A/N: And, so it continues. Ah, the trial and tribulations...: p
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, her tear stained face staring blankly at the state of her bedroom. A hurricane had just passed through. In all her rage and uncontrollable tears of pent up anger, Hermione had thrown half her belongings across the room, ripped her bed covers from their pristine arrangement, cleared the contents of her vanity in one clean sweep and, even extended the gratitude to her bathroom when she had walked in to wash her face with cold water only to break the mirror as she caught sight of the offending scarf around her neck.
Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Gryffindor princess, model student, had just trashed her room. What made it worse was that her wand was still in the hands of one major fuck up, the Head boy. Well at least she felt calm. Or, perhaps it was more numbness and a sense of major defeat, heightened by the fact that she couldn't even walk to her door without breaking a bunch of stuff? She hunched over, looking out the window.
The diamond lead lined arches gave little away on what lay outside the castles walls, letting enough light in to maintain the façade that there was life beyond the confines of the Hogwarts castle. Hermione had no idea why she had reacted so severely toward Malfoy. He had crossed the line, or perhaps just pushed the final button which steamed the jets of her temper. Enough was enough. It didn't help that her hormones were shot. Too much stimulation? She shook her head to rid herself of the thought.
Reluctantly, Hermione walked back into the bathroom, careful not to step on the shards of glass as she sat her self on the edge of the bathtub, letting the taps run cold as she finally managed to wash her face with such reserve, the officious bystander would never consider her the perpetrator of such tasteless violence towards her own belongings. It was going to be a bitch to clean up the mess. She needed to get out of the room to avoid thinking about it. With that thought, Hermione walked out, damaging a few things along the way.
She glared at the common room. What use was it being in this state? It no longer served its original purpose to displease. In fact, Malfoy seemed to prefer it this way with his notorious bean bag escapades, the last of which involved an attack to her neck! Hermione was going to change it back to its former glory as soon as she got her wand back. The only problem was, she was never going to get her wand back. As far as she was concerned, any future interaction with Malfoy was off the radar. Walking out of the common room, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor tower in search of a distraction. Her vendetta: to abuse her Head Girl status.
The Gryffindor common room stank. The air was filled with the lingering stench of firewhiskey, the empty bottle still on the floor, offending articles of clothing removed strewn about, cards all over the place, like someone had flung the lot of them in the air, a few bodies lazily spread over furniture, unmoved in an effort to minimise hangover effects, and funnily enough, a bunch of first and second years had cleared a corner to claim as their own while the rest of the Gryffindor house was in Hogsmeade. Hermione walked up to Seamus who was flat out on one of the couches, still asleep at one in the afternoon. She nudged him. He grumbled something incoherent and brandished his hand to rid the disturbance. "Seamus!"
"Can't you see I'm unavailable," he mumbled, turning his back to her. Hermione pinched his arm. "Ouch, aww, why'd you do that for?" he rubbed his arm childishly. She ignored him and moved over to yell at one of the sixth year boys who had participated in the previous nights exploits and was now curled up on the carpet in foetal position wearing his school pants only.
"Oi, you!" she nudged his ribs with her foot. "Get up!" She was certain she'd heard a course of swear words until she kicked him again, a little harder this time. He was alarmed to be looking up at a displeased head girl and scurried into an upright position.
"What time is it?" his voice sleepy as he rubbed his eyes. Hermione rolled hers.
"One o'clock. Seamus, get up!" she shouted. "You guys are disgraceful, setting a bad example to the poor first and second years that've had to see you like this. I am tempted to deduct points!" Seamus' eyes shot open at her final remark.
"C'mon Hermione, it's Saturday, give us a break."
"Ever heard of the concept that dorm rooms are for sleeping, common room is for active individuals?"
"Awww, we were too tired, and plus, Ron and Lavender were in there!" Hermione was about to dry retch. She didn't even want to think about that! Changing the subject she directed, "Clean this mess up! Where is Dean, he should be here helping! He's the one who organised the bloody thing."
"Try Pavarti's room," the sixth year offered nonchalantly.
Hermione froze to process that bit of information. "Really?" Her tone was unusually saccharine. The sixth year nodded, regarding her curiously. Seamus looked worried by her premeditated disposition.
"You okay, Hermione?" he asked.
"Just peachy," she replied staring at him, or rather through him. Her mind was abuzz with all sorts of possible outcomes while her manic smile was enough to get Seamus off his feet, grab the sixth year and push him into action to clean up, leaving Hermione staring at the wall in her own little world.
Snapping out of her reverie, she turned to face them. "You might need to use some industrial strengh scrougifying spells to get rid of the odour." She walked through to the stairwell that led up to the dormitories and headed straight for her old room. She slammed open the door, walking straight over to Pavarti's bed and pulled back the covers.
Pavarti shrieked, covering her bare breasts. Shocked to see Hermione standing at her bedside, she turned mute, her face flushing with embarrassment. "What the?" Dean mumbled turning over. He opened his eyes, staring directly into Hermione's, widening in realisation. The two looked at each other, then back at the glowering Head Girl who looked like she was about to blow off some major steam.
Instead, she merely cocked her head to one side, her face drawing a reproachful smirk, "So, Dean, do you like me enough to sleep with other girls? It must be one hell of an infatuation! Well let me tell you something…GAME OVER!" she fired. She looked at Pavarti. "Sorry you had to get caught up in his little web of lies. Did you know our Dean is involved in a little competition to add notches to his bedpost all in the name of Quidditch?" It was cruel, but she didn't care. Pavarti was obtuse enough to get this far on her own; someone should break it to her. And, it was the perfect time to share her knowledge with Gryffindor's own prat. "But don't worry, he's all yours, I wouldn't want to go anywhere near someone with a genital rash." Pavarti's eyes widened as she looked over at Dean in horror.
He was stumbling for words, "She's – she's lying, I do not! She's just jealous, don't listen to her," he stammered. Pavarti lifted the covers discreetly and looked down before shooting him a death stare.
"Doesn't look like she's lying Dean?" Pavarti retorted. "Get out!"
"What?"
"You heard me, get out of my room. Now! That is so disgusting! Who knows what I've caught!" She shoved him to move out of her bed.
"I can't just walk out of here with no clothes on. Hermione, can you pass me my clothes?"
The nerve!
"Get your own clothes." She stood aside with her arms crossed. Pavarti shoved him again.
"Ugh, get out you pig!"
"Fine!" He sat up, stood up on the bed naked, and stepped off, trying to be discreet. Hermione was trying to control her urge to laugh.
"Looks nasty, Dean. Might want to get that checked out," she giggled. He glared at her.
"You did this! I don't know how or when, but this is your fault!" Hermione was laughing so hard she couldn't hear his distress as he shuffled about the room looking for his clothes, finally finding his boxers and slipping them on.
"Me? We never got that far Dean, even when I did tell you to stop and you didn't." Hermione reminded him.
"He did what?" Pavarti shot out.
"He was a little desperate to get ahead in his competition so he thought a little force would be ok," Hermione offered.
"Whose side are you on Hermione? Looks like you're backing the Slytherins. No one likes a traitor."
"No one likes a cheater, you mean," she corrected hotly.
"Didn't I tell you to get out?" Pavarti interjected. He turned to face her, sending her a pitiless pleading stare that was so pathetic Hermione was disgusted.
"Quit your games, Dean, best get that rash checked out post haste," Hermione grinned brazenly with scornful satisfaction. She felt herself mirroring one notorious Head boy. He shot her a fierce look. "Don't be so crabby, Dean," she chuckled at her own joke. Finally, he gave up and walked out, slamming the door behind him. It was ironic to be on the receiving end of a door slam. Hermione was slightly disturbed.
"What was I thinking?" Pavarti moaned. "I'm so sorry, Hermione, I feel terrible." Hermione turned to face her.
"Forget it, shit happens," she shrugged. "There was nothing going on between us since the incident. We were trying the friend thing after he apologised."
"I can't believe a Gryffindor did that!"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about that, especially not to Lavender." Hermione frowned at the thought of that bit of info getting out. It could have serious repercussions for everyone. Pavarti nodded. "I'm serious Pavarti, if it leaked to the professors they would investigate and I just don't want to get them involved. It was nothing serious, someone interrupted us in time. I'm not emotionally scarred or anything."
"Who came to your rescue?"
Hermione frowned at the idea of Malfoy being her rescuer. "Don't remember, I was a little distracted at the time," Hermione half-lied.
"Hermione, you really are something," Pavarti laughed. "Uhm, what's this about a quidditch competition."
"I'm just speculating so I'd rather not discuss it much further," she concealed, knowing she had said too much in her reactive state. Blaise would kill her if word got out. Being loyal to a Slytherin, well, that was something else entirely, best not dwelled upon too much for fear of mental breakdown. "Although, feel free to spread the work on Dean's rash. He'll have to try particularly hard next time he tries to catch the attention of a girl. No one will want to go near someone with a perpetual condition."
"Oooh, sabotage. Count me in. He deserves it for what he tried to do to you. And, who knows what he's given me! I just feel stupid for letting myself fall for his charm. I was drunk, so it didn't take much charming, mind you." Pavarti frowned in recollection. Hermione smiled at her frankness.
"No hard feelings, I just wanted to get a point across. I'll leave you; I think I've invaded enough privacy for one day." Hermione walked to the door and opened it before turning around. "Oh, and don't worry about catching anything. I would consider Dean's condition to be…superficial," she finished, smirking at her own ingenuity. Pavarti exhaled with relief as shot her a look of admiration. Hermione stepped out of her old dorm room, feeling nefarious and not necessarily satisfied.
Sunday came and went by without occasion save for the fact that Hermione was still missing a wand and had not crossed paths with Malfoy, or any other Slytherin for that matter. Despite her state of unease, she had not bothered to try and locate it on the marauder's map, or ask Harry for assistance. He was under the impression that she had recovered it and had even asked her about it. "Of course I found it, Harry," she had said. The problem was that Hermione just didn't want to attempt anything that could result in a confrontation with him. Her plan of action was fine, until Monday morning arrived and classes were due to commence. She was glad to have her school shirt and tie back on, concealing the now fading mark on her neck.
Begrudgingly, Hermione made her way to charms. It was hopeless. To the point where she decidedly feigned stomach pains to excuse herself, with permission of course, before the practical started. Having a clean record for illness had finally served her purpose and she decided to skip class by spending it in her almost forgotten sanctuary. Discreetly making her way to the fourth floor, Hermione could not help her phantom rage as she turned into the tarnished hallway. To think they'd had green slime set up as a gag made her cringe in reminiscence. Could they have been any less original and, muggle like? She chuckled at the association. They'd love that reference. Nearing her door, Hermione felt a wave of excitement overcome her. It had been a while, clearly.
She sat in mediative position on the floor and pondered her plan of attack. Without a wand, Hermione was going to have to rely on some old fashioned scheming. She needed to write a list. Unable to levitate parchment and a quill, Hermione stood up and walked over to the desk, sitting upright and ready. "Right," she said, reaching for a piece of parchment and then the nearest quill, drawing a line down the middle of the page. To the left she wrote, 'Malfoy's weaknesses', and to the right, 'Malfoy's Strengths' – this was going to be an interesting exercise. Running her fingers over the feather of her quill, Hermione pondered his weaknesses. After a few minutes, she put the following to paper: 'Etat d'esprit; quidditch; girls; arrogance; intolerance; antagonistic behaviour; Slytherin; indiscretion; PRAT!'
Feeling satisfied, she moved on, but not too hurriedly for at first she had nothing to write in the strengths column. She was clouded by her bias. "Be objective," she directed to herself. The tip of her quill touched the parchment and stood stagnant, letting the ink blotch. Slowly she began to write the following: 'Head Boy = good grades* (cheater) and leadership skills* (fascist); quidditch* (not as good as Harry); girls* (#?!); potions* (etat d'esprit); Slytherin leader (Blaise?); arrogance; drive; fortitude'. She was surprised to see that she had written the last two. She snorted at the last word but left it as an accommodating term for his rescuing abilities and strong iron-clad grip.
Hermione looked back at her list and crossed off the terms that were different. She was left with the following on both sides: 'etat d'esprit; quidditch; girls; and arrogance'. She resolved that these were the keys to help her execute her plan and not have him realise it. Hermione leaned back with satisfaction, feeling a little less perturbed about facing Malfoy in class. First things first, she would need to utilise her recently neutral Slytherin acquaintance, one Blaise Zabini. It was a good thing she had potions next and would not need a wand.
Hermione walked into the classroom late, well, later that her usual ten minutes early. She decided it was best to arrive with everyone else, and be certain not to give herself the opportunity for any unnecessary verbal interaction with Malfoy. The Slytherins were seated and engaged in conversation, speaking in lowly tones which came to an abrupt end as she approached her work station. They both looked irritated. Hermione sat down without saying a word and focused her attention on her books until Professor Snape walked in. She could see Zabini steal glances at her from her periphery but she feigned ignorance and exuded a vibe of disinterest.
"Right, today is all theory; you will be told once, take note." Snape was never one for introductions and immediately turned his attentions to the black boards, inundating three with details on the properties of healing potions. The whole class groaned. "Silence!" Snape thundered upon which the only sound that could be heard was quill to parchment.
Hermione was busy taking notes when she felt a nudge. She looked over and saw Zabini point to a piece of parchment he had placed in the centre of their desk. She looked down at it impatiently.
Cat got your tongue? Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her writing. She felt another nudge to her side. She turned and glared at him, he was now busy taking his own notes but the parchment had more text.
How on earth did Malfoy manage to get hold of the Head Girl's wand? She turned and stared at him in shock.
Why don't you ask him? She finally wrote and returned to her work. It was difficult to concentrate now that he had grabbed her attention. Hermione's memory came flooding back as she pictured herself on Malfoy's lap, her wand falling from her hand as he…she wasn't going that far into her memory. She shivered at the thought. She turned to look at the parchment to see if he had responded. He smirked at her eagerness.
He won't tell me. Says he can't remember. Yeah Right! Why can't he remember?! She looked up at him and shrugged nonchalantly. She wondered how he would react if he knew. He frowned at her gesture. Hermione sat staring at the board feeling a little dazed. Professor Snape looked up and noticed her lack of note taking. "Finished already, Miss Granger?" The whole class looked up and stared at her. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks. Her eyes caught Dean's briefly, he looked back at her with heated distrust and annoyance. She smirked knowingly.
"No sir, I was just taking a moment to consolidate," she replied steadfastly.
"Very well, then can you tell me, what is the core ingredient found in all healing potions?" Damn! Hermione thought hard and fast. She hadn't even come across that information yet! From her periphery she saw a parchment shift slightly in her direction and quickly glanced down. In big letters, Zabini had written, NETTLE! Without thinking she announced, "Nettle, professor?" He said nothing, which meant that she was right. Hermione sighed in relief and dropped her head back down, scolding herself for not reading ahead this week. She could still see the words on the parchment and felt obliged to respond. Thanks. She shuffled the parchment across to Zabini's side of the table. He looked up at her and nodded, smirking. She owed him. Damn those opportunistic Slytherins.
Meet me after class in the owlery, was all he wrote and that was the end of their interaction. Hermione finally was able to concentrate and was pleased to find that nettle was in fact the core ingredient in all healing potions, as pointed out on the third blackboard. Professor Snape was cruel. As if she would have got that far!
As soon as class ended, Hermione shot up and promptly exited the classroom, reluctantly taking a turn toward the owlery. She hadn't been there in a while. There was no need when she could borrow Hedwig. She heard the oak doors croak open and turned to see Zabini enter.
"The owlery?" she questioned. "You couldn't have chosen a more compromising venue. What if someone walked in here?" Zabini smirked as he approached her.
"Am sure you'd be able to explain yourself without any assistance," he toyed. Hermione was not pleased and turned away to look out the great open windows. The cool breeze chilled her face.
"Can we make this quick, I don't want to freeze to death up here." He walked over to where she was standing.
"So, why does Malfoy have your wand?" Zabini asked casually, like it was no big deal.
"I told you, ask him yourself!" she replied tersely.
"Don't you want it back?" she turned to face him, exhaling infuriatingly.
"What do you reckon?"
"Maybe I can help you then?"
"I don't need your help! I can handle Malfoy!" she snapped.
"You realise you're the laughing stock of the whole Slytherin house? I mean, it doesn't look good for the Head Girl to be wandering around the school unarmed. No pun intended." Well, that explained the unusually high number of amused smirks she had received in the hallways. She felt so enraged.
"Is there a point to all this? I thought you and Malfoy weren't talking. Did you kiss and make up?" Zabini only chuckled at her sarcasm.
"Hermione, I knew you had a sense of humour."
"Shut-up! Why do you care anyway?"
"Well I need you to have your wand, don't I?"
"I don't want anything to do with Malfoy, or any of you Slytherins. If Malfoy is addicted to some potion, what do I care? My curiosity has been shot by all the other crap that comes with it."
"Well then, this might put some perspective on things." He put his books down on the floor, shuffling thought them and pulled out a piece of parchment, handing it her. She reluctantly took it.
"Potion reactions and lingering effects?" she read allowed. "Where'd you get this?"
"Potions periodical, you gave me the idea, actually," he stated. She raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Well, when you asked me if I was still taking the potion," he continued. Hermione looked back down at the parchment. She scanned down the list muttering aloud as she read and stopped abruptly.
"Extreme changes in body temperature…incapacity to register actions...unexplained or uncharacteristic behaviour…these side effects are generally exacerbated with time, especially if a person has had a visibly severe reaction to a potion in the first instance or has developed dependence. Typically, these effects have been identified to occur in potions that are currently on the illegal substance catalogue."
Hermione was riled with fear. She looked up at Zabini who was regarding her quietly. It was too late to be angry; she had drunk the potion of her own free will, despite the madness of succumbing to Malfoy's demands. It explained everything.
"You realise, that whatever we have going on here is the influence of a side effect?" she said. He shrugged.
"It doesn't seem that bad to me." Hermione pursed her lips in reflection.
"Does it bother you that we are doing things we would never, in a million years, consider doing?"
"It's the dutch courage factor. The way I see it, I probably wanted to talk to you all along but felt compelled to stay within Slytherin protocol."
"I guess that might be one way to look at it," she frowned, "it certainly doesn't explain a lot of other things that have happened."
"Such as?" Hermione remained silent, she could name several.
"Well…what happened in the library the other day?"
"Which part?" He was being sly, ever the opportunist to show his Slytherin qualities.
"You nearly kissed me." She figured she may as well be frank. He smirked knowingly.
"Is that what you thought I was doing or what you wanted me to do?" he replied stepping forward. Hermione was confused. "What if I nearly kissed you now?" he continued, closing in on her. She found herself in the same proximity as that day in the library.
Looking down at his lips she replied, "You're doing it again." He laughed, his eyes lighting up. They stood there for a few moments, egging each other on, their lips merely inches apart. Hermione felt herself caving into the mystery and oddity of the scenario. What would it be like to kiss a Slytherin? The semblance of intimacy was consuming, and so, she decided to yield in the heat of the moment, closing the gap and letting her lips touch the unchartered territory of Slytherin. She pulled away just as quickly, shocked at what she had done.
"Sorry," she murmured, looking away. He was quiet. She looked at him, hoping he would say something, anything. Sighing, she moved to walked past him.
"Wait," he cleared his throat. Turning around was probably the worst thing she could have done.
"Hermione, I've wanted to do that for a while, you just beat me to it," he said hoarsely, looking unsure of himself.
"Dutch courage," she shrugged, feeling foolish.
"No, you don't understand." Hermione grimaced in confusion.
"What does it matter? I'm sorry, it didn't mean anything. I just did it for the sake of it." She thought she saw a glimpse of disappointment wash over him but it was soon overshadowed by his determined expression. He walked over to her. Hermione brandished a hand to stop him.
"I don't think I can do this now," she said definitively, "sorry." At that, she turned and walked out of the owelry, more confused than ever. Blaise Zabini was not neutral territory.
Hermione skipped all her classes for the rest of the day. She knew she would be called up for it since it was so uncharacteristic of her, possibly the result of a lingering effect of her one time affair with an illegal potion, but she just didn't care. She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly. What the hell was she doing? Kissing Blaise and seeking out trouble by going to the Gryffindor tower. Her initial plan was to let Dean freak out about his condition which would appear once he had moved on to his next conquest and would worsen each time, but she had blatantly made her revenge known to him. The hex she had cast on him was vengeful enough, and her manner of execution, well, she was completely shameless and unusually audacious in her approach. The worst thing was, there was no way to escape it.
Hermione needed to get her wand back. She sat up with resolve and decided she had to act now. She entered the empty common room and walked straight over to the door of the Head Boy's bedroom.
"Hungarian horntail," she spoke out. The door clicked, marking its unlocked status. She careful wrapped her hand over the door handle and tentatively turned it, slightly at first, then with more confidence as she swung it open and stepped in.
Other than the filtering light she had brought with her, the room was dark. The blinds had not been pulled back, the bed was unmade, bits of uniform, quidditch gear and books were strewn about. Malfoy, contrary to his immaculate appearance, was very messy. Hermione closed the door behind her and switched on the light. Silver and green flooded her visual field. She walked around to the end of the bed, careful not to move anything, and scanned the room.
His dresser draws were all half open, the countertop was filled with products. His robe doors had also been left open. She peered in and saw countless schools shirts and trousers to one side. Of course Malfoy would have more than the average change of uniform. She caught sight of his desk and was surprised by the sight. It was perfect, not a thing out of place. It struck her as rather neurotic that he had a neat zone, and walked over to inspect more closely.
She reached over and pulled the delicate wrought iron handles of the desk drawers. The bottom draw housed parchment, spare quills all neatly aligned, ink bottles of all colours, and a roll of cotton ribbon that they used to tie their parchments when they submitted assignments. It seemed ordinary enough. She moved up to the next draw, it would not open. Hermione wondered if her wand was in there. She was downright doomed if it was. The next draw was unlocked and bore the contents of recent assignments, all handed back. She shuffled through them, most had been graded 'E' or 'O' which she found rather astonishing. Although there appeared to be a large pile, it stopped about halfway down the depth of the draw. Hermione was befuddled and took all the parchments out to get a better look at the bottom. It was definitely not the bottom of the draw, she reasoned. She tapped at it, pressed down on the corners and even tried lifting it out but it would not budge. Hermione really wished she had her wand. It probably explained why the draw under it was locked as well.
Reluctantly, she placed his assignments back, closing it, and stood up to inspect the top draw. There was a whole lot of confectionary; Malfoy seemed to like chocolate frogs, and a stack of photos. She was about to take a look when Hermione heard voices from the common room. "Shit," she muttered. She could hear footsteps approaching the bedroom door and cringed at the prospect of being caught by Malfoy. She heard him mutter his password and dove under the bed in time to hear the door handle turn and unlock. The light was still on. and she had left the top draw open. She groaned inwardly at her lack of covertness.
Hermione could see Malfoy's feet as he stepped into the room, dumping his bag on the floor and sitting on the edge of his bed as he took his shoes and socks off. He stood up again, and walked into his bathroom. Hermione was unsure of whether she should try sneaking out of the room but with all his stuff everywhere she was certain that her luck would have her trip over something or make her presence known at the very least. She looked around her under the bed. There were various unsanitary items lying about, like socks, a pair of boxers which caused her to instantly grimace, a bra, she wondered whose, and a stack of magazines of which she certainly could deduce were not about quidditch. Hermione felt extremely unclean being under Malfoy's bed. Not only that, it brought her actions into perspective. She was screwed.
A/N: What confrontation awaits? Will Malfoy realise that his room is housing an intruder? And Blaise? Is he the bearer of a long time crush? Looks like Hermione's original fear of side effects was not unwarranted. Till next time! :p