Disclaimer: Only the events and personalities are mine. I don't own the characters, nor do I claim to.

A/N Thank you to my TWO reviewers! Funny Freak, you're right, some people do prefer to call themselves flautists, myself included, but flutist is perfectly acceptable too, and I figured most people wouldn't know that a flautist played the flute. Puppylove, here you go.

Chapter Two

In class the next day, things were pretty typical of a band class. Professor M started out slow with long tones following a B flat scale and tuning exercises. He had owl ordered several copies of a popular muggle band textbook and handed them out to the students so they could study for a test on something called "Home, Home on the Range," whatever that was supposed to mean. The only interesting thing about the class was that he handed out special two-way mirrors.

"These are a way for you to reach me whenever you need to, sort of like a muggle cell phone," Professor M explained to the class. "I hate it when my students don't show up for rehearsal so remember: I don't care if you're in the hospital wing an inch from death, you will get a detention and a point deduction if you don't tell me you're going to be absent or late. No exceptions. All you have to do is look in the mirror and say my name, and my mirror will start to shake. You can call me about anything, day or night."

The class nodded and pocketed their mirrors. They returned to practicing their rhythm exercises diligently. The first concert was in a little less than two months and they were desperate to be ready. All except one.

Hermione was ready for the concert. She had been playing the flute for several years, and was well above average on it, as she was with everything else at school. During class hours, in fact, she rarely played her flute except when Professor M specifically sat the class down to play a certain song. The rest of the time, Draco taught her how to work the percussion equipment.

"You know, one of these days you're going to have to give me flute lessons," Draco said as Hermione practiced with the chimes.

"We'll see. I'm very particular about who I let play Fauna. I suppose I could bring out Freda, though."

"Who are Fauna and Freda? People I should know about?" Draco asked teasingly.

"My flutes, you doof. Freda is my beginner model and Fauna is my intermediate model, the one I play in class."

"You named your flutes?" Draco asked with a look that clearly said he thought she was nuts. In fact, Draco didn't think it was weird at all. His broomstick had a name, as did his wand. He just hadn't expected Hermione to be as attached to her flutes as he was to his wand and broomstick.

"Yes, and don't think for a second that I don't know about Monster."

Draco cringed. 'How did she find out my broomstick's name?' he wondered.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, just like you don't sleep with a stuffed werewolf every night."

Now Draco was getting worried. There was no way she should know any of that. The only person who knew was…

"How did you get him to talk?"

Hermione smiled innocently. "Why, whoever do you mean?"

Draco would have none of that. "You know who I mean! Blaise! How did you get him to talk?"

Hermione's innocent smile widened and lost its innocence. "Oh, him. Well, it just so happens that every girl in Gryffindor Tower knows that Blaise would do anything to get Parvati Patil to look his way. I just made a deal with."

Draco cursed under his breath. He should have known better than to let that girl-crazy poof know his darkest secrets.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone," Hermione said as she smiled softly and put her hand on Draco's arm. "It'll be our little secret."

Draco smiled back. At least she wouldn't use it against him.

Since the beginning of band Draco and Hermione had started to become quite close. They didn't hang out outside of school hours much, but he had started being civil to her in Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and the other classes that had a lot of Slytherins in them, and even working with her is classes like Advanced Transfiguration where no one would care. Draco was beginning to get quite comfortable with Hermione, and even joking with her on occasion. One of his favorite targets was Terry Boot, a trumpet player whom Hermione had liked quite a bit for quite a while.

"I don't like him that much, okay?" Hermione defended herself in Arithmancy one Monday. 'Liar.' She called herself in her head.

"Yeah, you do. I know you do, because you get that look on your face every time anyone mentions him."

"What look?"

"That one," Draco replied as he held up a mirror. Sure enough, Hermione had half-lidded eyes and a moony smile on her face at that very moment.

"That doesn't mean I like him. I could look that way because I'm talking to you. Or because I love Arithmancy. Or because…"

"Or because you like Boot. Admit it, you like him."

"Fine, I like him. I never said I didn't. And I don't like him that much."

"Whatever you say."

Tuesday night found Hermione alone in Gryffindor Tower, reading. Next to her was a small notebook Draco had given her so they could pass notes when they were in different classes and no one else would know who they were talking to. She didn't know why, but Hermione liked to have it nearby whenever possible. Draco was on a retreat with Professor Flitwick in the Forbidden Forest, some drivel about boys learning to survive in the wilderness. Ron and Harry (and Terry) had gone as well, and she was hoping Draco had taken his notebook and would send her a message.

As if on cue, the notebook changed from Gryffindor gold to Slytherin silver. Draco had chosen the metallic tones because red and green made a noticeable difference and were entirely too Christmas-y for his taste. Hermione hastily picked up the book and turned to the first page.

What's up?

Hermione searched for her quill and jotted down an answer.

Not much. You?

Flitwick left us alone. I don't think he was ever going to stay here with us. Guess what? Boot likes you.

Hermione was torn between talking to Draco about other things and asking why he though Terry liked her all of a sudden. In the end, curiosity about Terry won.

What makes you think he likes me? Did he say something?

Well, one of the guys had some firewhiskey, and he drank quite a lot of it. He's been rambling about this girl he likes and we all kind of figured he meant you.

You're drinking? Are you all stupid? You didn't have any, did you?

No, I'm afraid I don't really care for the taste. Besides, this wouldn't be half as funny if I wasn't sober.

Loser. Just make sure you don't drink any. I'll see you when you get back. Good night.

Good night.

Hermione was furious. That idiot! Alcohol was forbidden on school grounds, and there were all the stupid boys (cough-Terry-cough) out in the forest getting drunk. But he liked her. Draco had said so, and Draco's word was good enough on this particular subject. Any excuse to believe Terry liked her was good enough for Hermione. She headed off to bed with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step. She could hardly wait for Draco, Ron, and Harry (and Terry) to get back in the morning so she could talk to them.

Hermione was lucky. First class in the morning was Potions. She would get to lecture Harry and Ron for their irresponsible behavior the night before. Imagine her surprise when she walked into breakfast and there were her two best guy friends eating with their usual enthusiasm. Weren't hung-over people supposed to be nauseous? She decided to test if their hearing was sensitive.

"Hi, guys!" she yelled as she jumped on Harry and Ron from behind and pulled them into a hug.

"Hey, 'Mione. Did you miss us or something?" Harry asked as he returned the hug.

"Yeah, I guess, but I heard you guys were drinking at the retreat last night and I wanted to punish you for it."

"No one was drinking last night. How would we even get alcohol on the grounds? I would really rather not have detention until I graduate."

Hermione felt a little disappointed. If Draco had lied about the firewhiskey, had he been lying about Terry?

"Besides, I need my nights free to practice for the Midnight Match in a few weeks. Are you coming?"

That cheered Hermione up. Few people at school knew that Harry secretly loved Gobstones, and the Midnight Match was the biggest match of the year. The Gobstones club got special permission from Dumbledore to roam the halls after hours and go to Hogsmeade after hours for breakfast. It was one of Hermione's favorite school events.

"Sure. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"That good to hear, because I wouldn't want you to miss Malfoy getting his butt kicked in Gobstones."

And Hermione's mood fell again. Harry and Ron still didn't know about her friendship with Draco. It wasn't that she was embarrassed; she just didn't know how they would react to the news. She forced a smile and a quiet laugh, and that seemed to satisfy Harry.

Hermione ate breakfast and gathered up her books. She knew she would spend most of Potions wondering why Draco had told her that story about Terry and firewhiskey.

There's Chapter Two. The notebooks, for anyone who can't tell, are an instant messenger. The conversation was based on an IM I shared with my real-life Draco, the retreat was based on a band trip that I didn't go on but he did, and Terry is based on a trumpet player that I really did like a lot for a long time, so there's your first taste of my very complicated relationship with my Draco.