"The nerve!" Hermione cried as she finally left her room. Her hair did that funny crackling-with-electricity thing it did whenever Fred and George bugged her while she tried to study. "He sleeps in my room and then has the nerve to demand I clothe him! Stupid aristocratic prats," she spat out as she stomped down the hallway. The stairs sensed her anger and didn't even try to change around on her. "I bet he did that bed thing just to annoy me," she managed through gritted teeth, the ends of her hair sending off sparks. When she finally reached the lobby, she realized the room was devoid of other people. Which was probably a good thing, as Hermione wasn't exactly in the best mood. She stalked over to her favorite table (the one whose teapot served hot chocolate topped with whipped cream), dropped her bag on the floor, and poured herself a steaming cup.
"What a start to an otherwise lovely day," she grumbled, drawing pictures of Draco Malfoy's face being run over by hippographs in the checkered tablecloth with her wand. Hermione wandered in daydreams where she sent Malfoy to the furthest corner of Antarctica or some remote village of Africa.
Preferably one where he is forced to marry a woman with a monkey on her head.
Hermione shook her head at herself. There must be something she had to do, other than sit around and plan Malfoy's nuptials with a native. She dug her planner out of her bag and flipped it open.
"Your potions essay is due in a week!" it screeched at her.
"Yes, I know, thank you." Hermione poked the talking book with her wand, taking a sip of her warm, chocolatey beverage.
"You need to get your Arithmancy book!" it shrieked.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Perhaps a charmed planner wasn't such a good idea. She calmly ignored it, leaving her table and stepping over to one of the overstuffed chairs, sinking into the seat with a sigh.
"You need to buy Crookshanks a new leash, wrap Harry and Ron's presents, and write to your parents!"
"They're in the Bahamas!" an exasperated Hermione told the planner. Now would probably be a good time to get up and close the darn thing… but the table was so far away… and it was only a book… and she was so comfortable…
"Make your bed!" it howled, as if picking up on Hermione's lack of respect and lashing out as best as it could, being an inanimate object that was several feet away from her. "Organize your pen case! Clean out your bag! Fold your underwear!"
Hermione stared in shock. Not at her planner (even though that was a definite low blow, even for a book), but at the figure who had arrived near the fireplace just in time to hear about her undergarments.
No, not Santa Clause.
Would have been nice if it had been, Hermione mused, I've been a good girl this year.
None other than Draco Malfoy stood at the other side of the room, looking slightly surprised at the planner's unusual greeting.
"Granger," he began, raising a brow.
Here it comes, thought Hermione with an acute sense of dread, turning a violent shade of red, some crack or insult about my knickers. She closed her eyes, willing herself to disappear.
But instead of hearing Malfoy's voice making a snide remark concerning underclothes, the only sound she heard was silence. She opened an eye and was dumbfounded to see Malfoy shutting her planner.
"That's not a very nice book," he said.
Hermione could only shake her head- whether in a "yes, I agree" or a "this is bad, very bad", she couldn't decide.
Malfoy looked around the room, his grey eyes taking in every teapot and table and shelf and chair in the room.
Okay, now here it comes. 'What a poor choice of lodgings, Granger. My mansion is so much better.'
"Are those teacups for anyone's use?" he asked, nodding towards a shelf stacked with every kind of teacup imaginable.
The mute Head Girl nodded again. Perhaps one day I can develop a language where everything is said by moving one's head.
Malfoy stepped over and selected a white teacup with blue and green flowers dotting the sides. "Which teapot do you suggest?"
Please tell me I'm not having a civil conversation with Malfoy.
"I suppose this one," he answered his own question, moving over to the table where her planner lay. He poured the drink into his cup, watching the whipped cream froth at the brim of the porcelain mug. Malfoy frowned at it. "What is it?"
"Hot chocolate," she squeaked, finally dragging her voice back from its vacation in sunny California.
"Granger," the superiority was ever so apparent in his deep voice, "I know what hot chocolate is. My question was, what is this stuff?" He tilted the cup in her direction, pointing at the fluffy white clouds hiding the brown brew from his view.
"If you had specified, I might not have taken you for an idiot who doesn't know what hot chocolate is," Hermione snarked back at him. Had she not been busy not meeting his eyes, she would've seen the smile that flitted across his face. But by the time she recruited enough courage to form a small army to look up at him, his face returned to it's "I'm better than you because I have boxers with the Malfoy Family Crest on them" look.
"I see." Draco eyed the frothy cream floating on his drink. "Well, I suppose it's safe to eat."
"No, this is all a part of my plan to poison you," Hermione rolled her eyes, taking a drink of her own teacup.
Screwing his eyes shut, Draco took a hesitant sip out of his cup. Hermione smiled at the sight of Malfoy looking so uncertain.
Rather cute picture, in'nit?
"No!" Hermione yelped, nearly upsetting her cup into her lap.
Malfoy jumped and blinked at the flustered Gryffindor. "What'd you do that for?" he demanded.
But his question was left unanswered as Hermione burst into giggles. A puff of whipped cream dotted Malfoy's nose as if he wore a white clown nose. Malfoy frowned, reaching up to touch his face and looked down his nose, as if shocked at the peculiar sensation.
"Malfoy," Hermione gasped, brushing a tear away from her eye, "here." She threw a wadded up napkin at him.
Ever dignified, Malfoy took the napkin and rubbed his nose until all traces of white had disappeared. "So, Granger, what are the plans for today?"
Nothing that involves you, she thought. "Nothing that involves you," she said.
Malfoy raised a brow. "But I was so excited about trying on more dress robes with you!"
"Oh, come off it," Hermione snapped, irritated at him for being such a prat. And irritated at herself for getting irritated with him so quickly. And irritated because her hot chocolate was getting cold. Just irritated in general.
Surprisingly enough, Malfoy sobered. "Really, Granger. I figure that we've got another week before the train comes, and we're the only people each other knows… you connect the dots."
Hermione smirked. "It's easy enough when I just look at your face."
He looked highly offended. "Malfoys do not struggle with acne, like you Muggles might."
"Muggles don't struggle with their noses sinking into whipped cream, like you Malfoys might."
Okay, so that was lame. But it was all I could come up with on short notice.
Even more surprisingly, Malfoy didn't come back with a smarmy comment. He just smiled a little.
That's what scared Hermione the most.
"So, Granger, what say you about us working on that Potions essay together?"
Tune in next week for another edition of "Things You Never Thought You'd Hear Out of Draco Malfoy's Mouth."
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AN: yo! Sorry this chapter took longer than the others… I hit a mini case of writer's block until today, when I spat out almost half the chapter in ten minutes. Please note the formatting of this chapter has been decidedly screwy. I'm pretty sure the italics have finally worked out and gone where I wanted them to, but you never know. This is about the sixth time I've had to upload this stupid chapter, and I'm too tired to do it again.
Charmed cookies and magical muffins to Kate, the coolest reviewer ever!
Dracos_kiki—wow, you definitely get the award for most reviews from one person. Thank you!
Jolle_post, FuMan Skeeto, Draco's-Tootsie23 – thank you very much for the reviews!