REPUTATIONS
By MODA

The joy that resulted from the victory did not last very long. In fact, it lasted about as long as it took for Malfoy to remember that the Mudblood had most definitely broken his nose. And that it hurt. He dragged his hand across his upper lip and was entirely unsurprised to find it covered in a thick smear of blood. He wrenched open the door and marched quickly to the Hospital Wing, long strings of expletives spewing from his mouth as he tried to staunch the torrent of blood that continued to pour from his nose.

Suddenly, he stopped. He had managed to wind Granger up to the point that she hit him. He had watched her face contort with rage, and tears gather in her eyes. But what had caused her to flip out? What had he been saying?

Ah yes. He'd been mocking the death of the Weasley brother. He'd have to dig a little further into that situation, find out exactly what it was that broke her as it had just done.

For now, though, he needed to fix his nose.

Hermione was curled up on her side in the middle of her bed, jaw clamped and arms wrapped around her knees, trying to quell the shakes and sobs that rattled through her.

He was right. Harry and Ron weren't there. She thought she could handle this year without them, manage Malfoy just fine by herself. Apparently she was wrong. So, very, very wrong, and so very, very weak.

At this thought, another heaving round of sobs wracked through her, and she turned her head into her quilt, trying to stifle them against the bedding.

In time, the flow of tears began to ebb, until she was still once more, and rational thought that had previously been drowned out by emotion seeped back into her head.

She had spent the last year helping to bring down Voldemort. She'd seen friends, good people, die. She'd seen her parents look at her without a trace of recognition in their eyes, and then had to face their anger and distrust once the memory charm she'd had to place on them herself had been reversed. She'd seen one best friend turn his back on her, and the other brought to her, dead. If she'd come through all that, she could handle some spoilt bully speaking of things he knew nothing about. He couldn't understand what it was to lose something you loved with all your being. All he knew was gaining the approval of his twisted, prejudiced parents.

And she pitied him.

She lay there for what seemed like years, contemplating how she should behave towards Malfoy now, until she heard the door to the common room open downstairs. Slowly, she pulled herself off her bed and to the sink in the corner of the room. Tiredly, she rubbed at her red eyes as she turned on the cold tap, before splashing the cool water over her face, removing any traces of tear stains.

When they had disappeared down the drain, she reached for the little-used mascara Ginny had given her to use for Bill's wedding last year, swiping it over her lashes quickly.

Once satisfied that not evidence of her previous outburst was noticeable, she headed downstairs.

Draco was sat on the sofa once more, his expression halfway between thoughtfulness and a scowl. He started slightly at the sound of her bedroom door opening, and looked up as she descended the stairs, his smirk instantly plastered back over his face.

"My my, Granger, mascara? It'll take a lot more than that to impress me, or anyone, for that matter."

She said nothing, simply crossed the room to where her bag had been dropped by the door, and fished the novel she was currently reading from within it.

"Why so quiet? Has the lion lost its roar all of a sudden? What a shame that would be, on top of losing everything else."

She continued to completely blank him, choosing instead to curl up in the armchair by the fire and engross herself in her book.

All Draco could do was sit and frown.

It had been three days. Three days and he'd failed to get a single word out of her.

Not getting his own way was not a concept Draco was used to, and it aggravated him. Of course, he thought bitterly, his free will had been snatched from him the moment he was thrown in with the Death Eaters, becoming a slave to Voldemort's every whim.

He was close to giving up.

"Are you okay?" Blaise asked him, looking up from his breakfast, "You've been a little... tense, lately."

"I'm fine," Draco snapped, tossing the day's edition of The Daily Prophet back onto the table. Blaise looked unconvinced.

"It's Granger," sighed Draco, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, "She getting in my head."

The goblet Teddy had been drinking from clattered to the floor and both Pansy and Draco suddenly found themselves covered in a light sheen of pumkin juice. Teddy wheezed and spluttered, Blaise whacking him hard on the back as he roared with laughter.

"Granger's getting in your head?" Teddy eventually choked out, once he had recovered enough to be able to speak, "Wow, Drake, didn't take long. War ended and suddenly you're a Mudblood lover."

"Shut it, Nott, I didn't mean like that, and you know it. I've been trying to wind her up so she snaps again for three days straight and she does nothing. Never removes her nose from some damned book or another when she's in our common room. I'm half convinced she's casting silencing spells around herself to block me out."

"Wait, again? When did you first manage to crack her?" Pansy asked eagerly.

"A few days back. Drove her so mad she ended up hitting me."

"Were you okay?" Parkinson almost squealed.

"Obviously, Pans, now shut up and let him finish," Blaise interjected her crooning.

"Anyway, so yeah, she broke my nose, the bitch, but then burst into tears. I actually got her to swear at me."

"Granger can swear?"

"Indeed. Gryffindor's Princess has quite the foul mouth when she tries, it would seem."

Hermione heard Blaise's laughing from across the hall, and guessed from the death glare Pansy Parkinson shot her a few seconds later that they were talking about her. Quickly finishing off the last dregs of her tea, she grabbed her bag and half jogged out of the hall, not wishing to be late fore Potions.

She wound her way down through the castle, the corridors gradually getting narrower and colder. It wasn't long before Hermione became aware of the echoes of a second person making their way down to the dungeons. It sounded as if they were running, loud slaps of their shoes against the stone filling the passageway.

"Oi, Mudblood!"

She turned, allowing the exasperated sigh that escaped her be heard by her pursuer.

"What, Pansy?"

Parkinson stopped in front of her, twirling her wand between her fingers and peering at Hermione through two dark curtains of hair, in a manner that Hermione presumed was intended to seem threatening.

"Just wanted to warn you to stay away from Draco, Granger. It's bad enough that he's having to live with you, the poor thing, I can't imagine what he's going through, but that you had the nerve to touch him, let alone hurt him! I promise you, Mudblood, you lay a finger on him again, and I'll make you regret the day you wrongly decided to turn up at this school."

"Drop it, Pansy, he had what was coming to him, and if he was stupid enough not to predict what would happen if he tried to wind me up that way, then I guess you two are well matched for intelligence, and I hope you're happy together, in your lstupid, close-minded little-world." Over Pansy's shoulder she saw Neville and Ginny appear, both looking somewhat concerned.

"Is everything okay, Hermione?" Neville asked. Pansy jumped slightly in surprise, not having heard his approach.

"Oh, yes," she assured him, "Just having a friendly chat with Miss Parkinson here," turning back to Pansy she said, "Don't worry, I'm sure your ickle-Draco will stop trying to annoy me and give you the undivided attention you require soon enough. I mean, how long can he keep chasing around a pesky little Mudblood when he's got such a gorgeous pureblood Slytherin to amuse him to his heart's, and other thing's, desire."

The door to the potions classroom a few metres down the corridor, and Professor Slughorn's jovial voice filled the passage. Ginny and Neville pushed past Pansy, joining Hermione as the entered the room, leaving Pansy fuming outside.

A/N: Bonjour, mes lecteurs belles! Casually embarrassing myself infront of any French readers I have, or people who can speak French better than I can (which is probably a lot of you). Anyway, sorry, this chapter's more of a filler that anything of great substance and drama and whatnot, though it did give me a chance to make fun of Pansy. Which I enjoy greatly. Anyway, until next time,
Lena Grace