A/N: The high school featured in this chapter is entirely fictional, but decidedly based on my own high school. If there is a school by this name, I apologize for any negative insinuations. I also apologize that this chapter is so short and took so long for me to produce. I will try to do better! Also, if anyone knows how to fix the paragraphs so they're all indented after I upload them that way, that would be great.
Chapter Three
Hermione opened her eyes and looked around. She was standing on the fifty yard line of an enormous football field. The end zones were painted a deep burgundy, and in gold lettering she could just make out the word "Cougars."
"Hey Kids! Get off the field!" an angry man's voice called out. Hermione turned around to see a stout balding man marching towards them with a clipboard in his hand.
"Right away, Coach G," Draco called out. Hermione bit her tongue to keep from laughing at him. He spoke with an American accent that sounded incredibly bizarre coming out of his mouth. The other students noticed it too.
"Draco! I didn't even recognize you," the coach apologized. "Please though, they've just fertilized so the field is a nice even shade of green for the pre-season. Would you and your friends mind taking the party somewhere else?"
"Not a problem," Draco flashed a brilliant white smile at the man.
"Tell your dad I say hi. Both of you will be out for tryouts this evening, right?" The coach looked worried for a second.
"Of course we will be," Draco reassured him. He turned to the others. "You heard the man. Pre-season! Off the grass!" Draco barked at everyone, Hermione in particular. Everyone broke into a jog towards the track.
"Is that the school?" Hermione heard Pansy whisper to Blaise. Both girls went into an immediate fit of giggles hearing Pansy's new accent. But indeed, Pansy was right. The brick building coming into their line of vision was none other than Kensington Preparatory School, known more familiarly to the students as "Kensie Prep."
Hermione looked at her watch and realized that she would be late for her counseling appointment if she kept dawdling. Picking up the pace of her walk, she saw a set of doors leading into the building almost straight ahead of her.
Once her eyes adjusted to the light, Hermione saw in front of her a long corridor that for some reason, she knew stretched the length of the entire school. Tentatively, she headed down this long hallway, taking note of the perpendicular hallway that she knew housed the auxiliary gym and the cafeteria.
It was the most bizarre feeling Hermione had ever experienced. She felt as though she knew exactly where she was going, even though she had never been inside this building before. Each classroom she passed seemed distantly familiar to her, and after seeing it for a few seconds she was able to recall the subject taught in each room as well as some of the teacher's names. Hermione shuddered involuntarily. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
Without any trouble at all, Hermione managed to find her counselor's office just fine. She had arrived exactly on time so she was shown into his office right away. Her counselor was a thin, balding man with little myopic eyes. He smiled warmly at Hermione and shut the door behind her before sitting back down at his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick folder.
"Hermione Granger is it?" He asked. Hermione nodded, as he opened the folder. He rifled through several sheets of paper and studied each one carefully in turn. Hermione could feel her heart pounding faster as each minute passed and he said nothing. The thin man pursed his lips and removed his glasses. He gazed at the manila folder for a few more seconds before he looked up at Hermione.
"Your academics are quite easily the strongest this school has seen in years, Miss Granger," he began. Hermione could hear in his tone of voice that there was something he wasn't saying. She felt a small knot form in the pit of her stomach.
"But," she prompted, hoping he would go on
"But your extra-curricular activities leave something to be desired. Colleges are really looking for well-rounded students. Ones who can maintain an excellent GPA while also participating in sports and clubs," He explained. Hermione's brow furrowed.
"But I have extracurriculars," she protested. He consulted the folder again, and then raised his eyebrows at her.
"Honor Society, photography club, and a failed attempt at starting a lemming protection society? Miss Granger, let me be completely honest with you," he paused, and Hermione had to agree that maybe her portfolio was a little bit one-sided. She gave herself a mental slap for the lemming project, which she assumed was the translation of SPEW into a non-magic crusade. "Most colleges want athletes. They really want someone who can contribute something to their school which will be a vital part of their community. I'm not saying you won't get accepted at your top choice school just because you're not captain of the softball team, but I am saying that maybe as a challenge to yourself for your senior year you might want to try expanding your horizons a little bit. Try to take a few leadership roles. Do something that no one expects of you. It can only help you at this point," he ended what Hermione was sure he considered to be an inspirational talk. She stood up, hoping that her knees would carry her at least to the girl's bathroom before they gave out. Giving her counselor a weak smile and a limp handshake, she did her best to shake it off before leaving the office.
After having taken a long hot bath, Hermione crawled onto her bed. Her hair thrown up into a lose topknot of sorts, and having taken her contacts out for the night, Hermione was working what she referred to as her librarian look. Moving Crookshanks, she sat down to consult her course selection booklet. Just like at Hogwarts, she found she was having trouble narrowing down the classes she wanted to take to fit the number of hours in the school day. Muggle schools offered so many exciting options that she wanted to explore while she had the chance. Deciding to start with the basics, Hermione selected an English class, a math class, a science class, and a history class. This left her with three more classes. She consulted her booklet to see which elective classes she would need. As she suspected, she had already met all the graduation requirements, meaning that she was free to take anything she wanted. So then she turned to her list of credits to see which classes she'd already taken.
As a member of the photography club, she decided it was probably best to be in a photography class, and she discovered she had already taken all of the available photography courses. Rifling through her papers, she found a letter to her counselor that she assumed he must have given her by accident. She set it aside so she would remember to return it later, when something in the letter caught her eye. The author of the letter was the head of the art department. Unable to fight her curiosity, Hermione scanned the letter and discovered it did belong in her folder after all. It was a letter of recommendation written for her suggesting that she belonged in the Advanced Placement Portfolio class. Well, that took care of her photography class. She had already met her foreign language requirement, as well as her performing arts requirement. Heaving a sigh, she was just glad that a public speaking course fulfilled that performing requirement, as she was fairly certain that if she'd taken a drama class she would have only humiliated herself, and she knew she was almost completely tone deaf, so any sort of music was out of the question.
This left her with almost no options for other electives. She had already taken most of the art classes offered, and those she hadn't taken were only because she'd been so advanced the teachers had let her skip them. Gourmet Foods, Weightlifting, Graphic Design, Leadership, Marketing, and Technology Studies were the only options available to her at this point. Right away she was able to eliminate gourmet foods and weightlifting. She had no desire to spend her time studying how to make cookies, and she had already met her physical education requirements. Despite not actually having taken the class as her entire transcript was fabricated by Hogwarts, Hermione was sure every long minute of that class had been sheer torture for her. She could almost see herself in a frumpy gym uniform that didn't fit anyone right, looking incredibly out of place next to all the well-groomed athletic girls who had other school-issued athletic apparel to wear that actually flattered their figures from being on sports teams since their freshman years. No, weightlifting was not for her.
Graphic Design on the other hand seemed like a viable option. She'd never touched a computer before in her life, even though she had one sitting right there on her desk. From the careful inspection she'd made of her bedroom, she knew she'd won it in an essay competition and it came with a free upgrade every two years until she graduated from graduate school. But that was assuming she got there. Yes, Graphic Design would work. Reading the description of Technology Studies, she eliminated that class as well upon realizing it wasn't a computer class but more of a construction class. That left Marketing and Leadership. Her counselor's advice to take some leadership roles kept echoing in her head, and on a whim she chose Leadership. Then she reread the course description and discovered that admission to the course required an application, due the previous spring. Marketing it would have to be.
Confident that she'd finally finished her class schedule, she set all of her school papers on her desk and turned on her computer. If she was going to take a class that relied on her knowledge of computers, there was no time like the present to start figuring it out.
She had discovered the user manuals filed neatly in one of her desk drawers and was just mastering use of the mouse when a her mother knocked on the open door, and came in with a tray in her hands and a thick leather book under one arm.
"Can we talk?" she asked. Hermione nodded, and motioned for her mom to sit down on the bed. Her mother set the tray down to reveal a plate piled high with chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and two glasses of milk. Hermione moved from her desk to sit next to her mom. "I'm sorry I lost my temper," Her mother began. Hermione gave her a reassuring smile, and almost wished she'd been there for the argument so she could be more sincere in accepting the apology. "I dug out my high school yearbook," she offered, running her fingers over the cover of the book that now sat perched primly on her lap. Hermione shifted the tray of milk and cookies to the trunk that sat at the foot of her bed so that she could sit next to her mother. "I want you to understand that I realize you and I are different people. I just want to show you who I was in high school, and maybe we'll understand each other a little bit better." Hermione nodded and her mother opened the book.
They stared at the pictures, Hermione seeing all of this for the first time drunk it in almost in awe while her mother gazed longingly with a small smile on her face as she fondly remembered her high school days. It is one of the strange phenomena in life that some children end up almost as polar opposites of their parents, and Hermione was one of those people. Her mother had probably never had anyone tell her that she was lacking in extracurriculars. A picture of her mother doing some new and different school-related activity was on almost every page. Hermione swore her mother must have been in every club possible, in addition to being head cheerleader, homecoming queen, student body president, and in charge of the spirit committee.
"Is that Dad?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence. A wide smile spread across her mother's face.
"Yes, isn't he handsome?" Her mother ran a finger over his bright smile. He was posed in his football uniform, captain of the team. Her parents were the picture of the all-American dream: High school sweethearts, the quarterback of the football team and the captain of the cheerleading squad, they went to the same college where they stayed in the same roles they'd had in high school, got married a year after they graduated from Harvard, and almost 9 months to the day later, Hermione was born. Their house was built by her father's grandfather and even came with a white picket fence. Hermione couldn't imagine being any more different from them. "I just want you to be happy, Hermione. When you were a little girl, all those dance lessons made you happy so I just thought if you went out for the dance team you might make some more friends at school and get to dance again. But if you're really not interested, then I'll respect your decision," her mother explained. Hermione felt a cold liquid rush through her stomach. Go out for the dance team? Hermione Granger? Everyone at Hogwarts would have a real laugh at that. But wasn't the dance team considered a sport? And hadn't her counselor said colleges liked athletes?
"I'll think about it some more," she said, before she knew what she was saying. Her mother looked surprised, but her next expression told Hermione that she would love nothing more than to be able to say her daughter was on the dance team.
"Don't feel like I'm putting any pressure on you, okay? This really needs to be something you do because you want to do it," her mother quickly informed her. Hermione nodded.
"I know," she said softly. Her mother stood up.
"Well it's awfully late," she observed. She tucked her yearbook under her arm and lifted the tray. "Sweet dreams," she said. Hermione stood up and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek.
"Goodnight," she said. Her mother smiled and left the room. Hermione closed the door behind her and went back to the computer.
"What do you mean I can't take graphic design?" Hermione gaped at the woman who was entering her course schedule for the next year.
"The course is full," the blonde woman enunciated each word very slowly as though Hermione might be dumb. Hermione took a deep breath.
"What are my options then?" Hermione asked. The woman typed some information into the computer and then scanned the list that popped up.
"Leadership, Technical Studies, or Gourmet Foods," she said, her voice flat.
"I'll take leadership then," Hermione sighed. It would have to do.
"Then I need you to get this form signed. Mrs. Hollins' room is right down the hall," The woman said gesturing. Hermione took the form and headed out the door.
After she left with a copy of her finished schedule, Hermione wandered down towards the gym. The sports teams had set up tables with information about tryouts in the gym foyer. Though she was still unsure about trying out, Hermione figured she had better pick up a copy of the forms just in case. She wandered over towards the dance team table and tried to look casual. Much to her chagrin, there were several girls already at the table. Hermione recognized them as members of the dance team in years past.
"Can I help you?" The petite blonde behind the table asked Hermione, giving her a patronizing smile. The girls around the table all turned to see who she was talking to. When they saw Hermione, it was obvious from the looks on their faces that she was the absolute last person they wanted to be seeing there.
"You're trying out for the dance team?" an indignant voice shrieked. Hermione looked up to see Blaise joining the blonde behind the table. Instead of answering, Hermione busied herself by picking up the sign up sheet on the table.
"Blaise, please," a kind voice interjected. Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see a blonde-haired woman in a polo shirt standing over her shoulder. For some reason, the woman looked oddly familiar. "Hermione is allowed to try out just the same as everyone," she informed the cluster of girls. "I'm the coach of the team. You can call me Kerry," she told Hermione. "Try-outs start tomorrow at noon. You need to have all of these forms filled out," she said, handing Hermione a packet.
"Here you go," the blonde girl added, passing Hermione a t-shirt. Hermione thanked her, smiled and gathered all of her things.
"See you tomorrow!" Kerry waved goodbye to Hermione. As she was walking away from the table, Hermione heard someone remark, "At least she learned how to dress." Hermione mentally thanked Parvati and Lavender for being so insistent about the clothing. Almost in a complete daze, Hermione made her way to the front of the school.
Her mother was waiting outside when Hermione came out of the school. She waved enthusiastically as if Hermione had not already seen her. Hermione pretended not to have seen the wave, but walked towards the black Lexus anyway.
"It's such a pretty day, I would have driven the Miata but it only has two seats," her mother apologized. Hermione nodded. "Did you get your classes?"
"Graphic Design was full, so I got into Leadership," Hermione shortened the story.
"That's awesome!" Mrs. Granger cooed. "What's the t-shirt for?" she asked. Hermione almost cringed, but she handed her mother the packet of dance team information. "You're going to try out?" Her mother exclaimed. "Hermione, that's great!"
"Mom, shh," Hermione tried to quiet her. She looked around quickly and her stomach flipped over when she saw that Draco had stopped right next to her mother.
"What are you trying out for?" he asked, looking at her. Hermione was at a loss for words, so he craned his neck to look at the papers in her mother's hands. "Dance team? Christ, Hermione, it's about time."
"That's what I've been telling her," Mrs. Granger informed him. "She's been dancing since she was old enough to walk."
"I remember," he raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who was almost in shock. "I've seen her in that stupid Christmas show every single year since she was nothing but a candy cane."
"I know, Draco," Hermione's mother smiled at him. "And now she's finally a snowflake," she said with a dreamy look in her eyes that only mothers get.
"The Nutcracker?" Hermione asked, suddenly realizing what they were talking about. Draco rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Hermione," he said as though addressing a small child. "Don't you remember?" he asked her. Hermione bit her lip and crossed her arms as if she knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Alright, well, let's get out of here," Hermione's mother interjected. "We'll be late for lunch," she explained.
"I'm starving," Draco commented, opening the back door of the car. Hermione looked at him incredulously, wondering what he was doing. "What? I haven't eaten in the past three hours!" he informed her. Hermione rolled her eyes and got into the front seat, next to her mother.
"You did remember that we're meeting Draco's mother for lunch at the country club, right?" Mrs. Granger asked Hermione, who nodded. "I brought your tennis stuff. I thought you might want to play for a little while. But your bathing suit is in there too, just in case," she told Hermione, gesturing to the bag in the backseat.
"Thanks, Mom," Hermione replied. Tennis and swimming she could handle. She had done those things every summer her entire life. But she definitely had not taken a dance lesson since she was very young, and with tryouts being the very next day she was starting to freak out.
The car ride to the country club was a mercifully short one. Hermione was dying to ask Draco how he had gotten his memory to work so fast. Hers was working, but it took her almost twice as long to remember everything that Draco did. All she had to do was wait for the right opportunity.
Fortunately, she did not have to wait very long. Their mothers headed off to the restroom almost immediately after they had ordered their lunch.
"How are you doing this?" Hermione whispered to him, leaning over the table so he could hear her.
"Doing what?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. "Your hair is getting in the butter," he added. Hermione sat up and wiped the butter from her hair. She took a knife and scraped that part off the butter and wiped it on her plate.
"How do you remember all this stuff? My memory is so slow," she informed him.
"Practice, Hermione," he said, sitting up straight so he could keep his voice low. "Whenever you have a spare second, try to remember random things. Like, summer vacations," he suggested, pausing for her benefit. "Do you remember that summer we all went to Cancun?" he asked. Almost as soon as he said it, she remembered it.
"Yes," she replied cautiously. "And our fathers got arrested on the golf course?"
"No! That was Hawaii. Cancun was the time when our mothers got drunk and knocked over the ice sculptures at the breakfast buffet," he corrected. Hermione sunk into her seat. "You'll get it," he consoled her. "It's probably just all that muggle blood of yours that slows things down," he joked. Hermione bit her tongue and looked away. She was not going to start fighting with him in the middle of the restaurant. Thankfully, their waiter appeared with the salads and she had something to distract her.
"Hermione, wake up!" Mrs. Granger said cheerily, coming into her daughter's room. Hermione rolled over in her bed and looked at the clock through heavy eyelids. "Come on, out of bed," Mrs. Granger yanked the covers back.
"I'm up," Hermione protested. Really, she had no intention of getting out of her bed. Her stomach was tied in knots, and she really just felt like crying.
"I know you're nervous, but you need to get up now so you can eat something," her mother prompted, handing her a bathrobe. Hermione grudgingly wrapped herself up and padded down the stairs after her mother.
After forcing down some toast and yogurt, Hermione made her way back up the stairs and got dressed. She found a leotard and tights in one of her drawers, and slid some sweatpants and the t-shirt they had given her the previous day on top of that.
"Want me to braid your hair?" Mrs. Granger offered, tapping on the door. Hermione nodded and sat down in her chair. "You're going to do just fine, Hermione. Just take some deep breaths and pretend like no one is watching," she reassured. For some reason, Hermione knew that it would not be as simple as her mother made it sound.
"Hermione Granger?" Kerry stuck her head out the cafeteria door and surveyed the collection of girls sitting in the hall. Hermione made her way past everyone and into the cafeteria. She had made it to part two of the tryout process. The first part had been easy – all one hundred girls were in the room at the same time. The captains had taught them a routine, and they had all danced at one time. Some of the girls clearly had no experience. At the break, the group had been cut down to fifty girls and each girl was being called into the room one at a time.
A table was set up at one end of the room, and Kerry headed for the empty chair. Sitting next to her was Blaise, and on her other side was the petite blonde from the day before. "I think you know Blaise and Stacey, our captains?" Kerry gestured. "Alright, we just want to see you do the routine we taught the group earlier. Are you ready?" she asked. Hermione nodded, and Stacey turned the music on. Hermione took a few deep breaths and focused her eyes on the wall behind the captains.
When she had finished the routine, Kerry motioned for her to come over to the table.
"How long have you been dancing?" she asked. Hermione thought for a second.
"Since I was three," she replied.
"You understand that the dance team is a huge commitment, correct? You will have practice everyday after school, performances at each football and basketball game, and then there's competition."
"I know," Hermione replied. Her heart was pounding. Part of her wanted to walk away and never come back, but the other part was screaming that she knew she deserved a spot on the team.
"I have room for twenty girls," Kerry said. "I will be calling you tonight to let you know if you made the team or not," she informed Hermione, standing up. She shook Hermione's hand. "Have a good day."
"Thank you," Hermione replied. She felt like she had been tricked. Slowly, she walked out of the cafeteria and gathered her belongings.
When she got outside, her mother was nowhere in sight. She went to sit down on a bench, and then saw Draco's mother walking towards her.
"Hermione, your mother asked me to pick you up when I picked up Draco," Narcissa Malfoy informed her. Hermione smiled and picked her bag up. Draco was already waiting in the car, so Hermione got into the back seat. Part of her was relieved that she would not have to recount her tryout for her mother, but that was only until she remembered that her mother was at home getting ready for a dinner party she was throwing.
"Coach G made me a captain," Draco announced as soon as his mother got into the car. She rolled her eyes at him.
"We saw that one coming, didn't we, Hermione?" Narcissa asked her.
"Only for a few miles," Hermione replied.
"Did you make the team?" Draco asked her, turning to look at her. "I heard Blaise was a captain."
"Oh, is she?" Narcissa interrupted. "Well, she'll put in a good word for you, won't she, Hermione?"
"Of course she will, Mother," Draco replied before Hermione could answer.
"The coach is going to call us tonight to let us know who made the team," Hermione replied instead. Draco rolled his eyes.
"She just doesn't want to deal with all of those weepy girls in person," he chided. He turned around to face the front. "Mom, what did you decide about the parking pass?" he asked. Narcissa heaved a sigh.
"Draco, your father and I are still thinking about it," she finally answered. Hermione stared out the window as they drove home. She could care less if Draco got a parking pass or not. For some reason, a memory of Draco showing off his new car popped into her head. He had gotten a brand new Jaguar convertible for his birthday the year before, and insisted that he drive it everywhere until a few weeks ago when it had been vandalized at the mall. It was currently being repaired, which explained why he needed rides everywhere.
Hermione had not even thought to ask about her own car. Did she have a car? Hermione looked down at her hands. No, she had no need for a car, and supposed she had never expressed any desire to have one. Much to her great displeasure, Draco had been given the task of transporting her to and from school the previous year.
"Holy Shit," Draco commented suddenly from the front seat. Hermione looked up at him, expecting his mother to scold him for his language, when Narcissa looked out the window to see what he was looking at.
"Holy Shit!" she echoed, catching a glimpse of whatever Draco was looking at. Hermione followed their line of sight out the car windows to her house.
"Oh my god," she remarked. Suddenly she felt like sinking into the ground. The entire driveway was full of white vans, some for catering and some for rentals. In front of the house, the street was almost blocked off by delivery trucks. Narcissa guided the car expertly through the mess and parked as soon as she saw an open spot. Before Hermione could protest, both Narcissa and Draco had hopped out of the car and were headed toward the house.
"Your mother is going to need some help," Narcissa informed Hermione. Draco heaved a sigh. "Can it!" Narcissa snapped, making Draco close his mouth before he could complain.
They found Hermione's mother almost immediately upon entering the house. She was standing in the kitchen with a crowd of about twenty people around her, and she looked completely at ease.
"Hermione!" She exclaimed, seeing her daughter. "How'd it go?" she asked. Hermione shrugged. "That's fantastic! Karen brought you a dress; it's on your bed. Hors d'oeuvres are at five," she rattled off this information as though Hermione were one of the people she had to give orders to. "Narcissa, I'm so glad to see you. Can you go supervise the tables? I really don't know if he understood a word I was saying," Mrs. Granger turned her attention away from Hermione, who took the opportunity to slip away. Karen, she recalled, was her mother's personal shopper. If her memory served her correctly, she was much better than the last two her mother had been using. Hermione shook her head in disbelief. And Draco had been worried about life without house-elves?
She opened the door to her room and almost instantly felt relieved. It was much quieter up here, far away from all the hustle and bustle of party preparations. What she wanted most of all right now was to take a nice long bath. As she pulled her shirt off, she moaned slightly, her sore muscles starting to scream at her. Though her memory might have been trained to dance, her body certainly was not used to it. Hermione turned around and unceremoniously tossed her t-shirt into the hamper.
"Knock, knock," Draco said, pushing the door open just then. Instinctively, Hermione's arms flew up to cover her chest. They then fell to her sides as she remembered she still had her leotard on. "Calm down, it wouldn't be the first time," he remarked.
"What?" Hermione asked. Draco rolled his eyes.
"You haven't been practicing, have you?" he scolded. "Christmas Vacations. Go," he said, as though he were giving her a writing prompt. Hermione closed her eyes for a minute, and saw herself at a ski lodge. Her eyes flew open a half second later. New Year's Eve. Champagne. Hot Tub. She blushed, and Draco smirked.
"Hermione, our mothers have been best friends since we were born. That means you and I have spent a great deal of quality time together. It's like you and I are best friends by default," he explained. Hermione could not see a reason to argue with that logic. "Go take your bath, I'm just going to check my email," he flashed her a brilliant white grin. Hermione was glad she had at least figured out what email was. She took her sweatpants off and tossed them in the hamper as well. Just as she was pulling a pair of panties out of her drawer, Draco gasped in mock horror.
"I know you've seen my underwear before," Hermione retorted. One of her parents' parties was flashing in her mind. At this remark, Draco snorted.
"You're awfully fond of showing them off once you've had a bit to drink," he defended himself. "And that's not what I was going on about," he added.
"Well, what's the matter then?" Hermione asked.
"You haven't got instant messenger," he informed her. Hermione sighed. He had beaten her again.
"No, but you can put it on there if you want," she tried to pretend like she knew what he was talking about.
"Well, if you don't know what it does, then why bother?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.
"Fine, be a jerk," she sighed and headed for the bathroom.
Once she was soaking in a nice warm bath, up to her ears in bubbles, Hermione tried to remember some important things. She took Draco's advice and started small with little things like vacations, and holidays. So far she had seen that Draco was right – their families did almost everything together. Another crucial bit of information she had gathered was that there was usually alcohol involved in their family get-togethers, and she and Draco were not shy about helping themselves. Which brought her to the point that she had been the most curious about, but had also been dreading.
"Alright, Sex," she thought. At first, all she got were little flashes of movies and Sex Ed classes. "Am I still a virgin, then?" she wondered. Nothing happened, so she took that to mean yes. Well, that was a relief; at least she had never slept with Draco. At this thought, images of her and Draco sharing the same bed on vacations popped into her head. She almost laughed out loud.
But just because she was still a virgin did not mean she had not done other things with Draco. "First Kiss," she thought, and almost as she had predicted, a memory of kissing Draco popped into her head. His lips were soft, and he had tasted like bubble gum. It was a sweet memory that brought a smile to her face. They had only been twelve or thirteen, so it had been an innocent kiss. "You were friends then," her inner voice told her.
That assertion brought her to her next question. If she and Draco had spent so much time together, why did they still act like enemies? What had happened to ruin their friendship? Almost instantly a memory came flooding back to her, and her stomach flipped upside down. She could tell this was a memory that haunted her often, because it was so vivid.
Hermione was standing in the school cafeteria, with her lunch tray. It must have been her first year of middle school. She was looking at Draco, surrounded by kids she did not know. Normally, he would make room for her and insist she be included in everything he did. But today he just ignored her, even when she called his name.
"Who is that?" a girl asked him. He did not even look at Hermione.
"No one, just ignore her," his words had hurt her worse than she had ever been hurt before. Her jaw had dropped, and she felt her eyes welling up with tears. She just looked down at the ground and dumped her lunch in the nearest garbage can. Ever since that day, Hermione had eaten lunch in the library, hiding behind the books. She had been far too embarrassed to tell her mother, so until she got to high school, she just pretended like she had a bunch of new friends to eat lunch with.
Hermione brushed a tear from her cheek, surprised that such an old memory could still hurt her so badly. "He's never really apologized for it," she reminded herself. "Have I ever told him how much that hurt?" she asked herself. No response came, so she assumed that was another no.
A sharp knock on the door jilted her from her world of memories. She sat up straight in the tub and looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost three, so it could not be her mother's stylist yet.
"Hermione?" a muffled male voice called.
"Yes, Draco?" she was covering her chest now, unconsciously.
"I hate to be a bother, but can I come in?" he asked. Something about the way he said it made Hermione relent. She pulled the curtain around the tub and unlocked the door. It came flying open so fast her arm was almost snapped in two. She pulled it back into the tub with her and rubbed it. Before she knew what was happening, she could hear the unmistakable sound of someone peeing in the toilet right next to her. "Oh gross," she thought, and sank far enough into the tub that her ears were covered. For some reason, it had not occurred to her that Draco might actually need to use the bathroom.
Once she felt she had given him enough time to leave, she leaned forward and opened the drain. Standing up, she reached her hand around the curtain to grab for her towel. Finally, her hand closed around the soft terrycloth and she dried herself off before wrapping up in it.
She stepped out of the tub, and almost ran right into Draco. He handed her the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, not really knowing what else to do.
"Thanks," she replied, after a long awkward pause. They both just stood there for a second before Draco decided he had better leave. Hermione locked the door behind him and towel dried her hair after putting on her underwear and the bathrobe.
When she emerged, Draco was lying on her bed, reading the little notes she had made on the packet from Madam Meurteuil. Hermione was not really sure what to do, so she just sat down at her dressing table and started brushing her hair.
"What shampoo do you use?" Draco asked suddenly. Hermione looked up at his reflection in the mirror.
"I dunno, whatever was in the bathroom," she shrugged. "Why do you ask?"
"It smells good, I can smell it from here," he informed her. She shrugged again and pretended to be very interested in a rather frustrating tangle in her hair.
There was a quick knock at the door, and then her mother came flying in.
"Oh good, you're out of the shower!" Mrs. Granger remarked. "Oh, hello, Draco," she seemed surprised to see him in Hermione's room. "Uh, Hermione, this is Mindy, she's training under Fredericka. She'll be doing your hair tonight," Mrs. Granger turned to Draco. "Draco, I think your mother will be leaving soon to get ready. We'll see you again later," she told him pointedly. He flashed her a grin, and tucked the packet under Hermione's pillow before he left the room.
"What was that all about?" Mrs. Granger asked Hermione, in reference to the packet. Hermione shrugged.
"That was just an old paper I wrote last year," she lied, refusing to meet her mother's eyes. "What do you want to do with my hair?" she tried to change the subject. Mindy stepped forward.
"Just something simple, like a French twist or a bun will suffice," Mrs. Granger waved her hand dismissively. "Hermione, I'm not sure it's entirely appropriate for Draco to be in here while you're in your bathrobe," she gave her daughter a look that plainly said she was fishing for some information.
"Nothing was going on, Mom," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Draco and I are like brother and sister," she reminded her mother.
"Well, keep the door open from now on," Mrs. Granger admonished. "I'm going to go get ready." And with that, she left Hermione alone with Mindy.
One hour later, Hermione emerged from her room wearing a short black dress. The top half of her hair had been swept up into a bun, while the rest had been curled upwards at the end. Glancing in the mirror in the hallway, she had to admit that Karen had done a good job picking out her outfit. Hermione timidly pushed open the door to her mother's bedroom and peered inside.
Her mother was sitting on a stool surrounded by three attendants, one doing her hair, another doing her makeup, and the last one holding small black trays in front of her mother. Hermione stepped into the room, wondering how she would get used to this lifestyle.
"Oh, Hermione, you look fantastic!" Her mother gushed. "Any word on the dance team yet?" she asked. Hermione felt like screaming, but instead shook her head no. "Rats. Oh well, come and pick out some jewelry to wear."
With those words, the attendant with the black trays turned to Hermione and pulled a fresh tray out of his box. Despite her best attempts, Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the contents of the tray. Sitting before her, nestled in black velvet, were several very sparkly, very expensive, diamond necklaces, each with a pair of earrings to match. She looked at each necklace in turn before choosing the one in the middle. The attendant fastened it around her neck and handed her the earrings.
"Let's see," her mother insisted. Hermione turned to show her mother, who nodded approvingly. "You've always had such good taste in jewelry," she commended, standing up. She headed for the other side of the room where she slipped into her dress. "Ready, Hermione?' she asked.
"As ready as I'm going to be," Hermione admitted. Her mother smiled.
"Well, let's get this party started," Mrs. Granger proclaimed, throwing the doors to her bedroom wide open.
After the party was in full swing, and everyone had eaten, Hermione found that she was having no trouble pretending she was used to this sort of an affair. All she had to do was walk around and people approached her. Hermione was almost grateful to her mother for throwing this party because her memory had improved vastly as each guest asked her if she remembered some different random event that had happened. Her memory was becoming quite sharp.
She had just bid a lovely evening to Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, an elderly couple that lived down the street, when Draco appeared at her side. He pushed a champagne flute into her hand.
"Want to dance?" he asked her. She raised her eyebrows at him suspiciously. He sighed, "Didn't think so," and took a sip from his own glass of champagne. "I thought I'd rescue you anyway," he informed her. "Chivalry's not entirely dead, you know."
"I appreciate it," Hermione smiled at him. "You look nice," she offered.
"Thanks," He said dryly. "Can-"
Draco was interrupted by someone in a uniform tapping Hermione on the shoulder. She turned, but did not recognize the man. He held out a portable phone to you.
"The phone is for you," he said in an accented voice. Hermione took it and headed for the veranda.
"Hello?" she said tentatively into the phone. She had no idea who would be calling her, except-
"Hermione? It's Coach Kerry," the familiar voice bubbled. "I was just calling to let you know that you've made the dance team."