Thank you for the reviews again! Yes, I know the last chapter exhibited a little too much OOC-ness for a "realistic unrealistic" situation . . . but I thought it was quite amusing, so oh well . . . lol. Everyone should be back to character more this time. Sorry for the usual huge delay. I had to rewrite the whole chapter since my first draft did not work AT ALL with my planned storyline. Also, school's started so I could only write in my tiny pockets of spare time. ANYWAY, forget my rambling and excuses and enjoy the chapter.


Chapter 4: Abnormalities

Hermione woke with a start the next morning. Her dreams had been riddled with broken, meaningless images of Ron, Lavender, and Draco Malfoy swarming around in a haze. She clenched her teeth as she thought of last night after dinner when she had sat down on the couch, double checking her essays, and Malfoy had viciously barked at her to get her "vile Mudblood arse" off his sofa. This outburst had resulted in a heated response from Hermione ("This is not your couch only, you ferrety bastard!") and a long, pointless verbal war that lasted for almost half an hour. Hermione had stomped to her room, furious, reconsidering her decision to live in such close proximity to a prat like Malfoy.

She yawned and slid reluctantly out of her comfortable bed, burrowing her feet into her slippers. The sun shone particularly brightly for that early in the day, as if it was mocking Hermione's misery, slapping its rays in her face. She squinted at her old-fashioned alarm clock. 8:46 precisely. Her stomach plummeted to somewhere near her slippered feet.

"Son of a BITCH!" Hermione screamed. She scrambled into her bathroom, almost tripped into her pool-size bath tub, and brushed her teeth with a speed she never knew she possessed. There wasn't time to work through all the tangles in her hair or cleanse her face. She pulled her Hogwarts sweater over her pajama top, dragged up her skirt, and yanked on her stockings. Through the corner of her eye, she saw her reflection in a mirror. It was not pretty.

When she was finally done dressing, she dashed out of the dormitory with a small glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. 8:54.

Shit. She was not going to be late two classes in a row. She had a reputation and a title to uphold! She was Head Girl! She could not be late AGAIN. No, no, no.

She ran as fast as she could to the Charms classroom, silently cursing her non-athletic legs. The bell rang before she arrived, but thankfully the class was chaotic as usual, Professor Flitwick nowhere in sight. Harry looked in her direction, seeming a bit stressed, and they made eye contact. Her stomach twisted when she saw Ron and Lavender sucking face.

"Hermione - " Harry began as she walked past him.

"I think I'll sit there today," Hermione said loudly to no one in particular, marching to a seat near the other side of the classroom.

Two minutes passed until Flitwick finally arrived holding a large stack of papers. Hermione knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to calm the class down for another ten minutes, so she sat quietly and rigidly in her seat, waiting. She suddenly heard an increasingly familiar, drawling voice.

"God, Granger . . . wild night? Don't know anyone except Weasley who'd fuck a Mudblood though."

She snapped her head and came face to face with Malfoy. This is just lovely, she thought tiredly. He was eyeing her disheveled hair and pajama collar poking out of her sweater, a pale eyebrow raised. He was sitting on his desk, hands resting on his knees and a leg propped up on Hermione's desk.

"Oh, you're hilarious," she said airily. "You should be a comedian. For your information, I woke up exactly twenty minutes ago, spent only eight minutes getting ready, and literally had to run to class. And now I'm sitting next to you. You!" She laughed humorlessy, then suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Did you tamper with my alarm clock, perchance?"

"Oh definitely, because I love sneaking around a your room and messing with your belongings. And by the way, I stole your cat. And took your virginity while you were sleeping."

"Har har. And you don't know if I'm a virgin or not!" she challenged, a flush rising in her cheeks. How come every time she spoke to Malfoy, it came to something sexual?

"Hm. I can guess. Unless you shagged Weasley? A weasel and a Mudblood. Perfect couple, I'll say."

His words stung. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she thought how she and Ron were the farthest from being a couple at that moment.

"No. If you hadn't noticed, Ron and Lavender Brown are going out now," she replied softly.

Malfoy looked over Hermione's head. His expression changed from one of curiosity to one of disgust.

"Ah, Weasley and Brown again? That was nasty enough the first time." He studied her face, fighting a smirk. "Are you . . . crying?"

"Please shut up, and go away," Hermione gritted out, her temper on borderline. She hastily swiped her eyes dry with a lame attempt at passing it as scratching her nose. Malfoy goading her in her time of despair was beyond unnecessary. At this point, he was practically begging her to hex his arse off.

"Awww . . . poor little Mudblood! Lovelesss!" Malfoy gasped dramatically, pouting.

BAM!

For the third time, her fist collided with Malfoy's nose. She snapped. It was simply too much. She remembered how it was all his fault in the first place for causing her to be in such a ridiculous situation, his fault that her year was starting in shambles, his fault for everything. The same strange euphoria from attacking him the day before returned again as she watched him stagger backward, his hands over his face. His expression was blank for a second, then was clouded with shock.

"What is wrong with you, woman?" he yelped. Somehow, Hermione got even angrier at those words.

"What is wrong with you? You sadistic, heartless son of a bitch!" she screamed back. She lifted her wand and was about to curse Malfoy to oblivion when Pansy Parkinson suddenly leaped in between them from out of nowhere.

"Get out of the way, Parkinson," growled Hermione, spitting the last word and searching for a spot on Malfoy's body that wasn't covered by Pansy.

"You're not going to hurt Draco!" Pansy shrieked. "I'm telling Professor Flitwick!" She clung onto Malfoy's neck, but he impatiently shook her off.

"Get lost, Pansy," he snapped.

"But Draco - "

"Shut up," he said coldly. He glared at Hermione, then turned around and sat at his desk, covering his battered face with his hand.

"Whatcha looking at?" Hermione snarled.

"Merlin, someone must've shoved that stick farther up your arse," he muttered.

"I'll shove this stick up your arse if you don't fucking leave me alone," she threatened viciously, stabbing the air in front of Malfoy with her wand for added emphasis.

"Do you see me bothering you at this moment? I would say you're bothering me more than I'm bothering you."

"Your presence bothers me."

"Bitch. Stupid Mudblood."

With that, they ignored each other for the rest of class. Hermione marched out of the room quickly after the bell rang, and she saw Harry and Ron looking between her and Malfoy incredulously.

The rest of the day went similarly. She ate lunch alone in the Heads' dorms, quite thankful that she didn't have to endure the sympathetic gazes of her fellow Gryffindors. In Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts, she again sat as far away as she could from the dynamic duo of Ron and Lavender, which was of course near the Slytherin corner. And next to Malfoy. Every time they had made eye contact it resulted in a glaring contest.

After classes finally finished for the day, both of them arrived around the same time to the dorms, and Hermione plopped onto the loveseat, wondering what to do, and Malfoy sat on his figurative throne - the bigger sofa. Since there wasn't homework, she decided to read Hogwarts, A History for fun. Malfoy worked on a Potions essay, mumbling under his breath and scratching out sentences. Like in class, they sometimes looked at each other, and every glance he gave her turned into a sneer.

"Stop looking at me, you git," Hermione finally said out of irritation, after about the tenth glare.

"I could say the same, Granger. Is it that hard to keep yourself from undressing me with your eyes?" He waggled his eyebrows saucily.

"Argh!" growled Hermione, pulling at her unkempt hair. "Stop alluding to sexual . . . things! How can you possibly even joke about that? Don't I, I dunno, disgust you?"

Malfoy sniffed, an effeminate gesture in Hermione's opinion. "Well, I have to get revenge somehow for those punches, and it's against my pride to hit a woman, no matter how lowly or gross."

"So . . . you insult me. I'm honored."

"Yep." He paused, then added, "Bitch."

"Real mature," drawled Hermione.

"Yeah, anyway. I forget the last ingredient of the antidote for love potions. Tell me, again."

This statement was so off from the rest of the conversation, or rather argument, that Hermione drew back in surprise. She told him and he made a note on his parchment.

"Thanks," he said easily.

"You're, uh, welcome," she said stupidly.

They sat in silence. She noticed that slightly purplish blotches had appeared across Malfoy's nose. He looked rather like he had been mugged recently. By Hermione.

"Um, sorry for punching you . . . " Hermione said, clearing her throat and feeling suddenly guilty. "Maybe - maybe . . . you should see Madam Pomfrey for that . . . " She trailed off into nothingness.

He glanced at her curiously, but she stared determinedly at page four hundred and seven of Howarts, A History. There was a long silence where neither of them said anything, but finally Malfoy spoke.

"Well, Granger, I am quite surprised," he said softly. "I suppose I'll apologize also. My, er, comments seemed to have put you in a predicament. Weasley was sort of your boyfriend, wasn't he?"

Hermione whipped her head up in shock. Her apologizing was one thing, but Malfoy reciprocating the action? The world must have ended, pigs must be flying, hell must have frozen over, or she was simply hallucinating. Draco Malfoy apologized to Hermione Granger. Those words were never supposed to be in one sentence, in that order.

"Are you alright, Draco?" she asked slowly in a concerned voice, enunciating every syllable. "Do you feel well?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and his lip curled downward. "Other than the bruises on my face, you mean? I feel positively dandy."

That made Hermione feel more guilty. She was not a violent person by nature, and the purple marks defied everything she stood for, even if they were on the person she hated second most (next to Pansy Parkinson).

"Here, let me heal it then," she insisted, holding up her wand.

"Ugh! Get away from me!" squealed Malfoy as she drew closer.

"Don't be such a pussy," Hermioned said. "Episkey."

He grimaced as the spell did its job and the bruises quickly disappeared. He felt his nose tenderly afterwards, poking and prodding it with varying degrees of pressure.

"I thought you were going to curse me, for a moment there," he said with relief.

"You thought wrong then."

They looked at each other for a short moment. In that one look, a thousand things and nothing happened at the same time. She felt a sudden change in the atmosphere; somehow less hostility and perhaps more understanding? She couldn't quite place it. He seemed to detect something as well, since he knitted his eyebrows together in a confused expression. Whatever it was, it was positive.

Hermione went to bed later that night, once again feeling optimistic that she could maybe become friends with Draco Malfoy.

The next morning, Hermione woke up as soon as her five o'clock alarm sounded, not wanting to be late again. Immediately after she stepped out her door, she saw Malfoy, dressed in a ridiculous Hugh Hefner-esque silk bathrobe, stepping out of his bedroom also.

"Oh, Granger, it's you," he said, yawning. "Morning."

"Good morning, Malfoy," she replied hesitantly, trying to stifle a giggle. Then she asked curiously, "Why are you up so early?"

"I'm gonna practice some Quidditch," he grumbled sleepily. "I'm a bit sick of Potter winning all the time, you know? He's not even that great."

"Hmph," Hermione said with a hint of pride in her voice. "You never win against Harry, so what's the point?"

"Shut up. Stop putting me down."

She chuckled at his childish retort. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"You're a bitch," Malfoy said.

"So are you. Nice robe, by the way."

After a pout and a glare, he changed into Quidditch clothes and left, and Hermione somehow ate breakfast with a ridiculous smile on her face.

The week passed surprisingly quickly as an uncharacteristic blistering heat spell fell over Hogwarts. It was scorching in the classrooms and all the students moved with more lethargy than usual, but Hermione hardly noticed. More and more, she found herself talking with Malfoy and actually looking forward to seeing him. Though they still insulted each other, the tone had changed somewhat. It was no longer bitter, but rather playful and amusing. The downside was that everyone's suspicions were even more firmly cemented as they observed Hermione and Malfoy talking, or apparently "flirting." This worried Hermione frequently, but she usually tried to block out all thoughts of other people's opinions.

Once when Hermione was walking to Herbology, Malfoy came up and elbowed her in the back. It didn't hurt, but he laughed maliciously when he saw her confused expression as she turned around.

"Git," she hissed. In a fit of vengeance, she slapped his arm with some force.

"Pathetic, Granger," he said arrogantly, and kicked the backs of her shoes.

"Hey! I paid good money for these shoes!" she cried, and dug her heel into his shin.

"My socks probably cost more than those hideous pieces of goat hide."

"Shut your face or I'll castrate you with a rusty butterknife," threatened Hermione, glaring.

"Why waste your family's best silverware?" She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I forgot," she said airily. "There's nothing there anyway."

He smirked. "As opposed to you, who does have something there?"

She clenched her teeth and glared daggers at Malfoy. "Sod off, ferret boy." When she turned back around, she grinned to herself, thinking how the argument was actually quite funny. She didn't notice that he was staring at her.

On most days after class, they did homework together. Malfoy sometimes asked her for help very grudgingly, but she was always glad to assist him. He was properly ashamed of ripping answers off another person, unlike most of the Gryffindor seventh years.

"I hate this," he complained one Friday afternoon, almost three weeks after the start of term. "Asking a Muggle-born questions about magic!"

"Blah blah blah . . . how many times do I have to say that I'm just as magical as you are?" snapped Hermione.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered. He was writing a difficult Charms essay that Hermione finished the day it was assigned, and was not happy to ask for help.

They fell silent afterwards, each working on homework quietly.

"Hey Malfoy?" said Hermione suddenly.

"Yeah?"

"Why have you stopped calling me - " she cleared her throat " - 'Mudblood'?"

"What?" he said stupidly.

"You've stopped calling me that," reiterated Hermione.

He scratched his chin with the end of his quill, looking confused. "I dunno. I suppose I can start again if you miss it that much," he replied, a smirk slowly forming on his lips.

"I'm being serious, Draco."

His expression immediately sobered up at the sound of his first name. "Why 'Draco'? You sound like Snape, or my mother, or Pansy. My friends all say 'Malfoy'."

"That's so distant-sounding," said Hermione doubtfully. "Familiar people should refer to each other by their real names, their first names. Like me, Harry, and . . . um, yeah, so you should too."

"Are you implying we're familiar, then?"

"Well, don't you think we're at some level of friendship?" she asked. A brief wave of panic passed over her. What if Malfoy didn't think they were friends at all?

"Er . . . I suppose," he grumbled. "Though my father would whip me and possibly kill you if he found out we were living together," he added blandly.

"We're not living together!" gasped Hermione. "That's . . . bad wording."

"Eh. Don't get your knickers in a bunch." He put his essay aside and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Anyway, back to what you were saying. Does that mean I should call you . . . Hermione?" He gagged on her name, as if he just tasted something very disgusting.

She scowled, and threw a crumpled piece of parchment at his face. It missed. "Don't make it sound like a dirty word," she said critically.

"Well, Hermione - " he began, his eye twitching. "I really, really prefer to say 'Granger', and I would prefer if you said 'Malfoy'."

"Oh, FINE," she said, exasperated. "Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. Happy with that?"

"Oh yeah, keep screaming my name in ecstasy."

"Ugh, you sick bastard."

"You know you love me."

"Jackass." Smirking playfully, Hermione stood up from her seat and bopped Malfoy on the head with her notebook as she passed him. "We have rounds in ten minutes. Get your arse ready."

She remembered the unusual stifling heat of the castle and imagined herself walking down the halls in an outfit suited for winter. For good measure, she took off her heavy sweater and stockings and threw the articles of clothing over the dining table. When she turned around, she noticed that Malfoy was glancing at her bare legs, an interested expression on his pale face. Oh my god, she thought, but she smirked.

"Like what you see, Draco?" she purred, and with impressive flexibility, hitched her right leg up onto the table ostentatiously. Almost immediately, she felt embarrassed and took her leg off.

"Damn, Granger," said Malfoy in a state of awe. "I always thought you didn't shave your legs or something. Why the hell do you wear those prudish knee-high socks?"

"Er, well, I do lilke my modesty, thank you very much," replied Hermione dryly, still flushed from her brief stint of spontaneity. "But it's an oven in this school today, and I don't want to die of a stroke, so that's why you get a little glimpse." She giggled nervously at her daring comment.

"Don't kid yourself," muttered Malfoy, though Hermione saw him peek at her again.

Instead of feeling superior, she felt small and shy, and she quickly bounded out the dorm in front of him so she wouldn't have to see his face. This was a poor choice, since she now had a sneaking suspicion that he was checking out her bum.

They went in separate directions at the first fork, fortunately for Hermione. Professor McGonagall had laid out patrolling plans; Hermione was in charge of the east side of the sixth floor, Malfoy the west side.

"Bye," she said automatically as she turned right.

"Uh-huh," he replied.

She ambled slowly down the hallway, checking her watch. After curfew started, she caught two Ravenclaw third years tip-toeing down the corridor, clearly trying to sneak past Hermione.

"Ten points each from Ravenclaw. Don't give me that pitiful look," she said firmly, ignoring the puppy-dog expressions of the two boys. "Now go along."

They went back in the direction they came from, grumbling. Hermione puffed her chest up in authority, and continued her march down the east hallway, thinking about her bantering with Malfoy, recalling a few particularly witty comments he had made that caused her to laugh. She was chuckling to herself, immersed in her memories, when she suddenly saw Harry rounding the corner. He saw her too and trotted down to meet her.

"Hermione!" he said in a relieved tone. "I've been looking for you for ages. Where have you been? You're never at lunch or dinner or the library or anywhere."

"Oh . . . " she said. "Well, I've been eating and doing homework in the Heads' dorm and. . . you know you're breaking curfew, right?"

"That's never stopped me before," he replied, grinning. His face fell immediately, however. "Hermione, I'm really sorry. Ron's . . . being a git, I know. It's really not fair to you at all. I'm sure he's sorry, too, but you know him . . . he's too bloody stubborn to admit to anything. I mean, you and Malfoy? What idiot believes that kind of bull?" He laughed nervously and checked Hermione's reaction.

"Well . . . we're kind of friends, actually," said Hermione timidly. "Me and Malfoy."

"What?" gasped Harry.

"He's not that mean to me anymore, and I actually like talking to him," she said defensively. "But we're not romantically involved at all."

"That doesn't matter! He's - he's Malfoy! He hates Muggle-borns!"

"He hasn't called me a Mudblood since the third day of school."

Harry shook his head, clearly not understanding Hermione's thought processes, and cleared his throat. "Well, that's not what I was going to talk about. I just wanted to say that Ginny's going crazy with worry and she hasn't seen you in about three weeks now, so she really wants to chat with you. And we all think you should move back to Gryffindor Tower. It's ridiculous that you have to live somewhere else just because of Ron. I'll sic Fred and George on him if he does anything to hurt you," he added with a small smile.

"Thanks," Hermione said, smiling back. "But I'm fine. If Ron's happy with - with Lavender, then none of us have a right to split that up. And the Heads' dorm isn't so bad. Really."

After she finished her statement, they heard movement behind them and turned around quickly.

"Potter, ten points from Gryffindor," Malfoy said smoothly, leaning against the stone wall. "I think it's past your bedtime."

"Fuck off, Malfoy," snarled Harry and he turned back around. "Hermione, I can't believe you said you're friends with him."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders guiltily and threw a glare at Malfoy, who smirked contentedly back at her. "It's the rules, Harry. You are out after curfew, so . . . "

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Harry. He placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'll be going back then. I'll arrange something between you and Ginny, okay? She is literally dying from lack of female company."

"All right," agreed Hermione. He left with a farewell nod to her and a sneer at Malfoy.

"So," began Malfoy. "I'm your 'friend'?" He curled his fingers into quotation marks, looking quite doubtful.

"Yes, I think so, and I believe you confirmed this earlier," Hermione pointed out. He grunted and mumbled something incoherently.

"What?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, then said, "Nothing."

"Er, okay," she said. She smiled kindly and checked her watch again.

"It's eleven," she said, relieved that rounds were over.

"Finally," groaned Malfoy, immediately heading back toward the Heads' rooms.

"Wait up!" cried Hermione as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

He turned around and tapped his foot impatiently as she caught up to him. "I suppose you only read fast."

"Shut up."

They walked back to the dormitory together and in silence.

"While we're being decent to each other," blurted out Malfoy suddenly. "I have a question for you, Granger."

Hermione looked up at him, nonplussed, wondering what brought on the outburst. "Shoot."

"So . . . how bad is the damage between you and Weasel?"

"Um . . . " stuttered Hermione, completely thrown off. "Well . . . it's pretty bad, I suppose. Uh . . . we haven't spoken to each other since that incident on the first day of class. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," he said for the second time.

She stared at his impassive face and tried to decipher his strange mood, but his face was completely unreadable.

"Don't feel too bad," she said. "It's not your fault. I think Lavender was telling Ron a load of nonsense about what happened in Ancient Runes, and he was thick enough to believe it."

"Who said I felt bad?" he grunted, but scratched his head nervously and looked the other direction.

They reached the dormitory soon after, Malfoy said the password, and they walked in. The first thing that Hermione saw was a pile of packages next to the fireplace that weren't there before rounds started; upon closer inspection, they were wrapped gifts.

"What the hell is this? It's blocking the fire," complained Malfoy.

Hermione took the topmost gift, which was covered in pretty blue paper, and looked at the tag. It read: Happy Birthday, Hermione! Love, Mum and Dad. She let out a girlish scream of surprise and dropped the gift as if it were hot iron.

"Oh my god, it's my birthday today!" she gasped. "I'm . . . I'm eighteen!"

"Oh, er . . . best wishes," Malfoy said.

He watched as she unwrapped her gifts, which included a few Muggle novels from her parents, a homemade mince meat pie from Hagrid, an assortment of Honeydukes candy from Harry, and a book from Ginny called The Seventy Ways to Charm a Wizard. She laughed when she read the title.

Malfoy suddenly laughed too. "Pansy has that book!" he squealed, chortling. "Wow."

"Hey, don't insult my gifts! I don't see you getting me anything."

"Neither did Weasley."

The smile immediately wiped off her face. It was true - Ron hadn't gotten her a single thing. He saw her expression and clamped his mouth shut.

"Sorry," he said hastily.

She shook her head. "No, don't be."

Sadly, she gathered her presents into her arms, thinking. Ron wasn't her boyfriend, but he was at least her friend deep down inside, no matter the current situation. She thought he would have had the decency to give her something, anything, for her birthday, even when they weren't speaking to each other. I guess he's just more petty than I am, she thought.

"Hey, Granger." She looked up at Malfoy's voice.

"You can have my quill. I've seen you eyeing it. Cost quite a bit, too," he offered, holding up a beautiful red phoenix feather quill that Hermione had indeed been coveting for the past few weeks. "Happy birthday, you know?"

Her mouth dropped and she quickly shook her head.

"No, I couldn't accept that!" she squeaked. "It's worth over a seven hundred Galleons! I don't want it."

"I insist," he insisted, and he pressed the quill into her palm. "I can just get my father to send me another. It's not a big deal for me."

It was light, even for a feather, though Hermione felt like she was holding a brick. Phoenix feathers were immensely magical, unbreakable by physical means, and cost a fortune, especially for relatively useless things like quills. She wasn't breathing very well.

"Why . . . ?" she asked in a small voice, deeply moved by his kind gesture. She knew he knew what she meant by her question.

"Don't question it, just take it," he snapped. "Just so you know, it has built-in spell checking, grammar checking, and it has its own ink."

She cradled the quill gently for a moment, confused and happy and suspicious all at once. Finally, she looked into his eyes and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, looking back into hers.

She suddenly burst into tears, dropped her other gifts on the couch, and gave a very bewildered Malfoy the most sincere hug he had ever received in his life.

Many of the little things that Hermione and Draco do are actually based off my own stagnant "love" life. Ironically, they are further along in their relationship than I'll ever be. Sad, I know. So, personal stuff aside, this chapter was really fun to write and I hope you all enjoyed it! Stay tuned. I promise the next chapter will have more action. ;D.