It was late July, and outside the windows the heat shimmered like so many insubstantial ghosts. Inside the elegant palace, spells woven into the very stones of the building kept the air comfortably cool, enough so that the teens that moved through the hallways could wear the formal robes that courtesy dictated.

Hermione Granger moved quickly through these hallways, her robes stirring about her as she went. She had only just got out of her last meeting of the day, and she had to hurry to make sure the boy she was going to meet was still in his room, rather than off preparing for whatever social event was planned for them all that night. Or, worse, before she lost her resolve.

She knocked, hardly waiting for the curt summons to enter the chamber. It was very like her own, a few hallways away, although he had quite obviously brought his own bedding, and there was a certain elegance to the room not normally associated with a student's bedroom. The boy she was looking for was seated at his desk. He looked up at her through silver-blond hair that hung into his eyes, and at the sight of her, a sneer fitted itself so quickly onto his fine-boned features that it might have always been there.

"Get out, Mudblood," he said.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it before answering. "No. I want to talk to you."

"Too bad. I don't want to listen to you."

Hermione took a deep breath. Now that she was here, it was almost easier to go through with her plan. "I have a proposition for you."

"I'm not interested." He'd turned away from her, going back to his papers with an air that said she was boring, but not so much so that he wouldn't hex her soundly if she wasn't out of the room in three seconds.

She pushed on as if she hadn't heard him. "Do you want to piss of Ron royally? Why am I asking, of course you do. Well, here's your chance. Pretend to be my boyfriend when we go back to Hogwarts."

Lounging in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Draco Malfoy considered the events of the last month. Or, more specifically, one event, just over a week ago, just before he had returned from France. That mudblood Granger had asked him to pose as her boyfriend. He'd pointed out that, however mad it might make Potty and Weasel, he would lose considerable status in the eyes of his housemates. But the Slytherins didn't have to be lied to, she'd pointed out, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world. They only had to put the show on for Harry and Ron and the other Gryffindors. And Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, she'd amended, but Draco had never given a damn about them anyway. The whole of Slytherin could have a good laugh at Potty and Weasel's expense, it was true. The only thing that soured it was that Granger would be in on it.

Still, there was the risk that she would get cold feet and bail on him, leaving him look like an idiot, Gryffindor pride be damned. He'd set his cold, calculating mind on it, and come up with two stipulations to the deal. She'd agreed so readily he'd almost laughed in her face. It was so obvious why Gryffindor's always lost at chess: they never thought more than a single move ahead.

First, she couldn't tell anyone about the deal. Obviously, she thought he'd extended that taboo to himself as well, but he hadn't. It was one more weapon against Potty and Weasel, just in case Granger's plan screwed up (which is probably would, seeing as it was thought up by a Gryffindor). And second, she couldn't call it off. He, and he alone, would decide when their little farce was over. She obviously hadn't realized the significance of that: if he wanted to keep her tied to him all year, or even beyond, he could. They'd sealed the deal with magic, after all.

And for what? Just so she could finally have Weasel look at her as something other than a bushy-haired, buck-toothed mudblood. Gryffindors, he thought with disgust. Thinking with their stupid, sappy hearts instead of their heads.

A tap on the compartment door announced the arrival of Crabbe and Goyle. The two lugs took their seats, taking in the satisfied smirk on their leader's face. Matters would have to be explained to them in very simple terms, yes, but oh, what a grand joke this was going to be. If Weasel didn't notice the mudblood (which seemed likely), then either he'd turn against her completely (with no harm done to Draco) or die of an apoplectic rage at the idea that one of his friends dating Draco Malfoy. Of course, he hoped for the second outcome, but he was reasonably well grounded in reality, and knew it wasn't terribly likely. Nonetheless, Granger had unknowingly handed him a tool to have a lot of fun at Weasel's expense for many years to come.