I Need You To Stay

by Padfootsshoe

Hermione adores fire—the hypnotic way it dances, constantly changing shape and burning everything in its path. She admires the tenacity and ferocity it symbolizes. But getting too close can hurt. And by God, Draco Malfoy hurts like a bitch. This story spans their 6th year at Hogwarts, the war, and the aftermath. Will Hermione be the making of Draco, or will he be her ruin?

1. The Time That I Wasted Here

'I told you, it's really not that hard. It's all about the direction of the stir -'

'No Ronald the flies don't get dizz-'

'Because they're dead, what kind of ques-'

'Okay fine. Fine. But you have to chop the bubotuber,' Hermione finally relented. Saying no to her friends was still a boundary she was working on. It felt good to be needed, even if she was forced to entertain asinine questions about the centrifugal capabilities of deceased lacewing flies. At least she was able to limit her contact with bubotuber pus; a win's a win.

'Thanks Mione, what a life saver,' Ron's roguish grin hinted at his hidden agenda. Potions might not be his best subject, but he was a strategist through and through. A few well timed (and completely idiotic) assertions and Hermione was agreeing to be his partner once again, despite the unfortunate incident that had her swearing never to be in the same room as Ronald and an open flame again.

Drat.

Noticing the look on her face, Harry let out a chuckle as he patted her consolingly on the shoulder.

'Just remember to tie your hair back this time,' he whispered in her ear, prompting both an eye roll and a muttered charm to pull her curls to the nape of her neck.

The gaggle of students began to meander into the potions labs, and Hermione was forced to shoot an apologetic look at her usual partner Terry Boot as she set up her station next to Ron.

Just as she finished setting up her inkwell and quill, she startled as both items crashed to the floor, the glass shattering and allowing ink to ooze into the stone.

'Oi, watch it!' Ron barked. 'Albino prick.'

Incredulously, Hermione looked up from the mess to see Malfoy throw a smirk over his shoulder as he pushed his way to the back of the room, throwing his bag at Theodore Nott.

Hogwarts had felt like a sanctuary to Hermione since Halloween of her first year. Now well into her fifth year, the castle walls felt more like home than anywhere else did, despite her slight guilt at not finding the same comfort with her parents. Burning candles in the library, cold toes in the shallows of the Black Lake, blankets and tea in the Gryffindor common room. These were the memories that fueled her patronus in the DA. Growing up, Hermione had struggled to fit in and make friends. She attributed this to an innate feeling of 'otherness', of knowing deep in her bones that she was destined for more; well, that and her tendency to always know better than everyone. It was a curse, honestly.

Hogwarts had been an awakening of sorts, and Hermione refused to ever go back to the lonely, bushy haired child she had once been.

The only part of Hermione's Hogwarts experience that ever left her feeling off balance, out of control, was the gang of Slytherins currently parked at the back of the classroom. All ridiculously beautiful, intelligent and calculated. It felt as though their one purpose in life was making anyone with a Gryffindor tie feel miserable.

Blaise Zabini, the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, currently tore pages out of what Hermione hoped was not a textbook, scrunched them up and threw them at his friends. Zabini was beater for the Slytherin team, and as such Hermione had heard far too much about him during Ron and Harry's late night strategising. Apparently he was agile, brutal and amoral, a combination that caused her a shudder of unease.

Pushing her things into the centre of the table was Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin queen bee as far as Hermione could tell. Rather than spend time with her female house-mates, Pansy was always in orbit of the boys. Hermione tried to keep her judgement to a minimum, after all, don't throw stones in a glass house I guess. What she did judge her for were her scathing remarks, which always seemed to hit on whatever insecurity the person most wished to hide. (See: teeth, hair and slightly crooked eyebrows). She looked away quickly.

On Blaise's other side was Theodore Nott. Hermione had always kept him on her radar, as his grades were close on her tail, but to most of the student population Nott was invisible. She had brought him up once to Ginny, who had merely replied 'bless you', not even realising she had mentioned a fellow student. She didn't bother trying again.

Nott's mouth was currently turned up at the corner as he attempted to dodge the incoming wads of paper to his face while continuously flicking curls of hair from his eyes. He was slightly gangly and uncoordinated, which could attribute to his relative anonymity, but personally Hermione found her eyes wandering his way far more than they should.

And of course, sat next to Nott and setting fire to whatever paper headed his way with a wordless flick of his wand, was Draco Malfoy.

Where to even begin with Draco Sodding Malfoy. What a prick. He was wickedly clever, sharply funny and devastatingly gorgeous. Even Hermione was not immune to his slow smirk, icy blue eyes and genetically unfair jaw line. That was, of course, until he opened his mouth.

Hermione had spent some time back in fourth year considering how someone so intelligent could believe in such unfounded doctrine about muggles and muggle borns. Either he chose to ignore facts in favour of hatred, he genuinely never stopped to employ critical thinking skills, or the sanctimonious disgust was just in his blood.

Her findings came back as such: whatever the reason, best to leave well alone. Sculpted features were not a good enough reason to try and educate a bigot. Plus, Harry was fast approaching a new record for the number of times someone can bring up their enemy without developing a pavlovian tick, and Hermione thought it best to curb this obsession rather than encourage it.

All in all, the Slytherins in her year were a black hole that one could very easily fall into, and it took Hermione considerable effort to ensure they didn't take up too much space in her brain.

As you can see, it was clearly working… I mean, surely they didn't have much in common. Are parents being friends a good enough reason for them all to still hang out? And merlin, they definitely share grooming tips, how the hell is Parkinson's hair so shiny?

Surely Nott knew better than this, he could achieve so much, she was sure, if he would just-

Her ruminations were cut short by a ball of paper to the face, and she shot Zabini what she hoped was a death glare. Turning back to the front of the room, her spine straightened against their snickers and her cheeks burning at being caught staring, she attempted to piece together her inkwell before Professor Snape breezed into the room, billowing cloak and all.

Their task for the day was to attempt to recreate a potion they had been given, without knowing the name of it. Ron shot Hermione an appreciative glance, which she could translate to 'Thank Merlin Hermione's here. I would royally cock this up otherwise.'

This made her insides feel quite warm and fuzzy, and she set to work meeting his expectations, trying not to let her cheeks colour whenever he met her gaze.

She must be coming down with something, she thought, as being shy around Ron was completely foreign to her. In fact, she usually never shut up, owing to his predisposition towards idiot-ness and her duty to preserve the world's remaining brain cells. Maybe it was the potion fumes? But no, this looked like a common healing potion, and none of the ingredients would cause the flutter she felt low in her stomach.

Thankfully, her symptoms seemed to ease up as she got lost in her work. Ron dutifully passed over the diced ingredients whenever she held out her hand with a wiggle of her fingers, and they fell into a familiar rhythm.

Harry, on the other hand, was not finding any cohesion with his partner, Neville. When Hermione had graciously offered to take the short straw (Neville) last year, Harry had refused (pondered for about an hour) before replying with a reluctant sigh.

'He's really not that bad, he just lacks confidence… and coordination. Besides, Snape already hates me, so just let us be fuck ups together and keep your record clean.' Hermione had never been more relieved in her life. Staying out of Snape's way took a lot of effort, late nights in the library and the occasional calming draught, and she didn't want to put all that to waste. She had OWL records to beat.

Despite her earlier humiliation, she couldn't help but chance a look to the back of the room once more, eyeing Nott and Malfoy's station with slight envy.

They were a well-oiled machine, both able to intellectually keep up with the material, and concise enough to create perfect potion after perfect potion. They communicated without words, each falling into their respective expertise and earning the fabled nearly imperceptible nod of approval from Professor Snape.

Growling slightly, Hermione turned back to her potion, damned if she wasn't going to achieve their level of work with her handicap (Ron). Speaking of which, what was he doing with those bloody flies? She had already told him they needed to go in when the potion was spiralling to the left, and it was definitely going in the wrong direction. Surely he wouldn't -

'Ron No!' she exclaimed, but it was too late. In the flies went, and yep, that was definitely smoke coming off of the brew.

Only quick thinking prevented a complete nightmare, and Hermione was able to contain the explosion to a small bubble around the cauldron.

'What were you thinking!' She exclaimed with a frustrated tug of her rapidly expanding hair. 'Why the hell do I keep partnering up with you, you cannot follow a single god's dammed instruction. It's written right here.' She jabbed at the textbook for emphasis, earlier feelings of fluttery shyness completely abandoned to wherever it had come from.

Ron groaned, his head falling backwards. 'Just give it a rest Hermione. You know it was an accident. No need to scold me like I'm a child.' He turned his gaze to her, green eyes going large as he seemed to plead with the universe to stop whatever rant she was about to go on.

She snorted, like the universe was going to help him now.

'Maybe that's because you act like a child, Ron, Hmm.' Her hand was firmly on her hip now. Ron threw a helpless glance to Harry, who looked on with amusement and gave him a wink, the opposite of the solidarity Ron was hoping for.

'Where in this book does it say to add the flies at this step?! You're just making shit up and throwing them into our GRADED potion now? Why don't I shove your head in there and see what happens? You absolute imbecile!' Hermione was panting slightly now, aware that the words coming out of her mouth were perhaps a slight over-exaggeration. She knew she had a temper that only came out in academic settings, and she had sworn on more than one occasion to stop losing her head. But he had been remarkably thick, and was it so hard to ask for the easy communication and application that Malfoy and Nott took for granted. They never had to worry about rogue ingredients being chucked willy nilly into their cauldron. Or their hair doubling in size from a combination of humidity and pure rage. Did Nott have a secret spell to keep his curls in such perfect spirals, or was it just the pureblood breeding?

Great, now she was thinking about the Slytherins again. She was just failing at everything today.

Her ranting had gained the attention of half the room by now, and she could hear the Slytherins laughing as Snape made his way over.

She threw one last glance of malice towards Ronald before attempting to take deep breaths lest she accidentally shouted at Professor Snape and he chopped her up into little pieces.

'Oh dear, what a pity,' Snape drawled, and she couldn't help the eyeroll that escaped. Snape raised a brow, he had definitely seen.

Shit.

'Thirty points from Gryffindor for such such a devastating failure of a simple potion.' Snape glanced towards Ron, 'and another ten for so thoroughly meeting my expectations of you.'

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but shut it after a harsh stamp on the foot from Hermione. Snape nodded once and left the area to purvey the other teams. As she began the arduous process of scraping congealed muck from her cauldron, she heard a 'ten points to Slytherin. Mr Malfoy, Mr Nott, another flawless brew,' and ground her teeth together so hard she swore she felt a crack.

Half an hour later, Hermione was nearly finished with her second attempt at the potion. Ron had been relegated to Harry's bench, and was happily instructing them on how to complete their own potion (completely wrong, might she add).

From the corner of her eye, she spotted blond hair weaving its way through the room.

Please not now, she prayed to whoever was listening. Please let him just walk past me, have I not suffered enough?

Apparently not, as Malfoy came to a halt at her bench, leaning against it with his famous smirk in place, eyeing her hair.

'Merlin, Granger,' he drawled. 'Have you registered your hair yet to the department of Magical Beasts?'

'Har har, Malfoy,' she spat back, furiously stirring her potion. Only two steps left now. Add the flies, brew for three minutes and cast a stasis charm. She was so close.

'How has that nest not strangled you to death yet. Done us all a favour.' He continued.

'Real original, mock my teeth next,' she murmured as she recounted the flies, yes, there were exactly seven, wait, did that one have an extra wing? Would that affect the results? Better choose a different one. She could feel his eyes burning into her, making her feel unsettled and nervous.

'Honestly Granger, this is a third year potion, aren't you supposed to be good at this?'

'Careful Malfoy, that almost sounds like a compliment.'

'Yeah,' he scoffed, 'and Theo can sing opera.'

'I have literally no idea if that's true or not,' she shot him a deadpan look that she hoped conveyed apathy and boredom, but in reality she quite enjoyed fighting with Malfoy. On occasion, their verbal sparring was the only intelligent conversation she had that day. Of course, that was until he started spouting blood purity nonsense, at which point he was put firmly back into the average student's position of 'a bit thick' that Hermione was forced to inhabit the majority of the time. Secretly, she felt as though Malfoy enjoyed their bickering as well, as he was always the one to find her and start their spats. At least once a week, the stubborn blonde would find an excuse to come to her table and torment her. But maybe that was wishful thinking.

'Why did you even partner with the Ginger knob anyway?' he continued. 'He spends the whole time looking at your breasts and then cocks it up at the final minute. It's revolting.' His lips curled, emphasising his distaste.

'What Ronald does is none of your concern,' Hermione replied after she had carefully placed the flies and set up her timer for three minutes. Or was it four? Damn Malfoy.

Wait, Ron was looking at her-

She pulled her cardigan more tightly around herself self-consciously.

Now that the timer was running, she had time to turn her attention to Malfoy and figure out how to get rid of him before he mucked up her potion. There was no third chance, as class ended in ten minutes.

'Can you please leave,' Hermione tried for civility, a novel concept but she was feeling exotic today.

'I'm just here to watch you fail Granger, trust me, it has nothing to do with your abysmal countenance.

'I'm not going to fail, Malfoy.'

'Oh yeah? Well, isn't that Weasel headed this way with a handful of flies right now?' He gestured behind Hermione, causing her to whip her head around, wand out and a 'bombarda' on the tip of her tongue if Ronald so much as tried to come near her potion again.

Only, Ron wasn't headed this way, in fact, he was peering into Lavender and Pavarti's potion on the other side of the room while they giggled at whatever he was saying.

Eyebrows furrowed, she wondered why Malfoy said he was coming this way, until she heard a fizzing sound from her station.

Slowly, she turned back around towards her potion.

'Careful Granger,' Malfoy said as he pushed away from her station, 'looks like it's going to blow.'

'Detention, Miss Granger,' Snape looked at her, unimpressed with the splatters of potion dripping from her robes and onto the floor. 'For carelessly handling your potion twice in one day. Impressive, even for you.'

'But Sir,' she could not keep her mouth shut. 'It was Malfoy. He put something in my cauldron. It was not my fault at all.' Her voice had reached a fairly shrill pitch at this point, did no-one understand how important grades were to her? Why was everyone so intent on seeing her fail? She was developing a rash.

She heard Malfoy scoff from the back of the room, and turned to him, gesturing her feelings in a way words just couldn't convey.

'Twenty points from Gryffindor for vulgarity, Miss Granger,' Of course Snape noticed. 'Such things are surely beneath a prefect hmm? But I will concede, Mr Malfoy, you will also serve detention this evening.'

So this was what pure joy felt like, Hermione mused. Who knew it could come from such hateful intentions. Actually, it made perfect sense.

'But sir-'.

Malfoy was cut off by a look from Professor Snape.

'Might I suggest, next time you intend to commit a crime Mr Malfoy, that you not loiter around the scene for ten minutes beforehand.'

'You will both spend your evening cleaning out my potion stores, they seem to have been ransacked by nifflers,' Snape finished with a hard look towards Harry. Honestly, they only stole ingredients a couple times, no need to treat him like public enemy number one.

Wait, did he say they were serving their detention together?

Hermione shot Snape a look of abject horror, but he was deeply unaffected. Typical.

Dinner that evening was a sombre affair for the golden trio. Hermione was both not speaking to Ron and also taking every opportunity to blame him for her upcoming evening. Harry, ever the optimist, was discussing new defence spells they could teach at their upcoming session of the DA while also suggesting Hermione take this time to suss out the enemy.

'Harry, for the last time, Draco Malfoy is not the enemy. He is a spoiled git with far too much hair gel and penchant for bullying. That hardly makes him top contender for Voldemort's right-hand man.'

Ron winced at the use of the name.

'Better not say that so loud, Mione.' He warned. 'If Umbridge hears you'll have another detention, and we're out of dittany.'

'Harry, did you hear something?' Hermione said snottily.

'Oh come off it Mione.' He groaned. 'You know this isn't my fault. I'm sorry you're stuck with Malfoy this evening but don't take it out on me.'

'Mione,'Harry included, 'how about after the DA tonight, we sneak into Hogsmeade and pick you up some sugar quills.'

Now that was a thought. Say what you want about Hermione Granger, but never underestimate the things she would do for a sugar rush.

Ron grinned, knowing they'd struck on gold. 'Yeah, Mione. I'll even pay, as a sorry for mucking up the potion.'

'Well it is the least you can do, Ronald,' Hermione tried to stay mad, but they were her best friends and as such had quite a lot of practice at talking her down from a strop.

She shot him a sheepish grin.

'I guess I could lay off you a bit, after all, you'll have to work with Colin tonight since I'm not there.'

Ron moaned good naturedly. They all loved Colin Creevey, ever since he got over his fascination with Harry he had become comedic relief in their meetings. Every messed up charm was met with a grin, every lost duel was laughed off and he was the first to compliment someone on a spell well done. It was infectious.

'Okay, I'd better be off. Don't want to give Snape any more reason to keep me there longer,' Hermione sighed as she rose to stand. 'Good luck tonight, and remember the protocol if Umbridge comes sniffing around.'

'Yes, mum,' Harry replied with an eye roll, shoving more crumble into his mouth. They were bottomless pits.

Hermione was the first to arrive outside the potions classroom. Nervously shuffling her feet, she debated the merits of heading inside and prolonging the agony, or being caught waiting for Malfoy.

This decision was made for her as his blond hair came into view from the end of the corridor, and she shoved into the potions classroom with a squeak.

Get it together, she scolded herself. There was no way she was going to survive detention with that git if she couldn't get her act sorted.

Professor Snape noted her strange entrance with a raised brow, but otherwise completely ignored her existence. She took a seat in the front of the room, and waited for the telltale noise of the door opening behind her.

Once Malfoy had dropped into a seat directly behind her (causing her fight or flight senses to reactivate), Snape stood from his desk.

'You will be completely re-organising my storage cupboard tonight. Rest assured, I know exactly what it contains, and any thievery will be dealt with… creatively. I will inspect your work in the morning.'

With that, Snape flounced out of the room (please never tell him she described him like that), and they were left to fend for themselves. Merlin save her.

Never one to be snuck up on from behind, she swivelled around in her seat to eye Malfoy distrustfully. He raised one brow back at her, but otherwise remained silent, forcing her to lead the conversation.

Well, fine. If Hermione were in charge they could be in and out of there in an hour, tops. All he needed to do was listen to her instructions.

She was so screwed.

'Listen here Malfoy. You got us into this mess, so keep your mouth shut and let's do this as quickly as possible.'

'If you think I'll be bossed around by the likes of you, Granger, you'd be sorely mistaken.'

'The likes of me? What's that supposed to mean?' she barked back.

'What it's always meant. Do keep up.' With a sigh, Malofy pushed to his feet and headed for the storage cupboard, waving his wand as he went to begin emptying the contents so they could be re-arranged. Exactly the method Hermione was going to suggest, if he could just listen for one second. Who did he think he was?

The first half an hour went fairly smoothly, apart from the odd snide remark and Malfoy's refusal to grab anything from her hand, in case he got infected by her muggle germs. Deciding to do whatever it takes to get through this, Hermione left this alone, instead doing her best to make a storage solution that would put a smile on even Professor Snape's face, like that was ever going to happen. She really believed another twenty minutes and they could be out of there. Maybe she could catch the end of the DA meeting.

But then, as was often the case in Hermione's life, a stupid boy had to go and muck things up.

'Ow, shit!'

'Malfoy, what in Merlin's name are you doing in the cupboard, all the ingredients are out here.'

'Yes, Granger, I am well aware- Oh for fucks-'

Sighing, Hermione stood up and dusted her robe off, knowing it was useless to hope she wouldn't smell like a mixture of bat wings and sheep intestines at the end of this.

'Honestly, what are you even doing?' She didn't try to keep the exasperation out of her voice as she stepped into the small cupboard to see Malfoy straining to reach the top shelf. Hermione most definitely did not notice that his jumper had ridden up slightly, showcasing a sliver of pale skin.

'Back off. I saw it first.' Malfoy bit back, causing an eye roll that Hermione felt in her skull.

'Saw what first?'

'There's felix felicis back here, I saw it rolling away as I took down the bezours.'

This piqued Hermione's interest. The luck serum was not to be scoffed at, especially with all of the rubbish Harry and Ron dragged her into. One sip of that potion and she might get left alone for an evening. Of course, Snape had said not to pilfer anything from his stores, but if it was just a tiny vial on the top shelf, he might not even notice.

'Well, maybe if you gave me a leg up I could-'

'I'll stop you right there Granger. No way in Hell am I letting you near that potion. I saw it first, and besides, your niffler of a boyfriend would just flog it to buy new socks or something, so keep away.' Malfoy sneered, but the effect was slightly diminished by the fact that she could only see the back of his stupid head as his hand grappled blindly around the top shelf still.

'Why are you not just summoning it anyway, you are a Wizard you know.'

'Oh gee, advice on being a Wizard from a Mudblood. How grand. Do you not think that was the first thing I tried?' Malfoy finally turned around to face her. The arm of his sleeve was lighter than the rest of his robes, the dust collected in every crevice. He brushed at it in disgust.

'It must be resistant, how odd.' Hermione mused. 'Seriously, just give me a leg up and I'll grab it for you. The sooner we get this the sooner we can finish this detention and never speak again.' Hermione crossed her fingers behind her back as she said this, there was no way she would let go of a potion so useful when that spoilt git could afford a bucketful if he so wanted.

'No way!' Malfoy reached his arm back up and strained to reach the back of the room.

'Shove over,' Hermione retaliated with a push towards his side, not expecting it to do anything, but annoying Malfoy was one of her favourite pastimes when she could work up the nerve.

Now, Hermione was not a strong witch, in fact, her muscle mass was dangerously low. Normally, there would be no chance of her even slightly moving Malfoy, but that didn't take into account how precariously he was balanced.

That one small shove caused the Malfoy heir to completely lose balance, tumbling from his feet and landing with a smack against the floor, slamming the door shut as he went. Hermione couldn't help the bubble of laughter that escaped at seeing Malfoy sprawled across the tiny floor of the cupboard, his legs at odd angles against the opposite wall to his head. He wore an expression of disbelief as his normally perfectly styled hair fell into his eyes.

'What the hell, Granger. You've got dirt all over my robes.' He sneered. 'These will have to be burnt now.'

'Oh don't be so dramatic,' Hermione replied as she went to open the cupboard door, 'Go grab your wand and cast a scourgify, you'll be fine.'

The door didn't open.

She tugged at it again. Still shut.

She rattled the door.

She tried pulling instead of pushing.

Nothing.

Malfoy's hand reached out as he sneered at her once more. 'Can't even open a bloody door.'

He tugged. It stayed shut.

He rattled.

He kicked.

He pounded on the door.

The panic was starting to set in now. Professor Snape had said himself he wouldn't be back here until the morning. They were in the depths of the dungeons, and no-one would be around at this time of night.

'Your wand, Malfoy. Where is your wand,' Hermione whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

'In the classroom, you?' Malfoy grimaced as he kicked the door once more.

'On the desk.'

'Well fuck.'

Hermione slid to the floor, crossing her knees as the reality of the situation hit her. She was stuck in a supply cupboard with Draco sodding Malfoy, and no-one would come until the morning. She stared into nothing, the thought swirling around her brain with no solution forthcoming. Maybe Harry would see her on the map? But only if he wondered where she was. And Hermione knew better than anyone the kind of headspace Harry was in after spending time in DA with Cho. And she was still owed those Sugar Quills.

'Will any of your friends come looking for you?' She asked Malfoy hopefully.

'Considering they're all getting sloshed, I doubt it.'

'It's a Wednesday!' Hermione exclaimed.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. It's Nott's birthday.'

'Oh,' Hermione didn't know what to say. She needed to keep things civil, she realised. They would either make it through this in one piece, or they would murder each other.

Malfoy lowered himself to the ground opposite her, the space so small that their knees were nearly touching, even as they both had their backs pressed against the wall.

The next hour was spent in silence, Hermione of the mind that if you didn't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all. To keep her mind active, she began to recite her transfiguration theory. Then she began counting in factors of 11. Then she began counting her breaths per minute. Her mind began to wonder. She was surprised by Malfoys lack of taunting. She assumed he would have taken all this time to spare as an opportunity to rip her to shreds. And honestly, wouldn't bickering be more fun than working out her average breaths per minute?

It slipped out before she could stop it.

'Why aren't you insulting me?'

Malfoy looked up from his hands abruptly, startled out of whatever thoughts he was having.

'Can't be bothered.' He shrugged.

This insulted Hermione, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

'What do you mean, can't be bothered? You spend every chance you get throwing insults at me, and the second you have free reign to do so, I have no wand and I literally can't escape, you just don't care anymore?'

'Wow granger, it almost sounds like you enjoy being tormented.' Malfoy smirked at her.

'Well, that's just ridiculous,' Hermione retorted. 'But when you're not making childish comments about my blood or my looks, you can be quite witty I suppose. Or, at least, less brain dead than the rest of the boys in our year.'

'Does that include Scarhead and Weaslebe?' Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

'Don't call them that. But unfortunately, yes. Any brain cells they do possess are dedicated solely to Quidditch. They can be clever, but most of the time it does feel like a bit of an accident.' Hermione worried her lip with her teeth as she thought about all of the near misses she had had with her best friends over the years. It was truly a wonder they were alive.

Malfoy snorted, 'Wow, complimenting me and insulting the Wonder Duo in one breath, never thought I'd see the day.'

'Don't let it go to your head. Malfoy. While you might be the only one even slightly near me in intelligence, they are kinder, braver and better men than you in every other way.' Hermione sniffed, turning her nose in the air.

'Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion then, is it Mudblood?' Malfoy scowled back at her.

'There you go with those dumb blood comments again. They really lower your intelligence ranking. I mean, seriously? Muddy blood? It's just as red as yours, Malfoy. And how the hell would a baby even steal magic? Honestly, learn to think for yourself for once. You can't possibly be in Arithmacy OWL level without critical thinking skills. Your father can't think for you for the rest of your life.'

'Don't talk about my father,' Malfoy spat.

'Don't make baseless insults about my blood,' Hermione spat back, crossing her arms and turning her head away from him.

Well that went well, Hermione thought sardonically. One conversation and they were already bickering. Silence it would have to be. At least since they didn't have their wands no-one could be physically harmed. But then, they wouldn't be stuck here if they had their wands either. Hermione would have just blasted the damn door off.

Another hour ticked by, then another. Hermione had lost all hope of Harry coming to her rescue. He was probably tucked away in his dorm, ignoring Ron's snores as he day-dreamed about Cho bloody Chang. She was bored, and Hermione could handle a lot of negative emotions, but boredom was definitely not one of them. It made her skin itch, her hair feel ticklish, her legs restless. Something had to be done. She steeled herself.

'Malfoy, have you ever played Rock, Paper, Scissors?'

'What the bloody hell is Rock, Paper, Scissors?' Malfoy sounded sceptical, his voice coming out rough from lack of use. 'Is it a muggle game?'

'Yes Malfoy, it's played by muggles, but I don't see you coming up with any suggestions and I'm losing my mind in here.' She really hoped this wasn't going to be a mistake. She didn't want to calculate her average blinks per minute.

'You lost it a long time ago.' Malfoy muttered, looking at her like she had three heads.

'Oh wow aren't you hilarious. Do you want to play or not?' Hermione was getting sick of this already.

'I don't know how,' Malfoy scowled, as though admitting he didn't know something was criminal.

'It's easy enough,' Hermione replied. 'You move your hand like this, see?' Hermione made gestures as she named each one. 'This is rock, with the scrunched fist, paper is a flat hand, and you do this with your fingers and it looks like scissors.'

Malfoy looked at her as if she was crazy.

'You look ridiculous doing that Granger, is this all muggles could come up with? How do you win anyway?' Hermione smiled, a breakthrough!

Of course he only cared about how to beat her, she thought. But little did he know, she was a master at this game. It was all psychology really, and a man like Malfoy would always go for rock first.

'Well, we count down from three, and then we choose either rock, paper or scissors. Rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, and paper beats rock.'

'How in Merlin's name does paper beat rock?' Malfoy was baffled. 'Hold up a piece of paper Granger, I'll chuck a rock at you and let's see if it hurts.' He chuckled slightly at his own joke, and Hermione knew he was picturing himself throwing rocks at her face.

'Oh do grow up Malfoy. And anyway, you're completely wrong. Sure, rocks could rip paper, damage it even. But there's no way you could completely destroy paper with rocks. But give paper enough time, and eventually it could smooth out the rock. It's very undervalued. The ability to take damage, get torn apart, crumpled and used, and still stay standing and functional is very admirable.'

'Let's just play the damn game,' Malfoy grumbled.

Hermione, confident in her guess that Malfoy would choose rock, went for paper. After three they both showed their hand, and Hermione smugly assumed she had won.

'Ha, beat you.' Malfoy exclaimed. Incredulously, Hermione double-checked and, sure enough, Malfoy had won, holding his hand out in an imitation of scissors.

'But I was sure you would choose rock,' Hermione said.

'Why's that, Granger?' Malfoy was looking far too pleased with himself.

'All men choose rock first! Besides, you basically are rock. You're cold, unfeeling and destroy anyone in your path! Plus your emotional intelligence definitely matches.'

'You wound me, I do so care about your opinion of me,' Malfoy responded sarcastically. 'But after your love speech to paper, I knew you'd go for it. You basically orgasm when you step in the library. Besides, I think I resonate more with scissors. Cutting, precise and sharp. All very Malfoy traits. Now let's go again.'

Considering Hermione and Draco were two of the most intelligent people in their year, it was quite surprising just how long this silly game held their attention. But they both had a competitive streak a mile long, and especially against each other. Hermione smugly noted that she had won more rounds than Malfoy, not that she was keeping count of course.

Eventually though, they both began yawning and finally managed to drift off, Hermione's head pressed painfully against the edge of the bottom shelf while Malfoy seemed to simply close his eyes. Creepy.

Hermione was awoken by a cough.

Massaging her neck, she looked around blearily and froze when her head craned upward. Scowling down at her was none other than Professor Snape, and he did not look pleased to note that they had definitely not organised his storage; in fact, they had made a much bigger mess than before they got there.

Both Hermione and Draco were now fully awake and jumped to their feet, Hermione kept her head down and avoided eye contact; she'd heard it worked for bears so you never know. Subtly, she tried to regain feeling in her toes.

'Why is it that my classroom is covered in potions ingredients, while you two are asleep in my supply closet?'

'Well you see sir-,'Hermione began, her voice husky from sleep.

'I don't care for your petty excuses Miss Granger.' Hermione snapped her mouth closed again.

'Both of you, out of my sight. I'll get a house elf to complete this work. They apparently have more brains. Twenty points from each of your houses.'

Hermione scurried out of the classroom, stopping briefly to grab her wand. She would never take it for granted again. What a beautiful thing it was. She didn't spare Malfoy a backward glance as she made her escape, under no impression that one surreal night playing Rock, Paper, Scissors in a cupboard would in any way alter their strenuous relationship.

She was correct.

The rest of the year continued in a blur. Hermione was certain she had never been more stressed in her life, and she had once had a time turner to take extra classes. And had dinner with the Weasleys.

Between DA meetings, dodging Umbridge, looking after Grawp and studying for her OWLs, Hermione had no time to even think about Malfoy or his gang of Slytherins again. For the best really, she had no desire to start thinking of him as anything other than a bigoted ass. Even if watching him show a real, genuine upturn of his lips did make his blue eyes sparkle slightly.

When OWLs were finally over, she thought maybe she could finally take a breath and had big plans to read the latest in her favourite series by the Black Lake, maybe catch a tan. But nothing was ever that easy for Hermione. When would she learn?

Hermione strained to open her eyes against the blinding light behind her lids. Her whole body was on fire, and she let out a strangled whimper as the memories of the battle at the Department of Mysteries came flooding back. She had been knocked out cold in the heat of battle, was she still there? Were Deatheaters coming for her as she lay helpless on the floor?

She shot her eyes open at that thought, determined to keep fighting until the end.

Assessing her surroundings, she let out a sigh of relief. The hospital ward, thank Merlin, God, whoever was listening. Her eyes drifted closed once more.

A few hours later, she sat propped up with a conjured mirror in her hand.

The new scar stretching across her torso nearly made her cry, but she hastily tried to keep the tears at bay. She should be grateful she survived. Dumbledore had told her when he came to visit that if she had not silenced Dolohov she would undoubtedly be dead. Another point for her unending genius. But vanity was a fickle thing, and to know that she would carry this magical scar for the rest of her life still stung.

As she nestled back into the hospital bed, she let her thoughts drift to Harry. He must be so devastated to have lost Sirius. She herself felt the loss acutely. They had bonded over the winter holidays, discussing trashy muggle literature and rock bands.

When she was released in the morning, she would do all she could to cheer Harry up, but she worried it might be for naught, considering they would soon be heading home for the summer. From what she'd heard, the Dursleys wouldn't be very sympathetic to Harry's grief.

Sighing, for it seemed to be all she did these days, she went to adjust her pillow. However, the texture of something lodged underneath stopped her short. How long had that been there?

Pulling the offending item out from its hiding place, she discovered a piece of folded up parchment.

Curiously, she opened it up and read the contents.

Paper beats Rock, Granger.