Chapter 1

"'Mione."

…

"'Mione."

…

"Hermione!"

Hermione sighed deeply and looked up from the book she had been engrossed in.

"What, Ronald?"

The red-haired wizard shot her a small frown. "Can I borrow your notes from Potions?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and motioned towards her book-bag that lay a few feet away from them.

"They're in there. Although, Ron, perhaps you should consider taking your own notes? Given that we're in our seventh year, this might be your last chance, really."

She couldn't keep the snark out of her voice and it didn't escape Ron's attention. Not that she cared, she meant what she had said. Seven years was a long time to be copying off her notes. But she wasn't trying to start a fight tonight. Their friendship, of late, had been - strenuous - to say the least, and their arguments had become increasingly frequent and increasingly unpleasant.

His eyes narrowed and she groaned inwardly. She knew this look, knew what it meant and she just wasn't up to it right now. She glanced around the almost empty Gryffindor common room (it was later in the evening and everyone had dispersed), looking for Harry or Ginny, hoping that either one would show up and provide some sort of distraction. No such luck.

"If you don't want to share them with me, you can just say so. No need to get your knickers in a twist."

"Excuse me?" She glared at Ron, who stared back defiantly. Unsurprising, because lately all he seemed to want was to pick fights with her. Most of the time Harry or Ginny were around to defuse the situation, but sometimes, like tonight, they weren't and naturally it was up to Hermione to be the mature person and not take the bait. Usually, she could manage it. A few calming breaths, counting to 10 - slowly - and she could tuck away the annoyance and hurt and move past it.

And at other times, he had that ridiculous, almost taunting, look on his face and it was hard to let it go. Almost impossible.

So, she did the only thing she could. In a swift motion, she grabbed her book-bag and stormed out of the common room, blinking back angry tears. He didn't follow her. Not that she expected him to. The angry energy flowing through her body made her want to run down the hallway but she forced herself to take measured steps to her destination. After all, the Head Girl couldn't be seen running around through hallways, it just wouldn't do.

It was hard to pinpoint when her relationship with Ron had taken such a sour turn. Theirs had always been one with ups and downs. More downs than ups, if she were to be honest about it. And for some reason, he always got away with treating her like rubbish. When they had been younger, she had developed somewhat of a crush on him and she had thought (a misconception, clearly) that his outbursts towards her and his generally shitty behaviour was because he was "just a boy being a boy" and he was "being mean because he liked her". And so every time they had fought, she would be left hurt and in tears, but Hermione had been okay with that, because he liked her and didn't know how else to show it. Right?

Wrong.

When he had started dating Lavender last year, Hermione's crush had fizzled out pretty quickly. She hadn't been overly sad about it, nothing past a slight pang of wistfulness that was gone by dinner time. And as he continued to be mean to her, she knew (because the rose-coloured glasses were off!) - he wasn't being mean because he liked Hermione. He was just being mean. And she wasn't sure why.

It had gotten worse over the past summer, when she had been invited to spend time with the Weasleys and Harry at the Burrow. He started picking fights over little things - things she said, things she did. At first, she had been confused, really confused. And then she started to fight back, but that only served to fuel him further and further until they found themselves in an all-out screaming match, with Harry trying to broker peace and Ginny looking on in disgust at her brother. Neither Harry nor Ginny were able to explain why Ron was acting like this, despite their (futile) attempts at having a conversation with him.

Hermione hated the situation, but it wasn't one she could extricate herself from easily. Harry was her best friend. Ginny was her best friend. And Ron…well, he was her best friend too (right?), although nowadays, that title seemed to be more perfunctory than anything. With everything that was going on, she could acknowledge that it wouldn't be wise to have Harry focus his energy on keeping their group together. Not when there was a Dark Wizard to defeat. Harry needed all the help and support he could get.

For Harry's sake, she would suck it up and take the high road. She would grit her teeth and bear it, even if that meant seeing her friends less. Even if it meant that she would be the one running away from Ron, time and time again, to seethe in solitude. Once Voldemort was defeated, she would have to reevaluate her reasons for keeping Ron in her life. Maybe they could work it out, but Hermione couldn't foresee a positive outcome. There was too much hurt between them, and with every fight that Ron picked, Hermione could feel the hurt getting stronger. She wasn't sure if it could ever just...go away.

"Password?"

She broke out of her thoughts as she came to a halt in front of the massive portrait of a shepherdess that was the entrance to the Head Prefect quarters.

"Shrieking Sherbet."

The portrait swung open, revealing the common room that was shared by the two Head Prefects. She stepped into the room, relieved to note that it was empty. Although, she wasn't sure why she was relieved in the first place, considering that her counterpart barely ever occupied their quarters. She hadn't seen him in here for the entire week that they had been back at Hogwarts and for that, she thanked her lucky stars.

This common room was smaller than the House common rooms, but more than enough to accommodate the two people residing in the quarters. The space was decorated in rich colours - deep reds and forest greens against a setting of oak-panelled walls. A fireplace stood in the center of the wall farthest from the entrance, surrounded by comfortable looking sofas. On one side of the room was a bay window, currently hidden from view because of the thick curtains that were drawn. On either side of the window were two desks - one that definitely had not been used since the beginning of the term. The other side of the room was flanked by a row of bookshelves. Next to the bookshelves, also hidden from view, lay an alcove with a spiral staircase that led to the upper level, which is where their bedrooms and bathrooms were housed.

Hermione made her way to the nearest sofa and sank into it with a sigh, dropping her book-bag at her feet. Her head dropped back and she lifted a hand to rub her eyes wearily. She was tired and she was angry and she was sad – it all felt unbearable, really. This was getting ridiculous. She was glad to have her own refuge from the nonsense with Ron, but she was getting so tired of all the nonsense to begin with. When had things gotten so out of control? And why did he insist on acting like such a -

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the portrait swinging open and shut. She heard footsteps enter the room and her spine stiffened involuntarily. The new occupant could only be one other person and certainly not one whom she presently wanted to confront. Or ever, if she could have her way. But tonight, things clearly were not going her way.

Although he wasn't in her line of sight, she could feel the tension permeating the room that suddenly didn't seem nearly quite big enough for the both of them. It had always been this way, Hermione acknowledged to herself, and it would always be this way. There would always exist this sense of discord - to put it lightly - between the two of them. Years of history that could not be undone. Loathsome views marred by years and years of upbringing and prejudice and her reaction to those views. Why Dumbledore had thought that the two would be able to work efficiently together, she would never understand. But she trusted Dumbledore and she had to believe that that was enough.

He had probably only been in the room for a few seconds but the silence seemed to stretch on for an eternity. This was the closest, in the entire week that they had been back at Hogwarts and appointed as Head Prefects, that their paths had come to crossing in the privacy of their chambers. Of course, she had seen him in the hallways and their shared classes, but there was never any expectation for either to acknowledge the other's presence. But this felt almost…awkward? They had never had solo interactions during their entire time at Hogwarts. It had always been in public settings, surrounded by their friends. This was new territory for Hermione and she was unsure of how to navigate it. Not that her feelings for him had changed in any way but ultimately, they were required to work together as a team (Hermione's lips curled into a grimace) of sorts. And that would require some communication on their parts. Someone would have to be the mature one here and she couldn't count on it being him.

Inaudibly, she sucked in a deep breath and turned her head as he got closer to where she sat. He had to pass by her to make it to the staircase. His expression, the one he seemed to reserve for her since their appointment into their roles, remained stony. Unapproachable. Brooking no conversation. Like he wanted to pretend she didn't exist.

Well, too bad.

She cleared her throat. "Malfoy."

He wasn't going to stop. He almost didn't. He continued with his long, purposeful strides, moving past where she sat before coming to an abrupt halt and half turning his head towards her.

"Mudblood."

Aaand there went her thin veneer of self-control. All the anger and hostility from earlier flooded back, compounded with her everlasting dislike of this bigoted prat. On the bright side, she had no obligation to hold her tongue around this boy the way she did around Ron. She didn't have to try to keep the peace.

"I would watch your language if I were you, you repulsive toad. Not a great example to set as Head Boy," she said coolly.

He turned to face her then, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Funny thing - I don't actually give a flying fuck about being Head Boy or setting examples, so go ahead and tattle to whomever you'd like. And let's not get started on repulsive toads. I'd guide you to a mirror but I'd rather spend that energy eating glass."

"Why did you accept the position then? Why not leave it for someone more deserving and competent?"

She ignored his attack on her looks because honestly, she didn't care for his opinion anyway. It was par for the course as far as their interactions were concerned.

Malfoy scoffed. "You don't seriously think I'm going to answer any of your questions, do you?"

"No, because the great Malfoy doesn't answer to anyone, does he? Except for your beloved Voldemort - "

He reacted quicker than she could process and she found herself pressed back against the sofa with the cold tip of his wand pressed against her forehead. Her heart thudded as her brain chastised her for not keeping her guard up. She'd left her wand in her book-bag and he currently held a more advantageous position, standing over her. That was her mistake. But she would learn from it. For now, she remained stock-still as she waited for his next move.

"Don't. Say. His. Name. Mudblood." He seethed, fury sparking his pale, metallic eyes. Dispassionately, Hermione noted that the rest of his face still gave nothing away. The rage was contained in his eyes. A marked difference from his younger years, where he didn't appear to have an ounce of self-restraint.

"Or what, Malfoy?" she hissed. She knew she was provoking him, calling his bluff, but Merlin, it felt good. Stupid and dangerous, yes, what with a wand aimed straight at her head, but good nonetheless. "What are you going to do? You might not care about being Head Boy, but do you want to get expelled?"

He sneered then, bringing his face closer to hers. "Maybe it's worth the expulsion."

She let out a soft, mirthless laugh. "Then do it."

He held her gaze for a while then, his furious pale eyes clashing with her dark, steady ones. Whatever he saw there was enough to have him retreat an inch and he gently trailed his wand down her face. Gooseflesh erupted across her arms as she felt the narrow, blunt piece of wood slide from her forehead, to the tip of her nose, her lips – dragging her bottom lip down slightly until it stopped, right under her chin. He tipped her head up slightly.

"You must have a death wish." He stepped back and tucked his wand into his robes. "Stay out of my way. Next time, I might not be able to stop myself."

With that he left and Hermione found herself alone once again, shaken for more reasons than one.

That had felt…thrilling.

And she didn't want to know what that said about her.