I guess I didn't make this clear: Theoretically they can tell anyone they want about the bet and the bracelet, except that would get Draco in trouble, so he demanded that Hermione keep quiet about it. If he chooses to tell people about it, that's his own business. There's nothing preventing him from telling Blaise or anyone else, except his own desire to have as few people know as possible.


When Hermione awoke Sunday morning, there still hadn't been any summons for her. She shook the bracelet a bit and mumbled, "You're not out of batteries, are you?" before yawning and getting out of bed. It had been futile to try and transfigure the thing, she'd spent the better part of last night trying to do so. It simply didn't work. The bracelet wanted to keep its form and there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it. There wasn't much she could do about anything these days. She needed to hurry if she wanted breakfast.

When she arrived at the Great Hall, she rushed past the Slytherin table, hoping not to hear anything that might keep her from her food. She didn't hear Malfoy call out to her, but she did hear a sudden silence, followed by a sea of urgent whispers. She stopped dead and turned to see what had caused it, only to find every single pair of Slytherin eyes on her.

Her eyes went wide and she slowly shook her head. What could he possibly have said to them? Some of them were sneering, and a few of the younger ones looked curious, but most were smirking and throwing her very… unpleasant… looks. Nott was the only real exception; he was frowning disapprovingly at his House. He didn't say anything, but when he looked back at her, he just raised an eyebrow as if saying 'This was what you asked for, are you happy yet?'

Yes, she was absolutely thrilled. She swallowed and let her eyes run over their table a couple of times to seek out Malfoy. He wasn't there. So whatever he'd said to them must have been earlier or the day before. She glanced at the other tables. Nothing was amiss there, so it was only the Slytherins. He couldn't have been careless enough to actually tell them about the bet, could he? That House was notoriously self-serving, so if any one of them could use it as leverage against him, they most likely would.

She shook her head and turned her back on them again, ignoring their voices. This was just another one of Malfoy's underhanded tactics to make her uncomfortable. It wouldn't work. She went over to sit down next to Ron.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Hermione almost groaned, but reminded herself that Ron might only have noticed because he was looking for her to enter. "I really can't say," she responded.

"Why isn't that Nott fellow stopping them?" Ron persisted. "He's Head Boy, isn't he? Isn't it his job to keep them in line?"

"They aren't doing anything," Hermione mumbled. "He can hardly give detentions because of a few whispers."

"But he could find the root of it and give them detention! They're obviously spreading lies about you over there, otherwise they wouldn't all be so interested."

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "Why would he care? I appreciate that you're looking out for me, Ron, but not everyone cares about me like you do. Besides, they'll get bored soon enough."

"But if they're spreading lies about you—"

"I don't care what they think. And anyone I care about wouldn't believe any Slytherin lies."

Ron still looked disgruntled. "I bet it's that slimy git, Draco Malfoy."

Hermione almost jumped in her seat. "What?"

"It's always him," Ron continued, not noticing her reaction. "He's never anything but trouble. Why Dumbledore allowed Nott to make him Deputy, I'll never understand."

Hermione opened her mouth to defend Dumbledore's decision, but then snapped it shut again. Why would she want to do that? It wasn't as if she didn't completely agree with Ron. Why search for reason when there was none? Still, she remained loyal to Dumbledore.

"I don't know," she said. "He probably hopes it brings out the good in him."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, because we saw how good he was as Prefect and member of that Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad."

Hermione giggled and Ron looked really pleased with himself.

Entrance Hall. It was a sudden feeling, a certainty. She had to go out to the entrance hall. Now.

She abruptly stopped laughing, her eyes widening a little. So this was what it was like.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, concern in his voice. "Are you ok?"

"Um… I… I have to go. I forgot about an assignment. I have to go do it now." She got up.

Ron eyed her suspiciously. "You? Forgot about homework?"

Now. Entrance Hall, Now.

"See you later," Hermione absent-mindedly mumbled.

The pull was drowning out everything else, so she didn't notice if Ron said anything more. She had to force herself to walk sedately instead of breaking into a run.

"I thought I told you I was done waiting," Draco irritably said when she finally reached him just outside the Great Hall. "You will do better than this next time."

Hermione shot him a withering look. "I had to excuse myself, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't," he replied. "You get up and leave. And don't talk back to me."

She ground her teeth together. "What did you tell your House about me?"

Draco smirked. "Don't question me, either. In fact, don't ask me any questions ever."

You going to ask me to stop breathing too?

She opened her mouth to ask the question, but she couldn't force the words out. She growled in frustration.

Draco's smirk widened. "I knew this would be fun," he mumbled.

Hermione mutely glared at him.

"It's killing you to not know what's going on with my House, isn't it? Did they stare at you? Say anything? Respond. Tell me what they did."

"Yes," she choked. "They stared and whispered."

"All of them?" he asked, malicious glee in his eyes.

"No, not Nott."

He looked put out. "Well, that can't be helped," he grumbled. "You will stay away from Nott. I don't want him ruining my fun."

Hermione wasn't sure why he'd want to cut her off from Nott, but since she couldn't talk back or question him, she chose her words carefully. "I have to spend time with the Head Boy or there will be questions that you don't want me to answer."

Draco looked thoughtful at that. "You're right, of course. Fine, you can go to your weekly meeting, but for the rest of the time you will avoid him." He smirked. "And, of course, you won't tell him why."

He could almost taste her anger and frustration; it was so tangible. It was so enjoyable. He could also tell that she was confused about his last demand. She had no clue. Draco couldn't be certain himself, of course, since Theo was so hard to read, but he had a clear suspicion that the other Slytherin might be interested in Hermione for more than her brains. He didn't see how or why that could be, but to each his own, he supposed. Having her apparently snub him would soon bring Theo around to a sensible way of thinking again.

He noticed Hermione's mouth working as she tried to form words. The attempt was unsuccessful and she frowned, visibly thinking, trying to get around his demands. He'd bet it was a question. She could never seem to stop asking them. He pretended not to realize and just raised an eyebrow, waiting to see what she could do.

"I am here now," she finally said.

He hid a grin. She wanted to know why he'd summoned her? Well, time for him to demonstrate just who was calling the shots and when.

"So you are," he said. "Good for you!"

Then he went inside the Great Hall for his breakfast.


By the time night had fallen, Hermione was fuming. Draco wasn't being abusive. He wasn't even really being derisive. As for whether he was demanding, that depended on your point of view. He kept summoning her at the most inopportune moments and usually for no good reason.

First, he'd summoned her, just to dismiss her again, claiming that she'd taken too long and he didn't need her anymore. She'd been in the tower studying and had just finally gotten a grasp on an essay she was doing, when he had summoned her to go the dungeons. She had immediately left, just to be told it was for nothing and, after that, she couldn't re-focus for the rest of that day.

And that was just what he did before lunch.

He had made her miss lunch by having her seek out Peeves to ask him what his stance was on Ministry Regulations on ectoplasm. Peeves had, predictably, thrown a fit, and now Hermione had to walk the halls very carefully, unless she wanted to be hit by something dirty, smelly or heavy. Once, he managed to hit her with all three at once, having somehow gotten an enormous, still live, trout from the lake.

She had spent the next hour in the bath, trying to get rid of the smell and the feeling of the huge fish thrashing about on top of her. Of course, at the time she had screamed, and there had been an audience. The whole school knew what had happened by sunset and the Slytherins all acted as if she was still stinking up the place.

In the afternoon, Draco had Quidditch practice. It was late October and it was a dark and rainy day. Twice, he'd summoned her out there. The first time to get something from his room (which he then decided he didn't need and had her put back), and the second time to stand by in the drizzle, just in case he wanted something else. She had, of course, not had time to get her cloak.

She was freezing.

She was bored.

She loathed him.

After she had finally been allowed to go in after their practice had ended, she defrosted, and he let her have her dinner, but only just. She had anticipated this, so her table manners had almost been as bad as Ron's in an effort to at least get some nutrition. She knew she was getting strange looks from her friends and others, but she didn't know what to do about it, so she ignored them.

She also tried to ignore Malfoy as much as possible, but he was having entirely too much fun for it to be possible.

He had told her to go to the Slytherin common room and wait for him. Another pointless order. He had taken his time finishing eating, and, for an hour, she had just stood there - the Gryffindor Head Girl trapped waiting in the Slytherin common room Sunday night, while people were staring at her or making snide remarks about her blood. She couldn't respond, because her instructions had been to stand in a corner and speak to no one, so all she had was her glare.

At least day two was almost over, only four weeks to go! … Oh, crap.


Taking his sweet time eating had never been this pleasant before. Draco smirked at his empty plate.

"So, why did you suddenly decide to tell everyone?" Blaise asked.

"I didn't, really. I don't trust them to know about the bracelet. I just told them vaguely about the bet and dropped a few hints…"

"Hints?" Blaise frowned. "Like, that she has to obey?"

Draco's smirk widened. "No, that she wants to…"

Blaise's eyes bulged. "You lied?"

Draco pursed his lips. "No, I implied. Whatever conclusions people draw are beyond my control."

Blaise shook his head. "Are we going back to the common room any time soon?"

"What's the rush?" Draco asked, lazily stretching.

The other boy rolled his eyes. "You're just out to torture Granger, which is fine, but these benches aren't that comfortable."

Draco pursed his lips. Blaise was right. A soft chair in front of the fire sounded much more pleasant.

"All right," he said. "Let's go."

Seeing Granger in the corner, when they entered their common room, sneering like a caged animal, was definitely worth it. Draco grinned. She pointedly ignored him, her irritation obvious in her stance, the set of her jaw and her eyes. Draco's grin widened. She could remain standing for now.

"You're going to wear her out before the bet is over," Blaise observed as they made their way over to the seating arrangement in front of the fire.

"I thought you thought I was going too easy on her," Draco pointed out, sitting down.

Blaise slowly shook his head. "I was just surprised that you could contain yourself, was all."

Draco glanced sideways at him. "So you think I'm going too hard on her?" He couldn't keep the coldness out of his voice.

Blaise shrugged. "I'm actually not a big fan of enslaving people. But if anybody deserves it, it's her. And she did agree to it herself, didn't she?"

Draco was relieved. For a second, he'd thought Blaise would give him a hard time too. Lately, he'd been having a very rough time hanging on to his friends. It was becoming tiresome. He wasn't like Theo, who didn't seem to care much whether people talked to him or not. Yet… he couldn't give this up. Granger had been a thorn in his side for far too long and she'd easily survive the things he had planned for her.

The object of his malicious thoughts sneezed behind them.

"Looks like you gave your pet a cold," Blaise deadpanned.

Draco rolled his eyes. "So she'll go to the hospital wing in the morning. It'll hardly kill her."

"Except Madam Pomfrey put up a notice that too many seek her out for hardly any reason at all and a common cold can run its course without her potions. She won't treat it."

"So?" Draco asked. "The cold still won't kill her. She'll have the sniffles for a week, is all."

"Unless you keep hauling her outside like that and it turns into pneumonia."

"If she gets bloody pneumonia, then Madam Pomfrey will treat her, won't she?" Draco growled.

"It can get pretty bad if allowed to fester," Blaise calmly continued. "Even potions can't always save people."

"She just sneezed, Blaise!" Draco exclaimed.

Blaise just looked at him.

Draco closed his eyes. Merlin help him, but people really were being nuisances these days.

He turned to Hermione. "Go to bed," he growled. "Take care of your bloody cold."

She left and he looked back at Blaise, who was smiling.

"See?" Blaise gloated. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Draco began plotting Blaise's demise.


Next chapter:

Draco gazed pensively towards the doors to the Great Hall. "Mondays are boring…" he mumbled. "Perhaps we should liven things a bit?"

She glanced apprehensively at the doors and then back to him.

He smirked.

"Yes…" he said. "How's your singing voice?"