A/N: Hello again, and welcome to my new story. It grew from a random thought that popped into my mind while I was completing Pathways. Hope you enjoy it!

Me for the plot; JK Rowling for the Harry Potter universe.

Dumbledore's office

While the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were enjoying their summer hols, the faculty were already back at school, beavering away, getting ready for the new academic year. The Heads of House now sat in a semicircle around Professor Dumbledore's desk, working on Very Important Things, including: the selection of Head Boy and Girl.

"Now, as far as Head Boy is concerned," Dumbledore began, snacking on a sherbet lemon, "we are, in fact, blessed with a number of suitable candidates. I invite each of you to nominate a contender from your House, and we shall debate the merits, or otherwise, of each one."

"Just one from each House?" Snape snarled. "I can think of at least two outstanding Slytherin House candidates without barely giving any thought to it."

"All right, nominate whomsoever you see fit then," Dumbledore replied. "Bearing in mind that I would prefer for this meeting to be concluded by dinnertime. Shepherd's pie is on the menu."

A brisk debate blossomed around Professor Dumbledore's desk, at times becoming animated enough to stir Fawkes from his slumberous roost. Flitwick confidently submitted Anthony Goldstein, and Sprout parried with Ernie MacMillan. McGonagall countered with Harry Potter, who looked like he was the favourite to win, but Snape thrust both Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy into the mix and argued with such passion and ferocity in their favour that the other professors felt Snape-sized headaches developing.

In a bid to make it all stop, Dumbledore went for the final name mentioned, and thus, Draco Malfoy was appointed Head Boy.

After a wee break to collect their wits and consume headache powders, Dumbledore said "As for Head Girl, I think we all agree the most suitable candidate can be no other than Miss Granger."

At this, a most awful sound emanated from Professor's Snape's robes. It sounded like a dozen cats were casting up furballs en masse, and in unison.

Most alarmed, Professor Flitwick jumped off his chair and rushed over to perform the kiss of life on the obviously dying wizard, but it turned out that Snape was only laughing. It had been many years since anything in his life had caused him to crack a smile, let alone laugh, therefore his chuckling windpipes were rather rusty.

"Malfoy and Miss Granger as Head Boy and Girl?" he wheezed, dashing a tear from his eye. "May we all be saved from the castle roofs falling down on our heads."

"Er, quite," Dumbledore agreed faintly. He had enough to do without contending with collapsing roofs. "So, how say we all? Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger for Head Boy and Girl, respectively?"

Professors Sprout and Flitwick agreed most wholeheartedly, Professor McGonagall permitted herself a small but smug smile and regal nod, and Professor Snape just snorted.

Dumbledore took the snort to be agreement, and thus it was unanimously carried that Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy would assume the Head roles when school resumed.

As Dumbledore cheerfully led his gaggle of Heads out of the office and towards the Great Hall, Snape leaned towards McGonagall and rumbled, sotto voce: "Ten Galleons says we'll be selecting a new Head Girl within six months."

McGonagall smirked. O ye of little faith, Severus. "I'll take that bet."

First day of school

Heads' chambers

Hermione Granger, resplendent in pristine robes and shiny new Head Girl badge affixed to said robes, stepped through Rowena Ravenclaw's portrait hole and surveyed her new domain with satisfaction. She approved of the diplomatic colour scheme the common room employed, representing all four Houses. She approved of the cute little kitchenette off to one side, perfect for brewing those cups of tea necessary to support long studying hours. She mostly approved of the upstairs bathroom, even though it didn't have a bath. However, seeing as the Prefects' Bathroom was just a hop, skip and jump down the corridor she supposed it didn't matter. And she would have preferred two bathrooms or en-suites, one for each Head, but beggars can't be choosers.

She heartily approved of her bedroom, with its colossal four-post bed trimmed in gold and crimson, and a study desk tucked into a quiet alcove beneath a window that looked out over the quidditch field.

Without a care in the world, she got out her wand and happily unpacked her belongings. Her happiness lasted until the exact moment she wafted a box of books downstairs, destined for one of the common room's empty bookcases, when the portrait hole opened and her co-Head stepped in.

Hermione pulled up short. "Oh," she said. "It's you."

Draco Malfoy, for indeed it was he, coolly surveyed his co-Head, her wand and her floating box of what was probably books. "It's considered polite to say 'hello' to someone they haven't seen in some time," Draco noted. "If you're not familiar with such customs, I'll show you how it goes." He cleared his throat. "'Hello, Granger. Did you have a good summer?' Now, repeat after me, using my name instead of yours."

Hermione rolled her eyes, even though she had to grudgingly admit to herself that she was probably a smidgen impolite. "Is this how it's going to be for the whole year, Malfoy?" she snarked, not trusting herself to look directly at him, because… WOW. Summer had been very kind to Malfoy. Gone was the ten-pound-weakling of yore, and standing in front of her was a light-tanned, toned young man with a hairstyle that didn't comprise of either flopping all over the place or slicked back like an albino member of the mafia. His arrogant smirk was still the same, of course.

"What's the matter, Granger?" smirked the Hot Young Man with the Smirk. "Expecting someone else to be Head Boy?"

In truth, Hermione was. "Well, actually, since you ask, I was hoping it would be Harry." She tilted her head in a very endearing way, thinking, and continued. "Or Goldstein. Or MacMillan. Or even Zabini, to be honest."

This assessment might have punctured the egos of lesser men, but Draco Lucius Malfoy was not his father's son for nothing. "Touche," he conceded, smirk firmly in place. "In fact, the sheer number of birds I fantasised about becoming Head Girl would probably surprise you, given you were not anywhere on that list at all."

But now that he'd clocked eyes on Granger for the first time since the end of Sixth Year, he might need to add an addendum to his non-existent list. Looked like she'd finally won the Battle of the Bushy Hair for the first time ever, and now her hair wasn't obscuring seventy five percent of her face, he noticed the delicate structure of her face, eyes sparking with combative intelligence, and lips that wanted to make a man stop and stare.

Hermione, however, couldn't give a rat's arse about Draco and his fantasies. "Now we've accepted that we weren't each other's first choice for co-Head, we should establish some rules in order to ensure a semblance of peaceful co-existence," she sniffed.

Draco, however, was watching her lips move. "Hmm?" he murmured, thoroughly distracted.

Remembering that her box of books was still hovering mid-air, she wafted it over to one of the bookcases near the Slytherin décor and set it down. "Firstly, a curfew. I don't want my sleep disturbed by you thundering up and down the staircase and hallway at all hours of the night. Secondly" –

Draco had caught up. "A curfew, Granger?" he gasped, clutching his sides from laughing. "Who died and made you Minister of Magic?"

"I'm a very light sleeper, Malfoy" –

"And you're also a witch, capable of performing any number of silencing or muffling spells to mask any noise my great big clodhoppers will inevitably create. No curfew."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, conceding. "Secondly, as I was saying, concerns visitors. This rule has several subsections, so listen closely. If you insist on having overnight guests" – said with a fetching pink blush across her cheeks – "your bedroom MUST be silenced. The last thing I want to hear is you huffing and puffing over some poor girl that's obviously faking it and wondering to herself why she thought you were sexually competent in the first place."

Draco collapsed onto one of the settees, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. By all the gods, she was a lot more entertaining than he thought. "Fine," he burbled, "as long as you do the same with your 'overnight guests.'

That gave Hermione pause for thought. She wasn't planning on making time for socialising. Didn't the idiot know this was their NEWT year? What with her studying commitments, Head and prefect duties, plus her extra-curriculars, she barely had enough time left to eat and sleep. Still, she wasn't going to give Malfoy an easy win by admitting she wasn't planning for bed partners, so she said "Fine."

Draco made to get off the settee and unpack, but the Head Girl wasn't done yet. "Groups of guests," she announced, sweeping her arm around the room and making Draco wonder what she was referring to. "The common room will be used for prefect and Head meetings, of course," she prattled. "I can also see the appeal of having our friends visit, on occasion, so as to ensure we each get fair and equal time of the common room for personal gatherings, I suggest the following schedule" –

Okay, Draco sighed to himself. Time to nip this militant ordering of his social life in the bud. He stood up and marched over to Hermione, standing so close he could smell the cinnamon in her hair product. "Granger," he began, while gathering up the shreds of his patience, "I am not a" – he searched for the word – "robot. Neither are you. Do you seriously think I'm going to have wild orgies in the common room every week? What do you think Slytherins do in the dungeon all year long, exactly?"

Hermione swallowed nervously. "Orgies are not permitted in the common room! But there's nothing stopping you having them in your bedroom, if you must. Your silenced bedroom."

Draco threw up his hands. "We are not children, Granger. I'm sure the pair of us can manage to eke out a peaceful co-existence, regardless of how we feel about each other. Besides," he winked, "once you get to know me, you might find yourself liking me."

And elves might fly from my arse, Hermione grouched, but kept that pearl of wisdom to herself. "Okay," she reluctantly agreed, and held out her hand.

Draco stared at it for a second, then extended his own hand and shook it.

Something approximating a bolt of electricity surged between the pair, and startled, they looked into each other's eyes. Then they hastily stepped away and pretended it didn't happen.

"Oh, Granger," Draco sang out as he ascended the stairs, "You can't use that bookcase."

"Why not?"

"It's right by the Slytherin décor. Obviously it's Slytherin property."

Draco sailed up the rest of the stairs to the melody of Hermione's swearwords.