A/N - Thank you so much for more kind reviews, is it sad to say they make my week? There's a longer author's note at the end of this chapter, but it only makes sense once you've read it. Enjoy!

Chapter 3 - Perceptions

Ever since her conversation with Professor Slughorn, Hermione had begrudgingly become more intrigued about her mother's life. It was inevitable, she supposed. After years of the subject being equivalent to taboo at home, it was only natural for Hermione to want to know more, now that she had a resource of her own. She hoped to ask Slughorn more about her mum, Hermione very much doubted that he'd have any qualms about it.

And, maybe he even knew something about her untimely death. It must've been quite shocking news for her friends and family, she was rather young once she had passed away. Hermione wondered if the new Potions teacher knew anything about how her parents met, too. He did seem to enjoy gushing about how close he is with all of his former, notably successful, students.

Hermione didn't have too much extra time to worry about it for long, as she was very much preoccupied with her schoolwork this year. Plus, she could only imagine her father's reaction if he found out that Hermione was trying to find out more about her mother's past. But, frankly, that thought didn't seem to bother her as much it perhaps ought to.

Also, she had to think about the task that Draco had given her. Hermione resented the thought of being ordered to do something by Draco, however, so viewed the ordeal more as a self-challenge. A self-challenge that had flopped last night.

She had been waiting at the usual place, simmering with anger as he had been late, again, now for two nights out of three. But, before Hermione had become angry enough to storm up to a Professor, the Head Girl rounded the corner which Ron was supposed to. She had informed Hermione that Ron had broken his wrist during training, so was in the Hospital Wing.

Idiot, was the only word she could associate with the news. But, it was hardly surprising.

But tonight, he was due to join her, despite his 'injury'. Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought. So here she stood, waiting for him, as usual.

Once Ron had joined her, he only offered a nod of acknowledgment before beginning the patrol. Hermione could do no more than fall into stride with him. However, she was determined for this evening to be a successful one.

As they were about halfway down a random corridor, glancing into each classroom and listening for any unusual noise, Hermione decided that this was as good a time as any. "Um, Ron?" she began unsurely, contemplating, for the thousandth time, if this plan would really ever work.

"Yeah?" They hadn't stopped walking, and were both still facing the direction in front of them, but the air was still rather awkward.

"I-I just wanted to… apologise, for what I said about your family, the other night. It was uncalled for," she finally said.

"Oh-um, it's alright. I'm sorry for calling you an arse-licker," he smirked. Hermione caught it in the corner of her eye, and almost felt her own lips curl of their own accord, but she resolutely returned her expression to look passive.

"You also called me an idiot," he reminded her. Hermione could feel her patience wearing with every step they took.

"Well, I am trying to apologise," she snapped, her temper getting the better of her.

"Annoying, isn't it?" he smirked again, this time turning slightly towards her.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, until she realised that he was referring to her refusal to forgive when he had tried to apologise for being late.

Instead, she just sighed in defeat - an action she wasn't really accustomed to. Soughting for a subject change, Hermione asked, "what happened to your wrist?", despite already knowing the answer. If any of this was ever going to work, Hermione needed Ron to believe that she was genuinely concerned.

"Broke it," he answered vaguely.

"How descriptive," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

To her surprise, Ron chuckled. "Alright. It happened during Quidditch. I play as Keeper, do you know which position that is?" he teased, but his light-hearted nature was lost on Hermione.

"You don't need to patronise me," she snapped indignantly, crossing her arms under her chest.

"I wasn't," he said hastily, holding his hands up in surrender. "Anyway, I went to save a Quaffle - which I did save, by the way -" Hermione rolled her eyes. "But it was a close call, and with the force of the Quaffle, my wrist was slammed into the metal of the hoop, and here we are," he finished, waving his bandaged hand.

"Why is it still in its dressing? I thought skele-gro worked within hours," Hermione wondered aloud.

"Yeah, turns out there's a fair few bones in your wrist, and I fractured quite a lot of them. So, Madam Pomfrey said that I'd have to stay in the Hospital Wing for a couple of nights if I received the full dose of skele-gro. But, she told me that if I took it in small intervals instead, that I could go back to normal life, just whilst wearing a bandage," he explained.

"And you missed the chance to stay in bed for two days?" Hermione asked, with her eyebrows raised. They were still walking, but the pace had marginally slowed down.

"Are you saying I'm lazy?" he chuckled.

"I'm saying I wouldn't put it past you," she smirked, despite herself.

"Well, if I didn't have Quidditch, then I probably would've stayed in bed, yeah," he replied.

"Is Quidditch really the only thing ever on your mind?" she asked with exasperation.

"Dunno, is school the only thing ever on your mind?"

"You're so funny, Ronald," she drawled sarcastically.

"Don't call me 'Ronald'," he groaned.

"Why? It's your name, isn't it?" she asked, her cheeks slightly heating up by calling him his full name, when she hardly even knew him.

"Well, yeah. But when have you ever heard me being called 'Ronald', instead of 'Ron'?" he asked.

"To be honest, I hardly listen to many conversations where your name is mentioned," she teased, although her voice carried no malice.

"Fair enough," he conceded, grinning widely. Hermione couldn't help but smile, herself, although it was small and sheepish.

They had reached the starting point quicker than Hermione anticipated. She hadn't spoken since their last... exchange. Hermione would hardly call it flirting, perhaps just banter, maybe. But that was the aim, wasn't it? And it was proving quite easy to fulfill.

However, when Ron had tried to drill up small talk about how pointless the rounds were, Hermione only shrugged curtly in response. She didn't blame or question herself. They weren't actually friends. The only time she needed to entertain this silly plan was when she thought that information would be obtained from it, and that was hardly going to happen with useless small talk.

And that was all that exchange was. Entertaining this unrealistic bid from Draco.

"Right, well, I'll see you tomorrow," Ron said awkwardly, suddenly becoming more aware of his hands, so shoved them in his pockets.

Hermione nodded, albeit rather stiffly, as they turned and went their opposite ways.

Ron shook his head as he walked back. For a moment during their conversation, he wondered if he could actually start to enjoy these rounds. But, just as quickly as she had seemed to become warm, she had become cold.

He couldn't say he was shocked. She had always acted self-important, so it was hardly surprising that she turned her nose back up so quickly. Although, he wondered how she felt about that brief moment where the facade had fallen, and she had actually been, dare he say it, funny, even if it was at his expense. He chuckled at the thought, and rolled his eyes before stepping through the portrait hole.

"So, Granger, any news?"

Hermione knew exactly what Draco was referring to, but was reluctant to answer. Not that she had anything to prove to Draco, but it had been three days since their initial conversation, and yet she had nothing to report.

She and Ron had returned to their awkward silence on Thursday night's patrol, and watching Harry Potter win the felix felicis was enough to put Hermione in a bad mood. She hardly cared about missing out on the vial of liquid luck, no, it was Slughorn's absurd overreaction about Harry's 'brilliance' that had irked Hermione. He had never been brilliant in lessons, and she was sure he was up to something.

But even if Hermione was going to strike up a conversation with Ron again, her chance was jeopardized by Quidditch, believe it or not. He had to leave ten minutes before their shift ended, for another training session. Hermione supposed she wasn't going to get much from him in that time, anyway.

An event he never seemed to be late to or leave early from was mealtimes, funnily enough, Hermione mused as she eyed him at the Gryffindor table. His eating habits were only worsening, she was sure of-

"Granger?"

Hermione's reverie was broken by Draco's persistent tone. Her gaze quickly shifted back to Draco, before anyone noticed where her line of sight had terminated. "Um, no, nothing yet," she informed him.

"Why not?" he asked.

Hermione gave him a reprimanding look before responding. She couldn't recall a time where Draco's attitude had ever intimidated her in the way it seemed to with the other Slytherins, so she never knew why he still tried to keep it up with her.

"He seems rather clueless. I very much doubt that he's told anything," Hermione tried as an excuse.

"No. He's practically Potter's only friend. If anyone knows something, it will be him," Draco maintained indignantly.

"Well, I don't know what to suggest, then," Hermione said exasperatedly.

"You need to convince him that you're actually trying to be friends with him. I think you should start talking to him outside of your Prefect rounds. That'll prove to him that you're more interested," Draco suggested.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed instantly. No, she was already agreeing to do more than enough to speak to him when she had to. She had absolutely no intention of prolonging this anymore than necessary. Draco could sense her reluctance, but had a contingency in place.

"Come on, Granger. Your father's very proud, you know," he smirked.

"And how on earth does my father know?" she snapped.

"My mother's very clingy at the moment. I had to say something to preoccupy her in my letters. As you should know, our parents have always been very close. Mother said that your dad's very proud of your scheming skills."

"It's your scheme, Draco." Hermione knew it was a weak argument, but she was no longer in the mood to care. Of course she didn't want her father to know. It wasn't that big of a thing, anyway. But it just meant that from now on Hermione could ensure that her father would push her to become more devoted in the support of the Dark Lord, and frankly, she just didn't want to. She had no desire to devote her life to something that she wasn't even sure would provide her the best life. She was a half-blood, after all. Once her father dies, and unless she marries Draco, Hermione was as good as dead, if Voldemort really got his way. She wasn't stupid.

And that was partly why she was so devoted to her studies, she supposed. Her father would laugh mercilessly in her face if Hermione ever proposed her dream of working in the Legal department of the Ministry of Magic. But to Hermione, that was her only outlet of pursuing any emblem of a life worth living. Even as she watched Draco absently, from across the table, Hermione knew that life with him wasn't something that she'd ever truly want. Had she ever believed that that was something she wanted? Probably not. But she had always had to suppress those thoughts. It's not like she had anyone to ever voice them to, was it? No. Hermione had to look out for herself, and her success in school was something that she had full control over.

And despite his oafish ways, Professor Slughorn could be a ticket to recognition. For reasons unbeknownst to Hermione, he was a very highly viewed individual, and had managed to put in a good word for many of his previous students. Hermione needed that, too. But, if Harry Potter continued the way he did, then she didn't have a chance. This thought surged a bout of motivation within Hermione, so, shaking off her moment of weakness, Hermione squared her shoulders and answered, "okay. I'll put more effort in with Ron."

"Glad to hear it," Draco sneered, but his smug appearance quickly solidified into a stoic and harsh expression.

Hermione looked behind her to where Draco's sight also lay, and found Professor Snape stalking up and down the Slytherin table. Hermione was rather bewildered by Draco's sudden cold demeanour, if it were triggered by Snape. She had always thought that they had quite a good relationship, had they not? As with many Draco-related matters, Hermione didn't think too much about it.

The last day of Hermione's first week had passed fairly quickly. She braced herself for this week's final Prefect round, as they were given the weekends off.

She and Ron met at the same place, exchanged the same meaningless formality of the greeting nod, and began pacing up the same corridor that they had all week. Hermione assumed it was the tediousness of Draco's set task that made this year's patrols feel so much more everlasting than last year's. For the summer term of their fifth year, Hermione and Draco had been given a section of the outside perimeter to scan. Hermione particularly enjoyed that, as the large outside expanse of the Hogwarts grounds were far more interesting than the hallways that she had known for six years.

But this term, she was back inside, staring blankly at the high ceilings. Obviously, Hermione's mind was at her and Draco's conversation at breakfast. But the whole thing was easier said than done. The more she thought about the prospect, the less convinced she was that it would ever work. Ron and her were polar opposites, and so far hadn't gone so much as a conversation without bickering. Alas, that mindset wasn't going to get her that far...

"Managed to attain any more Quidditch-related injuries?" she asked in what she hoped was a light tone, although she was cringing at just the question itself.

"No, still just the wrist. You?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his clear inability to have a serious conversation. "I thought we'd already established that you're not very funny," she still found herself retorting, however.

"Lots of people find me funny," he countered.

"Who? Your fellow Gryffindors? That's hardly groundbreaking, I doubt it takes much to amuse them," she scoffed.

They had fallen back into their slower pace, now, although Hermione hadn't noticed. "Well, you should know, you Slytherins are constantly laughing and having fun," Ron chuckled, sarcastically.

"We have fun," Hermione refuted. "I'd presume that we'd have very different ideas of fun, however."

"Definitely," he laughed. "Go on, then, what do you do for fun?"

"I read," she provided, as they were descending a staircase.

"Thrilling," he drawled.

"Well, it can be when you're over the mental age of five," Hermione argued. Then, she suddenly gasped as she lost her footing on the last step, but instead of falling, she was being held up by a surprisingly strong pair of arms. Their faces were now only inches from each other, Ron's arms supporting her body, by one being wrapped around her back, the other wrapped around her waist.

He was yet to have much of an opportunity to look at her properly. Neville, despite his poor timing, wasn't wrong that first night in the common room. She was gorgeous, especially since she wasn't saying anything. A piece of hair had come loose from its place behind her ear, so it was now curling around her face, leading Ron to wonder what the rest of her hair looked like when it wasn't trapped in a plait. Her eyes were beautiful. Bloody hell, had he honestly just thought her eyes were beautiful? The prospect was enough to bring him back to reality.

Hermione demanded to be let go of, and they both turned away, swiftly, the rest of the patrol gone with no concern.

Hermione distantly bid goodnight to Daphne, after throwing her the excuse of 'not feeling very well' as a reason for returning from patrols so early. Of course, that wasn't why she had returned so easily, not in the slightest.

But, as she tried to force herself to an earlier slumber, she willed herself not to think about fiery hair and hundreds of freckles, resolutely refused herself to think about tantalising scents and warmths that had only come with proximity, and absolutely, without-a-doubt commanded herself not to think about strikingly piercing, yet intensely comforting blue eyes.

If you've read this chapter and thought 'oh ffs don't tell me they go from enemies to lovers in five chapters', don't worry! Just because they've become more aware of each other's appearances, does absolutely not mean that they've come any closer to doing/saying/being anything. They've got a complicated path ahead, these two, which I sincerely hope you enjoy xx