Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill- I don't own these characters, or the places, or really anything that seems familiar. JKR does.
A/N: First of all, thank you for the people who reviewed my last chapter. It made me want to get this one up as quickly as possible (which may account for the fact that it's still kind of short and not as good as I had hoped). Reviews on this chapter would be lovely as well. I don't care if they're harsh or not; any comments will do. And if you have any ideas for where you want this story to go, I will be happy to listen. I have ideas, but I would love to hear other people's as well. I hope you enjoy this chapter. And don't forget to review it.


While Hermione was inwardly cursing herself for thinking that the ferret was even remotely attractive, Draco was chuckling at his suave attempts at making her squirm, at making the seemingly non-existent tears form in her eyes. He always got pleasure out of tormenting Hermione. She was the hardest to torment. Yes, he could get a rise out of her with a mere glance, but he could never finish the fight without being slightly wounded by her remarks. It took him so much courage to finally admit that she has spunk, that she has courage, that she has wits. Yet, he couldn't deny that fact. She never failed to put up a good fight. She was a challenge, and Draco would never deny himself a challenge. Little did he know what trouble that would get him into in the near future.


Meanwhile, Hermione was walking with her two best friends back to the common room. It was hours before dinner, and the trio had very little to do. For once, they had no trouble to get it. Of course, this wasn't Hermione's common room that they were going to, but it was the Gryffindor common room which now belonged to merely Harry and Ron. The two boys were prattling on about Quidditch, a sport which Hermione despised, and she was lost in her own thoughts, a place where she would rather not be. Her honey eyes were shrouded in clouds, her lips pursed in a slightly troubled frown. She was barely paying attention to where she was walking, though she didn't need to. She knew the path from the library to the Gryffindor common room by heart; it was her most traveled path.

"'Mione," Ron said, as he realized his normally very chatty friend was no longer such a thing. "Earth to 'Mione," he said again when she didn't respond to her name the first time. And when she didn't respond the second time, his short-fuse temper flared. "Bloody hell 'Mione," he screamed, only to feel Harry's hand on his shoulder in an attempt thwart the fight which was bound to come. Of course, Ron ignored him and continued to scream at his very temperamental friend. "What is bloody wrong with you? What in Merlin's name are you ignoring me for now?"

Finally, she snapped back into reality, only to speak with harsher words than she meant, instantly regretting them as they left her mouth. "Not everything is about you Ronald. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention to your incessant blabbering about bloody Quidditch. Stop being so self-absorbed, for once in your life, and realize that there may be other reasons for why people do things aside from reasons revolving around you."

Ron looked taken aback, stuttering endlessly in an attempt to find words that matched her with venom and coldness. Finding himself devoid of these words, he just shut his mouth, vowing not to speak to Hermione ever again. Hermione on the other hand, was working up to courage to apologize to him. But if she did, he would ask what she was thinking about, and she couldn't outright lie to him, nor could she tell him that she was thinking about Malfoy, and not how much she hated him. So, apologizing was out of the question. Maybe Harry would make Ron apologize to her. That would make one aspect of her life slightly easier, seeing as Malfoy unconsciously made her life even that much harder. But, she couldn't follow them to the Gryffindor common room- not after the fight her and Ron just had.

"I think I'm going to go back to my dorm," she mumbled nearly incoherently, her eyes averted towards the ground. And before she could get a proper response, she left, turning the corner in a blinding daze.

"What is bloody wrong with her?" Ron muttered, as she rounded the corner, as they lost sight of her. And with a sigh of frustration, he turned to Harry for an answer, to which he replied, "I don't know mate. I just don't know."


Walking into the Head Students' common room, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; she was finally alone. Or so she thought. As the portrait slammed shut, the only other occupant of this common room turned his platinum blonde head to meet the back of the one and only Hermione Granger. And he was appalled by the thoughts that ran through his head. If she wasn't a buck-toothed mudblood, it would suffice to say that she is quite the looker. He shook his head, as he yearned to throw an insult at her. This time, the insult throwing was not to see her squirm. On the contrary, he wanted to wash those toxic thoughts out of his mind, and the only way to do such a thing would be to throw insults at her, and hope he had some sort of advantage during this argument, knowing he wasn't in the mindset to win otherwise.

"You know, Granger. From your back, you have quite the potential. Too bad your ugly, buck-toothed face takes away all potential you ever even thought to have."

Hermione turned around, surprised by the other presence. At the sound of his voice, her eyes had clouded over in as much hate as she could muster. Not only did she hate him because of the constant tormenting, but now she had even more of a reason. With his comment, though, her face flushed, knowing that for the first time in six years, she would be throwing an insult that would be a complete fabrication of the truth, a complete lie.

"Well, at least I have potential," she stated coldly, her eyes bearing into his with a hatred he has never seen. "You said so yourself. You, on the other hand, have absolutely nothing going for you, and you never will. No glamour spell or potion could do anything to remedy the inherent ugliness which you so ungracefully possess."

She turned to walk away, not in the mood for another bloody fight, when he responded to her comment. If she hadn't turned away so quickly, she would have noticed the surprise which easily covered his features at the coldness of her words, she would have noticed the anger which flickered through his eyes when she dismembered the validity of his claim to fame; his looks.

"At least my looks allow me to have girls waiting on my every whim, beck, and call. Unlike you, who seems to only be sought attention by the Weasel, who is definitely not the definition of a good catch."

At the mention of Ron, her eyes grew wide, her anger only heightened. Little did he know that Hermione had sought after Ron for about five and a half years before giving him up, knowing he would never see her like she had once seen him. Last year, that comment would have given her hope; she would have found it difficult to fight back. But last year is not now. That comment had fueled her with anger, with hatred she had never felt before.

"At least Ron has some merit, unlike the sluts that follow you around. I mean really, have you ever even looked at Pansy Parkinson, in all of her pug-like glory. And her IQ? I would think it would be about, oh, zero, which is only one point less than yours, might I add."

And with that, she quickly turned around, her curls following her in a brilliant array of movements, as she made her way into her dorm, closing her door, locking it with a variety of spells that very few people could counter. At least she didn't have to worry about Malfoy countering them, seeing as he probably didn't care, and probably took her retreat as a win. But she got the last words, and that is what mattered most.


While Hermione relished in her supposed win, Draco was cursing himself as Hermione had only moments before. How could those filthy, dirty thoughts even have crossed his mind? He must be under some spell. It was the only explanation for those unwanted thoughts. But Hermione hadn't taken a wand out to him; not today at least. Who else would be desperate enough to hex him into thinking these things? With that logic in place, he realized that he may not have been forced to think those thoughts at all. Those thoughts may have been completely voluntary. No. They were completely voluntary. And that scared him, more than he would like to admit. Then he realized that he generally didn't go after girls because he liked them. If they were good looking, he would chase them until he got what he wanted, and then he would let them go. The only thing is, he has never even wanted to chase a Gryffindor before, let alone the worst of them all; Hermione Granger. Wait. No. He didn't want to chase her. He didn't want to have her. What was he thinking? He must be going insane.

But I can't argue with what I saw… Can I?