Note: Hello!!! Ok, I know it took forever to update, and I apologize, but I had a little problem with my beta reader and school doesn't make it any easier. So, to make it up to you (at least, I hope it will) here is the longest chapter yet!! And a very interesting one at that... ;) You'll see what I mean. Enjoy!

Chapter 13: Head Girl Business

"Greetings, Mrs Brown. What a lovely daughter you have! Quite charming, I dare say. I might only suppose there are more than just a few boys to court her."

Mrs Brown was beaming to say the least. "Social gatherings, such as balls," she had explained to her lovely daughter, "are the best way to enter high class society without contracting a marriage." After all, Lavender had to be presented as a perfect opportunity for the male heirs; the Browns certainly didn't want to associate with poor people. The Weasley boy, for instance. What was his name again? Gerald? Herald? Whatever. Really, what was Lavender thinking, associating with a boy of such low status? Her daughter was very lucky Mrs Brown knew better. It was for her own good, really, if she had forbidden her to see him again. And a ball would take her mind off of these silly fabulations about love.

"You're making me blush, Imelda," she said in false modesty. "Where is your daughter, Hermione? Perhaps our children would like to chat away together. Lavender didn't fail to tell me they are of the same house at Hogwarts. Mine could show her some of her fashion tips she is so fond of."

Hermione's mother never failed to notice the –not so well– hidden insults in Elizabeth's empty words. In Imelda's opinion, Mrs Brown was a stain to any self-respecting wizard family, what with her shallow manners and 'holier than thou' attitude. She expressed the need to control everything; especially everything that had nothing to do with her. Such as other's balls. "You should paint your walls in green, with silver decorations. Slytherin style is very 'in' presently, and it would compliment very well with my darling Lavender's dress." Or "charming the lights so they focus on my daughter would be a very generous offer, Imelda." Completed with inquiring eyes and a more-than-a-glimpse of envy.

Back in their school time, Hermione's mother and her friends used to say that the only reason Elizabeth wasn't in Slytherin –with a treacherous tongue and ambition such as hers, you could start to wonder– aside from her paternal grandfather's muggle blood, was because she didn't possess any asset to obtain what she wanted.

Other times they would only enumerate what made her such an insufferable pest. Or speculate on the amount of money necessary for her to keep her friends.

Later on they made a game of guessing whether Elizabeth had chosen a love spell or a fantasy potion to be able to 'catch' herself a husband.

"Don't let her wait, Lisbeth. I'm sure she's dying to get alone time with Hermione." Far away from you, she wanted to add. Unfortunately, it wouldn't have been considered as diplomatic.

Lavender appeared out of the shadows of her mother –figuratively speaking, although it wouldn't have surprised anyone if it had been reality as well– flashed a quick, grateful smile at Imelda, before scampering off to the next room. Hermione was standing stiff, with the look of a condemned soul ready to get slaughtered.

"Hermione! I'm sooo happy to see you! Now I can finally know what happened during your kidnapping!"

Great. "I'm happy to see you too," cringed Hermione with her biggest fake smile, which turned out looking more like a pained expression than one of joy.

"Are you okay?" Inquired a concerned Lavender.

Ignoring the need to answer that the mere presence of the girl irritated her to no limit, she quickly muttered a yes. And mentally prepared herself for the task to come; enduring Lavender's constant babbling.

"Won-Won is talking a lot about you, you know. Says you didn't send any letter and haven't responded to his. Sometimes, you know, it makes him sooo angry… cute little thing needs more than a good snuggling session, if you get my drift."

Cute little thing needed more than a good beating, more likely. The cheating jerk was even lying to Lavender about what had happened; she had no clue whatsoever about the reason they weren't on speaking terms. If she didn't pay attention she'd start pitying the girl very soon. Hermione had sent her final letter about three days ago; there was no possible way he could NOT have received it yet. Her family owl had returned safe, unharmed, and with a reply.

"Lavender, I'm really sorry to bring this task upon you, but could you do something for me?"

Surprised, the shallow girl took some time to stop talking nonsense alone before enquiring what the favour was.

"I'd owe you very much if you would warn Ronald that if he so much as mentions my name again, I'll reveal what happened to the one that he doesn't want to be aware of the story."

"Who?"

She considered telling the truth, since it would be the cause of much torment to Ron –Lavender's curiosity was as famous as her love for gossip– but her good conscience won the battle by adding the threat of being tormented as well.

"You don't want to know. Can you do it?"

Pouting, lavender accepted the task only after she made Hermione swear to let her set up a make-up session before every Hogsmeade week-end at Hogwarts.

That promise marked the return of Hermione's Aaaaargh-filled thoughts.

oOo

The two girls had been quiet for some time now. Well, quiet was always a relative word; Lavender hadn't been able to stop creating noises, not by talking as one would have expected, but by swinging her legs back and forth, hitting the bottom of the chair each time. A sound which provided more than irritation to the poor Hermione, who was slowly losing her patience. Her white knuckles gripping her own legs were the best of testimony.

And then Lavender had sped up the leg movement.

"What is it that you're so eager to tell me?"

It had to be some stupid gossip, like every other times in the Gryffindor dorms. The day it would change was the day Lavender would get Head Girl.

"I made Head Girl!"

The day it would change was the day Lavender would get Head Girl.

Pass the shock, Hermione was fuming. Why wasn't she the Head Girl? She had the best results at school, a sense of responsibility most of the students were lacking, and was taking her studies to heart –for all she knew she was one of the few to do so.

"You're joking, right?"

She didn't want to sound rude, but the girl in front of her certainly did not possess the qualities of even a prefect. She hadn't been one in the beginning.

Had McGonagall accidentally swallowed a debiliting potion when she had assigned the Head's posts? Had she been threatened to do it? Was she smoking some friggin' floo powder or what?

"Isn't it exciting? I mean, I was sooo sure it'd be you, and then I received the letter, and BOOM!, you know? The revelation!"

A revelation indeed. Everyone would know the Headmistress had gone mental during the summer holidays.

"And I just can't wait to share a dorm with Won-Won! Can you believe he got Head Boy? How wonderful can that be?"

Or McGonagall had a bigger heart than what she let seen. This option would explain very well the 'stop the harassing thoughts about Ron from entering Hermione's mind' plan.

Bad Point #1: She wasn't Head Girl. Considering the fact that it had been her objective since –well, she couldn't exactly remember, but anyway– it was quite normal not to feel very happy about the news.

Bad Point #2: Lavender being the 'Chosen One' wasn't helping either. Pride injury.

Bad Point #3: Ron was Head Boy. Another insult to her pride.

Good Point #1: Ron was Head Boy. If she was lucky he'd be so absorbed with his duties that she wouldn't have difficulties avoiding him through the year.

Good Point #2: Without any Head Duties, she'd get plenty of time to help Harry in his search for the remaining Horcruxes.

Good Point #3: Maybe she could persuade Lavender to join SPEW. As a Head Girl, there would be plenty of visibility.

What was the point in accomplishing Bad Side/Good Side lists if she ended with as many good points as bad ones? Oh cruel, cruel world!

"Congratulations." That was the least she could do.

"Thank you!" beamed Lavender. She even went as far as to hug Hermione –up to the point she was practically strangling her. Luckily for her victim, Imelda's head appeared behind a door to announce that the guests were all waiting for her to start the dance. A dance she'd have to 'enjoy' with her betrothed.

Suddenly the idea of Lavender hugging her until she suffocated seemed strangely appealing to her.

"Coming," she murmured.

"You're so lucky! I mean, starting a dance? That's a dream!" squealed the other girl.

"Yeah, like you say, Lavender. A dream." A very, very bad dream of which she couldn't escape.

She got up, fidgeted with imaginary wrinkles in her deep green silky dress, took in an enormous gulp of air and walked down to what she considered to be her doom.

Malfoy was behind the door, waiting for her with a frown of anxiety that quickly transformed itself to a charming smile the second he saw her. He gently took her petite left hand in his abnormally pale one and kissed the tip of her fingers, as the pureblood dance rules recommended him to –the gesture sufficed to 'mark' her as 'his'. He then proceeded to lead her to the middle of the dance floor, his arm silently finding his way around her waist, preparing for the show.

"Relax, Granger," he soothingly breathed in her ear. "Think about it as the Yule Ball. You did pretty well on that night. You just have to do it again. Only one dance and you'll be free of me."

Strangely enough, his words provided her just enough courage to continue all the way down the middle of the crowd. But she'd need more if the constant murmurs and judging looks coming from the guests were to continue. She wasn't particularly shy, nor did she care about what others would think about her –far from it. She was just uneasy. She wasn't scared. Just overwhelmed.

She sensed him turning his body to face hers, pulling her out of a reverie. Without thinking, she gracefully placed her right hand, the ganted one, around his neck, brushing the tip of his platinum hair. The other hand took its place on his shoulder. The material of his tuxedo was the finest she had ever touched –it made the contact enjoyable, even if Malfoy was the one wearing it.

He, on his part, steadied them both by firmly placing his right hand on her side, and his left one was keeping her from escaping his grasp by pushing her into a sort of embrace –the position they were in could have looked like one of a couple about to kiss passionately in a dark corner of Hogwarts. All there was left to do was to wait for the—

Ah, there it was. The first song resonated on every wall, every diamond glass, and filled the room with grace and pure, sinless, untouched, deep emotion.

They looked in each other's eyes. She, with barely hidden anxiousness, while he just winked at her in self confidence.

The notes were ringing at their ears, alto, crescendo, and still they weren't moving. The crowd was looking in anticipation; mainly composed of accustomed people, they already knew how the dance would go. Some, testing their luck, had even gone off in search of a waiter for a refill of their current drink. The real action wouldn't be starting for about a minute or so; that was how true balls were to begin. The dance would start as soon as the piano would be heard amongst all of the several instruments of the orchestra. A single note to begin with, and a single note to finish it.

That was the way of a true pureblood ball. Tradition, tradition, and tradition until you no longer knew the meaning of your own acts.

In the middle of the dance floor, Hermione and Malfoy were still waiting. And silently whispering in something one could have recognised as a 'civil conversation':

"Are you scared, Granger?"

"Aren't you? I could always scream to rape attempt if you get on my nerves, Malfoy."

"I would be tempted to do just what you'd be accusing me of."

Her eyes widened for a second, but immediately returned to normal when she realized he surely didn't mean it. His expression hadn't changed. It was just a stupid and empty threat in retort to hers.

"Always the perfect gentleman I see."

"You're my fiancée. I can do anything I want to you now."

"Same goes for me," she replied with a charming smile.

He stopped himself from retorting an obscenity and instead answered:

"I won't let you down. Don't worry."

So he had sensed her agitation. He wasn't an oblivious jerk. Just a jerk. How sad. One fault down, a thousand more to go...

"I was just wondering how many slaps you'd get tonight is all."

Maybe he wasn't oblivious to her nervous state, but she wasn't obliged to show him he was right just like that.

"I love you too, honey," he replied with a sickly sweet face.

They didn't have the time to continue their exchanging of words, because at this same moment a single piano note filled the entire room.

Let the show begin... Whether these were their own thoughts or the impression of everyone around them, they would never know.

At first, the song was slow and gentle, letting the two adjust their pace and movements. Swirls, long embraces, the silk of a dress floating around the couple in dreamy fashion and hands caressing another body began to quicken; passive love slowly faded to heated passion and lust.

"Like it, Granger?" suavely asked Malfoy.

"Just shut up and dance," she aggressively responded.

He gladly executed the order, as the beat of the song continued to get even more intense. His hands cupped her face and lowered themselves down her neck, her shoulders, her arms, until they gripped her two wrists to allow her to bent back without falling. He pulled her back to him, lowered his face just inches from her chest and followed her left collarbone all the way up to the curve of her neck, exhaling a hot breath that sent shivers all over her body. She strengthened herself, pushed him away, a fiery look changing her features, a direct response to the hungry smirk playing on his lips. He held out his open palm to her, taking a step forward while she took one to keep the same distance between them. He roughly shortened it, however, by sliding towards her, and imprisoned her two hips in his grip; so he could lift her up and continue their uncommon exchange.

The dance had stopped dead on the same piano note that had started it all. Panting, sweating, they never bothered to look in the other's eyes, preferring to fix their gaze on the ballroom floor.

"You were, unlike... your normal self... very manly."

She tried regaining her breath while the orchestra began a second song, one that allowed the guests to dance in couples on slow, elegant beats. It took her almost a minute, in which laughing people swirled around her 'partner' and herself in graceful movements, and she could catch the bribes of congratulations about her and Malfoy's "incredible performance."

"I'll let that comment pass unnoticed if you offer me a drink."

And here she thought he liked to show off he possessed a fortune.

"If you get drunk on me or try anything, I swear I'll make your life a living hell... and considering the fact that we'll be living together, I'd be willing to say that you'll consider suicide very soon."

"How very threatening," he sneered. "I'm rubbing off on you, Granger."

"Not really. You're just annoyingly more present."

"Then allow me to be present while you order my drink. We wouldn't want you to put something in it so you can take advantage of my ravishingly sexy god-like body."

At that point she got fed up and turned around, heading for the bar –certainly avoiding waiting for him. Hoping he'd lose her amongst the crowd and get stuck in it. She couldn't help but to chuckle as she imagined the expression of his face if he couldn't escape the grip of a particularly fervent fan of his.

Or he'd be able to stalk her right to the bar by grabbing her wrist in order not to get separated from her and stupidly lose his well-deserved drink.

"Stop clinging to me, Malfoy. People could get the wrong idea," she ordered somewhat disdainfully.

"Yeah. I mean, you're my fiancée. Why would I ever want to stay with you, I wonder... people could get the idea that we're setting the wedding date a little sooner!" he cruelly remarked, sarcasm cascading from his voice. Yeah, cascading. Dripping wasn't enough of a near-descriptive word.

Leave it to him to get her in a depressed mood as soon as he opened his mouth. Deciding to get her mind off of his troublesome existing self, she called for the barmaid, showing her ganted hand, as it arbored the Vandemoortele crest in fine embroidery. As one of the house inhabitants, she could get unlimited free drinks –as well as many other things offered during the soirée.

"What will you have, my lovely lady?"

A charming bartender he was. Tall, dark and handsome 20-years-old-or-so guy. In other words, the stereotypical Adonis every girl would fawn over, even in the presence of their fiancé. And, oh! who was that by her side? Her dear, pleasant companion, Malfoy. Oh, the fun she could have, if she just provided the effort...

"I'd have you, but you're not on the menu," she seductively eyed him –wanting to puke inwardly, since such disgusting behaviour was so below her level– earning another of his white smiles. "So I'll settle with a peach and strawberry daiquiri."

"And a Dragonbreath for me," added Malfoy. She looked at him with renewed surprise. A Dragonbreath was more serious a drink than firewhiskey could ever pretend to be; and although it was mildly refreshing –on the same level as butterbeer it was said– it was such strong wizard alcohol that she doubted a seventh-year student would know how to handle it.

"And a glass of water for him," she finished. There was no frigin' way she'd let him get drunk out of his mind on her account, in her house. In their own engagement party –no friggin' way.

"The unfortunate lady has trouble hearing. It's her age, most likely. Dragonbreath on her account," Malfoy rectified with his trademark smirk. Back to his rude, prejudiced, egocentric self again.

"Sorry, lad, but the lady's the one with the last word since she's the one ordering and all that stuff," apologised the bartender with his normal 100 watts smile. Which was growing on her nerves for no reason. And since she couldn't see any reason to her irritation she was most likely to get fed up and explode.

"Graaaaanger," said Malfoy in a sing-song voice contrasting highly with the evil eye he was sending her.

"Yes?" She wasn't scared. She had the upper hand and she knew it –it didn't matter if it was just the drink, she had the upper hand and that was that.

So why was she subtly moving her chair away from him?

"I said I didn't want you drunk, Malfoy," she repeated in what she hoped was a firm voice.

"Malfoys can handle a little alcohol."

How could a stated fact sound so... threatening?

Her lips twitched as she pondered on whether she had to succumb to his anger or to stand up to avoid any humiliating scene. Seen in this light, it sounded more like: 'Do I get killed, or allow him to be the laughing stock of this party?' The choice wasn't so difficult when you looked at it this way.

"Dragonbreath. Tiniest glass you possess," she instructed the handsome barmaid.

"Here ya go, m'lady," he said after a mere second. There was her own drink –which was a very, very tasty pink colour– and to its side was a strange-looking glass, made like an elongated upside-down flask about a foot high, and the steaming, 'glow-in-the-dark' green liquid it contained was giving Hermione the creeps.

She eyed his Dragonbreath as if it was about to turn into acid.

"Thank you," she finally managed to mumble to Bob –she was tired of thinking about him as only 'the bartender,' so she had mentally named him Bob until further notice. She didn't leave the sight of Malfoy's glass, even when she herself began to sip at her own drink, even when her nemesis took it to his lips and gulped half of it in the flick of a wrist, even when he finished it with the next one. There were still droplets of steam sliding on the translucent surface, and she just had to glue her eyes to them.

"Hermione. You must help me with my duties now! McGonagall just sent them by owl and I'm sooo tired right now and I thought you could do me a favour and—are you listening?"

Lavender, in her whining girly voice, had successfully achieved her goal of getting Hermione out of her torpor and darkening her mood even more. She sighed loudly, took her daiquiri with her and was preparing to follow the helpless Lavender –if she was lucky this favour would cancel at least one make-up session she had previously promised the girl– when she sensed a hold on her shoulder. Malfoy.

Was it his new job to grab her every ten seconds?

Warily, she turned around, fixing her gaze into his grey orbs, full of intelligence, but still so… innocent. And serious. Contrasting with every descriptive insult she could have come up with in the past six years of school.

"What?" she managed to ask.

He didn't say a word, just looked at her directly in the eyes. And when he finally broke both his eye contact and his hold of her shoulder, he motioned for her to go and followed after her.

oOo

It turned out the duties Lavender was so worried about were in fact the instructions she'd have to follow when in the Hogwarts Express. A meeting with the prefects, a little patrolling, and everything would be well and all right.

By the time Hermione had succeeded in calming Lavender, who was hysteric because she had "caused so much trouble for nothing and wasted their time together and since they made such a cute couple it was a very bad idea," etc, etc, the ball was over, except a few late guesses –mainly Slytherin sixth and seventh years– that wanted Malfoy's autograph.

"You could have helped me instead of just watching," she accused him when they left the teary-eyed Gryffindor.

"It's much more fun to see you struggle for breath," he cruelly remarked, referring to the multiple times she had nearly choked when receiving hugs after hugs.

"Party's over, Malfoy," she stated. And to these words she left him standing in the middle of the dance floor, staring at her retreating back as she climbed the stairs one by one, in a very tired fashion.

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Well?? How was it? I really hope you liked it, cause I sure enjoyed writing it! Anyway, I will try and make sure the next update is on time... it seems I say that a lot lately. XD Thanks for the reviews!

Featherstrike

... and D. and Firnoviel