A/N: I've been really, really sick. It's annoying and drains you out completely.

Late as always, but here's the next chapter. :)

Chapter 12

Breathe. Hold it. One drop. Hold it. Breathe..

Hermione Granger gave a little sniffle and finally succumbed to the urge to cry. Taking great, heaving breaths of the musky library air, she laid her head on her arms and watched her tears slowly wet her sleeve.

What exactly was filthy blood? Did she have mud running down her veins? Did it make her a lesser person? She could deliver such names of the components inside the human blood that would make his ferret brain spin. Who gave him the right to say such things without even knowing what they meant?

He was a liar, a cheater, a manipulative coward and yet she was here, bent over, crying over his careless words. The thought made her cry even harder. She was so much better than him, she worked harder, she was tougher, but more than anything, she knew she was a better person. She'd bet her last Knut that he had never met a muggle in his whole life. If he had, he wouldn't even have known the difference. But the fact that he simply thought her to be beneath him, just because she was part of something completely foreign to him, hurt her more than she would've liked.

She knew he hated her. She also knew he hated her more than he'd ever hate any other muggleborn in this school. She knew why. It was simply because he didn't know anyone else, nor did he ever bother to find out. Why bother when you have Harry Potter's lone muggleborn best friend to bully? She used to think that he would target her just in hopes of getting at Harry, but the past few days made her realize that he really, truly hated her and everything that she stood for. And that was just fine, because she hated him too. I'll have you crying… Ugh.

"Hermione?"

Her head shot upwards at the voice, expecting it to be him.

But it was only Anthony.

His eyes moved rapidly over her face and the state of her hair, making her feel more embarrassed than she already was. She absolutely hated having an audience to her weakness.

"Are you alright?"

The genuine curiosity in his voice made her crack a smile.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

She sighed, and wiped the wetness from her cheeks.

"Okay, I've been crying. But I'm fine now." She admitted.

Her gaze moved to the book in his hand.

"What are you reading?" "Why were you crying?" They asked at the same time.

They grinned at each other. Anthony moved the chair opposite her and took a seat at her table. Despite herself, she felt a little jolt of thrill inside her.

"You first," she said.

His blue eyes sparkled.

"Well, this is the runic translation of Nicholas Flamel's autobiography. I picked it for, you know…some light reading."

"That sounds interesting."

"Believe me, it's not. All I wanted was an account of the elixir of life and he goes on and on about the joys of beekeeping."

She giggled.

"Well, that's about me. Now it's your turn."

She looked at her hands, her eyes tracing the ink stains next to her nails.

"I'm just sick of the head boy."

"Ah."

He stated like he understood everything. Maybe he did, their enmity wasn't exactly a secret. He didn't press for details, and she was grateful for that. They spent the next few minutes in companionable silence.

"I can't help but wonder though, is he really worth crying over?"

She stared into his eyes. He hid his emotions well, she could see that he wanted to know what had really happened but was too polite to ask.

"He's not. And I told you...I'm fine now, really."

"Hmm."

He pointed his wand at her arm. "Exaresco."

She watched as all trace of her tears vanished from her sleeve, leaving a dry patch behind.

"That's disgusting." She teased.

"It's the best I could do."

They laughed, but they were interrupted by a shrill admonition of silence from a couple of students three tables away.

She sighed. "I miss home."

"Already?"

"Yes! I miss my cat, I had to leave him this year. He was sick and I don't even know how he's doing right now. I...I miss my iPod! I just miss my muggle life."

"I know exactly where you're coming from. I bought my Nikon D40 a few weeks ago and I keep wishing that I'd brought it with me. Even though I know it won't work around here."

What.

"You're—are you?" She stared at him in wonder.

"My dad is a muggle, I live with him in Bristol." He explained.

"And your mother?" She immediately realized her mistake, but he just smiled in understanding.

"She died when I was three. She studied at the Beauxbatons Academy; I don't remember much about her."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He smiled and leaned forward. "So, what kind of music do you like?"

"Oh, Draco…"

He gritted his teeth. He focused on the buttons of her shirt and tried to ignore the rank smell of the cleaning supplies that surrounded them. Giving up on them altogether, he pulled her body toward him and silenced her with an open mouthed kiss. Pansy, always happy to submit, took on the job of unbuttoning her blouse and sighed into his mouth.

He disconnected from her eager mouth to nibble at her neck and she started her panting again.

"Draco…"

He inhaled sharply in irritation, only to get more irritated by her spicy perfume.

"Shut up, Pansy."

She complied and started unbuttoning his shirt. He groped at her thigh, forgetting that she was ticklish there. She giggled and caressed his bare chest with her small hands. He kissed her again, pushing his fingers into the silky hair at the back of her head. Her hands started their slow journey from his pectorals to his shoulders, down to his biceps where she squeezed lightly and further down to his arms to his wrists where they stopped.

He felt a sudden jolt at the touch and immediately flung her wandering hands away.

"What's the matter?"

He looked at her disheaveled state, her open shirt, her heaving chest and couldn't, for the life of him understand why he'd stopped.

Her mouth twisted into a coy little smile.

"Don't like it when I touch? What are you going to do when I bring handcuffs?"

Undaunted by his apparent lack of enthusiasm, she pressed herself against him, pulled his head down and kissed him. He responded mechanically for a few seconds, before he realized that he just wasn't into it.

He pushed her by the shoulders.

"Let's do this later, Pansy."

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Forget it, I'm just tired." He rubbed at his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyelids.

He picked his shirt from the dusty floor of the broom cupboard and pulled it on.

"Hey. Draco. Talk to me. What's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter. Drop it, okay? I've just had a long day."

She stared speculatively at him, probably jumping to her own conclusions while she re-buttoned her shirt.

"Is that mudblood still giving you grief?"

He clenched his jaw in annoyance.

"Why can't you ever shut your trap when I tell you to?"

In a smooth movement, he had retrieved his robes from the hook behind her, flung the door open and walked out.

He could feel the blood pumping against his skull.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. The Heads' Office stood empty. He walked inside, before he suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath. There really was no one there. He wondered why he was so surprised.

He flung his heavy robes off to the side and settled upon the nearest armchair, his badge making a little clink as it hit the floor, but he really couldn't bother.

His gaze moved to the notes lying on the table in front of him, the ones he had carelessly thrown in after attending the morning classes, before he'd headed out for lunch. He picked them and rifled through the sheets till he found the one he was looking for.

Neat, slanting, feminine script. 'Mature' was strangely the first word that came into his mind. This writing belonged at the hands of a thirty year old woman, twenty five at most. It was the kind of writing that women would use to write their letters to their husbands, their children. He looked closely at the individual letters, at the fluid, regular stretch of the dark ink, and the bold way she started her sentences with. No circles to pass for dots, no hyphen missed, every spell underlined. The whole effect was slightly androgynous.

With a start, he suddenly realized what he was doing. His face was two inches away from the parchment and he was examining Granger's handwriting. If someone were to come in now…

He had barely finished with the thought when the door of the office opened and in walked a girl. He looked at her closely and realized that she was the same mousy prefect from Hufflepuff.

She stopped at the sight of him.

"What do you want?"

She looked off to the side at the prefect's notice board. It was blank save for the list of all the functioning prefects that Granger must have put up at some time.

"What's your name?"

"Ariana." She spoke in the flattest voice he'd ever heard from a girl in his presence. Well, she wasn't a mute then.

"Alright, Ariana. Why are you here?"

"Wanted to see if the patrol roster had been put up yet."

Salazar save him from overenthusiastic fifth years. He rolled his eyes.

"No, it hasn't. We have been slightly busy. It'll be there by tomorrow evening, alright? If you really all that eager to start patrolling, begin from the second floor and get back to your dorm by eleven. Do. you. understand?"

She gave no reply and stared at him as if he was the least interesting thing she had encountered. She turned on her heel and walked out of the office, her spine straight.

He flung the notes away in disgust and settled down more comfortably into the chair.

The door opened again and he stood up, snarling, fully prepared to tell her off.

But this time it was Granger.

He took in her slender form, her wild hair and her bright eyes.

Further fuelled by anger, he began. "Well, look who we have here now. The mudblood's back from her excursions."

She barely reacted, just turned her back on him and started towards her room. Her layered attitude was now beginning to grate on his last nerve.

"Where the hell have you been? It's well past curfew."

"Perks of being the Head Girl, Malfoy. I can come in anytime."

"Yeah, Head Girl? Well, while you've been out loitering in the halls, I've had to answer to a bunch of prefects who wanted to know about the roster. When are we going to start working on it?"

She halted in her step. Then to his compete astonishment, she went inside her room without a word and shut the door.

He was still gaping at the direction where she'd gone, when the door clicked open and she stepped out. Moving briskly around his still form, she whipped out a sheet of parchment and put it up in very center of the board, before he could even blink.

Oh no, she didn't.

"You dare put that thing up without even consulting me?" He shouted. "Just where do you get off being such a giant bitch? What happened to 'doing this as a team'?!"

She was still facing away from him, and appeared to be examining the roster but he thought he heard a snort.

Feeling unaccountable rage explode behind his eyes, he walked up to her and hauled her by the arm to face him.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Surprised by his sudden use of force, her mouth popped open in. Then abruptly, as if he'd set a match on fire, he watched as the brittle facade of ignorance fell away and he saw a similar burning rage mirrored in her eyes. Her lips curled upwards as if the only thing she would enjoy doing right now was to crack open his skull. With a brick.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." She hissed.

He smirked, and responded to her by increasing the strength of his grip on her wrist. Her eyes widened in pain and disbelief at his guts.

She blindly flung her free arm towards his face as if she was aiming to punch him, but this time he was prepared. He halted her by gripping her arm in mid-motion, and twisted it slightly. With both her wrists securely captured in his hands, he pushed her backwards and within seconds, had her pinned to the wall.

She shrieked.

He began in a conversational manner. "So tell me, Granger. Right now you're this shrieking, high strung banshee..and when you're not being crazy, you turn into this annoying little priss with a gigantic stick up her arse. So, which one is it? What exactly are you?"

She hadn't stopped struggling for a second but she froze at his question.

"Forgot so soon, Malfoy? You use the word at least twenty times a day." She spoke, boiling vitriol in her voice. "Now get your hands off me!"

He freed her wrists to get a hold of her upper arms, and shook her vigorously.

"What the hell is your problem? You've lost me completely, Granger so why don't you just cut the bullshit and tell me what your deal is?"

She was a statue in his hands, as she stared into his eyes. Looking into them now, he could see that their whites were rimmed red. Her dark eyelashes were bunched up together, standing out in clumps. For an entire minute, he stood staring into them. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"I'll say it one last time, Malfoy. Get off me."

Not before she answered him.

He brought his face mere inches from her face and whispered. "No."

Her mouth tightened.

Pain exploded behind his retinas as she pushed him away with a force he couldn't have anticipated. He couldn't do anything to stop her, he was too caught up groaning in agony.

He couldn't believe it. The bitch had kneed him. She had actually kneed him. His eyes watered and a thousand curses fell from his mouth.

"You complete and utter BITCH! Merlin, I'll cut off your bushy head if its the last thing I do!"

She slowly walked to where he was lying on the floor, clutching at his crotch. Her wand was clasped tightly in her right hand and a familiar smirk was playing on her lips. He had to wrack his brains to recall where he'd seen it before. Yes, every morning in his own reflection in the mirror.

"Congratulations, Malfoy. You finally got what you deserved. And to answer your question: YOU are my problem, you godforsaken, stupid ferret!" She fairly shouted. "You call me the vilest things in the book, you demean me in every possible way that you can, you're crass, disgusting and you have shit for manners. You're without question the biggest jerk I've ever met in my whole life..and yet I'm the one who's filthy? Explain to me just how is my blood so dirty. I'll hand it to you and become your slave. Enlighten me just why am I a freaking mudblood?"

He could only cringe in reply. She sneered at him.

"That's what I thought."

She walked around his incapacitated body, then kicked him in the shin for good measure.

"And that's what you get for manhandling me. You lay a finger on me again and I swear it will be the last thing you do."

All he heard next was her rapid footsteps and the sound of her door slamming shut.

He sighed. Well, at least that answered his question.

Thanks to everyone who's reading this fic. The updates have gotten slow but please bear with me. Hope you liked it...please review! :)