there are above A's. As a matter of fact, I don't even think there are regular A's. There are only above average A's.
You go to bed each night, after homework, after pre-exam studies. After you've written those essays due the next month…and after you've checked those essays twice and rewritten them once.
You go to bed after thoroughly inspecting each and every answer, after re-reading your assigned texts…don't forget brushing your teeth twice. Mainly because you forgot you'd already brushed them once.
It's a hectic world—the highly competitive world of grades, social status obtained by your grades, and the friendships you have—only because of your grades and your grade-influenced social status.
And you are happy.
You are!
I insist that you are happy! You have strived for this your entire life! Nothing has meant more to you than obtaining a point higher than was possible. Nothing is more important than to be the best, to have everyone know that you are the best. Nothing. Is. More. Important.
You are so vain. You must be perfect! You are perfect. People ask for your help, your peers, your friends, they all look to you. And you grin, you smile, you laugh, you help. But when you go to bed at night, you aren't that kind, helpful person. Oh no, you let your real self shine through then. In darkness, in night, when everyone else is asleep. You are yourself.
You see, you don't do this for them, oh no, you do it for yourself. You want them to think you are the best. You want them to come to you for help. You want them to think you are the most kind, loveable person in the world.
Or,
You want them to respect you, to look up to you, to follow you because you have proven time and time again that you are indeed superior. Who needs kindness? Who needs smiles? Brute intimidation works quite well, as you have proved…time and time and time and time again.
As a matter of fact, you are proving it right now.
And you are happy.
You are!
I insist that you are happy! You've pushed for this your whole life; you've wanted nothing but to be at the top! To show everyone below you how miserably horrid they all are. You want them to follow you, in every way—and as far as you are concerned, if they are following you in every way, your peers will finally have a reasonable sense of fashion!
Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to the Queen and King of Vanity, of high grades, of selfless-selfish-ness…
"Give it back Malfoy, or I swear, you'll be coughing up slugs for a millennium!" Ron yelled, his face bright with embarrassment and his ears a color closely resembling an overripe strawberry. He was seething, lurid, about to commit murder…and a few other choice words that are not to be said in polite company. All of which would turn the smirking Draco Malfoy into a writhing pile of pleading bile—or so thought our Ron Weasley.
"I do believe you've tried that particular threat and have failed before, Weasley. What makes you so sure you can succeed this time?" As always, Draco thought, he was the voice of cold, precise, reason and the Weasel would do good to follow Draco's example. Not that he wanted the Weasley to follow him for any reason—except that the Weasel happened to be part of the student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—and Draco's ultimate goal was to have each and every student under his thumb. The execution of plan 'convert the Gryffindors' had commenced this very morning and had led to this particular confrontation with a particularly bone-headed Gryffindor.
Rubbing his eyes in a manner suggesting that the redhead was indeed giving him a headache, Draco decided that one last taunt would do it for the Weasley. Sooner or later, he mused, the fact that he was superior was bound to get through that thick skull.
"If you want it, Weasley, take it from me."
Ron didn't need a second invitation—growing up with several older brothers had taught him that when given opportunity you bite, kick, punch, scream, pull hair, jab at eyes, stab in the side, cuff across the head, and basically pummel the other person until you have obtained whatever you were after—if indeed you can remember. And in Ron's case, he hardly ever remembered, there in providing the opportunity for the pummeling to be repeated—at a later date.
His hands were almost to the insolent blonde's neck, itching, stretching, ready to wring the lily-white skin till angry red marks marred the perfect flesh, to crush airways and cause as much pain—and if possible, death—as his hands were capable of. He wanted to watch the Slytherin suffer—he wanted to inflict that suffering. The thought alone brought a pleasant tingle to his fingers and Ron couldn't help the manic grin on his face. The day hadn't been going so well—even if it was only a tad after breakfast—the day would have a chance to redeem itself in Ron Weasley's eyes if indeed he succeeded in causing some form of pain to the one and only Draco Malfoy.
Almost.
"Ronald!"
Yet another voice of reason, this one higher pitched and accompanied by the disapproving, disappointed, glaring chocolate eyes of the one and only Hermione Granger.
Both boys gave audible sighs and Ron looked considerably put out…as well as enraged and embarrassed—all at once, which made him not all the pleasant to look at.
Draco, of course, did not look put out, enraged, or embarrassed at all. No, he was calm, composed—the picture of the perfect student, the perfect leader. He knew that, unlike the redheaded Gryffindor, his skin was not splotchy—it was smooth cream, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He knew his eyes were not wild, nor were they twitching, but instead holding steadily with Grangers. He knew that his clothing was not wrinkled, or hand-me-down, ripped, unbuttoned, or askew. No, he knew he was flawlessly presented, from his hair to his shoes—he was the epitome of top student.
She, on the other hand, looked homely. Draco kept the disgust off his face with a will that surprised him. Appearance was part of the image of the perfect student…a part that she seemed to neglect without thought, while he would not be caught dead in such disarray.
He nodded to her as she assessed the situation. It was a slight nod of acknowledgement…while telling her her place—below him.
Hermione didn't even dignify the Slytherin with a response, and instead turned to Ron whose heavy breathing was beginning to die down. "Explain yourself." She said shortly, hating that she was the unfortunate soul who had to walk in on the two about to start a brawl—now she had to act like she cared. Now, she had to punish Ron for something she wanted him to do. After all, maybe if Malfoy were knocked around a bit, he'd lose a few crucial brain cells.
Ron had the dignity not to tremble as he faced Hermione. "Hermione, I, um…" he glanced at Malfoy, a wondering look in his eyes. "I don't remember how it started, but, um, he deserved it!" Ron finished lamely, stuffing his hands deep inside his pockets in defiance.
"I'm sorry Ron." Hermione laid her hand on her friends shoulder. "But five points from Gryffindor."
Ron's head hung.
"I think you'd better get back to the common room."
"Yeah…sorry, by the way." It wasn't an apology to Malfoy, but to Hermione.
Hermione smiled and gave his shoulder an encouraging pat. "I think I saw Harry getting his ass kicked at chess by your sister—maybe you could go save him."
Ron nodded, glanced once at Malfoy and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. A stern look from Hermione stopped that train of thought; he gave a half-hearted smile before heading for the Gryffindor common room.
With her housemate and good friend out of the way, Hermione turned to Malfoy.
"Are you okay?"
Draco sneered. "Drop the act Granger, you'd only be pleased if I'd had my face ground into the wall and bloodied up."
Hermione looked up and down the hallway, her eyes filling with something close to fear, before she turned to Malfoy—smirk in place. "As much as I'd enjoy seeing that, Malfoy, I doubt Ron would be the one to accomplish that."
"How right you are." Draco drawled, his back against the wall, watching the hallways just as keenly as Granger. Discreetly of course—he was a master of acting.
And if he would admit it, he'd find that Granger was as well.
Slowly, he took a step away from the wall, and with the skill of a panther stalking his prey; he took a half step towards her.
"Studying hard?" He eyed the bulging seams of her bag, the texts in her arms.
Another step, making a half-circle.
"Of course." Hermione replied. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the circling Slytherin. Soon enough he'd be behind her. She wasn't going to follow him, no, not at all—she would not turn to face him. Her feet were rooted where she stood. "And yourself?" She looked pointedly at his own dropped books.
"Of course." Draco mocked. He'd almost completed circling her entirely. He lingered behind her—knowing that she wouldn't turn around, wouldn't give him that satisfaction. It was time to enact the plan he'd constructed with tender loving care and evil cackles—a plan that ended in her downfall.
Hermione shook her head—would he never give up? She was slowly losing patience—patience that she needed to keep so as not to punch the living daylights out of him as she'd started to in third year.
"Well then, if we're done here. I'll just be going. And…" she added, "Please don't start anymore fights and kindly return Ron's Chudley Cannon figurine. He is very proud of it."
Draco could feel the weight of the figurine he'd stolen in the pocket of his robes. He smirked—she was rather observant.
"Before you go…"
Hermione couldn't keep the surprise from her face. "We have more to discuss Malfoy?"
"Not at all." Draco replied lazily. "I just wanted to cordially invite you to a little Slytherin…get-together this evening."
"Cordially invited?"
"Well of course. What other way might you properly be invited?"
When one is extending an invite—a hand of friendship, a white flag if you will—extending your hand to the enemy, you do it cordially. Let them make a fool of themselves. Make them out to be unreasonable, to be the pig-headed ones—show everyone that they are the ones unwilling to cooperate. Unveil them. Dethrone them. Destroy them with etiquette.
That of course has always been the objective when dealing with the three them-s. But by destroy—you do not mean their actual lives. All the breathing, talking, walking, and annoying the world would, of course, continue…living will continue—but destroy their status, make them part of the groveling student masses that worship you. That is your plan as well. So…cordially invite them, wait for them to come out the losers.
"To a Slytherin get-together?" She couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice—after all, this was her dreaded enemy. Even if he weren't an enemy by her association with Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, and Ron Weasley—acknowledged pureblood and muggle lover, he would still be her enemy. Not because he was pureblooded. Not because he sneered upon her muggle-born status. Not because he was an insufferable git. Not because he was Slytherin. Those things had nothing to do with it at all.
Draco Malfoy, pureblood, Slytherin, and top student. If you take out the pureblood and the Slytherin, you are left with Draco Malfoy, top student.
However, this is where crisis arises. If you were to look at class rankings, you would see under the script reading Top Student: Granger, Hermione; Malfoy, Draco.
Side by side, just like that. Not one on top, or one beneath, no, side by hideous side…equal.
They were interlocked in their grades—in their strive for perfect marks.
And so locked in a brutal battle of wits, and will, and in Malfoy's case, appearance and dominance.
In the end, all that matters is who comes out to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's top student…and who will take their rightful place under the atrocious banner waving 'Second Best'.
"Tonight. Nine o'clock."
And that was that, they went there separate ways as the hall filled with students, their masks in place, the stage was set, the actors coming out to play.
What have we learned? Well, lets start off by introducing the main conspirators:
Draco Malfoy; pureblooded wizard, Slytherin, and Top Student.
Hermione Granger; muggle-born wizard, Gryffindor, and Top Student.
Put two and two together and you've got a major problem.
After all, there can only be one.
There will only be one top student.
His and Her Circumstances
Chapter One
In Which We Learn the Conditions of War
The Gryffindor common room is always full of people—people playing chess, or exploding snap, people doing homework, people chatting, people passed out in front of the fireplace, people eating—Hermione didn't mind the noise they all made, it actually helped to center her thoughts. It also provided her peers and friends a chance to watch her work, to think of how studious she was, how brilliant…it gave them a chance to ask her for help, or tell her to take a break and come play with them.
Sometimes she'd smile and go play some game of which she'd lose a fair number, and win just as many—you don't want to appear too superior that people avoid you.
Other times she'd offer a tired smile and a promise that she would next time, before going back to her work.
No matter what, her homework, her exams, they had prior precedence—she threw herself headfirst into it, mind, heart, body and soul. It was her goal, her lifeline. She didn't know anything else. Had never really experienced any other type of life. And why should she? She was happy with this. She wanted people to like her, to come to her, to respect her, to know how great she was. That was what she'd always wanted. Always.
"Damn that Malfoy! I'm going to wring his fucking neck if I ever see him again, fucking…"
"Ronald!"
"Sorry Hermione but that asshole…"
"Language, Ronald." Hermione warned, watching Ron go from red-faced fury to red-faced embarrassment. She'd figured out long ago that he listened a tenth better when called Ronald when opposed to Ron. After all—he associated it with his mother, and she was not a force to be reckoned with.
Harry, who was behind the venting, cursing, redhead, mouthed a silent thank you and Hermione grinned, marking the page she'd been reading with a bookmark before standing. She stretched, giving her neck muscles a chance to relax, as she watched her two best friends settle down at the chess set they had set up near her usual work table.
"Fancy being black this time, Harry?" Ron asked as he flipped the chessboard around so that he was white.
"I suppose." Harry said with little enthusiasm. "Your sister already beat me twice today. Need I really play with you as well? You both already know how horrible I am."
"That's because you dive straight in without thinking, mate. You've got to plan. It's a game of strategy, not blind rampaging."
Harry frowned and Hermione laughed. "Why don't I help even the playing field tonight, eh?" She sat beside Harry who smiled gratefully at her.
"That's unfair!"
"Oh I don't think it is." Harry moved over a little so that they both shared half the board between them.
"Plus, Harry needs a break…and a win!"
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Don't be so sure."
And with that, a white pawn moved forward and the game began.
Forty-seven minutes later, Ron moved his King to checkmate and watched Hermione and Harry check the time once again.
"Why do you two keep looking at the time?"
"I was not looking at the clock, Ron." Hermione muttered, glaring at the chessboard.
Ron's eyes settled on the two, and a few seconds later, the watchful Gryffindor confirmed that both of them were indeed watching the clock.
"Ever heard of a watched pot never boils, Hermione? Harry?" They both looked at the floor. Ron sighed. "What the heck are you waiting for?"
Hermione grinned sheepishly. "I…"
Harry interrupted her, giving her a quick look that told her they needed to talk. "Nothing of importance, Ron."
"Right." It was obvious he didn't believe his friend, but he shrugged his large lean shoulders anyway. "Good game, Hermione. Though, Harry still lost."
Hermione glared at the chessboard as if it had betrayed her. "I know Ron."
"Well, better luck next time." Ron yawned loudly. "About time to call it a night, actually. Suppose it's off to bed then Harry?"
Harry groaned inwardly. "Yeah. I'll see you up there in a minute. I want to have Hermione review my potions essay."
Ron stood, muttering something that ended in a rather creative way of telling Professor Snape exactly what Ron thought of the latest essay. Ron glanced behind him once as he made his way up the stairs. Harry and Hermione were watching him with closed faces. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Could they really think they were fooling anyone? He rounded the corner, and slammed the door closed—letting them know that they could begin their secret meeting.
The two watched nervously as Ron walked up the stone staircase and out of sight.
A loud resonance of a door being slammed came a few seconds later.
Hermione turned to Harry, a twinkle in her brown eyes. "You haven't even started your potions essay yet."
Harry's eyes alit with annoyance. Even though it hadn't been that intricate a lie, he still felt slighted to know that she knew him to a tee. Running his hand through his hair Harry noted that it was way past time for a trim. "Yeah…but…" His eyes flitted to the ghost like clock mounted above the fireplace. His eyes then fluttered to the watch on his wrist. The hands of both told him it was undeniably eight fifty.
Hermione watched the emotions pass over Harry's face. He was worried, excited, and considering. Before she could help herself, she also glanced at the clock. Sighing, she smiled brightly and cocked her head to the side, sweeping her hair from her eyes as she smirked at her best friend. "You wouldn't have possibly received an invitation to a certain Slytherin get-together, now would you?"
Harry let out a breath of relief, a nervous titter of laughter leaving him as well. "Yes! I did. And I really don't know what to make of it. You too then?"
"Yeah, Malfoy."
"Same…but the thing is," Harry shook his head, his black locks falling in front of his bright eyes. "The thing is that he asked me in front of Dean, Seamus, and Ron. I wasn't alone. I couldn't very well tell him to fuck off with them around."
Hermione nodded. "He's getting smarter. We won't be nasty in public…but…" Hermione's quick mind was trying to analyze the mystery that was Malfoy. "But, that is what he is waiting for. Malfoy is trying to up step us by being polite." She shook her head, biting her lip in concentration. "But that wouldn't be enough. That wouldn't be satisfying. He is up to something more. He's planning something."
"Yeah." Harry was pacing nervously. "Merlin, I hate him."
"If we don't show up…"
"He'll probably call us cowards."
"And if we do show up, we might be falling into some sort of Malfoy constructed trap."
"Knowing Malfoy, it won't be pleasant."
Hermione nodded, chewing lightly on her bottom lip again. "Well, if you plan on going, Harry, I'm going too."
Green eyes sparkled and a smile formed on the dark haired boys face. "I knew you would. You're the best Hermione." He pulled out his invisibility cloak that he'd hidden beneath his robes.
Hermione's eyes gleamed with mischief. "It seems you do plan ahead sometimes."
"I just don't like chess." Harry said in a laughing whisper. "Let's go."
"Don't forget me!" Dean bounded down the stairs, followed by shouts of "Or me!" from Seamus. The two enthusiastic boys collided with Hermione and Harry, whose fingers were raised to their lips.
"And you guys had better not have thought you'd be going without me." Ron walked down the stairs, arms crossed. "Oh, and I heard that, Harry."
Harry grinned sheepishly, before holding open the cloak.
The five Gryffindors exchanged hushed giggles before cramming as best they could beneath Harry's invisibility cloak.
As they hobbled out of the Gryffindor common room, you could see an odd procession of a petite right foot followed by a giant left foot, the occasional finger, all combined into a less than quiet, invisible, moving entity.
A turn or two later, many stairs, and several long hallways found the noisy group in the vicinity of the dungeons.
"Are you sure you three know where you are going?"
Hermione and Harry shushed Seamus.
"But we've been walking for ages!" The boy hissed.
Again the two shushed him.
"But!"
Dean solved the problem by slapping his hand across Seamus' mouth.
"We know where we are. It's right around the corner."
And around the corner, there was indeed the door to the Slytherin common room. The picture guarding the entrance sneered at them.
"Looks a lot like the one I get from Malfoy." Mumbled Harry.
The portrait observed them with distaste. "Shall I even ask if you lot have the brain power to remember a password?"
Seamus, whose mouth was still covered, gave the portrait a certain middle finger. The portrait however, only returned the favor.
"I see…a bunch of outsiders. What do you want?"
"We were invited."
"Cordially." Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes.
The portrait groaned. "It figures that one of you would…oh very well…" The heavy portrait swung open to admit them.
"Wow."
"So all that cordial crap actually meant something."
"Well, Malfoy isn't exactly stupid." Hermione whispered, keeping the surprise from her voice. She hadn't even thought of that…and Malfoy had. Disappointment rose in her chest as the heap of invisible Gryffindors entered the Slytherin common room and the portrait slid in place—effectively covering their only means of escape.
"Let me out of this thing!" Seamus cried excitedly—he'd finally removed the hand from his mouth. Dean wiped the saliva from his hand in disgust.
The Slytherin common room was full to bursting with people…from all houses.
There were groups and throngs that made it nearly impossible to move.
"Oh my Merlin!" Ron cried, his mouth falling open in horror. He had a better view of the room, after all, when one is nearing six foot five, you tend to tower over people…you even have your own supply of air. How nice. "My little sister is here and, and…" his eyes scanned the room fervently. "They're serving alcohol!"
And that was the end of Ron as he made his way, through people, over to Ginny, tearing the drink from her hand.
When Harry turned around, he caught sight of Seamus' back as he went to join a rambunctious group of students. Dean had also disappeared. It was only Hermione and himself now, alone, in a normally hostile environment. An environment that, at the moment, was dark, noisy, and pulsing with music. The smell of the room itself was enough to set them off kilter.
There was something untrustworthy in the air—then again, alcohol itself, paired with brainless masses, coma-inducing music, and the air of darkness that proved just enough to make one—who is under the influence—believe that they are only a face, unidentifiable and there in prone to doing stupid things.
He felt Hermione grab his hand, and smiled a thank you. He didn't want to be here alone.
"I see you two made it."
The dead drawl came from their side, Harry and Hermione turned to face Draco Malfoy as he made his way to them. "Didn't think you'd show." He said simply, taking a sip from the cup in his hand, he observed the two and noted the hands. Draco's eyebrow shot up and his eyes registered surprise. "Love-birds eh?"
Hermione and Harry quickly jumped apart. "No."
"Nothing of the sort, Malfoy."
"We just didn't want to…"
"So, why did you invite us here?" Harry asked, his eyes on Hermione as he talked. He didn't want Malfoy to know that they had both been a little more than intimidated by the Slytherin gathering.
Hermione couldn't believe she'd almost said something so stupid—and to Malfoy no less! If it wouldn't have caused a scene, she'd have smacked herself on the forehead. But there were people watching and she had a reputation to uphold. Just like Harry. She gave him a small nod to show she understood before turning her attention to Malfoy.
The music was already beginning to give her a headache and she instinctively moved closer to Harry, not wanting to be left here. Not here. Not alone.
Malfoy was still sipping his drink, looking relaxed and composed and sophisticated—all of the things Hermione did not feel.
"You shouldn't be drinking." Hermione blurted out.
Draco looked at the Gryffindor with disdain. "I'm not drinking Granger. This happens to be apple juice." Of course, he left out the 'yet' part of that statement. He'd had a rather discouraging day—his plans were not progressing at a rate he enjoyed. Everything was too slow. He wasn't even getting the enjoyment he'd thought he would from inviting the great Harry Potter and Hermione Granger to the Slytherin get-together.
Yet.
He mentally sighed as he switched his glass to another hand, shoving the now free hand into his pants pocket.
"Oh. I apologize then."
"No need Granger, you didn't offend me." he smirked. "In fact, I hardly ever notice anything about you." A blatant lie, but his quest for top marks didn't mean he followed the rules. He cheated, that much he'd admit. And he wasn't below using deceit to get his way, to accomplish the tasks he'd set for himself.
Harry stepped forward, maneuvering Hermione behind him. "Don't start anything." He whispered, his voice low.
Draco's eyes darted around the room before settling back on the Gryffindors, smirk in place. There was one good thing about serving alcohol to a bunch of brainless partygoers. You didn't have to pretend as much, you didn't have to keep the façade going. You could let it slip; they were too drunk to notice.
"You never answered our question. Why did you invite us?"
Draco considered this. "I invited you, Potter, just because I was sure you would refuse. I invited Granger…" he couldn't rightly tell them the real reason, that would defeat the purpose. Time for lie number two.
The music was pulsing in his ears; he could practically feel his brain swelling. Draco shut his eyes, rubbing them gently. "I can't remember." He said miserably. And he thought he did a good job of that! He actually sounded miserable, pathetic, and lonesome…
All was going according to plan.
Hermione didn't buy it for one moment. That blond haired git was only acting out some complex step-by-step plan that he'd labored over for a week before inviting them down into this hellhole. But two could play that game…and she'd do it off the hat, no prior planning involved. Then they'd see which one of them was better.
With a face of sympathy and concern plastered over the one of bubbling mirth, Hermione stepped forward, placing a hand comfortingly on Malfoy's shoulder. She placed the other on his forehead as if she were checking his temperature.
She could feel his shudder of surprise, was close enough to hear the sharp intake of breathe—and she reveled in the knowledge that she had indeed set him off kilter.
Leaning forward, she softly whispered. "Jumpy ferret." And felt the ferret in question stiffen. When she pulled back, she could see the hate in his gray eyes. She gave his shoulder yet another pat, a squeeze, before turning to Harry, whose facial muscles were twitching oddly—he was trying his best not to laugh. "I'm thirsty, you?"
Harry nodded, Hermione turned back to Malfoy. "Would you be so kind as to show us where you're keeping the apple juice?"
Draco was busy mentally kicking himself. He hadn't planned on her reacting this way. He hadn't even had it in the alternate scenarios he'd concocted and planned for accordingly. He was disgusted with himself. He'd shown signs of weakness—and that was not acceptable! Not when the one who saw them was none other than Hermione Granger…whose hand was surprisingly warm. He stopped mentally kicking himself and began to mentally jab himself repeatedly with some sharp object. That thought had to be banished before he threw up! On the outside, however, he only nodded to his Gryffindor rivals.
"This way. And try to keep up."
Harry held Hermione's hand tightly as they followed the head of bright blond hair—the only part of Malfoy that they could keep track of in the mass of people, to a table of ever-filling drinks.
It lined the back wall of the common room. The drinks put in rows and assorted by color.
"Pick your poison."
Hermione glanced at Harry as he picked up a deep blue drink. "You're not going to drink that are you?" she whispered harshly.
"No." Harry replied. "Just looking." He set the glass of foreign liquid back on the table.
"Pussy."
"What's that Malfoy?"
"I think you heard me just fine, Potter." Draco picked up the glass Harry had abandoned, downing the contents. "Delightful." He set the glass down again, where it was promptly cleaned and refilled by invisible hands.
More people were coming up to the table, getting more drinks. Harry and Hermione were jostled apart as a particular large fellow—who Hermione vaguely thought she'd seen sitting at the Hufflepuff table before—elbowed his way over to the table, before grabbing several glasses of fire-like liquid and retreating back into the crowd.
"How do you get everyone to come?"
Draco shrugged, leaning against the drinks table. "They just show up. It's where I am after all—people are just drawn to me."
At that moment, Hermione was jostled to the side, then some faceless person knocked into Hermione, trying to get past her, and she felt herself falling forward…into something soft.
Malfoy caught her. His gray eyes widened as he felt his arms act of their own accord and wrap around Granger to steady her. Before she could get her balance on her own, Draco shoved her to a standing position, and affectively pushed her away from him, wiping the surprise off his face to be replaced by a slight grin. "See what I mean?"
Hermione's brown eyes rolled as she gave Malfoy a quirky smirk. "Oh yeah, I was just drawn to you by your irresistible magnetism!"
"Why thank you." Draco selected a drink off the table behind him and offered it to Granger. "I'm thrilled to know you think I'm irresistible."
Hermione scanned the area for Harry, but…she eyed the drink in front of her, thinking it over, before reaching for it.
Draco selected another glass and took a small sip, letting the overwhelming taste of lime slide over his tongue. It effectively masked the tiny bit of alcohol that had been added to the batch. He would have to congratulate Blaise on his technique later.
"Ah. Now, I want to get down to business Granger." He observed the room, spotting a slightly less populated area, he pointed to it. Granger nodded and the two made there way to the spot.
The corner was dark, what little light was in the room could not reach this remote area. Draco situated himself so that he could still observe the coming and going of the students. "I'm tired of cat and mouse Granger. Why don't we compete openly?"
"I'm assuming, Malfoy, that by openly, you mean between the two of us."
"You'd assume correct." Draco took another sip. "We've been neck and neck for six years…well, you've been trying hard to keep up with me."
"Keep dreaming ferret!" Hermione replied scathingly. She brushed the hair from her face with her free hand. "You are the one who uses less than honorable ways to obtain several of your grades. Don't deny it, I know" Hermione added as she watched his calculating eyes. "Therefore, the fact that I have yet to use such a technique must mean that, I am in fact the better student."
"But the level of commitment and the time and effort I put into being scrupulous Granger—without being caught mind you—would suggest that it is I, not you, who is the better student." His gray eyes wandered over her clothing. "And I present myself much better than you. I look the part."
Hermione didn't take offense. Instead, she let her eyes wander as well, taking in his pressed slacks, most likely of a very high thread count, his lint-free blazer, and his hair's, most likely magically applied, gleam. "You look stuck up, unapproachable, and let me tell you something my dear Malfoy, that looking the part is very far from being the part."
"Touché, Granger."
"So what is it you suggest we do differently?" Hermione asked, losing patience with the blonde. She switched the still untouched drink to her other hand once more.
"You could acknowledge that I am indeed the top student and we could just end it here."
Hermione scoffed.
"But," Draco smirked, "I knew you'd like to drag this out longer, take some time to gather your pride so that you'll be left with something when I finally beat you."
"You wish."
"We'll see. Now, as for my…proposition."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just get it out Malfoy. I want to find Harry and get the hell out of here as soon as possible…" she brushed her hand over her clothing, sure that there was something on them. "Before I catch something disgusting."
Draco shook his head. Did she really think he'd live in a place where clothing could acquire something disgusting so easily as just being in the vicinity? He thought not. Granger was just being ridiculous, but he couldn't help it when his eyes were drawn down to inspect his own clothing. In the dark, it was a hard task, but he was confident there was nothing on them. He dragged his eyes back up to meet Granger's scornful ones.
"A bit too enamored with your own appearance aren't you Malfoy."
"Whatever Granger. I want you out of here as soon as is possible as well. So lets just lay out the terms."
"Terms?"
Draco's eyes rolled disdainfully. "Of course Granger. There have to be terms. Along with being the best in grades…"
"I'm already winning."
"Don't interrupt. This isn't only about having top grades, and you know it! Whoever has the most followers—by any means…"
Hermione scoffed. "You'll just bully everyone into being for you!"
"Fine. By any…honorable means. Does that satisfy you and your Gryffindor goodness?"
Hermione nodded. "Do you have anything else?"
Draco's eyes gleamed. "I've saved the best for last. Since you're trying so hard to be my equal, Granger, your appearance must be just as refined as my own. That way, the idiot masses will have us on some of the same levels. I'm sure you'd hate to lose supporters just because you dress like an old biddy."
Examining her nails, Hermione weighed her options. "I agree, only if…from this point forward, you will only use honorable and honest ways to obtain what you want—and since I'm sure you'll have problems, if you are concerned whether something is honorable or honest, come find me and I'll tell you—you must also, for one month. Do you understand, for one month, you must make sure that Neville doesn't mess up a single potion."
Draco stared at the bushy haired girl, his mouth hanging open.
"Are you crazy?"
Hermione smiled. If he accepted, she'd be rid of Neville for a whole month. No more watching, no more secretly slipping in the correct amount of eye of newt. No more detentions from Professor Snape for helping, no more points lost for Gryffindor for mouthing off to him after being given detention.
Draco moaned and groaned for a full minute, telling her exactly how much of a dunderhead Longbottom was, as if she had never noticed these particular qualities before. Finally, after the moaning began to bore him, Draco shoved a stubborn piece of hair behind his ear.
"A toast then?" He held his glass out and waited for Granger to do the same.
"To the best." Hermione murmured as their glasses clinked together.
Draco smirked, drinking the contents of his glass. "That would be me."
"Au Contraire, Malfoy. I'm quite positive that it will be me." Hermione sipped delicately at her drink. "Until then."
Harry had long ago stopped trying to get to Hermione. Instead, he'd found a small place where he was hardly ever bumped, and proceeded to watch as Malfoy and Hermione argued about something. He couldn't see them very well. But every once in a while he caught a scowl, a sneer, and finally the sight of raised glasses.
He watched as Hermione elbowed her way through the drunken crowd, her head moving from side to side, searching.
He raised his hand, waving at her, and she smiled as she saw him.
When she'd finally managed to make it to his side, Hermione let out a tired sigh. Harry's bright green eyes were half-lidded and his body slumped.
"I think it's time to go."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Thought you'd never ask."
"I was enjoying myself, a whole…hour speaking with the ferret, the perfect way to end the day." Hermione whispered jokingly and Harry laughed, grabbing hold of her arm as they made their way to the door and out into the hallway.
"What about Ron, Seamus, and Dean?"
Harry shrugged as he pulled out his invisibility cloak. "I'm sure they can manage on their own."
Giggling, Hermione ducked into the cloak Harry was holding open for her.
"Did everything go alright with Malfoy?"
"Yeah. We've started a little war, I think."
Harry laughed. "Planning on winning?"
"When would I ever settle for less?"
"Can I help?"
Hermione took his hand. "Wouldn't dream of leaving you out of it. Let's get back up to the room. I'll explain everything there."
She'd need his help. Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to accomplish one little tidbit of her agreement with Malfoy without help.
As they walked, invisible, Hermione closed her eyes, preparing herself.
This was, without a doubt, going to be war.
Disclaimer:
His and Her Circumstances is loosely based on the manga Kare Kano, His and Her Circumstances.
I do not own Kare Kano, nor do I own the Harry Potter characters.
Authors Note:
Hello all! I know I should be updating my other stories, but worry not; there are chapters ready for uploading. However, I am totally obsessed with Kare Kano, as well as Fruits Baskets and the plot bunny for this story would NOT leave me alone! I'm sure you guys know how that goes. Those damnable plot bunnies will take over your life until you give into them. Anyway. Please tell me what you think. I'm not sure if this story will continue. Your feedback will determine that.
Best of luck,
jd.