A/N : So. I said I was updating Thursday. And as you can see, it's Tuesday. In my denfese, I've been stuck in the house for the past two days and it's driving me CRAZY that I've got so much of this story written and so little of it posted. So here I am. I do hope that you guys don't get tired of this story before it's even had a chance to begin, simply because I'm updating too often! :D

And as usual, thank you to my betas, Jack and Jessica. Aww, that rhymes! Not really, but it's alliteration, and I love it. Thank you really, though, guys. ;)

Hermione was so angry she forgot to talk about O.W.L.s during lunch after the incident with Malfoy in Potions. She had been stupid to think he would actually start being nice to her. Stupid!

Of course he had done it on purpose. She had seen his smirk when Snape took points from Gryffindor.

That moment in the library must have been a fluke, or a joke, or – or something! Oh, how she wished she could get her hands around his slimy neck. The horrible, intolerable, insufferable git. She hated him with renewed vigor.

No one bothered to talk to her during lunch, and that suited her just fine. She huffed off to Arithmancy before anyone else had even finished eating and arrived twenty minutes early. At least she wouldn't have to worry about seeing Malfoy in this class. This thought cheered her just a bit, and she pulled out her books and settled in for some extra studying.

Slowly her anger abated, and she began to wonder why she had gotten so angry in the first place. After all, it was only Malfoy. He had made it his goal in life to make Harry, and by extension, herself, miserable. He was only being a git. It wasn't that unusual, really.

Her reaction was. Especially in the past year, she had become extremely tolerant of Malfoy's antics. After all, he was essentially harmless. He was all hot air.

By the time the professor came in to begin the lesson, Hermione had reasoned that she had been under so much stress lately that Malfoy's trick was merely the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. That was the reason she got so angry.

Satisfied, she set to work.

"Harry! I can't believe you!" Hermione spat as they left Defense Against the Dark Arts later that afternoon. "I told you not to get involved!"

"I couldn't just let her get away with taking points from you for having an opinion!" Harry yelled back. Umbridge had taken points from Gryffindor for Hermione's disagreeing with the text, the watered down Defensive Magical Theory. Harry, incensed, had talked back to Umbridge, earning him another week's worth of detentions.

"Yes, well, you should really learn to keep a stronger hold on your temper, Harry," Hermione sniffed, dropping her bag on the floor and seating herself at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"My temper? You didn't have to 'disagree with Mr. Slinkard,' you know," Harry retorted as he practically threw his bag under the table and sat down with such force he nearly turned the bench over. Hermione sighed.

"There are better ways of rebelling than back-sassing a dangerous teacher," she mumbled.

"I'm not going to apologize for getting my hand sliced open every night, if that's what you're waiting for," Harry grumbled from across the table. Hermione glanced up at him. He had finally broken down at breakfast that morning and told her about the detentions with Umbridge. The woman was seriously deranged, making him write lines with his own blood.

"Harry, I –" she began.

"Just – don't," Harry said weakly, holding up a hand to stop her. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's talk about something that's not depressing."

They were silent for a minute. Then Ron, who had been quiet for the entire fight between Hermione and Harry, started laughing.

Hermione looked round at him quickly, then she couldn't help but laugh, too. Harry joined in a moment later, and soon they were all three shrieking with laughter so loud that it earned them a glare from McGonagall at the Teacher's Table.

"I guess there's not much that's going on right now that isn't depressing," Harry gasped a few minutes later. Hermione giggled and tried to catch her breath. Ron speared a piece of chicken on the end of his fork and brought it over to his plate, still chuckling.

By the end of the next day, Hermione had had quite enough of Umbridge. The woman had evaluated two of their classes, and had managed to give Harry another detention and insult all the Gryffindors in one fell swoop during Care of Magical Creatures. She was out of control, and they weren't learning anything in their DADA classes that would help them against the very real dangers that she was so vehemently denying. Something had to be done.

But what? Hermione had an inkling of an idea. They needed to learn how to defend themselves or they wouldn't stand a chance if they were ever to be attacked. The chances of any of them being attacked were rising by the minute; every minute that passed was another one Voldemort was using out there to plan his return to full power.

The time had passed for theory and books. They needed someone who had been there, who could teach them properly. She resolved to talk to Ron about it after dinner and then he could help her approach Harry about it. After all, when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was the most logical choice for a teacher.

At dinner that night, Hermione was almost herself again. That is, until dessert was served. Right there in front of her plate was a bowl of red currant jelly.

No one else would have thought anything of it; it was an ordinary bowl filled with quite ordinary jelly, and the casual observer would have brushed it off as just another dessert.

But Hermione knew that Viktor had loved it. It was his favorite dessert; she remembered eating it with him when she had visited him over the summer holidays at his parents' house.

Someone, she couldn't have told you later who it was, offered her some, but Hermione shook her head firmly. She loved it, too, but she didn't think she deserved to eat it when Viktor couldn't. So she said no, and excused herself soon afterwards to the Common Room in Gryffindor Tower, where she buried herself in homework until Ron came stumbling through the portrait hole forty-five minutes later.

"Hermione! I've been looking everywhere for you!" he said breathlessly as he flopped into the armchair next to Hermione's. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Okay, so maybe I checked the library after dinner," he added sheepishly.

"Well, it's a good thing you finally found me," she said sarcastically as she closed her book. "I have something I wanted to talk to you about."

"What?"

"Help me convince Harry to teach us Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"What?" Ron repeated.

"Do you have some sort of buildup in your ears?" Hermione asked seriously. Ron blinked, and Hermione laughed, causing Ron to turn pink around his aforementioned ears.

"Are you serious, Hermione?"

"If you do have buildup in your ears, that's a pretty serious thing, Ronald."

"Hermione! I was talking about getting Harry to teach us."

"I know. And yes, I'm serious. We're never going to learn anything useful in that awful woman's classes," she finished. Ron looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I wonder if he'll go for it," he mused.

They discussed the matter further as they waited for Harry to finish his detention, and by the time he finally made it back to the Common Room after midnight, they had come to an agreement.

Harry wasn't thrilled with the idea. He'd actually gotten mad and yelled at her and Ron, but Hermione wasn't surprised, really. She had known that he wouldn't go into this easily. She just hoped that he would change his mind, for all their sakes.

Over the next two weeks, Hermione found herself acting rather strangely. It all started that day with the red currant jelly, but one day she found herself unwilling to eat mashed potatoes because she remembered Viktor remarking his fondness for them, and the next it was shepherd's pie or wild rice.

What started as a silly quirk began to become part of her consciousness, and it seemed only right to withhold from certain foods because she could not share them with Viktor. It was a way to grieve him; a way to keep him alive. If she thought about him and didn't eat certain things in honor of him, it was like he was there with her, if only in spirit.

She really didn't give it too much thought; after all, she still ate, and ate plenty, so there was nothing to worry about. Her friends didn't even give her a second glance when she avoided certain foods. It wasn't a big deal, of course.

Meanwhile, she had bigger things to worry about.

Harry had finally agreed to their plan, and they had already had quite a few people sign up to take lessons in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They were now quite busy trying to find a suitable place to hold meetings, and Hermione was spending most of her extra time helping make plans and think of ways to get around Umbridge and Filch's ever-watchful eyes.

Besides that, there was the issue of Malfoy. He seemed to be taking extra time out of his busy schedule to torment Hermione; it seemed like every time she turned around he was there with a snide word or ten points from Gryffindor for "having wild hair." It was almost enough to make her crazy.

Finally, she'd had enough.

It started out a very peaceful afternoon in the library. Hermione had retreated to her favorite table and had spread out all her notes and books; she was happily engrossed in her Arithmancy homework and didn't even notice him until he spoke.

"Studying, are you?" Malfoy drawled, and Hermione's head jerked up immediately. He was leaning against the bookcase and examining his fingernails, apparently quite at his ease. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Come to have a laugh at me, the little Gryffindor know-it-all, have you, Malfoy? Well please get on with it and leave me alone."

He smirked, and sauntered up to the table, resting his hands on the edge and leaning low over the table. He was so close she could smell his cologne. Which is probably more expensive than my house, she thought bitterly.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Malfoy," she said, a bit more forcefully. "I said, leave me alone."

"Oh, but why would I do that, when annoying you is so much more fun?" he answered silkily, and she noticed that his voice was low enough that no one else could have heard him, even if they were sitting at the table with her. Her upper arms came out in gooseflesh.

"Because I'll take fifty points from Slytherin if you don't," she replied through gritted teeth. Malfoy smirked.

"I don't think you will, Granger," he answered, still in that soft voice. "You forget that I'm a Prefect, too. I'll just give Crabbe fifty points for pummeling a first-year Hufflepuff to make up for it."

She glared at him, but knew he probably wasn't bluffing. Besides, taking House Points didn't seem like enough, quite, to make up for all he'd done to her these past few weeks.

"I could always hex you," she said, her voice dangerously low.

"I'm sure you could," he murmured, and suddenly he was looking at her mouth. Her heart sped up a bit, but she told herself it was from anger only. She licked her lips instinctively, before she could stop herself. Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath. Suddenly he was leaning so close she could hear his breath coming faster; her own breathing was hard and shallow to match his and her eyes were drawn to his lips.

But in that instant she remembered she was in the library, and this was Draco Malfoy leaning over the table looking as though he might…well never mind what he looked like just now. She remembered that she was angry; or she should be. She pulled back her hand to slap him, but he was shaken out of his reverie just in time and stopped her hand in mid-air.

"Anh-anh-anh, little Mudblood, I'll not have a repeat of that," he said, his voice still low, but no longer soft. He released her hand quickly as though it might infect him and wiped his own hand on his robes.

"Great," he sneered. "Now I'm going to have to go scrub my hands to get the filth off."

"Why don't you go do that and get the hell out of my sight?" Hermione suggested in an undertone. Her fists were clenched under the table, one hand clutching her wand.

"Oh, testy, are we, Granger? Not still in mourning over that great lump Krum, are you?"

That did it. Hermione didn't know how she got to her feet that fast, she didn't remember muttering the Revulsion Jinx, she didn't even register Draco's shocked face right before he was blasted off his feet and right into the bookcase directly behind him. The bookcase toppled and tipped just far enough to shower heavy books down on Draco's head.

"Don't you ever talk about him again," Hermione spat at him, the fury bubbling in her veins; she was barely keeping herself under control – another minute and she would be using an Unforgivable right there in the Hogwarts library.

Madam Pince came skidding around the corner at just that moment, glasses askew and looking incensed and horrified that someone had violated her precious books.

"What is going on here?" she shrieked.

Malfoy managed to dig himself out from under the pile of books and glared at Hermione, not even seeming to notice Pince was standing so nearby. He rubbed his shoulder where he had hit the bookcase first and looked murderous.

"I don't see why you're defending him in the first place, Granger; I'll bet you didn't even know he was cheating on you," he stopped when Hermione's face went white. "That's right, Mudblood, I guess you weren't enough for dearest Vikky, were you?" he added, his voice full of triumphant spite.

"Take that back!" she screeched, her voice rising several octaves and her face completely drained of color now. "You, horrible, lying – You take that back this instant!"

Draco smirked at her, and shook his head. Hermione didn't care anymore if the entire school was watching or if she had detention for the rest of her life; she threw caution to the wind and pointed her wand at his heart.

"Stupefy!"

A red jet of light soared from the end of her wand and struck Malfoy square in the chest. His face still held the smirk he'd worn seconds before when taunting her, but he fell backwards onto the pile of books and moved no more.

"Murder!" shrieked Madam Pince. "Murder! Headmaster! Someone go get the Headmaster!" She continued to shout as she fled the scene, presumably to go get Dumbledore. Hermione didn't care. She felt no remorse.

She calmly gathered her things and packed them neatly in her bag; every eye in the library was on her as she slung her bag over her shoulder and marched out.

"Someone should clean up that mess," she called over her shoulder as she walked through the door.

She didn't go to Gryffindor Tower; instead she turned her feet towards Dumbledore's office. It was where she would end up, anyway; why not save them all the trouble and satisfaction of dragging her there?

She turned the corner to go down the corridor where she knew his office was; and promptly ran right into Madam Pince, who was busy informing Dumbledore of the events that had just taken place in the library. Dumbledore stopped short when he saw Hermione; he stood there for a moment and surveyed her, eyes twinkling.

"It appears Miss Granger has turned herself in, ­­­­­Irma," he said cheerfully, patting the lady on the shoulder. "There, there, now, my dear woman, all will be well; just run along back to the library, I'll send Argus to help you tidy things up." Madam Pince gave a great sniff and looked as though she might cry, but nodded and headed off to the library obligingly.

"Miss Granger, if you will follow me to my office?" Dumbledore motioned to the hallway behind him and Hermione nodded. Now she was beginning to feel guilty. Not for hexing Malfoy, but for breaking the rules so flagrantly. What would Dumbledore do to her?

Dumbledore gave his password and soon they were being carried by the spiraling staircase up to his office, where he pushed open the door and motioned for Hermione to sit. Hermione sat in the same chair she'd sat in the night she arrived, and felt another pang of guilt. Dumbledore had gone out of his way to help her then; and this was the way she repaid him?

"You will be pleased to know that Mr. Malfoy has been transported to the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey assures me he will make a full recovery," he said conversationally as he seated himself behind his desk. Hermione looked up at him sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she mumbled. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Are you sorry you hexed Mr. Malfoy, or are you sorry there were witnesses?" he asked shrewdly. Hermione felt herself blushing. "I thought so. I'm sure this attack was not unprovoked, however; I understand Mr. Malfoy has been rather unbearable to you these past few weeks. Nevertheless, you will understand that it cannot go unpunished," he added, and Hermione felt her insides shrivel as she waited for the worst.

"Yes, Professor." She felt as though Dumbledore could see right into her thoughts through those half-moon spectacles, and it was rather unnerving.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor ought to do it, I think," he said at last. Hermione looked up at him, incredulous. That was it? "And a week's ban from the library," he added, and Hermione was so relieved she wasn't expelled she forgot to be upset that she wouldn't be able to use the library for a week. Still, she wondered if the punishment was too lenient. After all, she had attacked another student and damaged school property in the process.

"Professor?"

"I could give you a week of detention into the bargain, if you'd like," he added, eyes twinkling merrily. Hermione shook her head vigorously. "I understand if you'd prefer I sent you to your Head of House. As it stands, Minerva will not be happy that I took matters into my own hands; but you see, I have a feeling she will not be quite as understanding as I am."

Then he gave her a pronounced wink and Hermione knew she was free to go.

A/N : The general consensus last time was that chapter previews are okay as long as I continue to update regularly, which I think I can promise to do, so chapter previews it is! Yay! I'm happy because I get to be evil some more, MUAHAHAHAHA. You just didn't know you were creating a monster, did you?

xxx

And Draco would have his revenge. He would make her suffer. He would make her pay; make them all pay.