Theretofore on GG:

"Did you kiss him?" Faye asked and her flat mate paused. She waited a moment, then repeated her question. "Did you?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered, and Faye lifted an eyebrow.

"What was that? A yes? I knew it... I knew you had a thing for him."

"It was just a little peck!" Hermione defended. "It didn't mean anything but goodnight. Speaking of which," she said, ending the conversation with the slam of her bedroom door.

"You just keep telling yourself that, then!"

-----------------------------------

Chapter 4: Quidditch 101

"Dammit! Faye? Would you mind terribly going shopping after class today? I completely forgot," Hermione called from the kitchen upon realization that the carton of eggs in the refrigerator was in fact empty. Faye, doing crunches on the living room floor, groaned and sat up.

"Why can't you?" she complained, looking over the couch at her friend. Hermione turned around, abandoning her search for a makeshift lunch, and started toward the door.

"I have... plans," she said passively, putting on her coat and tying a scarf around her neck. Faye groaned and fell backward onto the carpet.

"Again? That's the third time this week, and it's only Thursday! Honestly, why don't you just move in with the bloke?" she whined, starting again on her sit-ups. Hermione smiled complacently, shaking her head.

"He hasn't asked me yet," she joked, readying herself for the outdoors as she fed the conversation. When Faye made no movement nor showed any interest in the task presented, Hermione stomped her foot. "Please? I promise I'll take your next turn."

"And if I say no?" asked the blonde.

"To me? Nothing. To you? You eat dry cereal until tomorrow evening."

"What?" Faye called in exasperation, sitting up again, hair disheveled and eyes burning. "Where are you going to be all this time, then?"

"I have to mentor until seven, and then Draco invited me to watch the Quidditch Cup with him; it'll end about ten at the earliest. I have to work tomorrow," Hermione explained, but Faye looked suspicious.

"All day?"

"Yep," Hermione answered, nodding. "Accident in the carpool lane; two families, nine members." Faye frowned, suddenly sympathetic.

"Children?" she asked, sounding sad. Hermione nodded.

"Four, ages three months to sixteen years."

"That's so sad," the younger girl commented, sighing deeply. "I'll be depressed all day; good show." Hermione shrugged.

"I'd imagine you'd be used to it by now."

"I think that job is going to your head, Manny. You're not touched at all... nine people; four children. A baby..."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, nodding. "But I didn't know them. And even if I did, everyone dies; Fate can be cruel. I can't do anything but let them rest in peace." There was a silence, in which Faye began slightly rocking, as if praying, giving the lost souls a naïve farewell. Hermione broke it unceremoniously. "Hello? Groceries?"

"Yeah, sure," Faye deadpanned, silently going back to her crunches. Hermione grinned.

"Thanks, love; I'll see you tomorrow," she said, waving passively, and swept out the door, leaving Faye to carry on alone.

-x- -x- -x-

Leaving her home, Hermione apparated to the outskirts of Wizarding West Canterbury and made her way briskly down the street to the children's recreational center. As a child, before Hogwarts, she had paid an exponential amount of time at the center in her home town and, as an adult, she thought it only fair that she spare some time every week or so to help give back. For the last two years, Hermione had been the adoptive big sister of a fourteen year old muggle named Marin Croft. She was a scrawny girl, with an alcoholic mother and a father trying desperately to support the three of them on a meager salary. He was pressured and carried with him a temper fit for any Malfoy; Hermione would bet her life that he abused Marin, perhaps even sexually, but the girl always denied any questions concerning the matter.

Marin was waiting in the gymnasium bleachers for Hermione that day, huddled in the corner and watching the boys on the floor play basketball. Her mentor entered and looked around for only a few moments, grinning as she found her unorthodox sibling. She made the journey up the stairs to the frail girl, sitting with knees drawn while wearing a faded and torn pair of jeans, topped with a hooded cotton sweatshirt. Marin looked up as she heard Hermione approach, blue eyes hidden by a curtain of ebony locks. A tiny smile crossed her lips.

"Hello, love," Hermione chimed as she sat down. "How're things?"

"You're late," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. Hermione nodded sadly.

"I know; I'm sorry; I had a little spat with my flat mate this morning. She's a lazy one, that girl; didn't want to go grocery shopping. Can you believe that?"

"Oh, no, Hermione," Marin exclaimed, sarcastic. "I just can't. How could anyone not get excited over eggs and bread? Especially when trading paper notes for them? That'd be the thrill of my day." Hermione laughed, pulling the skinny girl into a hug.

"If you're good, maybe we'll go later and ensure that I have bread and milk for dinner tomorrow night," she suggested playfully, keeping her arms looped around Marin's shoulders and resting her chin in the black tresses atop her head.

"Oh, but I... I have homework, you see. You have to help me; we won't have time," she quickly excused, pretending to sound nervous, and Hermione laughed, pulling back.

"That reminds me," she said. "How was your maths exam?" Marin's smile dropped, and she turned her eyes to the floor. Hermione's lips turned downward as well, her heart going out to the girl. "That bad?"

"I got seventy six percent," she admitted, sighing, and Hermione accompanied her.

"How? We went over those formulas a thousand times!" she exclaimed, but kept her tone low, voice merely filled with disappointment.

"I know," Marin defended, all most brought to tears. "I know, all right? I messed up; I can't do this, I never could. School isn't right for me." Hermione shook her head.

"It's all right, Marin, it isn't the end of the world; it's just one test. There'll be another one, you'll see," she promised, but the younger girl pulled away, tugging down the sleeves of her top.

"My father doesn't see it quite like that," she mumbled, turning her face to the floor. Hermione's frown increased.

"Did he do something?" she asked softly, caringly. "What's that? Let me see your arm."

"It's nothing," she promised, turning slightly away. "I just..."

"Let me see it, Marin." Hermione's voice this time was demanding and firm, but not so harsh as to frighten the girl. Slowly, she complied, pulling up the sleeve to expose a deep purple hand print surrounding her wrist. Hermione made a tiny moan of displeasure at the sight, reaching gingerly to touch the mark. "What happened, baby?" she asked, meaning to pull the girl into another embrace, but Marin pulled away.

"Nothing; I told you. I was reading comic books with Billy Dusto in his tree house and I slipped when I try to get down; he caught me. It's just a little bruise, get off it," she said defensively, pulling her sleeve to completely cover her hand. Hermione sighed.

"You know you can tell me anything, Marin. I wouldn't breathe a word if you didn't want me to; you shouldn't keep things bottled up, love. It's okay to put a little of your burden on someone else's shoulders."

"Hermione," Marin interrupted, turning quickly to face her mentor. She enunciated her words clearly, speaking in sharp, hyphenated syllables. "Nothing happened. I'm fine, why do you always make these assumptions? I've told you a thousand times, nothing is wrong with me! My father may be balmy, but he wouldn't hurt me. He'd never..."

"All right," Hermione said, holding up her hands in defense. "I know; I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you, you know. I'd feel guilty if anything were to happen to you."

"Well, don't bother," Marin suggested. "It's not doing either of us any good." There was a pause within which Marin stared at the basketball players on the court and Hermione watched her, saddened.

"Maybe..." she started, somewhat slowly, and the dark haired girl looked up with a firm countenance. "Maybe I could come twice a week to help you with your studies instead of just once. I'm sure I could schedule work around it; it might benefit you. Four hours at a time is bound to get tiring; if we did it twice a week we could shorten the sessions a little, make more time for racquetball or shopping. You'd be fresher and more absorbent. Do you think you could come by?" Hermione suggested, but Marin began shaking her head long before the full plan was exposed.

"You already do too much for me, Hermione. I don't want to waste any more of your time; you have to have a life too..." she said in decline, but Hermione laughed aloud.

"I spend all my free time with Draco; he's bound to get sick of me soon if I don't give him some breathing room," she joked, glad for the lighter mood. Marin looked up, eyes alive with curiosity.

"Draco? Who's Draco?" she asked eagerly and Hermione pretended to be embarrassed, blushing and turning away. She hadn't told Marin about Draco yet, afraid it might make the girl feel guilty for the already minimal amount of time she took up in Hermione's life. She had always been that way; afraid to impose. Now, Hermione mentioned it in hope of cheering her up. It seemed to work. "You've a boyfriend?" Marin guessed. "Hermione! For shame! How long?"

"Just about a month now..."

"What! Why didn't you tell me?" Marin exclaimed, face brightened and cheerful. "I need details, I want to know everything. I can't believe you didn't say a thing! And all this time, I never knew."

"Well, I suppose I owe it to you now, don't I? Hm... how about we talk over ice cream? I've missed lunch and I'm famished. Maths can wait, I think."

"No complaints here," Marin agreed, jumping to her feet in excitement. "Is he cute? Where did you meet him? Have you kissed? Snogged? Slept together?"

"Marin!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise, standing to follow her student.

"What?" she asked defensively, holding up both hands. "It's girl talk; my counselor says it's good for me."

"I'll have to have a chat with her, then..."

-x- -x- -x-

Hermione apparated directly to Draco's store, ushered herself in and walked directly through the door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only', completely ignoring an elderly woman looking greedily at the children's toys in the corner. The matron looked up at the young girl, but she disappeared before the old woman could utter so much as a hello.

Hermione dashed through the noisy work room and made her way up the staircase in the corner. She made to open the door and invite herself in, but was hindered by an immobile knob. Amused, she rapped her knuckles against the wood.

"Who is it?" Draco asked from the other side, opening his peephole and shedding a beam of light into the dark entryway. Hermione crammed herself into the corner beside the door, just out of eye sight. "Hello?" Draco voiced, confused, and she clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to keep from giggling. When he was again unappeased with lack of answer, Draco opened the door and stuck his blond head out, scanning the twilight with creased eyebrows. It was only when the moment was perfect did she spring from the darkness with an incoherent, tribal growl. He jumped back, startled, and his face displayed surprise only for a moment before it melded into a grin. Hermione laughed airily, lips parted and eyes sparkling. Draco watched her for a moment, before closing the door and separating himself from her. Hermione's laughter melted.

"Come on, Draco, let me in!" she called playfully, knocking her knuckles against the wooden frame of the door.

"No," Draco said sternly, and the clink of a door chain could be heard sliding into its holster. Hermione frowned.

"Please tell me you're not mad," she said, lips curling upward again in amusement. "Aw, come on, I'm sorry."

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," he called back jokingly, now quite far from the door. "You're early; I'm not ready for you yet. Busy yourself elsewhere and come back in a quarter hour."

"Draco!" Hermione whined, leaning her face to the door. He didn't bother to respond. "You have to come out; right now."

"And why is that?"

"You have a customer downstairs," she told him proudly, assured he would have no choice but to exit his hideaway.

"A what?" he asked, voice growing louder as he came again to the door. "How did they get in?"

"I'd imagine through the door. You left it unlocked," she reminded him, and a small knock sounded, as if he'd bumped his head to the door.

"For you, not for them."

"I guess they weren't aware of that," Hermione said, smiling. Draco was silent for a moment, thinking, then spoke somewhat timidly.

"Will you take care of them?" he asked, and Hermione scoffed.

"Me? It isn't my job; I don't work here."

"Just give me five minutes."

With a sigh, Hermione tramped back down the stairs and across the workshop to the front room, where the old woman was playing with a yo-yo and laughing as if she were three years old. Hermione smiled at her, stepping up to the counter. She watched the old woman play for a moment, then reluctantly informed her that the shop was closing. Kindly, the old woman did as asked and left the outlet, but not without a complimentary wooden ball on a string. Her task completed, Hermione locked the door leading to the outside world and made the journey back upstairs. When she was met with Draco's front entrance this time, the slab was opened completely, displaying the apartment within. Hermione entered tentatively; as if afraid some trick was to be played on her.

"Draco?" she called in question, looking around the curtain-walled room with wide and explorative eyes. Draco appeared in the circle of doorways leading to the separate rooms with a grin and made his way toward her. Without a word he kissed her lips and pushed the unbuttoned coat from her shoulders, draping it over his arm and chasing it with her woolen scarf.

"Missed you," he greeted, and Hermione laughed aloud, stepping to the side.

"Oh, so that's why you closed the door in my face," she joked, crossing her arms. Draco smiled, somewhat sheepishly.

"I wasn't ready," he explained, shrugging and tossing her possessions in the chair by the door.

"Ready for what? It's only me," Hermione asked, sounding innocently curious. Draco smiled at her.

"As if you're nothing special," he teased, taking her hand and leading her into the next room. Assuming he planned to set them up in the living area with a board game and some butterbeer, as had become custom, Hermione opened her mouth to ask about the Quidditch match, which was scheduled to start in a quarter hour. When she entered the living room, however, she was met with a surprise.

"Draco," she breathed, "What's all this?" Aside from the expected butterbeer, the set up in the room was the opposite of that expected. The sofa and coffee table were missing, no doubt pushed into another room, and replaced with a full sized mattress, covered in red sheets and littered with throw pillows. Creating a ring around the center console, bowls of snacks and beer on ice awaited indulgence. The room was only dimly lit, creating a romantic ambiance that had Hermione feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I thought we were going to watch the match," she admitted dumbly, and Draco laughed.

"We are; wait until you see this," he said, excitedly, leaving her in the doorway and pouncing on the bed. "I saw them on my trip this weekend, and I couldn't leave without them. I wanted to surprise you; come on." Draco dug through the pillows until he located his missing treasures, then brought them to the open air. Hermione raised an eyebrow; they looked like binoculars to her; at the most, omnioculars with limited features. Intrigued, Hermione pushed off her oxfords and joined Draco on the bed, eyes trained on the little machines.

"What are they?" she asked, reaching a hand out to tentatively touch one of the two stationary appliances. Draco smiled.

"Legerdes," he said. "They used to use them way back when, before the invention of apparition. People couldn't get anywhere big if they weren't in walking distance; it's insane to floo hundreds of people, so these were the next best thing. I'll show you," he said, using the hat-like straps to fasten a legerde onto his brow. He played with a few buttons before taking them off again and handing them to Hermione.

The moment the lenses covered her eyes, she felt as if she'd apparated. She could hear the roar of the crowd, smell the muddy grass, and see the players making a pre-game lap around the pitch. Hermione gasped, overcome, and took in everything; she was seated strategically in the middle of the stadium; half way up and directly between the two goal posts. Millions of people filled the bleachers, cheering on their favorite teams, but none seemed close to her. She couldn't feel the hard benches she seemed to be sitting upon and the area to all immediate directions was blurred. The pitch itself was crystal clear and the players seemed not but a few yards away.

"Well?" asked a familiar voice in her ear and Hermione started.

"Draco?" she yelled. "Where are you? I can't-" A phantom hand covered her mouth, restricting the flow of words, and Hermione made a disgruntled sound of surprise.

"You don't have to yell," Draco said, laughter in his voice. "I'm still a quarter meter away from you." Hermione relaxed and he removed his hand.

"Draco?" she asked quietly, although sure he couldn't possibly hear over the crowd.

"Yes?" he mocked, voice lucid over the roar of those cheering, though it didn't seem as if he was raising his volume at all.

"Where are you?"

"I told you; right next to you," he reminded, prodding her shoulder as if to verify.

"Where am I?" Hermione asked, eyebrows drawn. Draco laughed aloud.

"In my living room; where else would you be?"

"Don't be absurd; this isn't... why can't I see you?" she rambled, still looking wildly around, though her blond didn't seem to be anywhere.

"Calm down, would you?" he asked and Hermione felt a warm hand slide into hers. "It's the legerdes; that's what they do. Wicked, isn't it?"

"Why can't I feel the ground? I'm not sure I like this..."

"Because you're still sitting on my bed. It's a bit odd at first, but you'll get used to it."

"All right..." Hermione said hesitantly, then followed the path of his arm to find him. Certain she would feel much safer with him near her, she leaned into his persona and curled her arms around him. Draco grinned, although she couldn't see, and held her to him.

"You know you're kind of cute when you're confused."

"Don't be coy, Draco," Hermione scolded, although a smile lit her face. "It doesn't suit you."

"Yes, well, neither does your eyewear. You look rather like an insect."

"Shh," she insisted, ignoring his insult. "The game is starting."

"Oh, is it?" Draco asked, jumping slightly. Hermione felt his arms leave her and frowned, sitting up. She could hear him moving and drew in her eyebrows as she waited for an explanation. In the empty space beside her, Draco suddenly appeared, his image flickering a bit before becoming solid. Hermione's mouth dropped as she watched him move his hands about his eyes, as if fixing his legerde, though it could not be seen. When his invisible eyeglasses were comfortably placed on his head, Draco looked up and smirked at the look of shock on Hermione's face. He lifted a hand and waved guiltily, toying with her. Broken from her state, Hermione lashed out with her fists, pushing him harsh enough to cause a temporary loss of balance. He laughed. "Hey, what was that for?"

"You know damn well," Hermione spat, turning toward the pitch and crossing her arms over her chest, a scowl on her face. "Imagine," she mumbled. "Making me think I'd have to spend the whole game talking to someone I can't even see and..." Hermione looked over her shoulder to see him watching her in mild interest, an amused look on his grinning face. "What are you laughing at? I'm just a running joke to you, aren't I?" Draco shook his head at her, leaning inward.

"You're so high-strung," he complained. "Always were, and it looks like you always will be."

"I am not high-strung," Hermione defended, turning her nose to the sky. "What would you know about it, anyway?"

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Draco asked, inching an arm around her waist. Hermione ignored him, giving the impression that she didn't overly mind the contact. In retaliation, Draco moved them back into position, though Hermione remained with her attention on the pitch, body rigid and unreceptive. Draco followed her gaze; the teams were just lining up for the quaffle toss, the two head chasers eagerly awaiting release. Draco watched Hermione's face as the whistle blew, predicting her reaction should the Bosnian chaser win the duel. When he did, the crowd cheered and Hermione inhaled, eyes alight though she tried to remain stony-faced. Draco watched her in divertissement for a moment, enlivened by her stubbornness. "You're allowed to enjoy the game, Hermione." She looked up, and promptly back to the pitch, gaze focused. "It is why we came, after all."

"Shh," she scolded and Draco laughed.

"Why? I'm no noisier than anyone else on the pitch. What exactly are you straining to hear?"

"I'm trying to watch the game," Hermione explained coolly. "You're distracting me." Draco frowned, moving slightly away. His joke had evidently not gone as planned and he wasn't about to put any more of her tolerance at stake. Hermione, however, watched him through the corner of her eye as he drew his knees up and rested his chin upon them, watching the players wage heated battles with each other. It was there again, that odd and uneasy feeling that came, supposedly, from the sensation of being in two places at once. Hermione felt somewhat queasy, as if flying, and shook herself, moving closer to her bedmate. Without so much as an inkling of explanation for her actions and cold shoulder, Hermione folded herself back into his arms, and Draco smiled as he held her.

There was a period of silence, then, and both simply watched the game, enthralled. Hermione found herself clinging to Draco in the anticipation of the chase, the complex flight patters and feints riveting. He too was caught up in the suspense, continuously leaning forward as the players flew excruciatingly closer to the goal posts.

Draco cursed under his breath as Blackwood, the head Bosnian chaser, made a loop much too close to the goals for his enjoyment. Hermione, however, seemed elated, clutching him and she grinned, eyes trailing her favorite player.

To Draco's relief, Hollsopple, one of the more aggressive Denmark beaters, directed a lethal bludger directly for Blackwood. He noticed in time and swerved, but the ball nicked the end of his broom and sent him spiraling toward the ground. Blackwood managed to keep control of the quaffle and, once remounted, seemed no worse for the wear. Draco pouted a bit and felt Hermione sigh in relief beside him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked stiffly, suspicious.

"What?" Hermione questioned distractedly, craning her neck to better see. Draco mocked her sigh overdramatically, sticking out his tongue and slouching forward. Hermione giggled slightly at him, shaking her head.

"Don't be cocky, Draco."

"Why? Doesn't it suit me?" he jested, smirking at his wit, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well," he prodded and she sighed again, this time in exasperation.

"I don't want Blackwood to die ten minutes into the game; that wouldn't be overly good for my swans, would it?"

"No," he admitted, trailing a thumb lightly over her shoulder. "I suppose not." Hermione smirked and looked at him sideways.

"If I were paranoid, I'd call you jealous."

"Yes, of course. Princes on stags and chasers on brooms, all coming to take you away from me," Draco said, voice airy as if reciting from a book of fairy tales. Hermione pretended to be offended.

"Are you implying that they wouldn't want me? Why the hell not?"

"No," Draco corrected deviously. "I'm implying that I'd beat seven shades out them if they tried," he stated, then paused before adding, "And they know that." She smiled fleetingly, as if self-satisfied, and turned back to the game just in time to watch the Blackwood pass the quaffle to fellow chaser, Stokesby. Hermione's attention was fully diverted again to the game, the flattered smile falling from her face in favor of a bitten lip, nervous in anticipation. Stokesby scored, making the first goal of the game, and Hermione heard Draco curse beside her. She smirked at him and cheered along with the crowd, hoping to irk him.

As the twilight turned to darkness, the match was still as it had stood hours before; the Bosnian Black Swans were leading the Denmark Deuces by one goal; the only goal made throughout the game. At each hour, Draco's collection of ticking clocks in the store room below would chime simultaneously, making it clear even in their excited stupor that the minute hand had gone full circle. Hermione subconsciously kept track of these bells, counting in her head to determine the current time. It was when the clock struck nine, signaling the second completed hour of the game, that she tried to make further conversation. Draco was looking slightly aggravated, and Hermione played off it, smirking.

"Looks like your team isn't so hot-to-trot is it?"

"Oh, shush, will you? Remember what happened last time you thought you were winning," he reminded her, aggravated.

"Well, granted, but that was America I was rooting for; would those in heaven allow them victory? Surely not."

"If you're so sure, we could take shots," Draco suggested, smirking evilly. Hermione mimicked him.

"Got any hard liquor?" she asked and he frowned.

"You're not serious," he stated, but seemed unsure. Hermione grinned and shook her head, indulging in a kiss fit only for public, although they were technically in the privacy of their own home. The crowd cheered, then, and Hermione pulled away, eyes frantically searching the pitch. As she saw Blackwood making a victory lap around the Deuces' hoops, she joined in the cheering. Draco groaned and dropped his blond head into his hands.

---------------------------------

A/N: For those of you unsure, no the game is not over. Blackwood is a chaser, not a seeker. He couldn't win the game if he wanted to. His solo lap means only a second goal for the Black Swans.