Chapter 17

Hermione stared at the boy in front of her. Sometime during these past few days, he had decided to become more aggravating, if that was even possible. He was smirking in that self-satisfied manner, and she took a moment to note how…different he looked with this hair. It was what kept distracting her in the first place. In fact the effect was so immense that she hadn't even realized that stink of rotten eggs was emanating from him until he'd gone ahead and said it. With the way he managed to influence her thoughts when he was around her, it was no surprise that he'd caught up. And now he was taking this a step further. She could still feel the nerve endings of her face churn with disturbance, like her skin was having some sort of hypersensitivity reaction to his grimy touch.

He was unsmiling now, as he stood staring down at her, his demeanour the very picture of youthful male arrogance. She wanted to take him down a notch. Or ten.

So she decided to test her newfound girlpower.

She let her lips curve upwards in what she supposed would come across as an alluring smile. Gently, she brought one hand to rest upon his, the one that was still firmly curled around her arm. It was the first time that she'd initiated physical contact between them, and it was easy to see that he was taken aback. The grip around her arm loosened.

She carefully extracted the hand that was still hovering behind the shell of her ear, barely skimming her hair, letting her fingers briefly entwine with his and in doing so, she effectively cut short any aggressive response. There was a steady flush rising in his cheeks, and she wondered what must be going inside his mind to warrant such uncharacteristic passivity.

Stepping back till there was a sufficient distance between them, she let the smile drop.

"You don't get to make such preposterous statements, Malfoy. Nor do you get to touch me like that. Anytime, anywhere."

Outrage washed over his features, while his mouth worked with unformed words just waiting to spill out.

You liked it, he wanted to say.

But she knew he was too much of an egotist to do so. So, more power to her.

"All those Weasley's products must have mucked up your brain, or I don't know…maybe it's just my filthy and squalid company?", she said, packing on the sarcasm. "So why don't you just—do us both a favour and stay the hell away. I've said it before and I say it again. Do not touch me."

He was fuming, his jaw was already working overtime and if she managed to goad him any further, she might just see steam rolling out of his ears.

"Well, isn't this just fucking grand." He finally grit out. "Filthy mudblooded queen acting all high and mighty. You'd do well to remember, bitch, that the only person getting dirtied here is me."

She clenched her fists in order to prevent herself from planting a tight slap on his pompous face.

"—which is not far from being my actual point, ferret. Just semantics. I do not want you within five feet of me."

His feet moved forward almost instinctively, as if to defy her, but stopped himself short. Meanwhile, she had drawn out her wand.

"It's time you learned your place, Malfoy. I don't care what you think it is, but in my book, you're the scum of the earth. Right underneath my feet."

She about-faced, effectively dismissing him, and headed towards her dorm. She could feel his gaze bore into her back like a set of pincers and just as she turned in the narrow hallway to glare at him, his eyes which had been focused on a point decidedly below her back, shot up to meet hers.

She stepped inside her sanctuary and closed the door with a small click. Leaning against it, she glanced towards the enchanted ceiling of her room and studied the darkening sky in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart.

"I'd have thought you'd come to me sooner." Blaise said.

He walked to his private cupboard and rummaged through the contents, before finally extracting a small, glass flask from its depths.

"Here, wash your hair with this."

"What the hell is this?"

"A secret which belongs to yours truly." He stated, smirking.

"Tosser. It better work." He grunted, making way to the shared bathroom.

He made his way to the sink, taking a moment to admire his reflection in the mirror. He really did look like a fitter version of Potter, which was exactly why he needed to do away with it. Lowering his head into the sink, he let the liquid flow onto his scalp. It felt scalding hot, and for a moment he thought he'd efficaciously fried his remaining hair, but the strands felt fine between his fingers so he bit the bullet and continued lathering.

Running the tap when he was done, he sighed at the gentle coolness of the water, a welcoming contrast to the scalding potion, whatever it was. Towelling his hair dry, he stole a glance at the mirror.

"Oi, Zabini! It's still fucking black!"

He heard amused laughter coming from the other side of the door, and he'd had enough shit for today, so he stalked out the bathroom with murder in his eyes.

"What the fuck?"

"Relax, mate. It just washed off the material. The enchantment is still present. Rescindo."

He felt his head become a pound lighter. Running his finger through his hair once again, he found that the curl was gone.

"There you go. White and pure again."

"Pale blond. Know the difference."

He snickered.

"That Granger sure did a number on you. You've turned into a hormonal teenage girl."

"Zip it." He said, walking over to the bed, and falling headfirst over it.

"No, really. Look at you. You're all wound up and really to snap. I thought you were supposed to be taking her down a peg or two, not the other way round."

"Zabini, you better shut up right there," his voice came out muffled.

"Well, look—", He said, still ignoring him. "—I've watched you two long enough to notice the thick tension—no wait, let me just complete!—tension that clogs the air when you look at each other. It's like the rest of the world has fallen off the edge of the earth and there's just the two of you."

He felt the edge of his vision blacken with rage. The implication—and he didn't have it in him to fully figure out what the hell it was—was heinous.

"I told you to shut up, and you just had to go and make me mad." He sat up and watched the humour flash across his friend's face. "Well, that's rich coming from you, especially when you spend all your days making moon eyes at Potter's girlfriend."

Blaise's face shut off completely.

"Don't go there."

"You know what? I think I really should."

"I'm warning you, Draco—"

"Oh, cut the crap, Zabini. What the hell is wrong with you? The Weaselette? The lowest piece of blood traitor trash you could find?"

There was a rapid blur of movement, and he was suddenly hauled out of the bed, and a second later a solid fist had collided heavily with his nose. He clutched at his face, groaning in agony.

"Shit! Not my face, you twat!"

Gingerly touching the edge of his nose, he grimaced as his fingers encountered damp warmth. This day was rapidly turning out to be the worst of his life. He dabbed at the blood with the edge of his sleeve and was surprised when he saw a white handkerchief suspended in the line of his vision. He took it.

"Merlin's right nut, you've really gone off your rocker, Zabini, lashing out like a mad Gryffindor. Spit it out. What's the story?"

Looking up, he saw his friend's back turned on to him, steadfastly ignoring his presence. He continued to nurse his bloodied face in silence, allowing him to take his own time.

Minutes ticked by.

Before long, he spoke, "I didn't see it coming. I know she had the hots for Potter long before she even got to acknowledge my existence, but it still took me by surprise." He shook his head in resignation. "She always does."

"It was a while ago, and I know I really have no right to feel this way. We were just messing around anyway. And I...got around. Many times. It still pisses me off that she never seemed to care. I should've bloody known."

His fingers were clenching and unclenching rapidly, as if to hold off the full extent of his emotions. Something about his expression made Draco want to comfort him, but it wasn't what they did.

So he just let him suffer in silence. This put a whole new perspective on things, and it definitely explained why Blaise hated Potter like he did.

He felt strangely compelled to take his friend's side on this, to go out there and knock some sense into Weasley, even though the whole thing was in such obvious contradiction to his upbringing. Purebloods did not associate with scum. It was just not done.

"Yeah, I know what you're thinking. You don't want me consorting with their likes and yada yada. I get it. It doesn't matter now, in any case, so don't bother."

He wanted to retort that it wasn't what he had been thinking-that he could understand-before he caught himself.

Why wasn't he thinking it?

Blaise finally turned to face him, running a tired hand over his face.

"C'mon. It's time for dinner."

Hermione set off for dinner earlier than her usual time. She was dead tired, and extremely hungry, and her feet were absolutely killing her, but she managed to maintain a steady pace towards the Great Hall. She was just dying to get this day over with, and dinner was a necessary ritual.

Her mind was spending a significant portion of its energy trying not to think about the rascal Head Boy, even so far as to smoothly recite the list of ingredients required to brew the Essence of Dittany, so it was no surprise when she jumped a mile upon being rudely accosted by none other than the pug-faced, Pansy Parkinson.

"Parkinson." She said, somewhat startled.

Unlike others belonging to her house, Pansy never really had any solid reason to hate her; she did it out of pure spite. The girl was foul, vindictive and a complete gossipmonger, not to mention the very handy whore of Draco Malfoy. She'd single-handedly ruined the better part of her fourth year with the whole Rita Skeeter debacle, and ever since then Hermione had done her best to ignore her.

Her face was blank, a welcome change from her usual piggish scowl, but it only served to confuse her. Her gaze seemed to be taking her in slowly, calculatedly, before finally coming to rest on her eyes, narrowing a fraction.

"Mudblood."

She sighed. Slytherin was going to lose a few hundred points tonight.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Pansy put up a single palm in front of her face, effectively halting her words. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Before we do this, I want to make two things absolutely clear. One, this conversion is not to be repeated to anyone. Two, you disgust me. "

She let out an amused chuckle.

"You've got some nerve. Running your mouth like that in front of the Head Girl. But I'm a little curious—what exactly are we supposed to be doing?"

"Listen, you'd better shut your dirty mouth, or I might be tempted to slap you. So, tell me." She took a deep breath, "What's going on with you and Draco?"

She might have heard her incorrectly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What-the-hell-is-going-on-between-you-and-DRACO!"

Hermione stared at the girl in front of her. Her breath was short, her face was flushed with anger, and her dark eyes sparkled with fury. Was she witnessing the Slytherin equivalent of a jealous fit?

"You're barking, Parkinson. Stop wasting my time."

She moved to make her way around her.

The girl surprised her yet again by pulling her by the wrist and wrenching her body in front of herself.

"Now you're getting on my nerves. I have nothing to say to you."

Her lip curled over her teeth and in that instant, it occurred to her that Pansy might have finally cracked.

"You don't get it, Mudblood. I could turn this year hell for you like this." She snapped her fingers in front of her eyes. "So, spill it. What's going on?"

Surprise, surprise. Her year was already turning out to be a nice little hell. But the girl appeared thoroughly agitated. And though she was acting all tough, she could see the tightness around her eyes and hear the tremor of vulnerability in her words. So, she decided to humour her.

"Hell, Parkinson. You must have really lost your mind." She tilted her head to the side, "I'm curious now. What's going on between you?"

"Stop twisting the words around. Merlin, I can't believe it, you're supposed to be smart! Right now, you're about as dumb as a rock! Don't start getting any ideas just because they made you head girl! You're a freaking mudblood! You hear me, Granger? A rotten MUDBLOOD!"

Hermione clenched her fists. Not from the implication, but at the raw, disgusting slander in her voice. Merlin, how she wanted to curl her fingers around her neck and throttle her. But why bother, when she could do so much worse.

"Darling Draco not taking well to being wrapped around your skinny, little fingers, huh? You should've known, Pansy...now and then you're supposed to give your man some space, you know? A little room to breathe."

Colour bloomed across her nasty, little face.

"Oh, that's rich! Relationship advice from an ugly, buck-toothed little troll like you! You're nothing, get it mudblood? You could never get a man!"

She brought her face closer to hers.

"Then there's no need to worry, is there, Parkinson?"

She decided to retaliate by pulling out her wand. Hermione groaned. She was way too tired for this pointless drama.

"I must have overestimated your brains, Granger. Guess you're just as thick as the rest of your lot. So here's the thing. If you've made the tragic decision of setting your sights higher than what you're worth, you'll only end up disappointed. Know what I'm saying? Someone like Draco won't even look at you, let alone touch you with a ten foot pole."

She ended up laughing at the irony.

"Easily amused, aren't you?", she said, watching her with a look of disdain on her face.

Hermione only shook her head.

Clearing her throat, she said, "Like I said, you're barking. I can still deduce not a single point of this entire exchange. You're feeling insecure, I get that. Happens to the best of us," She watched with satisfaction as she gritted her teeth. "But don't get in my face with all your baggage and accusations just because I happen to be an easy target. I'm not. Open your eyes and see for yourself; the real one to blame here, Parkinson, is you."

Her face had turned white. Good, maybe she'd managed to hit a nerve. It was time to wrap up this little meeting.

She slowly raised five fingers in the air.

"That's how many times you said the word. Five times fifty… Two hundred and fifty points from Slytherin for the use of foul language, and another fifty for completely unacceptable behaviour one would expect from a Prefect."

Not sparing another glance to the vapid girl, she walked with her head held high and wand clutched tight in her right hand. She left her there, standing rooted to the spot. She could feel it, as she slowly made her way to dinner: the slightest twinge of pity.

Draco couldn't help looking up when she walked in, and his fingers involuntarily tightened around his goblet. She walked slowly, almost absent-mindedly, completely unaware of the few appreciative glances that she managed to garner on her way. Ignorant, little fool.

He watched as she sat on the wrong side of the table, keeping her back to the Slytherin part of the Hall. He watched as Potter began speaking to her and Weasley attempted to make conversation while simultaneously keeping his focus locked onto the food in front of him. It just had to be purposeful. The girl had developed a surprising knack of figuring out exactly what would drive him up the wall. She was also getting way too comfortable with the whole thing.

It would just not do.

He tried to pretend she wasn't there ignoring the hell out of him. He pretended not to notice the way her hands shook with exhaustion, how her hair appeared frizzier than usual, and how in spite of it all, she still managed to keep her cool while he was sitting here, stewing in his own mind. But the time for pretending had now passed.

It was time to step up the game.

A/N: Please review!